Well, Folks... I'm in Guanajuato, Mexico now, as some of you might be aware. I'm sitting in my dorm, listening to what sounds like it might have been small arms fire in the distance. In reality, it's probably just fireworks, of a flowerpot falling off a high terrace. I've seen plenty poised to do just that. Guanajuato is a lovely town, exactly what you think of when someone says "rustic Mexico." The street where my school, Academia Falcon (pictured at left), is located, is a fairly quiet, more residential one. Guanajuato, as a "Patrimonia de la Humanidad," or World Heritage Site, has no stop lights, neon signs, or anything of the sort. What it does have is plenty of narrow, winding streets dotted generously with fuscia bougainvillea, old homes piled improbably up the steep hillsides like so many dyed sugar cubes, and fruit vendors every fifty paces. No, I have not yet given in to the temptation to buy fruit from them, despite it's mouthwatering array of colors. Don't eat the fruit, don't drink the water, unless you want to have what they call Turista, what many visitors get upon coming to Mexico. That is, uncontrolable diarrhea, etc.
I haven't been to Mexico in nearly seven years, but so much of it still seems very comfortable to me. I remember so many of the smells--corn tortillas, flowers, soap, the occasional smell of rot (Guanajuato is much, much cleaner than other places I've been in Mexico, but you still come across it). I took a tepid shower earlier, the shower head spraying maniacally across the room, and when I stepped out, the smell of my towel brought be right back to a hotel we stayed in probably nine or ten years ago in a small town near the Copper Canyon called Creel... White walls, "Mediterranean"-red shingles, bulky, comfortable wooden furniture. It was winter then, I think; I remember drinking something hot to ward off the cold.
Most everyone I've met has been quite friendly. I met someone else doing this same language program at the airport in Houston, so we were able to compare notes and share the taxi from the airport in Leon, which was a) less intimidating and, b) cheaper. We were met at the school by two young men, employees of the school, whose names I'd be hard-pressed to recall at this point; one spoke perfect, almost unaccented English. The other spoke none at all. I've been quite pleased to discover that I really haven't had much trouble communicating with anyone as of yet. A lot of my problem, I think, is that I try to speak out to fast and end up sounding drunk because of it...
The school is rather funky but very cool, and has a good feeling, a safe one. It's set around a small, shady courtyard with a mango three and a grapefruit tree, both with fruit (!). The dorms are named after fruit. I'm in Kiwi 6. The bathroom is located in a narrow alley way behind the dorms--funky, as I said. There is a woman from California and Texas ("I have to say thet I'm from California and Texas," she drawled, "because I'm coming from California but I've got this strong texas accent." She was clutching a bottle of nail polish remover, talking to me through the open window.) who offered to answer any of my questions, and a family of five from North Carolina, all fair with dark, dark hair. I asked the mother if she knew of anywhere I could get hot water for tea. She offered to boil some for me on the stove in their room.
We all knew it was coming: I'm writing about food now. I somehow wandered all the way downtown this afternoon (you don't get so tired of walking, I find, when you don't really know your destination), a trip made much longer by the fact that I got rather lost and ended up the sole pedestrian on a narrow street that felt more like a canal, steep rock walls jutting twenty feet up on each side. At one point I stopped and realized I done precisely what I had meant not to do: I was alone in this strange stone passageway, naught but the occasional taxi zipping by, not entirely sure where I was, feeling quite vulnerable... Around the next bend was one of the Plazas of the Centro, however, lively and bustling. Entirely by chance, I came across the restaurant that I had actually wanted to find, one called Truco 7, located on one of the many downtown callejones. $3.50 got me a plate of four, count 'em, four rolled corn tortillas, covered with mole, and refried beans as well. I thought I was getting good value in New Zealand. Not wanting anymore excursions through strange subteranean streets, I took a taxi back to the school for $2.50... For the money, you really can't beat it.
Not to worry about small arms fire, or anything of the sort. I think I was just hearing the rumblings of a distant partida de futbol. The only sounds coming in my window now are the chirpings of crickets, distant dogs barking, and the occassional cry of "Baruuuyooo!" Mañana empezaré mis clases... Que bien! Now, to sleep on my pilly sheets in my funny little room, complete with a motley assortment of hangers, a flashlight, and a big jug of potable water. Que bien!
Ah, I see all my photos are sideways. Please bear with me, I know it's damnable. Just tilt your head a bit, or turn your computer on its side.
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