We asked the GPS yesterday to give us directions to "go home" and were wondering why it had a map to show us, but no arrival time.
The GPS gave us directions to our "home" in Metepec, Mexico. :)
No one knows our next arrival time there.
We had a garage sale on Saturday and at least 3 hispanic groups came to shop. We wrote "se habla espanol" on our sign (spanish spoken) and so some took us up on our offer! We even met a family - from Toluca!
I will sometimes come home and look at a sink and a counter full of dirty dishes and think, "ummmm.... how did this get here?" and then, "did I think a fairy would clean my kitchen?" Oh, yes, that's right, I did think a fairy would come. Her name is Carmen, and she really did try to crawl in our suitcases...
I took a taxi and forgot to put on my seatbelt. Also forgot to check if the meter was on - that was a HUGE mistake!
Whenever I go to Chipotle and order carnitas or barbacoa or salsa verde, I will slip into Spanish and then try to do my entire order in Spanish. Sometimes, the worker is Hispanic, and doesn't mind. That is much less embarrassing than the weird look from the white teenager.
We went to a new Mexican restaurant bc we had heard they served 'authentic' Mexican food. When we ordered a "torta milanesa" the waitress had no idea what we meant. We repeated it 3 times, and I finally pointed at the menu. "Oh," she says, "You want the chicken sandwich." Um... nope. we could get a chicken sandwich anywhere. What we really want is a torta milanesa.
At work, a Spanish-speaking Latino pastor called and talked with my co-worker, who was struggling to keep up with the conversation. Finally, in desperation, I hear him croak out "Pooh-way-das hab-lahr cone me ahm-ee-go Kelly?" (can you talk to my friend, kelly in the worst accent I've heard in a long time). So... then I continue to talk with the guy for about 15 minutes. *sigh*
Monday, June 28, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
A little less American
I walked out of the house yesterday. With nothing but my purse. And just started walking.
In Mexico, it was normal to walk around places. We would go out for dinner - and walk. We would go shopping - and walk. We would leave for the airport - and walk. We would walk just to walk! Some of our favorite excursions being the "mountain" near our house that was a climbing challenge while getting ready to go to Europe. The last 2 months, while I lived in the apartments, I walked to work, I walked to do my laundry, I walked to go visit friends.
But in the states, I get funny looks when I'm walking. In fact, I feel a little funny walking. Leaving my house through the front door - not the garage - is awkward. Walking jauntily past my garage door and driveway with no keys in my hand feels strange.
But for a few weeks now, I have been relying on my feet, and my new bike, and the local bus system for transportation. (and on my DH's car. I can't be too mexican!)
So, maybe I did manage to keep a little part of Mexico with me. If I can only speak Spanish and pretend that I'm fighting with mangy dogs and unruly taxi drivers for space, then I'd feel right at home!
In Mexico, it was normal to walk around places. We would go out for dinner - and walk. We would go shopping - and walk. We would leave for the airport - and walk. We would walk just to walk! Some of our favorite excursions being the "mountain" near our house that was a climbing challenge while getting ready to go to Europe. The last 2 months, while I lived in the apartments, I walked to work, I walked to do my laundry, I walked to go visit friends.
But in the states, I get funny looks when I'm walking. In fact, I feel a little funny walking. Leaving my house through the front door - not the garage - is awkward. Walking jauntily past my garage door and driveway with no keys in my hand feels strange.
But for a few weeks now, I have been relying on my feet, and my new bike, and the local bus system for transportation. (and on my DH's car. I can't be too mexican!)
So, maybe I did manage to keep a little part of Mexico with me. If I can only speak Spanish and pretend that I'm fighting with mangy dogs and unruly taxi drivers for space, then I'd feel right at home!
Sunday, June 20, 2010
What can I say?
A lot of people - new coworkers, acquaintances, old friends, even some family members - have tried to start conversation by asking "what's it like to be back home?" or the very similar, "are you getting used to life in the states?"
Until very recently, I winced at the question.
What did people want me to say? I heard the very strong implication that I was supposed to say "It's so good to be home" implying that MI/USA alone is my home, that I disliked my time away, that it was easy to re-adjust, etc. I know most people are just making conversation, and really wanted a one or two word answer (kind of like when people ask, "how are you doing?" when they really don't care, they just need something to say after "hello").
But I don't have an easy answer. At least, not one that most people want to hear.
I wanted to scream and shout and rail against the U.S. ethnocentrism that made it difficult for Americans to understand anyone or anyplace else. I wanted to explain how I had left behind some of my very best friends. I wanted to complain about the hassle of moving with suitcases and trucks. I wanted to wax poetic about the culture of Mexico.
I wanted to do a lot of things, but I normally mumbled something like "oh, it's ok" and desperately tried not to cry.
Now, with some wise counsel, I'm ready to own my answer.
"Even though it was time to leave, I wasn't ready. We loved Mexico, and it will always be a part of our hearts. I hope you get a chance to enjoy it someday like we did."
I might cry the first thousand times I repeat it, but I can do it. I can tell people. I can accept if they nod and walk away, but I'm hoping that person after person after person will ask why I loved Mexico so much, and where they should visit, and what part will be the hardest to leave behind.
Because I want to shout loud and clear that I love Mexico, I love the people, I love the culture, I love the food. I think everyone should try to understand immigration before they make a judgment call. I think everyone should eat real tacos. I think everyone should visit Mexico - if even once in their lives - without visiting a beach or going on a mission trip. Just enjoy it like you would enjoy Paris or Cairo or Tokyo or New York City. And then come home and tell someone else.
Until very recently, I winced at the question.
What did people want me to say? I heard the very strong implication that I was supposed to say "It's so good to be home" implying that MI/USA alone is my home, that I disliked my time away, that it was easy to re-adjust, etc. I know most people are just making conversation, and really wanted a one or two word answer (kind of like when people ask, "how are you doing?" when they really don't care, they just need something to say after "hello").
But I don't have an easy answer. At least, not one that most people want to hear.
I wanted to scream and shout and rail against the U.S. ethnocentrism that made it difficult for Americans to understand anyone or anyplace else. I wanted to explain how I had left behind some of my very best friends. I wanted to complain about the hassle of moving with suitcases and trucks. I wanted to wax poetic about the culture of Mexico.
I wanted to do a lot of things, but I normally mumbled something like "oh, it's ok" and desperately tried not to cry.
Now, with some wise counsel, I'm ready to own my answer.
"Even though it was time to leave, I wasn't ready. We loved Mexico, and it will always be a part of our hearts. I hope you get a chance to enjoy it someday like we did."
I might cry the first thousand times I repeat it, but I can do it. I can tell people. I can accept if they nod and walk away, but I'm hoping that person after person after person will ask why I loved Mexico so much, and where they should visit, and what part will be the hardest to leave behind.
Because I want to shout loud and clear that I love Mexico, I love the people, I love the culture, I love the food. I think everyone should try to understand immigration before they make a judgment call. I think everyone should eat real tacos. I think everyone should visit Mexico - if even once in their lives - without visiting a beach or going on a mission trip. Just enjoy it like you would enjoy Paris or Cairo or Tokyo or New York City. And then come home and tell someone else.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Dazed and confused
My eyes glazed over as I looked at the options. It was just too overwhelming.
Hundreds of cuts of meat were wrapped in sterile plastic, arranged neatly on spotless white shelves, illuminated by bright lights. There were so many options, and all of them looked so disconnected from each other. There was so much space and so much cleanliness that the meat locker at Meijer reminded me of a morgue or a museum.
It was all too much.
Now, I have to admit, I have never really liked meat shopping. And, while in Mexico, I never did work up the courage to buy my meat from the butcher at the outdoor market who would cut a chunk off of a dangling carcas and wrap it in plain paper. Still, the shock of grocery shopping finally caught up with me.
I miss Mexico.
I miss walking to the outdoor market, carrying my cloth bags and a pocket full of coins. I miss the smell of fresh tortillas and tamales and roasted corn and tacos al pastor while we're shopping. I miss driving to the supermarket and hiding my reusable bags in my purse bc I wasn't allowed to bring them in. I miss tipping the bagger and buying water and getting really excited at the pick-your-own pastries counter.
Here at Meijer, I had to buy a cake for 20. And it probably wasn't made in the bakery right there. The tortillas were full of preservatives in the refrigerated section. The salsa was so pathetic, I didn't even look, lest I get more depressed.
In my Mexican History class, we read an article exerpt from the 18th century explaining how Mexico City was the place for upper-class Europeans to visit. The colors were so unlike anything in drab Europe: the food, the dishes, the clothing, the flowers, the sunshine, the buildings, everything is bright with colors. And during the dry season, when it seems God has turned the world to gray, Mexican mujeres will still wear bright red scarfs and the men will paint their houses yellow, as if by coloring their world they can bring the rain sooner.
Now that I'm surrounded by green forests, and clean rain, and quiet nights, I'm still missing the colors and sound and feel of Mexico.
Maybe I will for a long time to come.
Hundreds of cuts of meat were wrapped in sterile plastic, arranged neatly on spotless white shelves, illuminated by bright lights. There were so many options, and all of them looked so disconnected from each other. There was so much space and so much cleanliness that the meat locker at Meijer reminded me of a morgue or a museum.
It was all too much.
Now, I have to admit, I have never really liked meat shopping. And, while in Mexico, I never did work up the courage to buy my meat from the butcher at the outdoor market who would cut a chunk off of a dangling carcas and wrap it in plain paper. Still, the shock of grocery shopping finally caught up with me.
I miss Mexico.
I miss walking to the outdoor market, carrying my cloth bags and a pocket full of coins. I miss the smell of fresh tortillas and tamales and roasted corn and tacos al pastor while we're shopping. I miss driving to the supermarket and hiding my reusable bags in my purse bc I wasn't allowed to bring them in. I miss tipping the bagger and buying water and getting really excited at the pick-your-own pastries counter.
Here at Meijer, I had to buy a cake for 20. And it probably wasn't made in the bakery right there. The tortillas were full of preservatives in the refrigerated section. The salsa was so pathetic, I didn't even look, lest I get more depressed.
In my Mexican History class, we read an article exerpt from the 18th century explaining how Mexico City was the place for upper-class Europeans to visit. The colors were so unlike anything in drab Europe: the food, the dishes, the clothing, the flowers, the sunshine, the buildings, everything is bright with colors. And during the dry season, when it seems God has turned the world to gray, Mexican mujeres will still wear bright red scarfs and the men will paint their houses yellow, as if by coloring their world they can bring the rain sooner.
Now that I'm surrounded by green forests, and clean rain, and quiet nights, I'm still missing the colors and sound and feel of Mexico.
Maybe I will for a long time to come.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words
At the final faculty party, the teachers who were leaving received presents from the board. (It is kind of telling that in a staff of 8, it's normal for 3 teachers to leave each year)
These are handcrafted pewter frames from a town near where we lived. Thankfully I had room in my tight suitcases for a 5-pound picture frame!
My last day was a week before the end of school. (I just couldn't stay for such an emotional week. it was too much.) I tried to get a picture with every kid, but
2 left before I got the camera out.
7th & 8th graders (missing D)
9th & 10th graders (with everyone!)
11th & 12th graders (missing B)
After school, my best teacher friends - the ones at the apartments who hosted me for 5 weeks over my last 2 months in Mexico - took Dave & I out to dinner. This was a delicious restaurant and a bittersweet time together.
This restaurant was full of witty quotes. They're all in Spanish, of course, so I won't share all of my pictures. (Dave says that one in the men's bathroom, above the urinal, said "the future of Mexico is in your hands" which I honestly thought was hilarious)
Much money, little work, cheap tequila - long live Mexico!t
These are handcrafted pewter frames from a town near where we lived. Thankfully I had room in my tight suitcases for a 5-pound picture frame!
My last day was a week before the end of school. (I just couldn't stay for such an emotional week. it was too much.) I tried to get a picture with every kid, but
2 left before I got the camera out.
7th & 8th graders (missing D)
9th & 10th graders (with everyone!)
11th & 12th graders (missing B)
After school, my best teacher friends - the ones at the apartments who hosted me for 5 weeks over my last 2 months in Mexico - took Dave & I out to dinner. This was a delicious restaurant and a bittersweet time together.
This restaurant was full of witty quotes. They're all in Spanish, of course, so I won't share all of my pictures. (Dave says that one in the men's bathroom, above the urinal, said "the future of Mexico is in your hands" which I honestly thought was hilarious)
Much money, little work, cheap tequila - long live Mexico!t
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Culture Shock
There are officially 5 stages of culture shock: anticipation, excitement, negotiation, adjustment, and mastery. Unfortunately, 60% of expats never master the new culture. 10% of expats master the new culture so well that they choose to stay, basically forever.
"Some people manage to adapt the aspects of the host culture they see as positive, while keeping some of their own and creating their unique blend. They have no major problems returning home or relocating elsewhere. Approximately 30% of expatriates are these so-called Cosmopolitans." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Culture_shock)
I guess we're 'cosmopolitan'.
So, of the 90% of expats who return home, most of us go through something called 'reverse culture shock'. Basically, getting used to our old country is nearly as unsettling as getting used to the new country. Most Americans are unsettled by this. People think that we're not very American if we don't immediately re-adjust to our 'old' life or our 'real' life here.
Truthfully, culture is all-encompassing fact of life. We have to get used to dozens of lifestyle changes here:
air conditioning
rain then sun then clouds then drizzle then half sun
cruise control
early morning sunrises and late night sunsets
hockey (not soccer) all over the news
mowing the lawn
expensive restaurants
daily mail
and new jobs, just to name a few.
So... I miss Mexico. 2 years ago, I thought I'd be so happy to see this day, and I am in a way. When we came home for our 6 month visit, I was trying to fill my days with US things and my Spanish was all but forgotten. Last summer, we were in the US and England for over a month, and I forgot some Spanish and didn't miss tacos. 6 months ago, I had a hard time NOT eating avocados with Christmas dinner. Now, I miss my friends, and my beautiful rented house, and the delicious food, and the warm sunshine, and the challenge of speaking another language. I'm sad from leaving my kids and saying good bye to my friends; I'm exhausted from unpacking and cleaning our house while starting a new job.
I'm hopeful that we can bring our Mexican personalities and habits and - can I claim it - culture will come with us to the U.S.
"Some people manage to adapt the aspects of the host culture they see as positive, while keeping some of their own and creating their unique blend. They have no major problems returning home or relocating elsewhere. Approximately 30% of expatriates are these so-called Cosmopolitans." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Culture_shock)
I guess we're 'cosmopolitan'.
So, of the 90% of expats who return home, most of us go through something called 'reverse culture shock'. Basically, getting used to our old country is nearly as unsettling as getting used to the new country. Most Americans are unsettled by this. People think that we're not very American if we don't immediately re-adjust to our 'old' life or our 'real' life here.
Truthfully, culture is all-encompassing fact of life. We have to get used to dozens of lifestyle changes here:
air conditioning
rain then sun then clouds then drizzle then half sun
cruise control
early morning sunrises and late night sunsets
hockey (not soccer) all over the news
mowing the lawn
expensive restaurants
daily mail
and new jobs, just to name a few.
So... I miss Mexico. 2 years ago, I thought I'd be so happy to see this day, and I am in a way. When we came home for our 6 month visit, I was trying to fill my days with US things and my Spanish was all but forgotten. Last summer, we were in the US and England for over a month, and I forgot some Spanish and didn't miss tacos. 6 months ago, I had a hard time NOT eating avocados with Christmas dinner. Now, I miss my friends, and my beautiful rented house, and the delicious food, and the warm sunshine, and the challenge of speaking another language. I'm sad from leaving my kids and saying good bye to my friends; I'm exhausted from unpacking and cleaning our house while starting a new job.
I'm hopeful that we can bring our Mexican personalities and habits and - can I claim it - culture will come with us to the U.S.
Done
Our time in Mexico is officially "done".
We packed up our beautiful house, and returned our "fancy" car. I ate all the Mexican food and gave away my used clothes. I cleaned out my classroom and sold my Mexico phone.
I completed an exit interview and took pictures with my kids and hugged my friends and got on a plane and flew away.
After months of answering, "so when are you really coming home?" and weeks of living out of suitcases, and days of waking up and wondering where I am, the truth has finally come.
We live here now. We're not going back (anytime soon)
This is our house. My books are on the shelf and my shoes are in the closet and my water bottle is on the bedside table. Dave installed the flooring and I painted the walls and the only thing on our shelves that we didn't pick out ourselves is a kerosene lamp left by the last owner which I can't throw away because of some sort of sentimental value.
Our suitcases are stored in a closet somewhere.
Our passports are in the safe.
My calendar is filling up with "Michigan things" like birthday parties and the farmer's market and bike rides. There aren't any "Mexican things" like spanish class or hotel reservations.
I'm not going back. (well, not anytime soon.)
And it's just not that easy to walk away from a perfectly good life.
We packed up our beautiful house, and returned our "fancy" car. I ate all the Mexican food and gave away my used clothes. I cleaned out my classroom and sold my Mexico phone.
I completed an exit interview and took pictures with my kids and hugged my friends and got on a plane and flew away.
After months of answering, "so when are you really coming home?" and weeks of living out of suitcases, and days of waking up and wondering where I am, the truth has finally come.
We live here now. We're not going back (anytime soon)
This is our house. My books are on the shelf and my shoes are in the closet and my water bottle is on the bedside table. Dave installed the flooring and I painted the walls and the only thing on our shelves that we didn't pick out ourselves is a kerosene lamp left by the last owner which I can't throw away because of some sort of sentimental value.
Our suitcases are stored in a closet somewhere.
Our passports are in the safe.
My calendar is filling up with "Michigan things" like birthday parties and the farmer's market and bike rides. There aren't any "Mexican things" like spanish class or hotel reservations.
I'm not going back. (well, not anytime soon.)
And it's just not that easy to walk away from a perfectly good life.
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