Writing from Monterrey

Armed with only clumsy and sluggish Spanish, I tried to convince the Mexican guard at the airport to give me a six week visa. After awkwardly repeating what I believed to mean “me like six week” several times to him in Spanish and getting nowhere, I settled for the ten days he was willing to grant.

The other international students and I were kindly picked up at the airport and brought to the university, Tecnológico de Monterrey, which was nothing short of a high-class petting zoo. Peacocks, deer, ducks, and all were peacefully strolling about the campus grounds. “Neat!” I thought, until I discovered what peacock dung smeared between the soul of my shoe and the ceramic-tiled ground looked like.

Our first week at Monterrey was filled with fun activities, orientation sessions, and excursions galore. Nightlife was dominated by crazy and wild inebriation followed by some drunk dancing that varied from gentle swaying to violent convulsions. There was music involved too. Distracted by the flurry of excitement, we quickly forgot about our visas. It was not too long, however, until hell broke loose among the ten-dayers (some were fortunate enough to get 30 day visas) as we scrambled to fill out and turn in all of the necessary paperwork. Traveling tip: always get your visa before your trip. Or, don’t be a ten-dayer.



Though I’ve visited other parts of Mexico before, I have only seen the insane driving style that has, to me, become one of Mexico’s defining characteristics. Daily use of Monterrey’s taxi and bus service was a novel experience for me. I found out how to hurl myself off a bus and land running when it approached my stop, since the bus never truly came to a halt unless someone was getting on. Equally important was jumping onto a taxi within fractions of seconds, unless I wanted to feel for a second time what being dragged across the street while hanging out of a cab was like. My “friends” who were already in the taxi thought it quite amusing, but my still scraped and bruised leg tell a different story. I’m glad the school required us to have health coverage.

One night as I was crossing the only street between the residence and the Oxxo, I was forced into a game of chicken. My rival? Three steely teenagers in a rusted sedan. Now I’m not one to back down from a good game of chicken, but when it’s human versus gigantic metal car and I’m the human, I’m out. Almost being run over simply highlighted the fact that pedestrians do not have right of way here. Also, traffic laws are more like suggestions than they are laws. I’ve gotten used to the fact that red lights equal stop signs and stop signs equal green lights. Despite the prevalence of police here, traffic control is nonexistent.



Rather than waste precious time on something as frivolous as traffic safety, the police concentrate their efforts on preventing foreigners from taking pictures; and on several occasions, I was curtly asked to put my camera away. Becoming irritated with such unnecessary stringency, I snuck in a picture of the policía themselves and then ran for it.

One of the things that I love about Mexico is the friendliness of the people. They are always more than willing to help and have a disturbing abundance of patience and caring. Whether I am attempting to learn a new Salsa move or trying to purchase a strange-looking food item from the local street vendor, interactions here are unbelievably pleasant. It is this friendliness that I will miss most when I return to the States, and this, among many other reasons, is what makes me want to return to Mexico. I sincerely hope that I will have another chance to study at Tecnológico de Monterrey in the future.

The picture below shows a night scene that frames my friends and myself. From left to right: the in-the-know fashion buff, the multilingual Canadian goddess, the hip-and-happenin’ local, and the shorts-wearing extranjero (me). Mexico is a human oven and how people wear anything but shorts is beyond me.

Writing from Costa Rica

Today I went with 3 friends from Canada to Playa Buena Vista, which my mama tica told me was one kilometer away. After walking for half an hour, we met a woman on the way who told us we were still about a mile away, so the estimating was a little off, but it was a great walk. On the way, we saw (and heard) a lot of howler monkeys hanging from trees (and power lines too, which was a little disturbing. It looked like an anachronism... if that's the right word for that). We saw some newborn calves and horses on the way too, one of which ran up next to Jacklyn as if to pose for a picture and as soon as the shutter closed he ran off.



We had to cross a river before we could get to the actual ocean, which by the way, was bright orange. I guess it's from the silt in the river that flows out into the ocean, but it looked extremely bizarre. We had all been told separately, by Tyrone at the school and our respective Tico parents that if the river was over our knees, we shouldn't cross because of the crocodiles. I just kind of hoped they were exaggerating or joking, but when we got to the river (which was also bright orange and you couldnt see the bottom of it), we all hesitated before we crossed it. All of a sudden some random Tico comes out from the trees and we asked him if it was dangerous to cross, but he didn't answer because he had a place for a trachea tube and couldn't talk, but he led us across the river, so we assumed it was okay.



Once on the other side, we were the only ones on the whole beach which is about 4 kilometers long except for a few people who were on the other end who camp out to volunteer with the turtles that come there to keep them safe from poachers. We ate the sandwiches we brought with us, and before we finished lunch, the tide had come in so much that we had to move way back on the beach. It was at that point that we realized that the river was rising with the tide, and so we went to ask one of the volunteers about crossing the river to get back home. The conversation went something like this:



"What time is high tide?"
"2:00."
"Does the river get really high then?"
"Yes."
"But can we still cross it?"
"Yes."
"Should we still cross it?"
"No." (Notice that he didn't volunteer that information.)
"Is it dangerous to cross the river?"
"No."
"Are there really crocodiles?"
"Yes, they are 2-3 meters in size."
"Ok thanks bye!"



So there are 2-3 meter crocodiles, the tide is coming in, but it's not dangerous? Peculiar. Anyway, when we saw all the volunteers leaving we just followed them across, hoping that the crocs would eat them first if there were any hanging around. Don't worry - we all survived and caught a ride back to Samara. I'm really glad I stayed here this weekend -- I've had so much fun with my Tico family and friends. I'm going to miss them a lot!

Reporting from Salzburg

The sun came out today (probably just for today if the weatherman is right), so I decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather and go hiking.

I hoped on Bus 25 to the Untersberg, and ran into one of the girls from the hostel on the way. We both road up the cable car to the "top" of the mountain, then took off on a little adventure of our own. We walked up and down the ridge, and all the way to where you can start to see the Bavarian Alps. It was ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS!!! And of course, I was wearing a tank top and my keens, which was alright because it was about 60 degrees up there. But there was still a lot of snow, and I walked through a bunch of it in my sandals I know, I'm crazy, but it was a lot of fun.

I did get a bit of a sunburn, but that and the cold feet were a small price to pay for such a beautiful day. I wish I could live up there -- I didn't want to come back down.

But the pizza at the hostel was calling my name...

>> See Hannah's blog

Writing from Morocco

Rachel in front of a mosaic at the Hassan II mosque in Casablance, the 3rd largest mosque in the world.

I can't believe it's already been a week here in Rabat! There are so many things to say, I don't know where to start. Let's see, here are some of the most different things about being here:

1) The call to prayer: five times a day, every day, men all over the city (and the country, and the Islamic world, in fact) call out to summont eh faithful to remember their duty to God and to pray. They all sing out at the same time and it sounds both beautiful and strange at the same time.

2) Cold water: We have to turn on the gas if we want warm water, and then only do it for showers. And showers don't come often. Usually people don't shower at their homes, they go to the hamman, which is a communal showering place. I went with my host sister and some friends the other day, and let's just say it was an experience. Very naked and very hot. I'm sure I'll return on occasion, but for now am more please with the hose we have upstairs in a tiled room meant for the rare cleaning moments.

3) Languages: and I definitely mean the plural in this case. People here speak Arabic, but not usually Fus'ha or classical arabic, it's called Dharija. This is a dialect that is unique to Morocco and is the only language the everyone speaks. Otherwise, some know Fus'ha Arabic from school and many know French, as this is a French colony after all. My host family is fairly well educated, so they all understand French (though I don't speak it very well yet). There are also several people from farther north that speak Spanish ... so pretty much, I'm just confused all the time so far. But it works somehow!

I guess that leaves me to my family: My dad works nights as a police dispatcher and my mom stays home most of the time, as women tend to do. She doesn't wear the hijab, or veil, and it's totally normal here to either cover your head or not, it's up to you. I have a 20 year old sister, Meryam, who speaks pretty decent English because she had an American sister last semester, too. She's the only girl and is very happy to have another female to stay with her when it's not safe for us to go out. I would hate being a Moroccan woman! As an American, it's acceptable for me to go out on my own, but Meryam has to ask permission from her father or brothers, and most of the time the answer is no...unless it's during the day and she's going to school or meeting up with her best friend, Asmaa, who also speaks English.

Brothers are great, though! I have Dreess, who is 24, Omar-22, and Issam-17. They are all super nice to me, even though I can barely communicate with them in French and Dharija, and they keep reinforcing to me that they are my brothers and want to protect me. Dreess is especially great, and we are constantly laughing.

Parties: Friday night, my siblings threw a party here for me and my American friends and it was so much fun! The older boys work in electronics and have built tons of lights, etc to make the living room, or salon, look like a discotheque! Dreess DJs and the rest of us danced, and it was a load of fun. The best part was that evidently my host father doesn't want them to have parties, but my mom says it's ok, so they all wait until the dad leaves for work and then scramble to move furniture and put the equipment together. It's hilarious, really.

Then last night, my brothers took me and 3 female friends to a discotheque, which was also an experience. Male female realtions here are totally different than in the states, but I'm not at all intimidated. The streets are strange because it's actually cultural for men to stalk women in the streets and we all know people here who met their spouses in this manner. They just make sounds and try to get us to say hello mostly, but sometimes it's borderline harassment, so we've all learned to ignore most of the stalking but then also we have useful phrases up our sleeves to get the point across. I usually wear my fake engagement ring, too, which can scare many a suitor from my path.

Anyway, I digress. Classes are going fine and so far consist of beginning Dharija/Fus'ha and a seminar on Gender and Religion as well as prepartion for the big research project I'll work on in April. My teachers are wonderful and supportive and the school is incredibly beautiful. I love living and studying in the Medina, or old center, of Rabat and can't wait to be able to navigate the winding streets without being totally confused. Markets, or souqs, are everywhere, and there is just too much hitting my senses to be able to relate at this point.

>> See Rachel's blog

Two weeks in Mexico

I was priviledged to learn Spanish for two weeks at Español Universal in Guanajuato, Mexico. The school is small but extremely well-staffed. My teacher revealed that he was a retired mining engineer who, after taking classes in France at a similar school to Español Universal, decided to retire and become a Spanish teacher.

Guanajuato has a rich and vibrant lifestyle. The people spend much of their time outside enjoying the temperate weather and beautiful skies. A large amount of tourist traffic makes the city easy to navigate. Despite the obvious international presence, the city continues to preserve the traditions of the original population.

The Christmas season allows glimpses of several traditions. Las Posadas (inns in Spanish) falls on the nine days before Christmas. Neighbors gather to walk down their streets, stopping at designated houses while carrying a nativity scene. The pedestrians represent Joseph and Mary looking for an inn on the night of Jesus' birth. The neighbors sing an ancient song of the plight of the mother and father. The inhabitants of the house echo the long ago replies of the inn keepers throughout Jerusalem, informing Mary and Joseph that the inn is full and that the couple must search for another place. The procession ends at the home of the person who accepts the "couple." A large party follows with piñatas for the children and sweets for all.

The celebration of Christmas is publicly acclaimed with nativity scenes in the parks and plazas. I appreciate most that the true reason for the Christmas celebration, the birth of Jesus Christ, is the highlight of the season in Mexico.