Wearing the Guera

So, the past weeks have been fun. I saw Frida's house, went to some bars, got to see the pyramids. All great and fascinating experiences, but this post is gonna be a little more bitter. Frida was so in love with her indigenous culture, which she portrayed beautifully through her clothes and art, and so eloquently in her words. Also, visiting the pyramids, I was able to glimpse the astonishing origins of Mexico, and the honor still surrounding the noble and advanced ancestry of this country. Yet, those two instances are starting to contrast with the rest of my experience here. In California, the idea of being "brown" or indigenous is a source of pride for a lot of chicanos. People get tattoos of the Aztec sun calendar, and feel some sort of connection with an idea of the Raza, or a strong Mexican race made up of both Spanish and indigenous influences. It doesn't seem to be the same here. Granted, I'm no expert, and I've only been here like two weeks. But the value placed on being white is becoming increasingly apparent. All of the people on billboards and milk cartons, the telenovela stars. They're very light-skinned. I saw an ad on T.V. the other day for a skin whitening cream. Then, there was this girl doing promotions at the telephone store who, to be quite honest, was a little fug. But, because she had died her hair blonde and was wearing blue contacts, they slapped a skirt on her and everyone was taking pictures with her. When I first came here, I knew that there would be cat calls due to my new exotic status as an extremely white person, but I figured, "What the hell? I can deal with attention. I like attention, I used to act for Christ's sake." But it's just sad now. It's not about being pretty, it's about being white. I get attention because I'm white. I get yells and whistles and honks in a constant stream because I'm pale and blonde. It's not complimentary, it's just this ongoing commentary on the racism in Latin America that keeps slapping me in the face. I could look like a pug that just got ran over by an 18-wheeler, and as long as I had my blonde hair intact, someone would shoot me a whistle. I walked home in the rain the other day, and cars with single men kept stopping to ask if I needed a ride. It's a nice gesture, I guess, if it wasn't so rape-y. Maybe it's the U.S. entertainment industry pushing skewed perceptions of beauty all over the world. Maybe it's left over from the days when Spanish meant status, and being white signified wealth and class. Whatever it is, it's disturbing. I hate seeing little dark-skinned girls in the metro carrying blonde, blue-eyed dolls. Dolls that look like me as a baby. I hope she bought it because it was cheap or came with more clothes, not because she thought it was prettier than the one that looked like her little sister.

Gordita

So, I plan on becoming incredibly fat. I hope nobody has an issue with that. The food here is seriously magical. Every taco stand is mouth-watering and Bourdain-worthy. The cheese is fantastic and it's in everything, just like lime, chiles, cilantro, onion, and the greatest fucking hot sauce/salsa you have ever had. There's a kiddy park and mercado thing next to my school where they sell every fried, spicy, morsel of joy you could think of. Clearly I eat there everyday with no regrets. Not to mention, there's a panderia on my way to school. The guy knows me now cuz I go there each morning to get shockingly fattening treats. The Chinese food is also surprisingly delicious. We went to chinatown and let me tell you fools, reading a Chinese menu in Spanish was probably the most difficult thing I've done so far. In class we read about import substitution industrialization and agrarian reform, but trying to figure out what they call Chow Mein here was nearly impossible. Besides tasting lovely, the city is also gorgeous. I know everyone thinks it's scary and dangerous, but they're wrong. It's surprisingly clean and gorgeous. Everything is mind-bendingly colorful, and where I live there are cobblestone streets and eucalyptus trees everywhere. Here are some pics:









P.S. Birth control= $3.50 without insurance and you don't need a prescription. I love it here.

Futbol y Wal-Mart

So, I moved in and thank the LORD JESUS, there’s a Wal-Mart supercenter down the street. For those of you who may be unaware, a Wal-Mart Supercenter is like heaven, if heaven was manufactured by 8-year olds in Taiwan. It’s awesome. They had all of my brands and shit, even my blonde people shampoo! I’m living in a single with two dudes from Berkeley, which is pretty sweet. Apparently a Japanese guy lives here too, but he’s on vacation. Ay, I’ve been going and going and I’m so freakin’ tired. Oh, so here’s a fun fact: despite the constant warnings of my travel books, friends, and advisors, the guys here don’t seem to be that interested. I promise you that walking around Berkeley, I get more shouts and whistles than I do here. Go figure. The only guy who’s made an effort so far was a fat guitar player in the mariachi band during the Ballet Folklorico de Mexico (which was fucking awesome by the way…the ballet, not the fat guy). He winked at me while he was singing and kept waving to me during his bow. What else? Oh ya, World Cup Final today. In el Zocalo, there was a giant screen and everyone was standing around watching and yelling and selling cigarettes. We went to a restaurant to watch the match and I bought my first legal drink, un jarro de cervesa. That’s right, fools. Un jarro. The street food is also awesome and delicious. So far I’ve had hot dogs with salsa and mayo (sounds gross, but it’s good) and huaraches, which are like long, fried tortilla shells with beans, cheese, lettuce, salsa, onions, and carne piled on top. Although, my housemate already got REAL sick, so I’m gonna have to watch what I get. Few setbacks, though. My phone didn’t work and I didn’t have internet, so my mom thought I was avoiding her and got all sad, and if you know my mom, you know how much that seriously blows cuz she’s probably the nicest woman alive. Also, a dude ripped me off in a cab today by getting lost on purpose to drive up the fare. Oh, and I have NO idea how to get birth control here and I’m too afraid to ask the pharmacy. Especially since my Spanish is kinda faulty. Sometimes I understand everything perfectly, but with some people’s accents, they might as well be speaking squirrel. A guy asked me if I wanted parking validation today, and I just stared like a crazy person. I’m just gonna have to keep hanging with smarter people so that they can keep translating for me. That seems like the purpose of independent study abroad, right? Using other people instead of really learning for yourself? Cool.

P.S. New REALLY annoying habit. When I drink now, I get this really heavy chola accent out of nowhere. I guess I feel like if I’m not speaking Spanish, I should act like I am or something. It’s completely ridiculous, and I think I’m doing it sober, too.

First Day

Well, today was the first day. On the airplane a 9-year-old girl asked me if I knew I was going to Mexico, and when I told her I was going for 5 months she made the same face you all made when I told you, which was quite hysterical. When we landed and went through customs I kept accidentally speaking English to people and they had no clue what I was saying. It’s surprisingly hard to get used to that. When I checked into my hotel, the guy who helped me with my bags talks to me like I’m a dog from Saturn who only understands strange and awkward gestures and he was a…well, a confused and mute Mexican guy. I think that might become a norm for me here. People are gonna assume I don’t know Spanish and since they don’t know English, they’ll point at things and feel just as uncomfortable as I am. So, after the welcome dinner, a couple of girls decide to go out so we hit the streets. We get to this one club (where we get in for free but the guy tried to charge us for leaving) and I figure, “fuck ya, I’m an awesome dancer. Like, for a white girl, my shit be impressive. I got this.” No. Wrong. My shit is NOT impressive. Like 12 dudes wanted to dance with me when I was dancing alone, and when I agreed to dance with one of them, he was the last one who asked. It was that atrocious. I’ve never had a guy do the “wait until the end of the song, say thanks, bow and walk away.” Until tonight. He kind of laughed at me and was clearly disappointed that the white girl was kinda cute but danced… well, like a white girl. Do you know how HARD that shit is? It’s like side to side and back and forth and the freakin spins are like IMPOSSIBLE and I think I got hit in the face/elbowed a few people trying to do it. It went from “oooh look at that white girl” to like “eeew haha look at that white girl.” Oh, and you’ll all be glad to note that I made my first mistake today. I told a dude I was from the U.S. and all of the girls (who, of course, are like expert spinny salsa dancing goddesses from Michoacan) immediately jump on me for revealing my foreign-ness, cuz all Mexican guys think that American girls are uber sluts. To which I reply, look at my snowy, polarbear like complexion. They all know. And they say, no, say you’re from Coyoacan, there’s tons of gueras there. So that’s settled then. Basically the first day has gone like this: I’ll be fine, I’m gonna die, I got this shit in the bag, what the fuck am I doing, it’s okay cuz people will excuse me if I try to look cute, but NOT if I reveal my rhythm-less whiteness. So, all in all, good first day.

Oh Shit

So, I'm leaving tomorrow and it really hasn't hit me yet. Foreign country, entire semester? Nope, not really sinking in. My poor family is bearing the brunt of my fear, though. God bless 'em. Each question they ask involves some new detail I haven't thought of yet. Which bank am I going to? Do I have to dial the country code if my cell phone number is the same? Where am I living? Okay, they are all fair questions and I should be able to answer all of them, but I am shockingly underprepared and every time they ask me something, my ineptitude is slapped in my face. So I've been a little snappy. I apologize. Though I have been learning valuable life lessons, and I haven't even left yet! For example, apparently I dress like a giant slut and no one has ever told me. I don't mean like a 9 foot-tall slut, but a particularly outrageous one. They're a bit more conservative in Mexico, and as I've been packing I have come to the realization that cleavage plays a vital role in every outfit I have ever worn. It's as if I'm afraid that nobody will know I'm a chick unless I have a giant, grand canyon-like line down my chest. Awesome. I'm hoping that's not a big problem, but I'm kind of expecting the worst. I've already been warned that male attention will be an issue, and as I re-evaluate my fashion sense, I now see that male attention is kind of the pot of gold at the end of my low-cut, v-neck skanky rainbow. These are the worries I'm focusing on. Not how to get pesos, but how to cover up my chesticles. I'm a class act. Hopefully I get out of the airport without being kidnapped and murdered, then maybe I can do another little entry. Peace out.