HOME!

Two thousand eight hundred miles - from the center of México to the northwestern United States - through nopal and encino, grasslands, pinyon and juniper, sagebrush and bitterbrush and lupine country - winding through craggy mountains and driving straight across vast expanses of high desert - the landscape that stretches between Guanajuato and Idaho is spectacular, and during the week of our road trip home it was singing of spring.

We crested Timmerman Hill on Saturday evening, the valley radiant in the slanting light, and our hearts soared. Even as we miss our new friends and the colors, language, and culture of Guanajuato, it is good to be home in Idaho.

On the Road

I have driven more over the past 48 hours than I did the entire five months we were in México. Mainly, we walked everywhere in México, and when we did drive, the tight roads and tunnels disposed me to leave the technical driving to my fearless husband. Now, back in the U.S.A., I'm logging a lot of miles as we roll through the grassy hills of central Texas and Oklahoma, the flat plains of western Texas, the stunning plateau country of northern New Mexico, and the rugged and amazingly green mountains of southern Colorado. Tonight we are perched high above a sweeping pinyon and juniper landscape and under a half-moon in Mesa Verde National Park. The sagebrush, bluebirds, and spring runoff-full rivers tell me I'm on my way home.

El Otro Lado

On Monday morning, we climbed the hills above Guanajuato one more time - saying good-bye to Felix, a friend we made over the last couple of months as we crossed paths in the hills each morning. He gave us some beautiful purple and white crystals from one of the Guanajuato mines where he had worked; we gave him a CSI and a TNC t-shirt. All of the good-byes last week were difficult, even as we have been excited about the imminent return home. We feel so privileged to have met such kind and generous people who we now are grateful to count as friends.

Monday we drove just 4.5 hours to Matehuala. Today we drove 5.5 hours from Matehuala to Nuevo Laredo, where we crossed the border into the U.S.A. The whole drive was beautiful, between the tall and craggy mountains around Monterrey, through long high plains of varied cactus and nopal. We periodically passed small groups of women waiting quietly in the shade of a tree along the highway; men riding bikes and burros through long stretches of desert; food stands made of wood and corrugated metal, where gorditas and refrescos were for sale. Many pick-up trucks and SUVs were heading in the opposite direction, south, loaded past the brim with all kinds of luggage and appliances and bikes - It looked like families moving back to México.

The trip went smoothly; at Nuevo Laredo, we waited in line for less than 30 minutes (in 100 degree heat!) to cross the border. The only drama was that on Sunday, as we made the final preparations to begin the road trip home, Bill the Dog sliced his paw on a shard of glass in the hills and had to get two rows of stitches. This did, however, grant him privileges to ride in the cab of the truck.

Now we are in Austin, Texas. The money is green, rather then pink and blue and orange. The streets are wide. The buildings are surrounded by grass. We bought cupcakes at Whole Foods Market. We are feeling a bit bewildered.

We have crossed the border back to the north, the other side. The physical transition is clear and done. But inside, I keep going back and forth, thinking about what is happening on the crooked, colorful callejones of Guanajuato, wondering what Jesús and Juan Carlos and Diana and Marta and Paty are doing right now.

Family

After five months here in Guanajuato, we discovered that Mark has a cousin living and running a restaurant in nearby San Miguel de Allende. Wow! Jason is chef and part-owner of Café Rama, a hip bistro serving creative local and organic cuisine, just around the corner from the Allende Institute. We are sure it is the hottest place to eat in town. Jason had just returned to México after a month break during the San Miguel slack season. His family lives in Canada, and Jason himself had been living in France until several years ago. Mark had not seen him for more than a decade. We were thrilled and amazed to re-connect with him here in México.

As we prepare to make the trip back to Idaho, we are grateful for all of the friends and family that we have encountered during our wonderful sojourn in Guanajuato. Mi casa es tu casa - We have felt that friendship and hospitality.

English Class at the Escuela Normal

In addition to the literature class at the Universidad de Guanajuato, I have been team-teaching an English class for English teachers. Mark and two excellent U.S. students helped with the class. Last night was our final class meeting, and we had a de traje (potluck) party. The opportunity to teach this class developed serendipitously through a connection with an education consultant from Oregon who was here in Guanajuato helping the Secretariat de Educación Pública develop its program for providing English language instruction to children at the kindergarten and primary school levels. This English course was designed to help the English teachers improve their own English language skills and to help them develop strategies for teaching English effectively. The class met twice a week at the Escuela Normal, a stately, rose-colored ex-convent building. Going to class here felt like an occasion. I loved walking across the spacious, tiled courtyards and up the wide, white staircases to the room that never had an eraser for the whiteboard.

I loved teaching this class. The teachers showed such enthusiasm and dedication to improving their skills for the sake of their students. They taught me a lot about the education system here in México. And we shared a lot of laughs over funny word pronunciations - mine in Spanish, theirs in English. There is something about communicating across languages that can be a great bonding experience. What we lack in words we make up for in earnestness.

El Charco del Ingenio

Outside of San Miguel de Allende, el Charco del Ingenio botanical garden protects a beautiful array of la naturaleza y la flora mexicana: maguey; nopal; and all kinds of cactus, from small buttons that nestle close to the ground to towering sentinels that seem to guard the silence of the desert. The dry chaparral landscape is cut by a narrow canyon, vibrantly green from a small stream. Deep in the canyon, a pool (el charco from which the garden takes its name) is said to be inhabited by an ancient and powerful spirit. A great egret, brilliantly white, quietly stalked its edges.

Cristo Rey

One can get one's bearings in Guanajuato by looking up to the tallest mountain in the area, el Cerro de Cubilete, and the towering statue of Christ that looks out over the broad valley of the Bajío. The 20-meter tall bronze statue, erected in 1950, stands on a globe flanked by two cherubs, one holding a crown of thorns, the other a crown of victory. It is on the highest peak in the area, and it is rumored to be the geographical center of México. A Catholic bishop envisioned the statue in the early 1900s as a way to ensure peace and to foster faith here in the heart of México. (There is chisme - gossip - about where the statue's gaze is directed, according to which city gave more money to the project.) The statue is second only to the one in Rio de Janeiro as the world's largest image of Christ. The site, up a long, winding, climbing road, draws many pilgrims, sometimes thousands at a time, though the afternoon of our visit was quiet. Recently, a man (wearing a white cowboy hat, a snap shirt, and Wrangler jeans) told me about his annual trip to Cristo Rey on horseback. In the first week of January, during the days that honor the three kings of the Nativity story, thousands of horsemen from around México convene to make a trek up the mountain to Cristo Rey. The tradition celebrates their charro (cowboy) heritage, and demonstrates their devotion to God.

Bag of Lemonade, Cup of Corn

It has been hot here in Guanajuato - 90+ degrees fahrenheit. A bag of cold lemonade in the shade of the jardín offers the perfect relief. Fruity aguas in a bag are popular here: the vendor in the Michoacana ice cream store ladles the juice from a big, ice-filled vat and pours it into a plastic bag. It is a fun and surprisingly handy way to take a drink.

But the elote is easiest to eat from a cup. Corn on the cob is another popular street food: slathered with cream or mayonnaise and sprinkled with hot chiles. On the cob it is messy. The kernels shaved into a cup are easier to manage. But any way you eat it, it is tasty.

As we near the end of our stay here in Guanajuato, we are busy eating our way through the streets, tasting the ubiquitous street foods that we have not yet tried. Still on the list: Dorilocos - a bag of Doritos cut open, the chips topped with some combination of cabbage, chiles, cheese, lime juice, hot sauce. Do we dare?!

Aves

". . . the magic of birds, how they bridge cultures and continents with their wings, how they mediate between heaven and earth."
- Terry Tempest Williams, Refuge

As the sun rose pink above the Sierra de Santa Rosa, we followed Chava through the encino trees and brushy meadows, looking and listening for birds. We learned new names for familiar friends: the robin is primavera; the barn swallow is golondrina. And Chava introduced us to new birds: the carpintero melanerpes formicivorus (acorn woodpecker) with its red-capped head and gleaming black back; the ojito de lumbre junco phaeonotus (yellow-eyed junco) with its red-splashed back and bright eye set in yellow. And I thought of the red-winged blackbirds and the sandhill cranes calling out to the morning along Silver Creek, at home.

Variations on the Theme of Tacos

Start with one corn tortilla, thick and the size of a small plate - or two small thin ones, doubled-up. Fill them with seasoned meats, shredded or diced - beef bistek or arrachera or barbacoa or lengua (tongue), or fried fish or shrimp, or pork cochinita pibil or pastor (my favorite, with a nick of pineapple). Top them with a combination of fresh cilantro, onions, red or green salsa, guacamole, and always a squeeze of limón. Fold them in half. Eat three, or four, or five. . . . ¡Provecho!

Teatro Juarez

¡Nos encontramos en la escalera de Teatro Juarez!
Let's meet on the steps of Teatro Juarez!

This grandiose building, fronted by a long set of steps, stately columns, and statues of the muses, sits at one end of Guanajuato's central plaza. Its steps provide a perfect meeting place. It was built at the beginning of the 1900s, in the latter part of Porfirio Diaz's thirty year reign as president of México, and it reflects his extravagance. Inside, the theater is lush with intricate copper railings, red carpets, gleaming wooden seats, and glowing lights.

On Saturday night, we attended a performance by the a capella group Voz en Punto. They sang traditional Mexican songs and jazz classics and the wonderful Bésame Mucho. I felt like I should be dressed in silk and pearls and perhaps a feathered boa.

More Reading Lists

Over the past 16 weeks, the students in my literature class at the Universidad de Guanajuato have read The Professor's House by Willa Cather, Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner, The Chinchilla Farm by Judith Freeman, and Refuge by Terry Tempest Williams. They have also expanded my own reading list, as they have told me about the research they are doing for their licenciatura and maestría theses. Just a few of the recommended authors and works include:

Amadis de Gaula (14th century; unknown author, though partly attributed to Garci Rodriguez de Montalvo) - A story of chivalric romance in Spain. This work is not Mexican, but one of my students is studying the medieval literature of knights and chivalry, based, of course, in Spanish literature. This book precedes and is satirized in Don Quijote.

Gilberto Owen (1904-1952; Sinaloa, México) - poet (and diplomat!); part of the Mexican poetic school called "los contemporáneos." Poetry collections include Perseo vencido (1948).

Juan José Arreola (1918-2001; Jalisco, México) - a master of the short story, known for his experimental language and use of fantasy and magical realism. One prominent collection of his short stories is Confabulario (1952).

Inés Arredondo (1928-1989; Sinaloa, México) - perhaps the greatest Mexican woman short-story writer of the 20th century, and yet my student who is writing her thesis on this author cannot obtain her books - they are largely out of print - and so this student is working from photocopies. One short story collection is Río subteráneo (1979).

And right now I am reading El llano en llamas (The Field in Flames, 1953) by Juan Rulfo, which is considered one of the most important works in Mexican literature. The short stories are set in the dry, rugged, and lonely countryside of Jalisco, México, and they relate desperate tales of the campesinos at the time of the Mexican revolution and la Guerra Cristera. They are haunting stories, sometimes darkly humorous, that cast an unflinching eye on rural poverty and forgotten people.

You Never Know When You'll See a Burro. . .

The burros work hard in Guanajuato. We see them on the hillsides, highways, and narrow callejónes. They carry all kinds of burdens: bundles of sticks and piles of bags of soil. Their large brown eyes look patiently ahead.

A Mexican legend tells of two famous professors from México City at the turn of the century visiting a pueblo in order to conduct meteorological studies. They note that the town is populated by more burros than people, and that the animals are treated with great respect. They find this quaint - but then the professors discover that the burros can predict the weather more accurately than they can. For example, one burro enters the stable and neighs three times when it is going to rain, and he is always right. The story ends with the rhyme: "A, E, I, O, U / El burro sabe / más que tú" (the burro knows more than you).

La Ley de Herodes

It is 1949, and a very low-level, loyal, and innocuous political party member is promoted from his job as a janitor to a municipal mayor in a remote and dusty town (that he has never seen), where a series of mayors have met a brutal demise from their constituents. The new mayor arrives eager and innocent, with intentions to close the brothel and re-build the school. But power seduces him. . . . This Mexican political satire, a 1999 film, is comic and tragic, and it seems to resonate with people across socioeconomic strata - and it applies just as well to politics in other parts of the world. "Herod's Law" - loosely translated from the crass slang saying in Spanish - means that one way or another, you get screwed.

Embajadoras Esta Mañana

This morning, as we walked down the road into town to do our Sunday morning produce shopping, Mark commented that it had been a little while since we had encountered a wild surprise in the streets of Guanajuato - a parade of chain-mail wearing medieval knights juggling fire, for example, or a pilgrimage of men wearing purple robes, as we have seen during various celebrations and festivals here. The streets of Guanajuato always are lively, but sometimes they are exceptionally so.

Then we turned the corner to the Embajadoras market.

The street was blocked by a truck with a tiger in a cage, advertising a circus that had come to town. Beyond the truck, between the regular jumble of vendors selling beans, avocados, ice cream, and t-shirts, the street was lined with dozens of dancers in brilliantly-colored indigenous costumes and incredible headdresses. They danced in two lines to music of drums and rattles, but also infused with the melodies of flutes that were being played for an adjacent group of dancers: children wearing masks and re-enacting a bullfight. At the center of the plaza stood a magnificent floral altar topped with a pretty statue of the Virgencita, an homage to the Virgin Mary during this month that is devoted to her. The altar stood in front of a stage where a band played popular Mexican songs as well as "Ghost Riders in the Sky" on electric instruments plus a gourd. Inside the market, a brass band squeezed between cilantro, plátanos, mangos, and jitomates to play marching music.

All of this, within an area the size of a Costco. Hooray for Sunday shopping at Embajadoras!

Raices: Roots

On the other side of the mountains to the south and east of Guanajuato, the cuenca (watershed) drains into the Río Laja. As in the West of the U.S.A., water is scarce in the high desert lands of central México. It is a beautiful landscape of gnarled mezquite and huizache shrubs and stately cardón and nopal cactus. But the land also suffers from erosion and soil depletion from a long history of grazing.

Historically, much of the land in this area and throughout México was part of ejidos, communal indigenous properties. In an ejido, members of the community each own their own parcel of land, but they also share a large area in common, and they can all use this land for various purposes, including grazing and gathering nopal and other plants. Decisions about this land are made by a council of ejido members. In recent years, there has been a trend for young members of ejidos to sell their parcels, often to corporate businesses, to reap the financial rewards that offer a respite from dire economic conditions. They leave the ejido; some go to the U.S. to work. But they lose the inheritance of the land where they were born; if they want to return, they have nothing to return to. It is a tough proposition.

We learned about this dilemma during an encounter with Don Chava, a member of an ejido that we met today while exploring the Laja watershed around the town of San Miguel de Allende. It was amazing how much Don Chava's concerns echoed concerns we hear from ranchers in central Idaho - frustration about the prospects for the land he was born on; suspicion about the government's interest in conserving the land. He wanted to be heard.

We were privileged to learn about this landscape from two people who are doing amazing work to protect it, Agustín and Fernando of Salvemos al Río Laja, a nonprofit organization dedicated to improving the health of the Río Laja watershed and the communities that depend on it. Their work ranges from planting trees in rural schoolyards (to provide shade for the children, stabilize the soil, and educate the children about the environment), to finding ways to regulate the extraction of gravel from streambeds, to working with members of ejidos to build troughs to catch rain and prevent erosion on depleted hillsides. Truly, their work is embedded in community. In a scientific sense, they are trying to hold the soil in place by building a network of roots through native plant restoration projects. In a human sense, they are working to help people maintain their deep cultural and familial roots in these rural communities by providing viable, sustainable economic development and education.

Don Quijote in Guanajuato

Guanajuato is famous for its Cervantino Festival - a three-week literary, musical, artistic extravaganza held each fall. And one of Guanajuato's finest museums is the Museo Iconográfico del Quijote. Why this obsession with Don Quijote, the protagonist of the renowned Spanish novel written by Miguel Cervantes in the early 1600s? How is Don Quijote - who chased windmills in Spain's countryside hundreds of years ago - connected to Guanajuato? Why would this character resonate in the Mexican landscape and culture?

In the 1930s, during the Spanish Civil War, the Mexican president Lazaro Cárdenas welcomed Spanish intellectuals who were fleeing their war-torn country with only libros y zapatos - books and shoes. First Spain conquered México, and then, a few hundred years later, México provided a refuge for many of Spain's most talented people. Many of these Spanish exiles played an important role in México's education reforms. One exile, Eulalio Ferrer Rodriguez, founded the Quijote museum, which today is filled with hundreds of paintings, murals, statues, and carvings of this lanky, dreamy literary figure and his short, round sidekick, Sancho. I imagine that Cervantes's story provided a powerful connection to their homeland for the Spanish refugees in México. And the tale itself is one of romantic optimism confronting loss and disillusionment, as Don Quijote is repeatedly deceived by his fellow countrymen as he seeks adventure in the land he loves and thinks he knows.

Vamos a Escuela

We went to school with our friend Jesús last week. Jesús teaches English to kindergarteners as part of a new educational initiative. The program aims to introduce students to English starting at the kindergarten level by providing hour-long English lessons three days a week.

We visited two public schools in Silao, an industrial town about fifteen minutes from Guanajuato: Jardín de Niños Solidaridad and Jardín de Niños Efrain Huerta. (Jardín de Niños schools are pre-elementary schools. In México, half-day school is mandatory starting at the preschool level for children 3-4 years of age. The Jardínes de Niños include preschool and kindergarten grades.) These schools in Silao are in poorer, rougher neighborhoods, but I was impressed with the classrooms and the quality of the educational materials. Students typically wear uniforms at public schools in México, but at one of these schools the students did not wear uniforms because of the expense for the families.

This day's English lesson focused on clothes. The students learned the words for "t-shirt," "pants," "dress," and "shoes." One student asked if the word "t-shirt" is the same as the word "teacher" - they sound almost the same, after all - a good question, I thought, from a five-year old. The children also sang the "Squeeze" song in English: "Squeeze, squeeze, stand up, please! Touch your head, touch your knees!" After singing the song, the students chanted, "Otra! Otra!" to sing it again.

We helped the students cut and paste pictures of shirts, pants, and shoes in their workbooks, and as they colored their pictures we asked them what colors they were using in English. They asked us questions, too: most importantly, they asked if we are gigantes - giants.

I have always loved to go to school - ever since I stopped crying after my first week of kindergarten. But this particular school day was a highlight.

Passing Time

I have been in a lot of classrooms in various schools here in Guanajuato now, and I am struck by the fact that there are no clocks. In the U.S., it seems that the giant round clock is the centerpiece of each classroom, positioned so that the students and the teachers can all watch the time passing. In general in the U.S., I feel that clocks are everywhere. Here, there is rarely a clock in a public place, and I have not seen one yet in a classroom. It seems somehow symbolic that my own wristwatch broke shortly before we arrived in México in January, and I have been watchless throughout our stay. People joke about the wide span of time that can be signified by the expression ahorita (right now). It is not that there is no schedule here; there is. But time is experienced differently.

No clocks. But plenty of time.

La Parroquia de Atotonilco

In the small pueblo of Atotonilco (a Náhuatl word for "place of hot waters"), a plain white church draws people who seek to be healed. The church was built in 1746 under the direction of the Jesuit priest Luis Felipe Neri de Alfaro after he had a dream in which he witnessed Jesus carrying the cross. The outside of the church is largely unadorned, but inside, unlike any other church I have seen in México, the walls and ceilings are painted with verses of poetry and intricate frescoes depicting Biblical scenes. In 1810, the priest who led the Mexican Independence movement, Miguel Hidalgo, took the banner of the Virgin of Guadalupe from this church's sanctuary and raised it as a standard before the insurgent troops to inspire their charge.

When I visited the parroquia, a boy in a wheelchair, a man with one arm, and many more people quietly gathered on the terrace of the church's entrance and walked through its doors to ask for a miracle. As I sat on a short wooden bench in the small sanctuary, a gentle chorus drifted in from the streets. A group of more than twenty elderly women entered the church singing call-and-response refrains in sweet, tremulous, mesmerizing voices. They proceeded in two lines, their gray hair in long braids down their backs, their dark and wrinkled faces soft and contemplative. As each woman reached the wooden floor of the sanctuary, she knelt and went the rest of the way to the altar on her aged knees.

By Bici, Bien!

We left in the morning from the old train station in Dolores Hidalgo - but we hopped on our bikes rather than a train - to head to the thermal pools near San Miguel de Allende, 23 miles away. The journey began with an odd proposition - a swim in hot water on a 90 degree day? So we were laughing at ourselves from the start, and I'm sure we provided an entertaining spectacle to the people we encountered along the way.

We rode through farmland on dirt roads and paths, asking for directions and backtracking frequently. Many of the fields are green and thick with young corn and alfalfa now. We passed a man who had just harvested a section of alfalfa with a scythe, and now he was carting it in a wagon pulled by a burro. We passed goats and chickens roaming freely and giant pigs tethered in the shade of trees.

While we cautiously rode our brakes down a gravelly hill, all of us sporting helmets and gloves, a boy on a too-small bike came ripping down the hill and flew by us - no helmet, no brakes - with a wild and rebellious smirk on his face. A moment later at an intersection, we asked directions from a man who had a load of six bricks balanced on each shoulder. He patiently stood there holding the bricks while we debated which way to go.

After riding for two hours and changing two flat tires (both Mark's), we flagged down a produce truck to buy some bananas and mangos and take a break in the shade.

But the pools, "Aguas Claras," did not disappoint. The natural springs are on a slight hill overlooking the wide valley, and some of the pools are cool, not hot. We floated in the refreshing water and looked out at the blue sky, then we enjoyed a barbecue of huge slabs of grilled carne de res (beef) and salchichas (sausage) with grilled onions, fresh avocado, and saltines - all with our bare hands since we had brought no utensils. We couldn't stop laughing.

The trip was superbien.

Como Ciudadanos. . .

"Como ciudadanos, como hombres y mujeres de ambas aldeas - la global y la local - nos corresponde desafiar prejuicios, extender nuestros propios límites, aumentar nuestra capacidad de dar y recibir así como nuestra inteligencia de lo que nos es extraño. . . . La lección de nuestra humanidad inacabada es que cuando excluimos nos empobrecemos y cuando incluimos nos enriquecemos. ¿Tendremos tiempo de descrubir, tocar, nombrar, el número de nuestros semejantes que nuestros brazos sean capaces de hacer nuestros? Porque ninguno de nosotros reconocerá su propria humanidad si no reconoce, primero, la de los otros." - Carlos Fuentes, contemporary Mexican writer

"As citizens, as men and women of both villages - the global and the local - we are responsible for challenging prejudices, stretching our own limits, increasing the capacity of our minds to give and receive even that which is foreign to us. The lesson of our limitless humanity is that when we exclude others, we impoverish ourselves, and when we include others, we enrich ourselves. Will we have the time to discover, touch, name, and count the fellow beings who our arms are capable of embracing? Because we cannot recognize our own humanity if we first do not recognize the humanity of others."

I am ashamed of the immigration law that recently has passed in Arizona, a law that promotes racial profiling and addresses the issue of immigration with a menacing and heavy hand. It is a law that will promote dangerous divisions rather than build constructive alliances. The law has been discussed extensively in the news here in México. It is difficult to be a guest in México, every day enjoying and depending on the kindness and patient acceptance of various people, and to have such a message of prejudicial rejection sent here from my home country.

We can do better. We can reach deeper, wider.

Cinco de Mayo

While restaurants and bars in the United States have seized upon Cinco de Mayo as a day of festivity, here in Guanajuato it is relatively un-marked. Monday was a holiday in honor of International Labor Day, but today was business as usual. Cinco de Mayo commemorates a battle that occurred near Puebla, México, on 5 May 1862, when the Mexican Army fought and defeated the invading French army. However, the war and the French intervention in Mexico would continue for several more years beyond this one battle. Therefore, the date warrants a couple of paragraphs in the school history books, but it is not a date of big national celebrations (except, I imagine, in Puebla).

Acordeón

The more I hear the accordion played - in mariachi and norteño music - the more I love it. It's like something between an organ and a bagpipe. To me, its notes always sound both lively and old, festive and nostalgic - like they are being pulled from the air of another time.

Here the accordion is played by a member of Azul Acero, our favorite Guanajuato norteño band. They often play in the evenings at the Jardín de la Unión. They stroll amongst the sidewalk dinner tables echando un lazo - smoothly roping in customers with their friendly demeanor for a song or two. They are fabulous.

Las Mañanitas

Last week several friends celebrated birthdays, and we had the fun of hearing "Las Mañanitas" sung for them. I love the Mexican birthday song, which traditionally is sung to the birthday person on the morning of her cumpleaños. Some of my favorite stanzas are (the whole song is bit more involved than "Happy Birthday to You"):

Despierta mi bien, despierta,
mira que ya amaneció,
y los pajarillos cantan,
la luna ya se metió.

Que linda esta la mañana
en que vengo a saludarte.
Venimos todos con gusto
y placer a felicitarte.

El día en que tú naciste,
nacieron todas las flores,
en la pila del bautizo,
cantaron los ruiseñores.

Wake up, my dear, wake up,
see it is already dawn
and the little birds are singing,
and the moon has gone.

How pretty is the morning
that comes to greet you today.
We also come joyful to greet you
and wish you a happy birthday.

The day that you were born,
so were all the flowers.
And at your baptismal font,
the nightingales sang for hours.

Conservation in Guanajuato

More than a dozen species of the encino oak tree spread a dark green canopy across the rocky Sierra de Santa Rosa, but centuries of mining, grazing, and firewood-gathering have taken a toll on the forest. Trees have been cut down to provide wood for the mines; cows and goats roam the hillsides; people gather leña (firewood) and pack it to town on burros where it is sold to fuel the cooking stoves of street vendors. The land is dry, and when the trees disappear, the vegetation is slow to recover. The soil erodes dramatically, and this affects the streams and reservoirs that provide water for Guanajuato and many of the surrounding pueblos.

Several decades ago, the government engaged in a program to address the deforestation problem by planting non-native, fast-growing eucalyptus trees. This solution has created new problems; the eucalyptus trees suck up a lot of the water and they have taken over areas that would historically have been covered by encino trees.

A small but impressive nonprofit conservation organization, Cuerpos de Conservación Guanajuato, is addressing these problems to improve the health of the mountains and the well-being of the tiny pueblos that are embedded in the remote reaches. The organization really has just one full-time employee: Arturo. But he knows how to mobilize people. Today we explored the mountains with him and learned about the projects of the Cuerpos. He has worked with local people to build extensive stone terraces across hillsides that have been deforested. The loose stones are gathered from the mountainsides, and they are arranged in countoured walls that help to catch sediment and rebuild the top soil. In some places, native maguey plants have been planted along the terraces to facilitate the process. The terraces prevent ongoing erosion and slowly facilitate the restoration of the soil on the mountainsides; the work of building the terraces provides employment for local people (the Cuerpos organization has received government funding from both México and the United States for these projects). Many of the workers are women; Arturo said the organization has had more success mobilizing women in the small mountain towns for these new projects.

The Cuerpos de Conservación Guanajuato also helped a group of about twenty women develop a community-based cooperative business to make and sell traditional sweets, jams, and syrups from the seasonal fruits of the region. One of the women, Margarita, told us today how the women have always made these preserves in their homes, but, with encouragement from Cuerpos and others, they began to imagine it as a viable business. Now they have a beautiful kitchen and shop on the main street in Santa Rosa where they sell glowing yellow and orange and amber jars of preserved fruits: tejocotes en almibar, mermelada de fresa, mermelada de mango, chiles chipotles. Their strawberry jam is shipped weekly to restaurants in Mexico City. The business provides an economic boon for the community and celebrates the land by honoring the traditional fruits of the area without contributing to deforestation (as livestock grazing and firewood gathering have done). The business has grown organically from the kitchens of the women in the pueblo, and it promotes natural foods and an environmental ethic.

As we surveyed the landscape and learned about these projects, Arturo said, "La sierra es una buena escuela." The mountains are a good school.

Hasta los Huesos

"Down to the Bones" - un cortometraje mexicano - is a short claymation celebration of Mexico's vibrant traditions related to death. From the November holiday of Día de los Muertos (the Day of the Dead) to the feminine icon of death, la Catrina, a skeleton garishly dressed in fancy clothes - Mexican traditions say, "Los muertos viven con nosotros" and "El muerte es una fiesta" ("The dead live with us" and "Death is a party").

Sunday Mornings

On Sunday mornings, we get a load of laundry hanging on the line to dry, then we walk down Temezcuitate, get a coffee at Café Tal, pick up two newspapers, and find a bench in the Jardín de la Union. We choose between two daily Guanajuato papers - "A.M." and "Correo" - for local, national, and international current events, and we always pick up the "Chopper," a local weekly paper that is a little more chatty about what's happening around town.

Of course, there is always grimness in world news, which is why it is good to read the newspaper on a bench in the Jardín. It is hard to be too deflated by current events while watching families stroll through the plaza eating ice cream cones. And always on Sunday mornings, scout troops of young boys and girls, decked out in uniforms of blue pants or skirts and yellow blouses and green neck scarves, meet and practice their orienteering skills in scavenger hunts around the city center. They are earnest and cheerful and suggest that surely we'll find our way.

A Little Fruity

Some great colloquial Mexican expressions are fruity and foody:

Él está como mango.
He is really handsome.
(mango = mango)

¡Naranjas!
No!
(naranjas = oranges)

La idioma de español es mi coco.
The Spanish language is a challenge for me.
(coco = coconut)

Ella es una chica fresa.
She is rich/preppy.
(fresa = strawberry)

Bailar es mi mero mole.
Dancing is what I love and do well.
(mole = traditional Mexican sauce, rich with a little sweetness and kick)

Un Rincón para Estudiar

During a break between classes, I love to sit at the front window of Café Carcamanes to study. The table is just wide enough to hold my notebooks, dictionary, and cappuccino, and it is at just the right angle at 10 in the morning to receive a warm slant of light. Outside the window, the dry purple petals from a tall jacaranda tree are scattered like pieces of cut ribbon across the tiny stone plaza.

Of course, even this peaceful rincón, so perfect for sitting alone with one's thoughts, also holds a history, another dramatic legend of Guanajuato. The brothers Carcamanes, so the legend goes, arrived in Guanajuato from Europe more than 150 years ago. One day, they were both found murdered in their house, and the people thought they had been killed by robbers. But, in fact, they had fallen passionately in love with the same woman, who frivolously played with them both, and when the brothers discovered their torrid love triangle, they killed each other, and their lover, in a fury.

But today the peaceful quiet is only disturbed by a man calling out "agua ciel" in a baritone voice as he walks the street selling jugs of water.

Quinceañera

On Saturday night, high in the Sierra de Santa Rosa, a young woman turning fifteen years-old became a princess as the entire pueblo celebrated her quinceañera. She wore a pink, glittery ball gown; her black hair was pulled back in an elaborate up-do; her make-up sparkled. More than a hundred people - all familia lejana, the extended family of this tiny town - gathered together to honor the young woman in this traditional Latin American rite-of-passage. Earlier in the day, the girl had attended a special mass in her honor. In the evening, the festivities moved outside. Tables, chairs, tents, and a stage with full lighting were set-up in a field overlooking mountains upon mountains. A full dinner of pork and rice and abundant beverages was served to everyone - even us gringos, who knew no one, but had been invited by the band, and we were welcomed generously and immediately. The young woman, the quinceañera, performed several formal dances with young men from the community, and then, in a sweet ceremony, she received her last doll - a sign of her moving past the things of childhood and becoming a woman. She also called up dozens of people from the community and gave them each a rose as a sign of her appreciation of the role they have played in her maturation.

And then the band played, norteño-style music, and everyone began to dance. They dedicated one of their first songs, a more somber song, to two sons of Santa Rosa who have gone to the United States to work. We're thinking of you, they said, and their song reached far into the darkness across the sierra. The night was cold, but a thin moon smiled above the field, and the party promised to continue through the night.

Saturday in the Sierra de Santa Rosa

My mind was saturated at the end of this week: School resumed after the two-week Easter holiday, so I was meeting with students and reading essays; I began co-teaching an English class for elementary school teachers; and I began an intensive Spanish course at the Universidad de Guanajuato's language school, so my mind was reeling with new information about the Mexican Revolution, recipes for frijoles charros (cowboy beans), and the classification of verbs. So this morning it was refreshing huir a la Sierra de Santa Rosa - to flee to the mountains of Santa Rosa again for a long morning run.

We drove the cobbled main road up the hill through the tiny, tranquil town, passing burros carrying firewood and a herd of goats, then we began our run on a small dirt road. The dirt road became a single-track path that became a tangle of brush - including a grove of the striking, red-barked, gracefully twisting branches of the pingüita shrub. Our friend led us through the thicket until we reached an open space tucked deep into the mountains. At the center of the clearing was a solitary tejocote tree, reveling alone in a glory of white blossoms.

Earlier this week, Mark met with the director of a local conservation organization, Cuerpos de Conservación Guanajuato, that is engaged in environmental protection work in the Sierra de Santa Rosa. A book that describes their work states,

Capturar momentos y lugares que ilustren lo majestuoso y el mismo tiempo lo esencial del patrimonio natural de Guanajuato es emprender un viaje por generosos paisajes humanos y naturalezas que la sierra de Santa Rosa oculta.

To capture the moments and places that illustrate the majesty and at the same time the essential natural heritage of Guanajuato is to begin a journey through the ample human and natural landscapes that the mountains of Santa Rosa hide.

To see just some of the secrets held in these mountains, under such blue skies - I am grateful.

El Callejón de los Milagros

"The Alley of Miracles" (also called "Midaq Alley" in English) is a film that inhabits a neighborhood at the heart of Mexico City. The lives of the neighbors intertwine, and the film shifts its points of view four times to show the neighborhood from the perspective of different characters: Don Ru, the owner of a cantina who late in life is awakened to homosexual inclinations; Almita, a beautiful young woman who is coming of age, and her novio, Abel, a young and earnest barber who migrates to the U.S. with the hope of earning enough money to return to México and marry her; and Susana, the spinster landlady who is waiting for her Prince Charming to arrive. Their world - this tight and chaotic neighbhoorhood at the center of a sprawling metropolis - is strained in many directions by poverty, disillusionment, love, hope, passion, despair - the spectrum of human motions. Each character is complex, and the shifting point of view of the film challenges the empathy of the viewer. The 1995 film is the most award-winning Mexican film, and, as the professor of the "Cine y Literatura" class claims, it is one of the best.

And it is very Mexican - the scenes of men playing dominoes in the cantina; the crush of people of all different social strata in the streets; the sights of Mexico City plazas. What is fascinating and ironic is that the film was adapted from a novel set in Cairo by the Egyptian writer Naguib Mahfouz.

Proverbios y Dichos

PROVERBS AND SAYINGS

In the United States, Friday the 13th is a day of supersitions. In México, Tuesday the 13th (today!) is a day of superstitions. The saying is "Martes 13 ni te cases ni te embarques." On Tuesday the 13th, don't get married and don't go traveling.

Other common proverbs I've learned recently are:

"Pan para hoy y hambre para mañana."
Bread for today and hunger for tomorrow. (Advice to live in the moment, and enjoy it - but perhaps also to think a little about the future.)

"Dios dirá."
God will say. (Or - God will determine. The sense is that it is in God's hands. So, if you are late for an appointment, you can say, "Dios dirá,' to suggest that, well, God controls events!)

"Dime con quien andas y te diré quien eres."
Tell me who you walk with and I will tell you who you are.

"Camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente."
The shrimp that sleeps gets carried away by the current.

Second Languages

I have been reading my students’ essay drafts on the novel “The Professor’s House” by Willa Cather. They have written their essays in English, their second (or third!) language.

I also have been reading a Mexican history textbook written for students at the secundaria (middle school) level, as a way to build my Spanish language skills while also learning more about México’s rich history.

As I read the students’ essay drafts, I add and delete a’s, an’s, and the’s, and I correct verb tenses. I marvel at the students’ sophisticated literary arguments about the themes of inheritance and the search for a usable past.

As I read the history textbook, I circle words and write definitions in the margins. I marvel at México’s rich, diverse, mestizo heritage, and I wonder at how the ancient Maya and Zapoteca and Teotihuacana mythologies continue to shape Mexicans’ worldviews today.

I feel so eager for my students to access the nuances of some great literary works written in English, unmediated by translation. And I am so eager for myself to access more history, literature, art, and world news in Spanish – again, unmediated by translation.

An understanding of a second language is such a fundamental, valuable humanistic skill. I feel this every day here. I’m inspired by my students.

A la Anciana

The viejita climbs the cobbled street
of Temezcuitate with quiet steps,
pecking at time with tiny, black-shoed feet.
She plaits a path across the crooked space,
between the houses’ walls of pink and white,
of green and blue. She weaves a line of grace
and carries knowing on her aged back,
her shoulders folded over memories deep.
The callejón, the plaster walls have cracked
under the weight of so much past. And yet
her bird-bones hold. An orange rebozo flames
across her back, around her arms and chest.
She grasps the silkened cotton at her heart,
holding the comfort of tradition close
with gnarled hands that also know the part
of letting go. Her eyes pour out a gaze
that barely sees, but pulls the world in.
The dark eyes still draw strands from memory’s haze.
Silver hair with streaks of white, it folds
behind her face into a feathered braid
that neatly falls across her back, and holds.
Her brown face opens to the warming light.
She knows the sun, the sky. And as she rises
up the street, in time, she’s taking flight.

The Santa Rosa Mountains and Reasons to Run

REASONS TO RUN:

1. To feel the geography - how the Santa Rosa Mountains in the Sierra Madre Range climb to more than 8,000 feet; how the pebbly soil rolls under your footsteps; how encino deciduous trees cover the leeward sides of the mountains with dense foliage of copper and green; how the cactus plants are topped by yellow blossoms now, to be followed by the tuna fruit that will mature beneath the blooms; how mining sites carve out pale spots on the mountainsides and small dams create pools of water in the valleys; how old pueblitos rest in tiny nooks in the distance.

2. To make friends - such as Abraham, a historian and a muy fuerte runner, who introduced us to this Santa Rosa trail; to have a common connection in the desire to put one foot in front of the other for a couple of hours; to enjoy the honor of listening to someone describe the features of the landscape they live in and love.

3. To practice language phrases - to learn the names of the plants and the pueblos; to be able to communicate with urgency, "Mis piernas queman" (My legs burn!); and to repeat random Spanish phrases, such as "Puedo filar mi lapiz" (can I sharpen my pencil) as mantras when grinding up a hill.

4. To justify mucho guacamole, hamburguesas, and helado de mango from the Michoacana ice cream store later in the hot afternoon.

Alegría

On Tuesday evenings, the municipal band plays in the gazebo in the Jardín de la Unión, the viejito couples dance, and the world is right.

This is perhaps my favorite thing in Guanajuato.

The densely shaded plaza provides a cool twilight reprieve from the heat of the day; crowds of people begin to stroll around the jardín and gather in the sidewalk cafés and on the park benches. The roving mariachi and norteño groups take a break, and the city band strikes up a tune. Then the old couples get up to dance. Their arms and legs seem stiff at first; their steps are small. But then the gentleman turns the lady with the lightest touch of his hand, and she raises her fingers in a flourish. They move in perfect rhythm. Their faces are straight and formal, but their eyes sparkle.

One gentleman in particular amazes me. Sometimes he wears bright red pants. Tonight he wore blue. His wife wore a beige dress and pink, sparkly shoes. He can dance. He sways his hips, kicks his legs, and occasionally drops one knee to the ground. He leads his wife through lovely turns and crosses. They take a bow after every dance. Everybody smiles and applauds.