Seattle Miguel de Allende

I've been having a lot of Seattle incidents lately. In Patzcuaro someone saw me wearing my Mariners hat and yelled "Sea-Town! Yeah!" I already posted a picture of the Shawn Kemp jersey I saw someone wearing (even though it was a Cavs jersey). Also in Patzcuaro, a woman selling random clothing had a Gary Payton Sonics jersey hanging on the wall. And on my way home yesterday there was a Mexican guy down the block from my house wearing a UW sweatshirt. I should have said something to him, but I didn't...

More Pictures

Just re-upping the link to my photobucket site. I've also included the last-updated date for each album so it's easy to figure out where there are new pictures (if anyone actually looks at all of them). http://s438.photobucket.com/albums/qq105/alexbergstrom/

Mi Familia, Mi Viaje, y Mi Tatuaje

A lot has happened since our last installment, so once again I'll break it down into sections.

MOM AND AUNTIE SAL IN SAN MIGUEL

Arrival day didn't quite go as planned, but it wasn't a complete failure. After a flight delay, Mom and Sally didn't reach San Miguel until 11:30 at night. On my way to the bus station to meet them, a dog I pass everyday snuck up behind me and bit my leg. Chances are he is rabid, but fortunately he bit my calf, which probably did more damage to his teeth than to my skin. This turned out to be a false omen as the rest of the trip went smoothly. They helped out in the baby room at the daycare for a couple days, and all other time was spent exploring the city. They treated me to meals in restaurants, which I would otherwise never have, some other treats, and of course, their company. Oh yeah and a tattoo. I've been talking big about getting a tattoo for around five years now, and the deed is finally done. My loving mother wanted to treat me to a souvenir, and we thought a little piece of body art might be a memorable one, considering it's permanent. We stumbled across the tattoo parlor on accident after finding nothing in the phone book or on the internet. Then we looked at hundreds of pictures (since I didn't have anything in mind), and after leaving, thinking, and coming back, I landed on some symbol that supposedly means "water," though could very well be part of some made-up tattoo language. It's pretty small... nothing too crazy... and it's right where my chest meets my shoulder. I don't exactly know how to describe it, but I'll try. There is what looks like an elongated, wavy water drop a little over two inches long, with two smaller but elongated drops running parallel on either side of it, making five "water drops" all together. They're colored two shades of blue and a little bit of white to make them look like water. It has no profound meaning whatsoever, though I suppose I do like water. I simply liked how the lines looked together and liked the tattoo artist's idea of where to put it and how to color it. It's pretty much just a few blue slashes above my armpit... but I like it. Mom and Sally stayed to watch but couldn't be convinced to get their own. Thanks, Mom!

ANGANGUEO

On Saturday we hired a driver to take us to the quaint town of Angangueo. Angangueo had more stores than people, so naturally there were a lot of closed doors. The center of town consisted of a church, another church, and the small space between the churches. The only tourism draw of the town is its proximity to the famous monarch butterfly reserves. Every November, somewhere near 100 million monarch butterflies migrate to the region, probably to make butterfly babies or something. After their vigorous (or however they do it) mating, like humans, they hibernate. Since for some scientifically inexplicable reason winter is coming later this year, so only a third of the butterflies had arrived by the time we did. It was still an impressive site, and the legends of butterflies clumped together so densely that they bend tree branches turned out to be entirely true. At night, with nothing much else to do, we froze. So Sally treated us to our choice of wool accessories from a street-side stand, and we ordered hot chocolate back at the hotel. I wore a hat, a scarf, all my clothes, and shared a bed, and still woke up many times throughout the night. The next morning we rushed off to the nearby city of Zitacuaro to send half our group off to Mexico City and the other half to bustling Morelia. The departure was Band-Aid-esque and just like that it was back to just me and Amanda.

MORELIA

Despite the sad farewell, the three-hour bus ride to Morelia was actually quite pleasant. You know how you'll be on a road trip, or staring at a window, or doing anything else where you have time to think, and a song will come on the radio that fits the situation so perfectly that it feels like you're in a movie scene? That's exactly what happened on the bus as a solo mariachi got up in the middle and played some traditional Mexican music as I gazed out over the choppy hills of beige corn fields pocked with bunches of green cacti or other shrubs, leaning fence posts, and piles of brick crumbs from wall sections (abandoned efforts to build houses) being slovenly chewed up by time and a constricting budget. The city of Morelia was impressive. Not extraordinarily unique, but impressive nonetheless. For one thing, the trash cans on the street had garbage bags in them. Other than that, it's basically a big city with some historical significance and a cool center of town with lots of old buildings. There are plenty of cities like that in the world, and they're always fun to see. We tried the local delicacy: a cup filled with chopped fruit and onions, salt, cheese, chili, and filled about halfway with orange juice. It had the familiar appearance of fresh vomit, but tasted just the opposite. We checked out a free natural history museum in one of the city parks and marvelled at the jars filled with deformed fetuses. Our walking would have been completely aimless, which is of course fine, if Amanda hadn't wanted to stop in every church in town. I was planning to try my hand at Couchsurfing in Morelia but completely forgot, so we ended up paying more than we had hoped for a hostel that had run out of dorm beds for men. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise. We got to watch Bewitched AND Fun With Dick and Jane on our room's TV!

PATZCUARO

Patzcuaro is a neat little town just down the highway from Morelia. They had some old looking buildings as well, but the main draw seems to be the lake. Patzcuaro Lake is fairly big as far as lakes go, and extremely dirty as far as dirty things go. They're local treat is a plate or cup full of tiny little fish fried whole and covered with chili powder and lime (like everything else in Mexico). I didn't get to try any because I was told to not eat fish or pork for a week after getting tatted up due to some toxins in those particular meats. Anyway, in the lake are a few islands, all tiny, but mostly inhabited. The one Amanda and I went to looked more like a floating pile of houses than an island. Stores, houses, restaurants, and whatever else covered every square inch of ground except for the winding path that weaved between them. We made it to the top of the house-mound and back down just in time to head back to Morelia for our bus ride home. That bus ride wasn't horrible, but it didn't go by as quickly as the one there. We watched The Gospel and The Ringer in Spanish, and 10 or 15 minutes of some movie in English before arriving in San Miguel, where I ate some tacos from my taco spot and passed out.

BERG'S EYE VIEW

-Towns with colleges are generally cooler than towns without colleges.

-There is a "public notary" on nearly every block of Mexico.

-Everyone in Mexico who owns a store is an "artisan"

-Everyone gives the "ehh, kiiinnnda" look when asked if tattoos hurt. Obviously they hurt, they're just not the most painful things in the world. Furthermore, tattoos are only as big of a deal as you choose to make them.

-I have a better mom and aunt than anyone else in the world except for Tyler and Tim, who are both tied with me.

-After having a taste of my sweet life at home, I know I'll be ready to be back in Seattle when my trip is over. I miss you all a lot and am looking forward to my return, but I still have a lot of things to do here before I'm ready... like kick it with Rt.

El Presidente Negro

This isn't Mexico related, but I'd like to congratulate everyone on a successful election day, complete with a Christine Gregoire come-from-behind victory (I don't know much about Gregoire but she doesn't seem that great), and a crushing defeat of McCain at the hands of a black guy. We watched the election coverage at Donna's house (she's the daycare founder). We showed up at around 6pm to make sure we saw the results of every state, then stuffed our faces with tostadas, guacamole, quesadillas, and banana bread for the next several hours. I don't have a whole lot to say about the evening, except that California should be embarrassed and McCain should never forgive himself for choosing Palin. McCain's speach didn't seem totally genuine, but nobody enjoys losing like that so I can't blame him. I tried to laugh off the John chants of his crowd in Arizona, but the site of such typical frat-boy-looking young republicans will never fail to annoy me. I admit I can be cynical, which is why I've always buried the concern in my brain that Obama would turn out to be a little bit of a hope monger, especially considering the sloppy seconds he's inhereting, but I was thoroughly impressed with one aspect of his speech: it was completely smile-less. He didn't show one iota of giddy excitement over his convincing win... he seemed sober, focused, and ready, if not stoic. Those speeches, like each of the few political speeches I've ever Chinewe water-tortured myself with, never say anything substantial, but his composure convinced me that he means business.

Most of the Mexicans I've talked to were aware of the election, but surprised to hear that I supported the black candidate. It would have been exciting to be in the US for such an historical election (even for somone who usually steers clear of everything political), but I supposed I'll never forget where I was on election day. Let's hope the next 4-8 years don't include an assassination date to remember, too.

BERG'S EYE VIEW

I'm keeping this one short.

-People here, walking on the sidewalk, walk on the left! Not a day goes by that I don't do the exuse-me dance with a Mexican person trying to pass my right side as I try to pass their left. Honestly... porque?

Dia de los Muertos

Dia de Muertos consumed my entire weekend.

The festivities begin on October 31st and contain an obvious Halloween influence. Kids Trick-or-Treat at houses or simply walk around with their hands out. Instead of saying "trick-or-treat," however, the door-to-doorers simply say "Halloween!" After exhausting our entire supply of two chocolate paletas, we headed to the corner tienda to buy the whole box of Kinder Eggs. They were gone in a flash, and instead of going for a re-up we decided to get on with the night. We had heard reliable rumors of a costume party at a bar called Mama Mia's but for that, as for the trick-or-treaters, we were unprepared. In a house with four women and one man, the logical option was to dress me up as a woman. Apparently, despite my wide frame, stubble, and hairy armpits, I made a convincing mujer... several people poked my arms and then my fake breasts (a bra stuffed haphazardly with washcloths) to see if either or both were real. One group of girls realized I was born male, but asked if I prefer men or women... sexually. Another guy went as far as to ask Nastja and Petra if I was hombre o mujer. I'll post the pictures when I get them from Amanda's camera and you can judge for yourselves. The prizes for the contest turned about to be huge... the second place winner got a trip for two to somewhere in Canada... and with the pathetically low costume turnout the odds were in my favor. Unfortunately places one, two, and three went to a group of friends dressed in elaborate Wizard of Oz costumes. I suppose they deserved it, but they could have at least invited me to Canada.

On Saturday we explored the center of town which was filled with colorful commemorative altars, of which I have muchas fotos. We spent a good chunk of the day searching out Catrina dolls; the female skeleton dolls with beautiful clothing and headdresses that some of you may have seen before. I never would have thought I could find a skeleton to be such an attractive piece of art, but I wanted to buy every single one I saw. Another tradition is to make borreguitos; figures of skulls, animals, Mexican foods, and anything else imaginable... all made out of a mixture of powdered sugar, lime, and egg whites. People placed these, along with pan de muertos (a sweet bread), Catrinas, and real food on altars as offerings for the dead. Luckily dead people have limited stomach space because the bees claimed most of the sacrificial rations. Later that night we attempted to rescue Michael from the date he won (in a dance contest) with some Mexican girl (winner of the female group) the Thursday before. The floozy didn't show up and he was left having dinner with Hidalo and a couple of her friends. He was happy about it, but I still maintain that they bring absolutely nothing to the table.

On Sunday, the official day, we went to the cemetery. It was easily my best cemetery experience ever. This is partially because the only times I've been in a cemetery for something other than a recent family death were late at night and absolutely frightening. The cemetery was packed. Every grave, tomb, urn-cubby was covered in flowers, pictures, and borreguitos. Mariachis played to some graves, people adorned in amazing tribal costumes picnicked on others, and a few gringos took pictures. There's even a section in the cemetery for white folk. As far as we could tell this was the only section with Americans, jews, and urns. There was an enormous variety of graves and tombs in the cemetery. Some had huge, white sculptures with windowed openings where flowers or other offerings could be placed. Others looked like someone dug a small hole, threw in some body parts, covered them with dirt last week, and pulled some branches off the nearest tree to make a cross on top. Still no grave went flowerless. There were quite a few people wielding shovels and pick-axes to plant bouquets, and kids ran to and from the fountain filling buckets of water for people for a peso or two. I had to consciously keep myself from displaying the somber expression that the American attitude toward death associates with cemeteries. The celebratory aspect of Dia de Muertos (and the fact that I'd never witnessed one before) is why I think it picks up Halloween by the witch hair and swiftly beats that ass.

BERG'S EYE VIEW

-Mexican guys, by American definition, are extremely disrespectful of women. I'd have to live here for a long time before I could get used to the whistles and cat calls.

-Speaking of whistling, every Mexican can whistle extremely loud. If I could have any souvenir, it would be that ability.

-The Mexican diet is full of extremes. The salsa is hot as sin, the sweets are pure sugar, and they dump salt on everything. It's no wonder Mexicans have lots of kidney problems, urinary tract infections, and weight issues. Luckily it's all optional, so I still can't get enough of the food.

-Michael knows every single English-speaking person in town.

-It's amazing that a city with so many Americans could assume so freely that gringos don't speak Spanish. At a restaurant yesterday, a woman came up and said she would be the translator for us. Only one person was eating, and she actually still translated "un pozole, nada mas" for the waitress. Since we said it in Spanish, the translation was more like an echo.

-Although I will be having a traditional Thanksgiving with Michael's family, the next holiday for the Mexicans is Christmas. They erected their 30-foot Christmas tree on Wednesday of last week and stores should be ready for Navidad any day now. I love it.

-I read Catcher in the Rye, which I may or may not have read at some point for school. I was thoroughly unimpressed. Obviously the writing style was on purpose, but the words and slang and dialogue were so repetetive that, if given the main plot points, any teenager could have written it. Of course, of course... it was some kind of breakthrough when it came out... "ahead of its time." Well it's not ahead of my time, and I wasn't alive for the time that it was ahead of, so if highschool English teachers still consider it a must-read, I think it's about time they get a new curriculum. Call me unsophisticated/unappreciative if you want, but I thought On The Road (with the same soul searching themes) was way better. On the other hand, The Hound of the Baskervilles (my first Sherlock Holmes book), is a timeless classic.