The Lollipop Tree

At any given moment on la Calle Septiembre, there is a flurry of activity, starting with the nest of chirping birds tucked deep inside the tree in front of our house. Hidden in their dense and leafy oasis, this tight-knit avian family knows better than to spend their day swooping around town. Instead, they dwell full-time in the luxuriant greenery of the lollipop tree. The lollipop tree, petite and well-coiffed like a prim poodle, is unlike any other tree found in my native home, where maple, elm and oak trees soar skyward. Its branches are intertwined deep within its immediate radius and its exterior pouf of leaves lend the tree a slightly comical look, much like an over-stylized pompadour on an otherwise unnoticeable twiggy man. And when found in group, such as in mall parking lots, lollipop trees are every pruner’s nightmare—impossible to shear to perfection, as an uncertain snip will result in a goofy looking dent or a lopsided ‘do.

Yet flimsy, this tree is not—its branches withstand the climbing of any bold neighborhood child who wants a fifteen foot advantage on his enemies. However, once he ventures deeper into the foliage, five sharp beaks attached to fast and furious wings await him, ready to attack whatever hapless intruder scales into their territory. For this particular nest of birds is fully aware of the value of the wood their claws dig so deeply into—they made their home in the very best spot of shade on the block.

In a city where shade is sacred and rising temperatures turn cars into ovens on wheels, Roberto and I feel pretty lucky to have one of the most ample trees on the block. Despite the hazards of parking underneath the permanent aviary, we gladly accept the smattering of gray fecal matter that adorns the car roof and know that we are still the envy of all of the neighbors. Our snow-white Volkswagen Pointer is a two-door modern adaptation of the original VW Beetle—there are no frills to be found, from power steering to air-conditioning. For these reasons, it’s always a combination of many factors to keep ourselves dry and happy while en route to work—a vehicle prepped in poop-filled shade and once we are in motion, donning sunglasses and perching on the edge of our seat Mr. Bean-style while puttering to our destination.

Thus, like the birds, we are reluctant to turn the key into the ignition and leave the cool shade to whatever vulture wants to swoop in and steal it from us. Often, on particularly suffocating afternoons, we will find someone else’s hunk of metal parked underneath the lollipop tree, basking in its shade. On such occasions, we’ll grumble out a few choice words and while I’m too non-confrontational to do so myself, I whole-heartedly support Roberto in parking our tiny Volkswagen right up against their fender.

Most of the neighbors respect each other’s parking spots, as few of us park our cars on the house patios, and we all have each other’s cars pegged down. The rowdy clan next door squeezes into two rusting Ford Escorts complete with tinted windows, Jesus stickers and a barking alarm system, warning would-be robbers to step away from the automobile. The other neighbors drive a true motley crew of cars—newer family-sized vehicles, one vintage Beetle and perhaps a green taxi or two thrown in. Unlike our neighbors, whose presumptuous alarm makes us cringe in its bad taste, I think a more subtle, all-organic system is in order to protect our sheltered haven under the lollypop tree. All we need to do is figure out an alliance with those territorial birds and persuade them to release on command and let justice rain down.

Get on the Bus!

For any of my faithful readers who followed me on different adventures both here in Mexico and in Ecuador, they might remember that there was one constant pin in my side during life on the equator--those wild, free-wheeling, befringed buses. After I stepped off my last bus in Ecuador, circa May 2008, I swore to myself, "nope, no more, no way JOSE". And of course, until Quito pulls me back down into its intoxicating metropolis (interpret "intoxicating" as you will), I haven't placed my fragile life into the hands of a frazzled, potentially suicidal bus driver again. Yes yes, I do realize I'm being a little harsh on those buses--they served me and my friends so very well, shuttling us back and forth across the Andean republic each weekend. We had some pretty great times during that four month sojourn and here are just a few highlights to go down in history:

1. Making the daily three bus commute from Northern Quito to Cumbaya, where my classes awaited. After one day into the new routine and six bus rides later, I seriously considered creating a new category in my budget entitled: Taxi Fare/Personal Chauffeur. Self-will and perhaps a bit of vanity held me back...I didn't want to be that girl who couldn't handle the bus rides, so I sucked it up, zipped up my black hoodie and chased those buses down each and every day.

2. While I may have loathed riding the buses alone, that doesn't mean I didn't have a jolly good time in the company of my friends on the first bus back from school, devouring cheap and tasty ice cream while flying around the death curves.

3. When the most foul-looking, surly bus driver I had ever set my eyes upon seemed to be a mission to out-race every car, bus and motorcycle on the road from Otavalo to Quito. I was about as close as I ever was to mustering up the courage to asking him to drive more carefully when we picked up more and more children, who perched around his throne and magically, he drove like a saint. My sister and I exhaled a sigh of relief and concentrated on the majestic cliffs and valleys.

4. The most luxe bus ever--La Reina del Camino--which transported a small pack of us from Quito to Canoa, a 9 hour bus ride to the beach. I even caught some precious sleep, which was a true sign that I felt at peace. Even if there was a moment in which we found ourselves at a halt about two inches away from another bus (apparently we were both too wide for the road), I had to chuckle. A event-less bus ride would have been too much to ask for, but I trusted in my "chofer" and his plucky assistant to pull us through.

5. The Bus That Raced and Did Not Escape Unscathed. Damn that bus...I was so close to being home before being booted off of it after it scraped up against another competing bus. So sick of putting my life into the hands of the seeming demons of the road, I decided to throw prudence to the wind and ran home in the dark, puddle-filled night.

6. One particular evening, on the final leg of the commute, it seemed the crowds at the bus station were rowdier than usual. Few of the electricized buses were pulling up and while the amount of people grew, so did their impatience. As I edged further up in the line, more commuters were arriving from their connections and a few brazen types did their best to jump the crowds and weasel their way onto the awaiting chariot. Understandably, tempers flared and it was the closest I ever felt to a small-scale riot, as people shoved left and right to secure a spot before the mechanicized doors slammed shut. Again, I decided to trek my way home on foot, which wasn't so bad except for when I unknowingly took a sidewalk that dead-ended into a busy freeway.

7. Learning the faces and jingles of each different vendor who hopped onto the Cumbaya bus. My personal favorites were the fruit and candy sellers, whereas the pirated DVD and CD vendors baffled me, as it seemed they almost never made a sale.


While there's still more tales to tell from that era, it's time to usher in the present. Here I am in Mexico, and in comparison, am leading the life of a pampered princess that gets rides to and from her destinations. However, the fates intervened today, and I'm finding myself torn between the old Quito Question: do I risk the bus (and save seven times as much in fare) or do I flag down a taxi? I have to get downtown to a teacher-training class and really, have I become so soft that I can't hop back into the saddle? I did take this particular yellow bus downtown before here in Monterrey, and in all truth, it's usually fine. No fringed curtains, no outrageous racing, perhaps maybe a few stickers declaring its name at most. What's holding me back? A never-ending slew of bad experiences in Ecuador? The fact that it's about 93 F outside and there won't be the sweet breeze of air conditioning tickling my sweaty skin? Sheer laziness? Probably a shameful mix of all three. But in the name of cheapness and interesting life experiences, I'm going to get back onto that bus and cruise along to my next destination.

Roastus Toastus

I realize that perhaps I harp too much about the weather here, but I just wanted to update everyone that I have officially dubbed how spring feels in Monterrey--roastus toastus. Think crispy, burns-your-hand hot tortillas, fresh off the iron skillet hot. Imagine sweat spots sprouting across the back of your t-shirt, feeling sticky behind your knees and discovering that your eyeliner has mysteriously smudged south in the sheer heat. Picture dry lips that do not respond to excessive amounts of water and running to the corner store in desperation for popsicles and ice cream. Oh yes. It's begun. And it's going to get worse? Uh oh. I think I better pencil in a nice cold dip in a Wisconsin lake in the upcoming months and the very thought that such a lake is probably currently shedding its stiff ice covering as I write, provides me such comfort.

Feliz Primavera!

To all my readers, especially the folks way up north, you have probably felt the chill of winter for far too long. And my answer to you is the following:


La Huasteca, the magical mountain park where horses roam and donkeys bray from their posts in the shade. After a long weekend of rain, the rock-ridden valleys burst to life with vibrant green brush that reminds you how very little it rains in the desert. The urbanites of this 3.8 million-populated city come trickling in with their families, their go-karts and their portable grills to "pasarlo bien" in the almost surreal mountainscape.



Today is the first official day of Spring here and what brought this fact to my attention was catching a glimpse of a five year old completely decked out in a homemade yellow bird costume hopping into his family's car. With fluffy Big Bird feathers poking out every which way, I was delighted to see him yet puzzled as to what brought about the occasion. Then, over lunch, La Abuelita (who is also celebrating her birthday today!) informed us that many kids strolled down the street today dressed up as birds, butterflies and other precious creatures of Spring. Apparently, there was a parade this morning up by the elementary school in downtown Santa Catarina and the children welcomed the new season in all of their feathered and frilly finery.

P.S. A completely shameless side note--flights are really cheap right now from Chicago to Monterrey...Come one, come all!

It's Chilly and I'm Loving It

Way back when in December, when I was busy planning away to make the move down here to Monterrey, I purchased a certain jacket that one of my dear sisters had her eye on. It was a fantastic Dress for Less deal that is a shining jewel in my thrifting crown--a mint-condition feather-down Gap jacket that I'm sure retailed for at least $100 that I snagged at an exhilarating $3.50. Yes!! And when I was busy gloating around the house, Rachel pointed out to me that I was soon on my way to a toasty country just south of the border and that perhaps, such a coat would serve better in bitter Chicago temps. "Hrmph!" I sniffed and assured her that Monterrey, unlike any other part of Mexico, has its own biting winter winds that leave its residents huddled around space heaters and piling on the layers. So, the coat, along with a Grandma-provided supply of LL Bean wool socks and my giant red robe all got packed up after Christmas and off I went.

And yet, that bitter cold never seemed to arrive. The weather was brisk at times, certainly, and in an over-eager moment, I may have bundled myself up in the feathers, but overall, the Monterrey winter has been...sunny and warm. What happened?! I've been forced to pull out my skirts and t-shirts months before I thought it would be necessary. What actually has the locals biting their nails have been the extraordinarily hot days we've had sprinkled throughout February and March, that strangely were followed by cool, sweater days. Fingers pointed to global warming and anxieties were being raised about what awaits us in July, but nonetheless, here we were, roasting away in winter.

Until now. For one last fantastic hurrah, the clouds have darkened and cold rain has poured down in the desert. I ran for my wool socks, cloaked myself in the gigantic, highly unflatteringly (but oh-so-cozy) robe and fleece pants, and strapped on my boots yet again. La Abuelita, Roberto's grandma, even went to buy some guava and made my very favorite warm Mexican drink "ponche", which normally only makes an appearance around Christmas. In case you are wondering, ponche is incredibly easy to make--boil water, a few cinnamon sticks, cut up some guava (check your local Mexican grocery store) or apple and drink to your delight. I'm sure it's only going to last a few days, but I'm living it up in grand fleece fashion.

TOCAYO!!

This evening, as I was reflecting about how fascinating it is to learn another language--the state of contact flux and picking up new words in surprising places--Roberto's neighbor came to mind.

Ever since I first hit the pavement here in "La Aurora", the tightknit community that Roberto's family calls home, I began to recognize familiar faces and neighborhood instituions. There's the elderly and endearing couple that owns "El Maestro" Papeleria, or the paper/office supply shop, which I visit for my photocopying and wrapping paper needs. Their tawny, floppy-eared cocker spaniel swoops through the neighborhood each morning, swiftly shuffling along the sidewalk to his next destination.

Then, of course, there is the family that owns the compact yet highly organized "Super Hugo" corner grocery store that serves as a junk food and candy mecca for all children with a few pesos in their pocket. I myself admit to feeling slighty giddy each time I step out of the house and walk the 20 paces to the corner to indulge in a bag of mangos, something cool to drink or to further my exploration of Mexican candy (which, by the way, is heavily dusted in chili powder). The family that owns El Super Hugo has their own little kingdom underway here in La Aurora, with a key shop, a butcher shop, a candy shop and a slew of real estate around the hood and of course, with the corner grocery store as its flagship property. Mostly the adult children of the owners take turns running El Super Hugo. They all resemble each other and handle the daily influx of vendors dropping off their goods, from the Lala dairy truck (they have the best yogurt) to the more local products, like tortillas and produce.

And one cannot mention the shops around La Aurora without describing the local Cibercafe, where many a child (and also, adults) goes to fiddle away on the internet. The chairs all feel and look like a million and two 10 year olds have sat in them while playing games and looking at their favorite reggaeton music videos. The middle-age couple that owns the upper-level internet cafe keep snacks and soda on hand for purchase and often sit chatting with visitors while keeping an eye on their many machines.

Among these places and many more, the neighborhood of La Aurora keeps a steady beat. Here on la Calle Septiembre, where Roberto's family lives, certain neighbors make themselves more visible than others. To the left of the house lives Mariquita, the elderly lady with an air of dignified elegance about her. Her front garden, which is covered in flowers and has little ornaments blowing in the breeze, is also home to Camila the Chihuahua, who anxiously wags her tail each time we come by to visit her.

However, it's not all peaches and cream all the time here in La Aurora--there has to be a black sheep to every block! And unfortunately, the black sheep of la Calle Septiembre live right on the other side of us, in their Halloween orange and turquoise house. They are cordial enough, but make their presence audibly known through many ways--heavy snoring that extends beyond their property boundaries, a father that has a penchant for hacking loogies while shooting the breeze outside, the large iron grill on wheels that they drag down the street each weekend for their roasted chicken stand, and of course, the monthly "parties" in which a tv is transported outdoors and we are all serenaded to loud colombiana music.

Nonetheless, everyone generally lives in peace, although not necessarily quiet, in this little neighborhood. Recently though, my attention was drawn to one particular character who lives next to Mariquita, and whom I long thought was named Tocayo. He's an older gent who often sits perched on the narrow sidewalk in a curlycue wooden rocking chair, taking in the sights. And everytime that Roberto steps out of the house or walks by him, he always raises his arm up in salutation and yells out, "Tocaaayo!" and Tocayo nods and greets him back.

So naturally, I assumed that this man's name was Tocayo, which I had never heard of, but in a language where there are nicknames ranging from Chuy to Chayo, I didn't think twice until the other day. I was walking down to the Internet Cafe to print something out and I passed Tocayo, and he grunted out a cheerful "Buenos.." to me and I said "Buenos" back and kept on my way. Upon finding the Cafe closed, I headed back immediately, and found Tocayo a few steps from where I had left him, meandering slowly down the sidewalk. He gave me a smile and asked, "Tan rapido?!" and I laughed back and said that yes, my trip was that quick.

When I got back to the house and explained my encounter to Roberto, he started to chuckle and told me that Tocayo's name wasn't Tocayo, but rather, it was also Roberto! And that when you call someone "Tocayo" or "Tocaya" (between women), it's a way of saying hi to someone with your same name without having to awkwardly yell out your own name. Of course! How much sense that makes! But I can't think of an equivalent to how we handle that situation in the States...usually if two people have the same name and are in contact with each other a lot, often one of them will choose to go by another related nickname, like "Joe" instead of "Joey" or "Joseph". And we most certainly don't call out, "Hey, Namesake!!" like one dictionary suggests! Any thoughts?

P.S. I'm going to try my very best to discreetly get some pictures of the places and people I mentioned in this point, but it will take some sly movement on my part, to avoid looking like the suspicious and weird neighborhood gringa.

'Tis Time To Talk About Trabajo

Dear readers,

As I was returning home from work today, I realized that I've left you all largely in the dark about what exactly it is that I'm doing here to occupy my days for the past two months. And let me say that for starters, I've been catching up on sleep after three years of late night chatting that was a given in a long-distance relationship. My alarm clock is currently set to a very "rico" 10:45 am, which puts my previous workaholic self to shame a bit. Haha, but just a bit...for the meantime, I'm enjoying it and know that it won't last for long.

However, in an attempt to redeem myself, don't think it's been all serenades, wining and dining! I have been working steady for about the past month as a part-time English teacher at a small Canadian college that has its perks, such as very plush teaching conditions and its downfalls, like few hours per week. I'm not keen on my blog being seen by unwanted eyes, so I'll keep hush-hush on the specific details. But with that said, feel free to contact me personally for juicy info! Haha, but really, I'm overall happy with the situation for the time being, although the dearth of hours may keep me looking elsewhere in the future.

I teach two levels of classes--intermediate and advanced English for groups that range from about 4-8 students. All of the kids are studying the arts in some form, from fashion to graphic design to photography and they have to take English as a part of their studies. The classes are meant to be enrichment for them, as most of the students have taken many years of English and need to keep their language skills polished and ready. So, each week I get to choose a different topic of interest to them and we explore it. For example, last week we looked at the relation between fashion and politics and this week, we studied climate change and green design. It's a lot of planning, because the classes are long and I have to create the lessons from scratch, but I've been enjoying it.

But for the time being, I work just three days a week and am looking for ways to fill up my free time...I'm going to start up this weekend with classes at the nearby gym and have been spending some quality time with Camila, the next-door neighbor's chihuahua (see picture!). And upon seeing a music studio close by, I've even considered making good on the promise I always said I fulfill--to pick up a new musical instrument, like the violin! We shall see, we shall see, but for the time being, I'm content with leading a slightly more relaxed life, but fret not...more updates are to come!