Same Difference

The more I travel, the more I notice the normality of places.  I realize now that a place is only exotic for about two weeks. After that, my eyes become accustomed to my surroundings and everything that was once so new and strange is suddenly familiar. Everywhere's normal is different, but there's still a distinct pattern of life and action that reveals itself once one's stay becomes more lengthy.  People wake up, they work, they walk around, they live and die, they give birth and take their kids to school and dance lessons and soccer camp, they eat, they drink coffee or beer, they watch sports and laugh with their friends. It's just life. And it happens everywhere, just with a bit of a different backdrop. Some places it's harder, but there's still a routine, a way of things. Some places are hot, some are cold, but people still love and cry and get angry and forgive - all over the planet

Here in Mazatlán, their skin is dark, their hair is black, and they drive around in old pick-up trucks of various shades, usually three or four others piled in the back. They run taco stands from the corner of every fourth block and make the best quesadillas con carne asada anywhere on the planet. They wake up early to hammer nails and make concrete in little piles on the street or to stock produce in small dark frutarias. They make taxis out of covered golf carts called Pulmonias. They ride their bikes and walk their dogs and slide their rollerblades the length of the Malecón at sunset and dress up in bright high heels to buy a cup of coffee and a piece of cake once dusk drops lightly onto the waves. When the moon rises full, it's a rich glowing orange in the inky black sky, yellow lights all over the city winking at it from down below. We speed through them in a car, windows down as we chase Spanish graffitti and hand painted signs that populate the streetsides. Every so often, our ears catch a Doppler effect of jarring Mexican radio; horns and lyrics too fast to a tempo that can barely keep up. Ésta es vida, loud and beautiful, salty and hot.

Picture Post

Hacienda church

Sunset from our roof

Hacienda horse

Watch out, or the crabs will steal your water bottles.

 

Hacienda Peacock

 

Sunset from the Malecón

Overheard Surfer Convo

Cast of Characters:

Sammy - 19, blond, tan, goofy grin, very thin mustache, great little surfer
Eric - 22, lots of brown curly hair, blue eyes, somewhat tan, one of the best snowboarders in the world; however, self-admittedly rather sucks at surfing
Ryan - 27, curly reddish brown hair, the only person I've ever met with more freckles than me, tan (or maybe it's just one big freckle), blue eyes, rad surfer
Matt - 30, blond hair, blue eyes, super tan, looks like he walked right off the cover of I'm a Surfer from California magazine, also really good surfer
Kayle (temporary surfer adoptee) - 29, dark hair, hazel eyes, very slender build, preternaturally tan after 5 minutes in the sun, sucks at surfing which is probably why he doesn't

Random Quotes:
"Hoa, did you see him get worked? He totally just got worked!" - Sammy
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"We thought you may have gotten Banditoed." - Kayle
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"I got urchined in the foot. I just went and urchined myself." - Matt

Actual fragments of conversation:
Eric - "You guys are totally soakin' up some heavy rays. Did you block it up at all?"
Matt - "Nah dude. I didn't block anything up."
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Ryan - "You guys want anything?"
Matt - "Yeah, maybe like a yogurt?"
Kayle - "Ten thousand dollars."
Matt - "Ahh man, I wish I could take mine back now."
Ryan - "I'll fulfill both of your wishes... just not right now."
Matt (to Kayle) - "You wanna share? I'll give you some of my yogurt if you give me some of your ten thousand dollars."
Kayle - "Sure."
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Matt - "We should try your electric shock therapy on my urchins. I bet they'd get so pissed, they'd just start flying out... I mean, I don't know. I think that's how urchins work."
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Sammy - "I'm gonna sit here for exactly 3 more minutes, then I'm gonna shower..."
Matt - "Whoa dude. That's unorthodox!"
Sammy - "...and then I'm gonna put on some underwear..."
Eric - "No way."
Sammy - "... and some shorts."
Eric - "Hoa dude, I don't have shorts or underwear!"
Matt - "I don't have underwear either. Guess I'll just have to wear your underwear."

DISCLAIMER: To be fair to their intelligence, most of this was in jest.  These guys have good hearts, great stories, and a propensity for getting up before sunrise that's astounding.

Friday

Parts of this day I've loved, other parts I've hated. One of my new favorite things is driving to the shop early in the morning on the scooter. It isn't a motorcycle, but I like to pretend it is and that I'm not flying down the road looking like I'm seated at a kitchen table. With my black helmet, sunglasses, black jacket (because despite the 90º heat at 10am, the mornings are still cool and damp enough to give me goosebumps at 45 miles an hour), I like to think my dismount looks like something out of a Harley commercial, my hair flowing in the breeze as I whip off my helmet and shake my head back. However, it doesn't quite translate as I trip over the floorboard, knock the mirrors out of whack trying to set it up on its kickstand, and need five minutes just to unhook my chin strap. It makes me thankful that my co-worker Dennys is busy spraying down the sidewalk so I can fumble about without an audience. Ehh... I've still got a few weeks to perfect my dismount.

The other parts of the day in which the Mexicans coming in are speaking Spanish at a decibel level entirely too low for me to even begin to understand and my first attempt at making a yogurt parfait is almost a complete failure are the parts I hated. I won't even start on the cash register system of "oh put that on my tab" for people who have already spoken with the owners. Everything in me screams, "But that's so disorganized!?!" and I have to mentally check myself to keep from twitching like I've got Turret's. "The numbers, the numbers!! How is this all going to add up?" Just. Breathe. Dennys smiles at me and says, "Hoa, you stressed Jenn?" to which I respond with one of my famous looks before returning to frantically scrawling figures on a notepad trying to wrap my brain around what just happened. Navigation is tricky here, but thankfully, I have a coconut raspberry white mocha frappe to ease away the confusion.  Nothing like deliciously blended sugar and espresso to muddle any concern over things that make no sense.

Coke Drinking Wedding Crasher

There's a tienda (read: store) on the corner of our street that sells glass bottled Coke. If you bring back the bottle from last time, the new one costs only 5 pesos, roughly about 40 cents. They're refrigerated, made in Mexico, and full of a half litre of lovely, chilled carbonated goodness. I had originally decided to give up soda while in Mexico; then about five days ago, Nick told me about this sweet deal and in a matter of about 2.5 seconds, my resolve was gone. This doesn't say much for my resolve I realize, but I like to think myself easily adaptable to different places.

I also crashed my first wedding, yay! It was held at a hacienda out in the middle of some Mexican desert complete with horses, sheep, and free roaming peacocks. There seems to be a trend here of allowing one's exotic pets to have their run of certain property. I'm not complaining, but when a peacock decides to take flight right over your head, it is NOT a comforting feeling. Their loud, eerie squawks are also a bit disconcerting. Anytime anyone clapped for anything at the reception, they decided to join in and add their two cents from high atop the hacienda's brick chimney. I never knew they were such fans of weddings. In addition to peacock calls being seared into my brain, I also came away with authentic red maracas, a crépe paper flower, and a new hankering for Mexican tortilla soup. Throw a bit of gooey, melty white cheese in that mess, and I could eat it every day for breakfast. YUM.

Go Moto

I've been flying around this city for the last couple of days on the back of mopeds. Or on the front of mopeds which can tend to be a bit more disastrous. Lisa plopped a helmet on my head the day before last that was about 5 sizes too big with no strap, and every time I hit a speed bump (and those things kept coming out of nowhere!), the thing would bounce around precariously, often leaving me with only one eye out of which to see. Eventually we hit a street more bumpy than the others, and it flew right off, clattering loudly on the cobblestones behind me while several curious locals looked on and tried to hide their smiles. Yes, I realize I'm a lunatic gringa who has no idea what she's doing cruising these back streets on a moped. All I do know is that when I went back to pick up my helmet, it had completely disappeared, everyone pretending as if they had no idea why I was circling their houses. Lisa and Justin returned with similar results. Conspiracy...

Life is lived in technicolor here. The houses are the deepest shades of every rainbow: bright oceanic blues, golden sunset yellows, light coffee with cream browns, fruit peel oranges, and lime greens. Even the table cloths at the beach restaurants are in stark brilliant contrast to the khaki sand beneath them. Walking through older parts of town, I sometimes feel like I'm in someone's framed photograph that's hanging on a wall back in a tame apartment. For now, though, I'm here, breathing salty ocean, squishing sand between my toes, and speeding off into the sunset on a blue and white moped. Only now I've got a helmet that fits.

Iguana lo

I found myself in a staring contest today with an orange iguana that was about the size of my leg. The hotel that houses the pool we visited apparently just lets them cruise the grounds at their leisure, and I flipped over onto my stomach to his tilted head and hazel eye giving me the once over. Having forgotten a bit of my 6th grade Earth Science, I had to ask Lisa, "He's harmless, right?" before I could completely relax while his orange-y spikes and freakishly long back middle toes were undulating across the concrete towards my chair. I only had one more question before I would let my appendages dangle in front of his Jurassic Park-like face: "Umm, and what do they eat? Like insects and stuff, right?" I was clearly showing off my intelligence in these glowing moments of brilliance, but if you had a small dinosaur-type creature invading your personal space, you'd do a little fact checking of your own.

He then proceeded to saunter over to my board shorts lying crumpled in a heap and lick them. I ignored Lisa's "Mmm, tastes like American" comment while I quickly tried to think of what I was going to do if he walked off with them in his mouth. Did I want to get in a tug of war with a giant iguana? Let me think about that one... NO. Luckily, some other hotel patron distracted him with the cherry from her drink, and once his rotating eye caught a glimpse, he spent the next little bit attempting to get a hold of it with his absence of teeth. Which made me smile. And want to pet it, spikes and all. Iguanas and blowfish - I'm already loving this Mexican menagerie.

JennO and the Blow Fish

I've arrived! I spent my first day in Mexico going to the beach, meeting a gazillion new people, walking around with a dead blow fish (yes, that actually happened), and going to a Mexican birthday party with loud music and plates full of corn chips, marshmallows, and what I'm convinced were edible packing peanuts. Once dipped in what I think was barbeque sauce, they weren't too bad. The marshmallows still don't really make any sense to me. It didn't stop me from eating all of them, but still...

I'm staying in a house full of people that are here for the couple that owns the coffee shop's son's wedding. (Did you follow all of that?) It feels a bit like Real World Mazatlán except times 10. Everyone's a surfer and beautifully tanned which makes me stand out like printer paper among pieces of cardboard. They have California surfer speak and say things like "Chilax" and "Just kick it." I'm having Hawaii flashbacks like mad except it's safer here to swallow a mouthful of ocean than drink from a cup that still has a drop of tap water lingering on it. I still brush my teeth in it though. If I'm going to get amoebas, I might as well scrub them all over my teeth.

I love this so far. I jumped in the ocean yesterday and almost did my excited dance at the taste of salt on my tongue. I'm officially fully embracing the curly, frizzy hair and constant state of sandy. Bring it on.

It Begins.

So the trip begins. I have to first comment on the absolute miniscule size of the Greenville/Spartanburg airport in SC. Not only did the 250 foot stretch of unloading area make me laugh (I turned to my brother and said “You’re kidding me. This is it?”), but in place of actual newstands or built in restaurants, there was only half a wall of vending machine type refrigeration shelves selling everything from small pashmina scarves to a 20 oz Coke for the bargain price of $2.73. It’s nice to know that even in the undeveloped country of South Carolina you can still get scalped buying a Coke at the airport. Now there’s the comfort of flying to which I’m accustomed.

I did get stopped at security (forgot to take off my Burkha, woops!), but mainly because my backpack was so heavy that I could have been smuggling a small child from Haiti. For everyone’s safety, my bag was examined, and when no small child was found, I was given the go ahead to proceed to Gate A6 where I was met with 16 waiting room seats arranged around weird metal cylinders that airports tend to pass off as coffee tables. Except, wait, there’s no Starbucks here so what the heck am I supposed to set on it? The other people on my flight appear to all be older than me by at least 25 years save one small Indian girl and a bleached blond teenager chewing gum and reading what I’m betting is Twilight.

Boarding announcement, yay. Time to get this show on the road. Ahh, the joys of traveling. It’s good to be back.

untitled

Let me just take this moment to say that this time next week I will be in Mexico. Holy goodness. Let me also take this moment to say that although I feel I have done nothing overly strenuous with my brain in the last several days, I nonetheless feel like my brain is currently the equivalent of one of those short, old, squatty green cars in which the driver has to constantly grip the steering wheel and shove their torso forward to get the car to advance while it sputters and coughs and gasps for life. In other words, I have actually experienced this week what most people consider a standard amount of time spent at work. 38 hours. 38 hours in which Satan and all his minions decided to circle and poke and prod and essentially wreak havoc on our coffeehouse, destroying my recently established mental sanity and blowing it to smithereens. It's time for a new list:

Why I Don't Do 40 Hour Work Weeks

1. Our register software went through an update, which means approximately 2 things improved and 8 things de-proved. Apparently, this is pretty standard. Really, Comcash?
2. Comcash Tech Support's favorite thing to do is to put people on hold. For 5 hours. Thankfully, another staff member experienced this, but even just hearing about it made me want to punch the phone in the face. 
3. The power on 1/8,765th of DC's grid went out for 7 hours on Friday leaving us espresso-less, computer-less, and without the ability to see the dirt on the dishes we were washing. 
4. We had a very ingenious Friday night event take place in the dark. Even the bathrooms were without power. For the ladies, I can see making that work. Fellas? I don't even want to know how that went down.  
5. When the power came back, a light blew downstairs along with a very vital fuse in our espresso machine which left us, once again, espresso-less. (For all of you non-coffee drinkers out there, this meant we essentially could not offer half of our menu)
6. One person made the snide comment that "Things go wrong here a lot" at which point I desperately wanted to retort, "Yes ma'am, which is something we clearly are big fans of ourselves. If you're annoyed, I suggest you call Pepco and complain to them about not being able to have your hot vanilla chai as we obviously suggested they blow half our power out and they seemed to think it a stellar idea." 
7. I tripped over the stupid black mat behind the counter. About 85 times. 
8. My co-worker spilled iced coffee on my pants. 
9. I spilled iced coffee on my pants. 
10. When reaching for the broom, I somehow managed to turn the faucet on full force thereby spraying water all over God and creation and the entire back wall of the kitchen. 
11. I wondered what slushy Freezer drink would feel like between my toes and proceeded to find out by dumping part of the contents of the blender onto said appendages.
12. The attractive, yet smarmy waiter across the street whistled at me while I was putting up tables. Again.  If he calls me "darlin'" one more time...

SIGH. Ok. I'm done with my diatribe. Turns out I find venting via type rather cathartic. Now to pack, to bed, and back to the joys of service tomorrow. Vive Mexico indeed.