Freedom

 “I’m free, I think. I shut my eyes and think hard and deep about how free I am, but I can’t really understand what it means. All I know is I’m totally alone. All alone in an unfamiliar place, like some solitary explorer who’s lost his compass and his map. Is this what it means to be free? I don’t know, and I give up thinking about it.”

-          Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

My current working definition of freedom: living on your own in a foreign place. There is so much to explore and even after two months there are moments when I still can’t believe that I am here. The possibilities are limitless with the entirety of Mexico City at my fingertips.

But being free can also be lonely.

For anyone living on their own in a new city, I highly recommend Meetup.com. I dove in headfirst, joining any group within a 5 mile radius, eager to meet new people.  I’ve joined a language exchange group, an outdoor adventures club, an Aztec explorers tour group, a vegetarians/vegans meetup, a board game gathering, and a yoga group. There is also a book club and we just got our reading assignment (sounds like I’m in school again haha) for our next book discussion, hence the Kafka on the Shore. It is a bizarre novel, but Murakami certainly nails the paradox of freedom.

It is strange how there are moments when I feel completely at home and others where I feel like I have the word “gringa” written on my forehead. When I’m playing board games with the Meetup group (great way to learn random Spanish words btw, like “comodín” = wild card) I feel at home, like I’ve instantly just made 30 new friends. And then there are those moments where I mess up counting pesos in a restaurant and I feel like an idiot.

Mexico’s independence day, September 16^th, was no stranger to this paradox of freedom and feeling at home. We had a long weekend (“puente”) for the holiday and I was invited to celebrate with the family of a good friend of my cousin Monday night for El Grito (when the president reads a speech remembering the leaders of the Mexican Revolution ending with a proud shout of “¡Viva México!”). This was one of those times where I felt completely at home: I tried pozole, a delicious soup very traditional for independence day and set off firecrackers for the first time in the streets. I felt like a kid again and was glad to have been welcomed with such open arms by my friend’s family.

 Then on the Tuesday the 16^th there was the military parade. This was one of those foreigner moments. As a New Yorker I was expecting some sort of Thanksgiving Day parade equivalent. Military parades are very different. There were no dancers or festive balloons or anything…just an endless trail of guns and artillery and men (and some women) in uniform marching in synchronized steps. It was both impressive and terrifying. I’d never seen so many guns in one place before. It was unsettling to see firsthand the paradox that freedom and violence are often intertwined. The parade was made to make Mexican citizens feel safe and be reminded of the power of their military – both in ammunition and in civil service projects (building bridges, anti-hunger programs etc.). But for me it was a jarring to see children cheering as tanks and anti-aircraft artillery and endless rows of face-painted soldiers marched by.

  So. Many. Guns. 

These are just a few pictures...I took over 100 of pretty much this same thing, in different colors and sizes.

But freedom is not just for countries : individuals also have the freedom to create. Endeavor recently had a staff training session at RedBox (not the DVD rental company from the US, but the innovative Mexican consulting company). Just walking into their office is inspiring with its modern architecture and glowing inspirational quotes on the walls. I felt at home because it was as if I was back in school: desks, a speaker, a conversation about abstract ideas (innovation, inspiration, creativity). In classroom autopilot mode, I furiously took notes before I remembered that there would be no exam at the end of this lesson. It was strange to break down an intangible concept like “innovation” into a concrete process with step by step instructions. Everyone innately has the freedom to be creative, but we construct limits and walls in our minds that make us think we are “just not the creative type” or that we have writer’s block. 

 

It’s incredible that after so many years of civilization we are still able to create new things. Ancient civilizations began this endless process and we continue it, constantly building on what came before. Sometimes literally. Last weekend I visited the Aztec ruins at La Plaza de las Tres Culturas and Templo Mayor. The intricate detail in these constructions from ancient civilizations is incredible, and yet it was so quickly destroyed and covered with new buildings by the Spanish colonists, blind to the beauty of the civilization they sought to conquer. At both of these sites, churches are built directly on top of Aztec temples and pyramids, crushing the Aztec culture and imposing a new ideology on the native civilization. Walking through el Zocalo after visiting both ruins, I found myself wondering what buried ancient treasures lie beneath the concrete under my feet. Freedom and destruction are divided by a fine line. Mexico City used to be a huge lake, until the colonists, free to use as much water as they wanted, used it all up and turned it into a dry urban basin that today we fill with smog.

 La Plaza de las Tres Culturas

 Templo Mayor with the cathedral in the background

Inside the church Nuestra Señora de los Angeles in a neighborhood near La Plaza de las Tres Culturas

So I am free. Free to live on my own in a new country. Free to do so thanks to the efforts of countless people who came before me, creating and destroying. Initially, my new freedom was overwhelming, but these past few weeks have made me more aware of what I can do to use it well. There is so much culture and history to explore here, and I have only just begun.

High Hopes

 

 The view from my office in Santa Fe

 There are two Mexicos. And there are two United States of America and two of every other country. But there are certain moments when the other Mexico stares at you so intensely that you have no idea how the world seems to ignore it.

Mercados. They are EVERYWHERE in Mexico. My roommate and I agreed that Mexico is probably the country with the most food sold in the street because you honestly can’t take more than a few steps without encountering a stand of tamales or tamarindos or tostadas or palanquetas or tunas or….the list is endless.

 

But what shocked me more than the sheer volume of markets was the stark differences between them. My roommate and I went to the Bazar del Barrio in the hipster Condesa neighborhood where vendors sold artisanal cookies and boutique apparel and other expensive crafts, protected by a white tent and illuminated with tiny plastic bauble light bulbs.

Compare that to a cozy park in Coyoacán where artists sold paintings and sculptors and a DJ played salsa music while elderly couples dressed in their Sunday best danced the day away to the clapping and cheering crowd of spectators. There I bought a small book made by a jovial old man. He shared with us that he started making books when he started writing music. Naturally we got to talking about music, guitars and rock and roll. When I asked him what artists he liked to listen to, he abruptly stopped the flow of conversation, looked me in the eye, and said,

“Escuchas a High Hopes por Pink Floyd. Me puso llorar.”

“Listen to High Hopes by Pink Floyd. It made me cry.”

                                                Dancing at the outdoor market on Sunday

And then there was another market in Coyoacán, a labyrinth of stands protected from the sun by sheets and plastic tarps forming narrow passageways crowded with people. Here they sold everything: piñatas, tacos and toys; fresh fruit and dried fruit; clothing and curtains; homeopathic remedies and Cheetos. Navigating the winding maze of stands and goods, you have no idea what you’ll find when you turn the next corner.

As we returned home via the metro, the market never completely ended: people even sold things in the subway cars. Every time the car stopped a new vendor would get on, replacing the one who had just left, filling the car with their sing-song chanting of prices, goods and deals. Once again there was a strange combination of goods represented: from candy to electronics to bubbles.

One bubble vendor in particular caught my attention.

We were two stops away from home, exhausted, and eager to sit down to dinner and rest our legs after a day spent exploring markets. I was fading in and out of daydreams to the sing-song voice of each salesperson in our subway car when suddenly the doors closed and a raspy child’s voice cut through the car’s silence like a knife. 

“¡Buenas tardes, damas y caballeros!”

A boy no older than ten carrying a large box filled with tiny containers of bubbles stumbled into the car, fumbling with the box in his efforts to keep it upright. He took no time starting his chant, delivering it mechanically, phrase after phrase spewing out into the car, forced and rehearsed and shouted. He plowed through, determined to get to the end before the next stop, only taking a second between phrases for a short, gasping breath before continuing.

“¡Hay burbujas!”

*gasp*

”¡de diferentes colores!”

*gasp*

“¡Se valen 5 pesos!”

*gasp*

“¡5 pesos se cuestan!”

By the end of the chant his voice was worse off than when he began, cracking and squeaking in the middle of words, sore from a long day’s work. His gaze was fixed on a point at the far end of the car as he mechanically opened one of the containers, took a long, deep breath that made his small shoulders heave with the effort and blew into the bubble wand. A stream of soap circles billowed into the car, pressing against the doors and windows, bouncing off faces and shoes and backpacks, landing in laps and on heads. One by one the bubbles dispersed, inevitably popping on the hard surfaces of the subway car. One tiny bubble tapped against a cracked window, curious as to what lay beyond the cracked glass, before it was sucked out into the dark abyss.

His chant and demonstration finished, the boy lugged the box of bubbles through the car, glancing at the people seated around him, waiting for someone to acknowledge him and indicate their interest in making a purchase. But no one did.

After his short parade through our car, the boy leaned against the far door. He rested the box of bubbles on one raised knee for a moment before the subway car doors opened with a ding and he continued his mission into the following car.

Having glimpsed a reminder of the other Mexico, I was painfully aware that the exhaustion I was feeling was the result of a day of leisure and shopping.

Before I went to sleep that night I decided to take the old craftsman/musician’s advice and listen to High Hopes. And I cried, too.

 Graffiti along the road on my commute from work every day.

High Hopes by Pink Floyd: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jMlFXouPk8

Algo Más

My Aunt Charin on her birthday

I should have blogged ages ago. But I’ve been avoiding it for weeks. I suppose the truth is that I’m finding it difficult to synthesize everything into cohesive pieces. 

Life in Mexico City is essentially what I like to call organized chaos. Cars whiz through four way intersections without stop signs or traffic lights while motorcycles weave between them. Restaurants prepare delicious food, but rely on truckloads of bottled water each week so their customers won’t get sick. And even the weather is simultaneously chaotic and orderly – nearly every evening it pours and thunders like the apocalypse, only to return to peaceful night skies in a few hours.

I’ve spent over three weeks here now, and I just realized this marks the first time that I’ve lived in a Spanish-speaking country communicating in solely Spanish every day (my independent project in the highlands of rural Panama only lasted for three weeks and throughout the rest of my 4 months there I was able to speak English regularly with my classmates). It’s exciting to cross a new threshold! But I am surprised by how much more difficult it has been to switch between Spanish and English that I thought. I find my tongue doesn’t know what shape to make sometimes when I switch languages abruptly. Just like when I switch between languages while texting on my phone and I forget to change the keypad’s default language, my brain starts generating Frankenstein words, as if my newly acquired Spanish autocorrect  is searching for meaning among English syllables. 

The difficulty of this process makes me feel strangely American. My roommate from Morroco can speak 4 languages fluently. People in Mexico are often very well-versed in English or another language. So why do I (someone who has excelled in our American school system, graduated from a university with an excellent reputation, and earned this fellowship) struggle with just two languages, and I don’t even claim to have truly mastered fluency in one of them? I’m led to conclude it is a cultural barrier, one that comes from growing up in a culture deeply rooted in one language, with very little necessity to attempt others.

There are other subtle things that remind me of how much I have to learn about the rest of the world. The people begging on the streets for instance. There are hundreds of them, far more than I’ve ever seen in New York City. And they don’t sit idly, sign in hand, hoping someone will read it and donate something. They come straight up to you, look you in the eye, tell you what a good morning/evening/night it is, and ask if you will buy a wooden spoon or a piece of candy. And sometimes they are children. And I find myself overwhelmed at the paradox that if I don’t buy anything, what will this little girl think of foreigners like me living in bohemian areas of Mexico City, but then again if I do buy something, would it really change that?

I’m also shocked that certain things here simply don’t exist: smoke detectors, ant traps (but as you may have gathered from my last post, I don’t really want those anymore)…things that you take for granted that you can buy at any CVS or Walmart that aren’t on every corner like in New York. At the pharmacy on my corner I buy band aids one at a time, and this week they ran out. It’s these little things that make me realize just how naïve I have been, living in New York and Philadelphia my whole life. When I went to Panama, I noticed similar things. But that trip was more of an exploratory one, I never stayed in one place for long, and I was always a foreigner. But here, trying to live like a local is showing me that the reality of living in the largest urban center in Mexico is very different from living in a similarly urban city in the US. 

All of this makes me appreciate the entrepreneurs that I meet every day at work so much more. They are creating new businesses and new technology in a city where resources are limited and opportunity is accessible to few. Yes, many of them were born into that opportunity, but what they do with it, how many jobs they create, and how they influence the way of life here in Mexico, is pretty inspiring. Whether it be developing water treatment systems or creating the first social media app to originate in Latin America, they are moving Mexico into a new age. And it is incredibly exciting to be a part of that.

I will close with one observation that really hit home for me. I was at my great aunt’s 101^st birthday. Yup, that’s right, not a Spanish-to-English keyboard translation type-o: 101 years old! My Aunt Charin is a truly incredible woman, and my whole family shared a lovely afternoon of food, music, and conversation in her honor. What truly struck me about this fiesta however, was one song in particular. My uncle had been playing guitar and inviting cousins, aunts, and uncles alike to sing with him. Then, my cousin started singing a song in Spanish that I knew. By heart. Why? Because I had memorized the lyrics in high school Spanish class.

Hearing that song, sung in person (and expertly I might add) by my cousin brought me back to the hours I had spent listening to it in my room in high school, determined to commit the foreign words to memory, playing it over and over with the lyric sheet in hand. It suddenly occurred to me that this moment, being able to appreciate this music with my family, was what I had studied so hard to achieve. I didn’t know it at the time – I mean, if you had told high school Michelle that she would be living in Mexico in 5 years she would have thought you were crazy. But I suppose my yearning to understand Spanish in school carried me to this moment, where I can say that I know and love my family here in Mexico, and I am so grateful for the opportunity to spend more time with them and better understand this country that raised my grandfather.

Here is the song for those of you who are curious: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8cPhfgEm4M

The ants go marching...

I just finished my first week here in Mexico City and wow….what a whirlwind! I didn’t think I would be so busy, but time seems to fly here!

This time last week my Dad and I had just spent 5 hours in a Movistar cell phone store…that feels like ages ago now. I’m currently sitting at my tiny desk in my room, roaring thunder shaking the whole apartment every few minutes (hello rainy season), while gazing at the orderly stream of ants bustling about my floor in the corner. These ants are important – I will get back to them later.

 

 My Dad and I being gringos...

Getting settled was a production. I ran into the most trouble with my phone (anyone planning to bring an unlocked Windows phone to a different country to switch sim cards DON’T DO IT!). That took about 4 days total to fix, but I was very grateful for the incredible help of my family here in Mexico (with everything, phone-related and otherwise). The other difficulty I had that I hadn’t anticipated was the sheer difficulty of finding things in Mexico City. I figured that since I was moving to a large city I would be able to find all sorts of apartment things (bedding, bins, cleaning supplies, etc) fairly easily. However, it is significantly more difficult to find Tupperware, Clorox wipes, and a shower curtain than I thought. From talking to people, I realize there are simply some things that people travel all the way to the US to buy, or they simply make do without. And there are also things that people here just don’t use, like smoke detectors and ant traps. Yup, there are those ants again, but hold on *cue timely thunder* I’m not done with them just yet.

My family has been incredible and I honestly could not have gotten settled as quickly as I did without their help! I didn’t realize just how impactful their welcome was until a day went by without seeing family and I found myself lonelier than I thought. People in general have been wonderful here, though: my roommates are very welcoming and it has been great getting to know them better, my co-workers are also very friendly and I am learning a lot from them, and even people on the street that I ask for directions (or how to use a pay phone) are very willing to help. It was also an amazing happenstance that I friend I made while studying abroad in Panama came to visit her family in Mexico this week and we were able to meet up! So people in general are what have made my arrival so wonderful. *cue ant darting across my computer keyboard*

 One of many family gatherings

Food is amazing and stressful. Amazing because it all tastes fabulous (honestly I don’t think there is anything I have tasted yet that I didn’t love), but stressful because:

a.) food is expensive in most of the areas I find myself in, and 

b.) I am never 100% sure if the food will make me sick or not. 

I’ve found myself with little to cook with most nights, so I have resorted to makeshift dinner combinations, like spicy salsa on rice cakes (actually that was one of my better makeshift meals). But after a little exploring and lots of question-asking, I found more affordable grocery stores and taquerías (taco restaurants) for the future. My favorite food here has to be nopales, which is a type of cactus-like plant with a very unique flavor. I am also surprised by the popularity of fish here – I have eaten fish at least 4 times in the past week, and not just because I was avoiding meat, but because it was in the majority of the items on the menu. I also love tacos – and no, they are nothing like those stupid crunchy yellow things you get at Taco Bell. In real tacos, shredded meat comes wrapped in 3 or 4 of the tiniest corn tortillas you will ever see, and by the time you add the lime, cilantro, onions, and spicy salsa your mouth is watering. They are the perfect late-night dinner/snack, and I am eager to try more from different taquerías. 

Taco spread

Commuting to Santa Fe from La Condesa has proven not to be as far a taxi ride as everyone kept warning me, but the universities here are on vacation so we’ll see how the commute changes once they start up again. Endeavor is an amazing place – very upbeat, modern, fast-paced, and exciting! The entrepreneurs we work with are enthusiastic and their businesses are always interesting to learn about. Attending meetings all over the city not only makes my week interesting, but has helped me to learn more about the layout of the city. My current project with the other PiLA fellow is to focus on the entrepreneurs for the Tech Track panel in September. By reading the entrepreneurs’ applications and listening to interviews between the entrepreneurs and their Endeavor mentors, I am learning a lot about how business is done in Mexico (and starting your own business in general). I started working on my first profile (a document written in English that summarizes the business of the entrepreneur for the international panel members) and I am excited to continue working on my translating skills.

Speaking Spanish all the time has taken its toll on me more than I thought it would. There are days when I get home and I can’t stop thinking in Spanish, and then there are days where I just can’t seem to form grammatically correct Spanish sentences no matter how hard I try. Everyone is very patient with me, and I know I can only improve, but there are many times (like when I ordered tacos for delivery) that I have absolutely no idea what the other person is saying and I have to ask or make an educated guess. Word of the week = topes (speed bumps). There are tons of them here, so I’m happy I finally have a word for them.

All things considered, this week has brought a great deal of excitement, some moments of frustration, and lots of learning experiences. I am eager to see what next week has in store!

Waiting in Parque de los Espejos (Park of Mirrors) before a meeting

So what about the ants, you may ask? Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about them. What first struck me about these ants was that in the U.S. an ant infestation in an apartment would be catastrophic. People would be rushing to buy ant traps and anything else that might stop the endless flow of bugs. But here, everyone is just thrilled that they are not cockroaches. And once I learned that, I began to look at these ants in a more sympathetic light. In fact, I find them sort of endearing for a couple of reasons:

1. They are predictable. In this city where road signs are mere suggestions, I barely know where I’m going, and everything moves at a pace that is borderline chaotic (and this description comes from someone who has spent plenty of time in NYC), the consistency of this little line of ants gives me some peace of mind. Every morning when I get up and every night before I shut off the lights, there they are, scurrying to and fro.

2. They are harmless. They aren’t termites. They haven’t infested the kitchen cabinets where the food is. They just scurry across the floor in certain areas. In this unfamiliar city, where I find myself needing to be alert for my own safety at all times, these ants are something that I don’t have to worry about.

3. They remind me of myself. I feel so small in this huge city. And I don’t know exactly what I’m doing just yet – but I try to follow the flow of the locals, and do my part to contribute to a bigger picture. 

While I may occasionally find a lone ant in my hair or on my desk, so be it. I pity the little guy because, like me, he’s just learning how to find his way in a very big world. 

Laundry day photos from the roof of my apartment building