Day 86

Palabras.
Spanglish is ugly.  You know, where "ignorant" people think they can add an "o" to the end of any English word to make a Spanish one?  Well, in typical fashion, stereotypes DO generally come from somewhere, and those "brilliant" people were totally light years ahead of me.  Quick examples of what I'm talking about:  American becomes Americano, Mexican becomes Mexicano, etc.  To be perfectly correct, you add an "o" AND try not to pronounce it like a gringo.  But it doesn't stop there.  Here are a few examples of the times I felt the stupidest for asking ¿Como se dice...

• traffic = trafico
• graffiti = grafiti
• space = espacio
• idea = idea (particularly embarrassing...)

There is a funny story about someone (as in, not me...) asking how to say "cilantro" in English.  After several attempts to explain, in a situation resembling Abbott and Costello's "Who's On First" skit, it wasn't until someone finally said "cilantro" in a redneck accent that she understood it was the same word.  But not like that's never happened to me...

In general though, I'm finally at a point with my Spanish where I can use it to communicate clearly and easily.  There are times at work where I still get stuck on technical issues (i.e. my Spanish hasn't yet grown enough to encompass technical discussions about welding processes).  But one-on-one, outside of work issues, I actually hold pretty decent conversations in Spanish.  In groups, there are times when I lose the thread of the conversation, but I usually pick it up again when I realize I'm the butt of a joke.  In cases like these, my Spanish is luckily strong enough to crack a good joke, and then change the subject.  So while I definitely wouldn't say my Spanish is fluent, I do feel like I could accurately call it functional.

My favorite is talking to taxi drivers.  Since i don't have a car of my own, I do find myself in taxis pretty often, and it's kinda funny that these conversations always follow a similar pattern:

Me: "Eres de aqui?"  (Are you from here?)
Cabbie: "No, soy del DF" (No, I'm from Mexico City, Districto Federal)
Me: "Jaja, hay bastante personas aqui de Mexico.  Te gusta Queretaro?"  (Haha, there are tons of people here from Mexico City.  You like Queretaro?)
Cabbie: "Ooo, si.  [y much mas, muy rapido, que no pude entender]   Tu?"  (Ooh, sure. [and then a lot more, super fast, that I couldn't understand]  You?)
Me: "Por su puesto!  Queretaro es bonita, tranquila...  me gusta mucho.  Solamente falta una playa, nada mas."  (Of course!  Queretaro is pretty, laid-back...  I like it a lot.  It's only missing a beach, nothing else.)

The conversation then usually turns to Mexican beaches, but sometimes changes all together to talk about sports, work, etc.  But it almost ALWAYS starts off just like that.  And it's really funny, because a vast majority of the taxi drivers I've met are all from Mexico City.  [Side note: there are signs all over the highway, pointing you simply towards "Mexico"...  cracks me up every time.]  It's my guess in general that Queretaro has a huge population of people here from Mexico City.  Queretaro is actually supposed to be the fastest growing city in Mexico, according to the unbiased Queretanos that I have talked to.  So, assuming they're right, it would make sense that there are so many people coming here from Mexico City and other parts of the country.  It's kind of rare to meet someone who was born and raised here.  And not because it's a terrible place--it really is beautiful--but more because it's had such an unbelievable influx of people and rapid expansion in the last 10 years or so. 

Speaking of the beautiful city, I took the picture below while walking around the town one night with some folks from the Peace Corps.  Towards the top/right of the picture, you'll notice Los Arcos (The Arches).  They are Queretaro's second most famous monument, and are a set of aquaducts that were constructed way back in the day by a rich guy who was trying to woo a nun.  She promised they'd be together if he brought water to the city, he called her bluff, and she reneged.  As you can tell, I know this story real well.  But anyways, if you follow Los Arcos to the left, off into the distance, my house is located on the backside of that hill.  Just an FYI.

Ok, so I also promised an update about a really important soccer game and a really big party.  Really big party: didn't go.  I was at the really big soccer game, and by the time I got home and was able to head that way, my friend was too far into the party to hear his phone.  Oh well.

Big soccer game: Queretaro (Gallos Blancos) vs. Guadalajara (Chivas).  I asked what a "chiva" is, and I think I've deduced that it's more or less a billy goat.  So, the Billy Goats of Guadalajara took second place in La Cope de Libertadors this year, which more or less should signify that they are the second best team in all of Latin America.  And when you add that there are a lot of people living here from Guadalajara, you can see why the game was a big deal.  We over-achieved and tied them 2-2, a very respectable result for us.

There was another--more important--game that took place this last week as well.  On Tuesday, our Siemens team had our last regular season game, which we needed to win to qualify for the post-season.  After securing a quick 1-0 lead, we even quicker conceded the equalizer (1-1).  We held it down at 2-1 until halftime, our first goal coming from Alejandro on his birthday, and the second from Roberto on an impossible volley.  In the second half, Roberto notched his second goal in equally impressive fashion, and then unsuccessfully attempted a bicycle kick and hurt his hand (he returned to the game after some medical attention).  So, with 10 minutes left in the game, we held a lead of 3-2, with visions of glory before us.  Plagued by injuries (I was head-butted in the temple pretty hard and refused medical attention like a real man/idiot, Robert hurt his hand, and Oscar nearly broke his collar bone), however, we conceded two quick goals in the last 5 minutes or so and lost, with a final score of 4-3.  And thus ended our first, tragic season.  Now I get to focus on my American football career... blah.  I need to find another soccer team.

Day 77

Bicentenario, Bulls, & More.

So I haven´t written in a while?  A lot has definitely happened since I last put anything up.  For instance, I went to a bull fight, I celebrated Mexico's Bicentenario de Independencia, and I also got to go back to the US for a week.  Even though I was working the whole week in North Carolina, everyone in Querétaro asked me how my vacation was... whatever, I'm totally not bothered by it.

Bicentenario.  Boomshakalaka.  I actually got the opportunity to celebrate Mexico's 200th anniversary of independence, which is also conveniently the 100th anniversary of the end of their civil war... which is where Zapata and Pancho Villa became famous, on an interesting side note.  Anyways, Siemens gave us Thursday and Friday off to celebrate this bad boy (which helped make up for working over Labor Day, when all my friends were vacationing real hard).  "El Grito" was Wednesday night at 11pm, which meant that all the good parties started sometime that afternoon and definitely didn't stop til...  Well, I know I tapped out around 330am Thursday, and there were many abuelas still going strong at that point.  My good friend Alejandro said he didn't get to bed til 7am or later.  Needless to say, in addition to the altitude, there are plenty of other things to which this gringo has not adjusted.

El Grito ("The Scream") to me is pretty much the Mexican equivalent of what Paul Revere did for our Revolution.  This one was all in Spanish (obviously), and finished with a bunch of Viva's:  Zapata, Villa, and then like 6 "Viva Mexico's."  The president led the cry from the window of a government building in Mexico City, and this was immediately followed by a worthy fireworks display.  Not saying I teared up myself (I totally did), but I felt honored to be able to sit in on something so monumental, and to see so many people be so proud of their country.  Regardless of one's views on immigration, drug wars, or jalapeños, I think anyone would have been impressed in a similar way if they had been able to stand in my shoes that night.

Right right, so that was El Grito, late Wednesday night.  Earlier that day, I went to my first bullfight!!  And it was awesome.  It's a tradition to buy a bota (wineskin) to drink out of during the game, and then perhaps throw to the matador if he does real well.  [Actually, if he does REALLY well, the matador wins the hoofs and tail and maybe ever ears of the bull, and depending on how generous he feels, those very same trophies are then tossed into the crowd.  The website I looked at made this sound like a good thing, but I was sure as hell that I was going to dig deep and pull out my best "Dodge Bull" skills if a bloody hoof came flying into my half of the plaza.]  When in Rome, or in a bullfighting ring in Mexico, you have to do like the locals.  Needless to say I bought a badass bota, that I knew I would never be selfless enough to share with any matador.  What I did not know, however, when I bought my bota the day before the fight, was that it takes a full 5 or 6 days to prep a wineskin before you can actually drink out of it.  Undeterred, we also purchased a super crappy bota at the event so that we could fulfill the cultural mandate.  For some reason, "fulfilling the cultural mandate" felt more like "not wussing out on a dare." 

In addition to awesome, the bullfight was SHOCKING.  Honestly, I didn't realize that they don't always kill the bulls in bullfights.  Supposedly this is a new thing?  Whatever the case, I double-checked beforehand and was STOKED to find out that they were going to kill the bulls.  Let me admit with some embarrassment that up to this point in my life, I had really only ever witnessed the death of two animals: I once hit a dog that ran out in front of my volvo, and then also accidentally smothered a baby chicken to death in my sleep (kind of a long story...).  But geez, I don't know what I expected the death of a bull to look like, but it caught me WAY off guard.  The process of a bullfight is real long, and I don't want to explain it all, but let's just say that they stab it a bunch of times before the main matador steps into the ring (there are a bunch of mini-matadors who run around with the bull for a while before things get serious).

"So how DOES a matador kill a bull??" you may be asking yourself.  Great question.  Literally, he stabs his sword through the back of the neck, just behind the head, hopefully severing the spinal cord.  That's real hard though, so normally they just stick the sword in the bull's back (bull takes this in stride, super impressive), and then the matador goes to Plan B, which is trying to achieve the same result with a different sword.  Did you know that when a bull dies, it immediately falls to its side and its feet stick out/up to the side??  I had seen so many cartoons portray this when I was little, and I had no idea how accurate they were.  And the most disturbing thing: after the matador successfully kills the bull, a small team of guys runs out of the tunnel to stab the bull a few more times to make sure it's dead dead dead, while the matador walks around the plaza blowing kisses to the crowd and drinking from random wineskins (can't be healthy).  In the picture below, you can see the small team in the ring attending to the bull (off in the distance a little)... as well as the clientele in the foreground.

Altogether, I saw 7 bulls.  There were 3 matadores, each of whom fought 2 bulls.  However, one of the bulls they brought out was young and not a very tough match (didn't charge much), so they let a matador-in-training have a go at him.  And I'm a little surprised to say that after bull #2--bull #3 at the very latest--I was totally okay with the whole thing.  I dunno, maybe it was watching grown men chug wine, as the entire crowd cheered them on, counting for how many seconds he could keep going.  But whatever the case, by the end of it, I was totally a believer.  Well, at least in the bota idea, if not the whole bull killing thing.  There's a guy in the middle of this next picture chugging... he's sort of blocked from view, but you can his blue-sleeved arms holding the wineskin, and also that pretty much everyone nearby is cheering him on.  This was during an intermission?  If you have trouble finding Waldo, the picture should enlarge if you click on it.

Later in the weekend, I also had the chance to go to a ranch in Michoacan.  Some gringos have told me that Michoacan grows some of the finest marijuana around.  More recently, some Mexicans have told me that Michoacan grows the cocaine that the Narco's are smuggling across the border.  I didn't really see either drug (or any at all, actually), but the ranch was incredibly verdant, so I could see why certain people would grow certain cash crops there. 

The ranch belongs to my friend's in-laws, who run a trout farm on their beautiful property.  We pretty much just relaxed for a day and a half, eating an enormous amount of carne asada.  I wouldn't have changed a single minute of it.  Well, except for nearly losing my sneakers when my feet sunk into the mud during a walk to the stream.  Other than that though, no changes.

The Monday following Bicentenario, I flew to NC for a week of training for Siemens.  I passed the evenings at the hotel by jogging and swimming, and avoiding the guy at the counter who kept winking at me without really winking at me.  I flew out early Friday afternoon to FL to surprise my parents for the weekend.  Luckily no one had a heart attack, and in general the surprise was received well by all.  Mom was a little upset that her and Dad were the only ones who didn't know I was coming... Sorry, Momma, but a surprise is a surprise.  Thanks for letting it slide this time.

And so now I'm back in Mexico.  Home.  OF COURSE I had terrible luck again flying back with Delta... I arrived, and then my bags did, 2 days later, soaking wet for some reason?  I still don't even know that would happen.  Did they fall out of the plane over the gulf, and then get retrieved by the Delta Search & Rescue Squad?  Whatever.  This place is really starting to feel like home, and I really am very thankful to be here, just in general, but also specifically at this time in my life and in the life of Mexico.  Now all I have to do is figure out where I'll be living/working in January...  No hay problema.

Miss you all lots.  Tomorrow holds in store a big soccer game, as well as a big party (my friend Alejandro is being christened a Godfather tomorrow).  Hopefully details will follow shortly.  Adios.

Day 45

Anticipation & Consternation.

Fabio got fired.  There is really no way to soften the blow, or to beat around the bush--Fabio got canned.  And for what?  For the very thing that originally endeared me to the guy: verbally abusing the receptionist who is universally known to be a terrible person.  What Fabio failed to consider--or perhaps considered, but then neglected in favor of his duty to state the oft thought but ne'er spoken truth about this woman--was the power she held.  And in the long run, I'd have to say that this was a landslide decision for the receptionist, if not a straight up KO.  Sure, he landed a few good punches ("You're a terrible person!...  Not even talking about work--you, as a person, are AWFUL!!").  But he got the boot.  In slightly distasteful memorial of Fabio, here is a quick picture of what he did not look like:

So now I am a self-taught Spanish student, and I think actually prefer it?  Fabio was a great guy, and he had a huge advantage as a teacher, compared to me homeschooling myself, which is that he speaks fluent Spanish.  Luckily I work with some 500 Spanish teachers.  HR is trying to find a bona fide replacement for Fabio, but there's really no time frame for the search, so I'm not holding my breath.

On the sports front, we lost our first game to kick off the official Siemens league.  So tragic.  The team we played against wasn't great, and two of our best guys got hurt... seems like our next few games will only be harder.  Being engineers though, we took some time to talk X's and O's after our loss, and I think we have things pretty well sorted out.  Wednesday night, 7pm, at Las Canchas Hernandez.  It's going to be epic.  Unrelated, here's a funny picture:

That's pretty much it for the consternation portion of this blog (ugh, except that I totally just lost track of time and forgot about the tortilla on the stove...).  Apart from all that, there are actually a few opportunities that I'm real excited about:

1. for our Siemens team to redeem ourselves this Wednesday night,
2. for the Queretaro Gallos Blancos to redeem themselves this Saturday (the Gators as well),
3. to hang out with the small crowd of Peace Corps volunteers here in Queretaro (some very cool kids),
4. and to celebrate Mexico's 200th anniversary of independence from Spain, in the city where the whole thing began.

No lie: the story of Mexican Independence totally begins in Queretaro.  Obviously I'm not going to recount it all right now--you can read up on it on Wikipedia, just as I did, if you really want the cold, hard facts...  But assuming Wikipedia is halfway right (confirmed by my unbiased Mexican friends here in Queretaro), that really only makes my placement here in Mexico that much sweeter.  I honestly can't say enough about how lucky and blessed I feel to be here.  The short story is that I'm being paid to live abroad for six months, in a sweet house that almost rivals the one I left in Orlando (ALMOST), in a city that is bigger and safer than the one I just left, where said city also happens to be the epicenter for Mexican Independence, the 200th anniversary of which will be celebrated next week.  (Cinco de Mayo is totally not Mexican independence day; it's September 16.  Cinco de Mayo was probably actually more significant to American history than Mexico's, if Wikipedia informs me correctly.)  Oh yeah, did I mention that I'm just plain happy to have a job right now, period, let alone this one?  All that to say, things are going well.  Don't worry, mom: still no sign of cartels or scorpions.

Day 37

Frijoles to Football: Gringo Getting Settled In.

I've been writing a little less lately for two reasons, I think.  First, I've just been busier.  I'm making friends, joining WAY to many soccer teams, and working long hours.  Second, I think I'm getting used to things around.  Bathroom etiquette is finally becoming less of a mystery (except that I realized people smoke WHILE doing their business, so that when I go to do mine, I'm basically being hotboxed with secondhand smoke, my favorite), people are beginning to know me (and vice versa), and I'm slowly but surely picking up on the language and culture so that I don't make as many stupid gringo errors.  That's not to say that I've completely rid myself of them, but just that they're certainly waning.  But still, there's a lot going on, and a lot that I continually laugh about, not to mention that I manage to keep making some "great" decisions...

Speaking of which, today was a beautiful day in Queretaro.  The sun was shining, there was a nice breeze, and I had time to burn before my football game (to be addressed later).  Since I work 8-6 every day during the week, I miss out on prime suntanning hours during the week, and almost sunlight in general.  When factored in with my already pale complexion, I'm basically ghost-like.  So, I figured I'd be proactive and tan a little.  You never know when an impromptu beach trip will strike (that is, when I'll be successful in launching one), so I figured I ought to be ready and pre-tan.  So, scantily clad, I laid out for a little while.  As in, maybe 30 minutes each side?  And now the backs of my thighs are BRIGHT red.  As in, it's painful to sit down and write this blog.  How much do I look forward to my desk job this week?  Less than usual.  I was wondering what grandpa would say about this, and I've decided he probably wouldn't have said anything.  He just would have laughed real hard, in my face, and that would have been enough.  Eh, he might have pointed out that I am a jackass, but I can't see him elaborating much beyond that.

So I've finally been able to have a few people over to the house for dinner and drinks.  I think they're always a little disappointed and surprised to see the that I made salsa, guacamole, and pinto beans.  For starters, those are pretty much the same things they've eaten every day of their lives, and they were probably hoping for something a little more exotic--like hamburgers or fried chicken.  But moreover, I think they're just shocked that a gringo would not only have those foods, but that he would have made them himself.  One guy actually straight up said to me: "I didn't know that gringos liked frijoles!"  Um, I'm pretty sure most don't, it's kinda just me.  After complimenting the salsa, someone else asked, "You like spicy food??"  I explained that I do, but that it makes my eyes tear up and my nose run.  That one was actually kind of embarrassing to admit, but obvious since I had just set a box of tissues on the table.  All in all though, I've been happy to host a few people over at my house and even make a few friends outside of work.  In a lot of ways, Mexico has stopped being such a novelty and is really starting to feel like home.  So, now instead of being shocked by the cleaning ladies hanging out in the guy's bathroom, I think I'm starting to get a better feel for what makes people tick around here, how they are in a lot ways just the same as me, and how they are real different in some.  It is still a little too soon to fathom the depths of the Mexican people (shocking, I know), so I'll digress and tell you about how I did my best to fulfill stereotypes in my football game this afternoon.  Yes, I said "fulfill."

We had our last game of the season today (only my second game).  We were down 2 players, so we definitely drafted one guy's girlfriend into playing with us, since she looked sorta kinda dressed for the occasion.  En route to a 13-20 loss, I managed to score 2 touchdowns and snag an interception.  While it wasn't enough to win the game, it was enough to earn an invitation to play with them for the next season.  Which starts in 3 weeks.  And, of course, because I have never said no to anyone before, why start now?  This means I'm now playing on 1 American Football team, 2 futbol teams, and then have also been invited to play on a pretty serious ultimate frisbee team.  Apparently the ultimate frisbee team has won 2 large tournaments in Mexico City?  The guy said they were "good, but not American good."  So, I'm like a gringo talisman?  Pretty sure that's actually what is going on here.  Whatever, I enjoy playing football and futbol (probably going to politely decline the ultimate invite...), so I'll take it as a compliment and enjoy the camaraderie.  Here is an actual picture from today's game:

In other news, we had a lot of very important people visit the factory last week, so everyone was real stressed out.  Except for me.  Because I didn't realize that I was supposed to be stressed out.  Probably this is one good case of when "ignorance" really was bliss, or at least not as bad as "awareness."  Whatever the case, I got to go to dinner with everyone on Thursday night.  In total, there were 3 VP's, 3 CFO's, and a handful of upper managers.  I kept laughing to myself during dinner, thinking about how I'm only a year out of college, and was sitting around a table in Mexico with the 6-10 guys who are driving this business in the Americas.  I felt a little bad about laughing at apparently nothing, until the real important people ordered a round of tequila shots.  I figured out then that most everyone else was probably laughing at something themselves.  Someone commented later that I had made a good impression on the people above me (probably not everyone I ate dinner with, but maybe one or two of the ones who mattered).  Glad to know they made their assessment and left town before I had a chance to burn my backside.

Fabio

I Can't Believe It's Not Fabio!

Last Monday I started Spanish classes with Fabio.  I got up early to shower and eat a healthy breakfast, fully aware of the mentally taxing class that lay ahead.  Honestly, I was probably just as nervous as my niece was when she started Kindergarten that same day (coincidence?).  #2 pencils sharpened and ready, I eagerly rode to work.

My Spanish teacher and I started off on the wrong foot, let's be honest.  First, he looks nothing like the other Fabio, the man who sold more margarine worldwide than Michael Jordan did Wheaties (probably).  Eh, I guess that was really the only thing I had against him, but you know how first impressions are.  He's in his mid-to-late 40's, worked a couple years in the US as an editor, before returning to Queretaro to be a freelance English teacher.  He's a nice enough guy, but I really wasn't super impressed with him until an hour into our first lesson, when he got into a verbal argument with the receptionist, who had just kicked us out of the room for no apparent reason.

I didn't exactly follow the verbal barrage that was exchanged, but I didn't need to.  You could tell by the tones that each was giving the other a shellacking.  Later, however, I was given a brief synopsis of what transpired, which was roughly that she was in fact a terrible person, and he made sure that she knew it.  In so many words.  Several times over.


Naturally, I had a lot of respect for the man after said incident.  He had valiantly fought for a legitimate classroom for which to use to teach me the many intricacies of the Spanish language.  I'm sure the other Fabio would've done the same.  And, sure, Spanish Teacher Fabio totally got worked by the receptionist, and now we've been exiled to the cafeteria which smells and is loud, but I appreciate the effort.

Since then, Fabio has totally turned out to be pretty flaky.  He skipped our second class altogether, apologizing afterward "if I had waited around" for him (I had given him 10 minutes), and then was a full 45 minutes late for the third class.  But still, I'm giving the man a mulligan, since he clearly loves what he does... or knows that he can show up late and make up for it by calling class 15 minutes early.  Whatever.  I've got work to do, and I'm learning Spanish.  I mean, there are still a lot things I have no idea how to say, but I DO know 5 different ways to tell someone their being a jackass (some ways more colorful than others).  Fabio had nothing to do with me learning those, but at least I'm learning, and that's the important thing, right?

Day 31

Long Overdue.

It's been a little while since I wrote anything, but that's only because I was busy doing totally blog-worthy things, such as:

1. becoming the token gringo in an American football league, which is ironic since I never seriously played the sport while in America (I have confirmed earlier suspicions that football is not my calling in life),
2. joining another soccer team,
3. logging a solid 45 minutes behind the wheel of a car during rush hour traffic in Queretaro (I got cut off by a teenage girl driving a Ford Aerostar),
4. attending couple bbq's/parties with my friend Alex,
5. experiencing the Mexican custom of drinking beers on the street after a long week, which was followed by 
6. moving to a friend's half-built house to finish the crate of beers while sitting on boxes of tiles, and
7. going to my first professional soccer game in Mexico: the Queretaro Gallos Blancos vs. America from Mexico City.

Needless to say, it's been a very busy 10 days or so.  Which is great, except that I woke up Monday morning thinking it was Sunday.  Kinda feels like the work week started off with an illegal blow below the belt, just saying.

So anyways, about this soccer game:  Alex and I got tickets from a friend at work and hit the stadium on Sunday afternoon.  We sat with La Resistencia, Queretaro's group of hooligans.  I was fairly warned beforehand that I should be careful/ready for them, and I mentally prepared myself as much as I could--I mean, I was ready to drink a beer and cheer loudly.  But I was completely blindsided when everyone in the stands just straight up started running towards the field, and then back up again, and then side-to-side.  They have a song which clearly tells everyone who wants to to get out of the way what's coming.  But being as that my Spanish still kinda sucks, I missed the memo.  And then got shoved in back, straight into some guy's girlfriend, at which point the guy felt the need to express his discontent for my actions.  A few minutes later, I think he realized that it was the mob of people behind me who forced the foul, and we exchanged the international dude symbol for "we're cool": we slapped five, in the bro way (part high-five, part handshake, part chest bump).


Other fun facts from the game...  I witnessed--and then later smelled--a drug deal go down, people from my section got in a fight with the police after the game, and I learned that it's pretty common for the same hooligans to fill cups full of urine and then launch it at the people further down into the stands.  VERY glad to report that I didn't learn this firsthand, only heard rumors about it this morning at the office.  La Resistencia are a little too into cheering/moshing/urinating for my taste (watching the game?), but I still think I've found a home team that I can support.

There are so many things that I have forgotten to mention, such as Fabio The Spanish Teacher.  I think the other ones may be lost forever, but let me quit this post and give Fabio his own, since he's totally deserving.

Day 20.

Survival and Silver Linings.

After a few close calls this week, we have officially closed the customer FAT (Factory Acceptance Test) without any major disasters.  Of course, Murphy's Law in effect, 1 hour before the customer was supposed to be gone for good, he read in a document that we perform Corona Partial Discharge Arc Tests on our equipment, which was in his spec all along.  A few things:

1. A customer's spec is the kind of thing that puts Mary Poppin's magic carpet bag to shame.  They seem bottomless at times.
2. A Corona Partial Discharge Arc Test is pretty much the same thing Doc Brown did in Back To The Future to get Marty back to 1985 (honestly, there are some similarities).
3. Like Doc Brown, we CAN actually do this test.  Unlike Doc Brown, however, we CHOOSE not to.

So the customer's inspector read this and remembered that they had to have it.  No way around it, it was in his spec right below "kitchen sink," and he had written confirmation that we would do it.  Balls.

Approximately 7:23pm in Wendell, NC, the project engineer got a frantic instant message from me, asking how to address this with the inspector, since it just wasn't feasible for us to perform the test on the gear at the time.  Within 20 minutes, we had found the answer.  Turns out we had taken exception specifically to test early on, and the middleman forgot to forward it to the customer... still a sticky situation, but we had performed our part faithfully.  So we escaped by the skin of our teeth, and my first FAT was a success.  We still have some items to close, but most of those I can take care of with some Photoshop'd pictures anyways, so no problem.  Just kidding, I'm no good with Photoshop, and I like my job too much for that.  But we really are in good shape.

Speaking of pictures that have not been doctored, here are a few pictures I took of a sunrise earlier this week, looking out the window of the guest room.  I think it was Monday, but I don't remember--it's been a long week already (4 days in, already worked 45 hrs).  Anyways, sunrises don't always look this good, but they're not usually much worse than this.  Saludos.

Day 18

Quick Updates.

So this week at work I'm running a customer inspection of some gear we have manufactured.  It's 19 sections of gear, full of wires, relays, breakers, and some other stuff I still haven't figured out a name for.  I've been here for 2 weeks and 2 days, a majority of which I have spent on a different product line, and they have me ushering the customer through a Factory Acceptance Test here, which feels a lot like someone hired Freddy Kruger to find the needle in the haystack.  Not that I'm biased or anything.  I mean, I love an anal retentive inspector just as much as the next guy...

Grandpa definitely would have had a good phrase to describe my role in this situation--something akin to: "He couldn't find his ass with his own two hands"--but I can't seem to recall the relevant aphorism.  Still, you get the idea.  I've got one or two more days left with the customer, depending on how tomorrow goes (not to be overly optimistic or anything, but my hopes and expectations are teetering just above "rock bottom").  You can expect to hear more about this after the inspection is done, and at that point we can qualitatively evaluate how chapped my backside is.

Switching topics though, I would like to revisit the bathroom conversation we had a while ago.  Specifically the lady who hangs out in the guys bathroom with a mop.  Yesterday I was using the stall, right?  I'll admit it: Montezuma also saw straight through the mustache and has been a vindictive presence in my Mexican life ever since.  But anyways, I'm totally in the stall, and right before I leave said stall (zipping the pants, tucking the shirt, etc), I see a mop sneak under the wall from the adjacent stall, pushing around dirty water a few inches away from where I'm currently standing/zipping/tucking.  I couldn't help but laugh a little and give the mopper my best gringo wink as I walked towards the sinks (see previous diagram... maybe Day 3?).

So today I had to use the restroom again.  Montezuma and I are currently in the process of making up and becoming friends, but I saw the mop bucket accompanied by a much younger mopper, and then quickly chose to use the stall for privacy's sake.  As I'm standing in said stall, I was thinking about my experience the day before, about seeing the mop head suddenly appear and disappear from under the dividing wall of the stall.  And then it happened again, except this time when the mop swept under wall, it actually wiped across my shoe.  I stifled a loud laugh, and maybe probably peed all over the rim of the toilet.  Let's be honest: I definitely peed all over the rim of the toilet.  Which the moppette probably had to clean up afterward.  Is that irony?  Or just terrible hygiene and manners?  Whatever the case, we smiled at each other on the way out, because she probably didn't realize I had just urinated all over the seat she had just cleaned or was about to clean.  But still, I think we shared a moment, however brief.  And next time I enter the bathroom, I suspect she'll be crouched, waiting to assault me with this same dirty mop.  We'll be sharing a different kind of moment then.

Day 15

Blown Cover, Blown Lungs, & Blown Money.

As I was walking into the office on Wednesday (dia 2 con bigote), I was introduced to a random dude.  It was done very quickly, as introductions always are, and like always, neither of us got the other's name.  He said "hello" in English, to which I replied in technically flawless Spanish... "Hola, buenos dias.  Mucho gusto."  I only understood one word of his surprised response, but I later learned that he had said, "but you look like a gringo!"  You can probably guess which word I picked out at the time.

My cover was blown.  Still no cartels to be seen (or anything else from the list, for that matter), but it was evident that the bigote wasn't the disguise I had hoped for.  Really, I only did it as a joke anyways.  Actually, really just an inside joke with myself.  Mexico, not being in on the joke, took it completely serious.  I had expected people at work to laugh at the bigote with me, but instead they complimented it and admired it.  And fair enough--the barber did a totally kick ass job on that masterpiece.  It was easily the finest mustache that I've ever sported, and maybe will ever sport.  But I never intended to keep it.  I thought me and the guys would have a couple laughs, they'd see I was a fun guy (which reminds me of a terrible mushroom joke), and then days later when it was gone, we'd be best pals.  Anyways, the mustache made me feel kind of old, and I kept getting startled when I saw myself in the mirror when I went to wash my hands.  So I shaved it off.  A few guys at work were sincerely disappointed, and a few others finally caught the joke and suggested that I come in next week wearing an Elvis wig.  Is it ironic that I'd probably instead opt for a Tom Selleck wig/mustache combo, seeing as how I just forsook the perfect Tom Selleck mustache?  For the sake of comparison, I've included the following picture:

Week two in Mexico has so far included me playing soccer twice this week.  Tuesday after work (still mustachioed, mind you), I went and played futbol rapido with a coworker's younger brothers (16 & 20 yrs old) and their friends.  We played in an oval area equivalent to a small concrete hockey rink that had recessed areas in the wall on either end for goals.  With 5 or 6 teams rotating in/out, the game was first to 2 goals or whoever was winning after 10 minutes, with a provision for pks if still tied at 10 minutes.  Winner stays and plays, loser walks.  For the record, coming from Florida where the elevation is probably just below sea level, up to Queretaro at 6000 ft in elevation, it's real difficult to breath/run/survive.  Honestly, the first time I played soccer (the week before), it felt and tasted like my lungs were bleeding.  As I'm still alive today, I assume that was more hypochondria than physical emergency or fact.  But I learned a new word at half time in that first game: vomitar.  Probably could've guessed that one.

Nonetheless, futbol rapido was fun.  We lost our first game (bad team morale?), waited around for 45 minutes shooting the Spanglish breeze, won our next game in pk's (nerves of steel), and then quickly lost the ensuing contest 2-0 (tired legs, gringo lungs).  The brothers said they would be glad to give me the prearranged ride home.  So, I spent the next 40 minutes in the backseat with 3 other guys, my head out the window, wondering when--if ever--I would be able to get out of the car and spread my legs.  I was not at all surprised that traffic on the way home was terrible, or that we made a completely unnecessary stop at a jiffy store, where only the driver got out of the car and then returned to the car empty handed.  I was surprised, however, to notice on the way home that our local mall has a large casino in its parking lot.  You'd think that with my luck I'm probably about due, right?  Yeah, and so are the Chicago Cubs.

The only other thing that happened this week is that I payed rent.  Saying it like that makes it sound very simple, but let me assure that like all processes Mexican, it's a huge hassle.  Here's the problem: I get paid in the US to my Wachovia bank account, but I have to live and pay rent in Mexico, so I have a need to turn US dollars into MXN pesos.  I can do this through an ATM, but it would take multiple visits and gross bank fees (Wachovia might translate to "blood sucking vampires" in some languages), not to mention that Wachovia keeps blocking the transfers if I try to take too much.  So, rather than make 12 visits to the ATM (literally), I chose MoneyGram to wire the money.  They have a website, they will send money to a Mexican bank in Queretaro, and the fees are reasonable.  Perfect.  Rent is due by the 5th of the month, or there is a 20% late fee.  Steep, but whatever, Mexico.

So after getting continually denied by the ATM (even after talking with Wachovia), I logged onto MoneyGram.com the day before rent was due (if you're picturing nervous sweat dripping off my mustache, then you're in the right ballpark), and sent myself the maximum amount you're allowed, twice, because rent in this house is actually really expensive.  Later that night my mustache again started sweating nervously when i got an email from MoneyGram saying I needed to call them ASAP.  Shortly thereafter, unrelated to banking issues, I shaved the mustache.

Long story short: you can't send money from the US if you're not actually physically in the US (I think my IP address probably tipped them off?), so they said I should call when I got back to the States at the end of the year...  "Why?  What good will you people be to me when I'm already back in the US?!?!"  Luckily my parents were able to help me out of a bind and act as my middle man.  After a mixup about confirmation numbers, an additional wasted trip to the bank because of a forgotten passport (FL drivers license don't suffice, apparently), the lady behind the counter did something.  She counted out 22,000+ pesos.  In front of everyone.  And then tried to give it to me.  In front of everyone.  "Eh, tienes un sobre?? (envelope)"  No.  Naked upper lip sweating profusely, I quickly pocketed the brick of cash and practically ran to the car.  That night, I paid for a month's worth of rent and car service, getting rid of most of the cash.

It was possibly the most nerve wracking few hours of my life, being forced to carry around a gross amount of cash like that.  It's official: I would never make a good drug mule.

Day 10

Pancho Eats A Burrito.

Estimados,

Today I visited the barber for the first time since I was 10 or so.  Just to be clear, I have had a few haircuts since my 11th birthday, but from family and friends mostly.  I guess since losing a decent chunk of my hairline I've done most of my own barbering.  Regardless, my friend needed a haircut, so we went to the barber he has gone to his entire life, the same barber his dad has been going to as long as anyone can remember.  The man had some serious skills.  While at it, I also opted for a shave.  Meet my cartel-proof disguise, Pancho:

Sarah, please note the smile.  I think it might have had the opposite affect.

Good news:  if you would also like to sport the season's hottest trend, all you need to tell your barber is: "Yo quiero un digote como Pancho Villa."  This literally translates "I want a mustache like Pancho Villa," and is literally what I told the man.  You might want to make sure your barber is capable of delivering first.  A sure sign that he can give you un digote magnifico is that he himself is wearing a finely manicured flavor-saver.  This was just my luck.  The trip to the Mexican barber represents a first for me in many ways:

1. First time on this trip that something went exceptionally well.
2. First time I've ever paid a barber to cut my hair (Grandpa dragged me to the barber when I was young and simply told the man: "Give him the boys' cut."  Grandpa kindly did not make me pay for the unwanted buzz-cut.)
3. First time I've ever received a shave from a straight razor.

In other news, I have quasi-successfully made myself a pot of beans.  Anyone who knows me very well knows that this means everything is going to be okay.  So, you might be asking yourself, "Why only quasi-successful, Pancho?"  I ran out of gas about 10-20 minutes before the beans were done.  It's roughly a 3 hour operation to cook a pot of pinto beans, a little longer for me because I'm around 2000m above sea level.  It's been my experience that the last 10-20 minutes are where the beans really soften up and reach burritability.  I was exhausted yesterday from a long day of xbox and napping, but I stayed up late to finish cooking the beans.  I was wasting my life away on facebook when I noticed that the burner had gone out under the beans.  When I tried to re-light it, the best I got was an unsustainable, flickering flame that danced around the burner.

So at this point I'm sweating bullets, positive that the universe is conspiring against me (which it totally was).  The hot water tank is just on the other side of the kitchen wall (and for some unfathomable reason still can't deliver hot water to the sink less than 2ft away), so I decided to see if the pilot was still lit.  Negatory.  Somewhere in the back of my mind it registered that this meant no more hot showers til I get the natural gas refilled.  Which should be about the same time pigs fly, and/or Satan is giving away free sleigh rides in a snowy hell.  Can we agree that this constitutes a literal addition of insult to injury?

Let me admit that I had assumed there was a Pan-American natural gas pipeline that fed directly into my kitchen.  Turns out I have a small tank on the top of my house, not an inter-continental funnel.  Could've sworn I saw that in the lease somewhere...

So now goal #1 is to get that stupid tank refilled, so that I can finish cooking this pot of beans to perfection (oh yeah, and take a hot shower).  I stole enough beans out of the fridge to make myself a couple burritos tonight, via the microwave, one of two appliances in my kitchen that doesn't rely on gas.  The beans are still harder than I'd like them to be, but with some homemade salsa on top, they made some darn good burritos.  Some people say that hunger is the best sauce, but I think a compelling argument could be made for some fresh salsa.

I have a big day ahead tomorrow, so buenas noches and sueños dulces.


Yours truly,
Pancho

Day 8

New Friends.

So, this morning I did the dishes from the past 3 days (bowls of cereal and the remnants of a relatively successful quesadilla experience), put some laundry in the wash, and even went so far as to sweep the floor.  I don't know where dirt and lint balls and other foreign material comes from--I'm the only one who lives here, right?--but there was a gross amount of it, so I figured I'd sweep off the few beers I had last night and improve my situation.  While sweeping, I found the following under the counter in the kitchen:

The little guy is only maybe 2 inches long, but I wasn't exactly stoked to realize that I had to add scorpions to the list of things to avoid while in Mexico.  The short list now reads as follows:

1. Drug cartels
2. Prostitutes
3. Dysentery
4. Scorpions

At the moment, the list is still very manageable.  I mean, not that I can really control the drug cartels (neither can the Mexican government though, so I don't feel too bad about this), but I am pretty positive I can avoid them easily enough.  I'm working on a plan called Operation Pancho Villa.  You can expect to hear more on this in a later blog.

But anyways, what the heck do scorpions eat??  My only information on scorpions comes from movies, where scorpions are employed as a painfully slow way to kill someone (like in a James Bond movie, though I don't remember Sean Connery or Roger Moore ever squirming to avoid a swarm of scorpions).  So, needless to say, I'm clearly well-informed on the matter.  I just don't know what scorpions eat, other than humans, I guess.  Are they attracted to peanut butter or anything?  To be perfectly candid, my biggest fear is that scorpions like boxers, or worse, boxer briefs.  THE VERY LAST THING I NEED is to get out of the shower and slip on some underoos, only to find I wasn't the first to call dibs on that particular pair.

In addition to insects, I have managed to meet a few people.  I went downtown Friday night and met a couple of British guys while at the Back Stage Bar.  Let's call them Pancho and Lefty.  I met Pancho first.  He's a South Londoner who's lived in Mexico for 2 years.  The 48 year old speaks excellent Spanish and is here writing a book, not about last year, but the year before that.  It just now struck me that he's more or less doing the same thing I am, only after he's had a full year to digest it.  Best of luck to you, Pancho.  In the course of the night I saw Pancho:

1. spray shoe deodorant on his armpits (yep), and
2. completely lose his head after he lost his table (stepped outside for 5-10 minutes, group of people sat at the empty table... honest mistake) and say the most offensive thing I know of in Spanish to the amiable, older gentleman who was working the tables.

Lefty was way nicer, despite the fact that his girlfriend confessed that she wanted to cheat on him, only an hour before I met him.  She hadn't yet cheated on him (questionable), but she totally wanted to apparently.  Super weird.  Regardless, real nice guy.  Pancho had told me to watch out for Lefty, as he could get out of control, but it was the complete opposite.  Pancho said at one point: "You know if this was England, we'd be bottling people right now!" (i.e. smashing beer bottles on people's heads), to which Lefty replied, "Oh sure."  Just then I remembered that thing that I had been planning on doing, that thing I had to go do, like, RIGHT NOW...

Also that night I met a guy who's name really is Pancho (he's the matre'di at a really good sandwich shop), who loves foreigners, but especially Americans.  Jon, who lived here before me, described him as a puppy who is constantly humping your leg.  Disturbingly accurate.  Halfway through dinner, I sent Jon a text that read: "I just had my leg humped QUITE vigorously."  Jon, with missing a beat, texted back: "You need to get a little spray bottle or a rolled newspaper and treat him like a puppy... BTW, he loves the Buffalo Bills."  This gringo just might have to invest in a fanny pack.  Pancho, before taking my order, tried to impress me with all the "slang" that his friend from Chicago taught him.  His friend is supposedly a cook at Wrigley Field (dream job), but based on the slang Pancho shared with me, I think the friend probably has a second job in the porn industry.  Almost lost my appetite.

I also met a guy named Gabriel.  His dad owns the Back Stage Bar where I met the two Brits, although Gabriel's far more mellow than either of them, and speaks English just as well.  Gabriel is someone I expect I'll hang out with from time to time while I'm here, whereas Pancho, Pancho, and Lefty...  probably not so much.


PS.  I have friends at work, promise.  Haven't really said anything much about them yet, but they're great and I'm sure I'll get to them soon.  Over and out.

Day 5

Potty Talk.

Days 4 and 5 went (are going) pretty well.  I still haven't been kidnapped by any drug cartels, I have this far managed to escape Montezuma's Revenge, and I am even expanding my vocabulary (surge arrestors = apartarrayos, for instance).  Work has been busy, which is good.  I usually leave my house around 730, get to work around 8, break for a 30 minute lunch sometime after 12, and then leave work around 6.  Working a 10 hr day, I'm much happier to be moderately busy rather than bored.  I don't think I've pissed too many people off yet, but we'll see how long that lasts.

Biggest thing that happened today was that I got to go shopping for emergency cleats after work.  Since the big game is tomorrow, I naturally bought the first pair I found.  They are stiff, a little too big, but at least simple looking (i.e. black and white).  Mexico loves their bright colors, by the way.  Because I wanted a classic looking pair to wear, I went to 4 different stores and still bought the first pair I found--that weren't a florescent color or otherwise hideous.  I also bought an emergency soccer ball.  This was completely unnecessary, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered one of the many lessons my grandfather taught me: "What's money for if it wasn't meant for spending?!"  He probably managed to squeeze a couple GD's and SOB's into that lesson, but I can't remember where they fit.  Still, he was right.  And now I have a soccer ball to kick around in the 5'x15' space in my backyard.  One side of that space is the entrance to the dining room, for which the entire length of that wall is glass.  Clearly a winning combination.  I'm tempted to expound on other lessons grandpa taught me (each at least as good as that, if not better), but I'm sure I'll have many more opportunities in the coming months to draw upon his tender truisms.

So, I have to mention something that isn't necessarily exclusive to Mexico, but has rather been germane to my experience as a whole in Latin America: toilet paper does not get flushed down the toilet.  Instead, they collect it in a trash can next to the toilet.  As an engineer, this is honestly an outrage!  HOW CAN YOU DESIGN A SEWER SYSTEM TO HANDLE TURDS, BUT NOT TISSUE PAPER?!  Honestly, how is that freaking possible??  There's nothing more disheartening that walking into a stall to relieve yourself, only to see a literal pile of shitty paper next to the toilet.  More often than not, said pile is accompanied by a small band of flies.  Fantastic.  And let me add a few more details, even though they are disgusting:

1.  Using the restroom at the end of the day (after an accumulation of toilet paper has occurred) is ill advised.
2.  Since there is often a mound of toilet paper reaching past the brim of the square trash can, I have discovered that Mexicans also suffer from eating Mexican food.

I had a traumatic experience when I visited Mexico for the first time, the summer after my 9th grade.  There was a group of 8 of us from church staying in a tiny village.  Towards the end of our stay in the village, I forgot about the toilet paper rule and accidentally flushed a few squares (flushed = pouring a bucket of water into the toilet so it all went away).  I realized my mistake before I flushed, but momma didn't raise no fool, and I sure as hell didn't pick the soggy TP out of that toilet.  I was happy to see those white squares float away when I "flushed."  The next kid to use the toilet reported after his visit that the toilet wouldn't flush (yes, you can use your imagination... you're on the right track), and I made the guilty confession of having accidentally flushed 3 neatly folded squares of TP.  I accepted the plunger when it held out to me, and spent the next 3 hours plunging the toilet, the details of which I'll spare.  In summary, however, I think it is important to mention a few things (which came to light at the end of the 3rd hour).  First, my friend hadn't gone #2 the whole time we were there, so the toilet had experienced a solid 9-10 days worth of waste during his visit.  Second, some men decided to investigate the plumbing (while I continued plunging), and found that a tree's roots had grown through the pipe to the septic tank, effectively capping off the drain.  All that to say, I'm a little sensitive about the subject.

But my favorite part of all--and this only took 2 or 3 visits to kinda get used to, surprisingly--is that a majority of the times I have entered the men's room, there is a woman mopping the floors.  She's not mopping the entrance to the restroom, nor did she put up an inconvenient sign to close the bathroom while she mopped.  No, instead she is mopping while I, and however many other dudes, use the facilities.  Like, real close to all the action. Below is a scenario that actually happened today while I was in the bathroom.  And it's really not that big of a deal, but it's still just so strange to see. 

So, I came into the bathroom, nearly run into the lady (X) mopping the floor (felt guilty for tracking dirt across her freshly mopped floor), and sheepishly entered stall #4.  For no particular reason.  Anyways, after some time passed, I went out to wash my hands.  And I realize there's a man (Y) using urinal C.  Here's what it looked like, complete with the mopper's line of sight:

In all fairness, the woman mopping the floor wasn't:

1.  a pervert (as far as I could tell),
2.  attractive (I could tell), or
3.  young (60+ years old?).

It's my guess that somewhere among those three factors, it becomes a non-issue that a woman may or may not be mopping between your legs while you stand at the urinal.  If she was to catch a glimpse of "anything," it's unlikely that it would be the first she had ever seen, and she actually seemed downright disinterested in seeing.  Although, disinterest could have had more to do with the several trash cans full of used toilet paper, and/or the cigarette smoke wafting in through the open window (adding insult to injury).  Whatever the case, everyone else seemed to be totally cool with it, and not wanting to be a total freaking gringo (probably most closely translated as "square"), I went along with it, though opting for a stall and some privacy.  When in Rome... it's important to remember Rome wasn't built in a day.  Maybe tomorrow I'll chance the urinal.  Probably not.

Day 3

First Day On The Job.

My first day on the job in Queretaro... I had a few butterflies, but the silver lining to being a gringo is that a majority of the people have low expectations. Like, really low expectations, as in they are surprised I can tie my own shoes. Siemens, in an effort to salvage my dignity for me, has mandated that I take Spanish lessons. So, today I contacted a Spanish instructor. I have chosen this one out of all the possible Spanish instructors, because his name is Fabio. I think anyone reading this will understand my reasoning here. This is probably a good point to point out that Blaise Pascal once said: "The heart has its reasons, that reason does not know."

Anyways, in addition to hiring Fabio (instructions to start next week or the one after), today went pretty well. I managed to smooth out the issue with the company phone, and, con suerte, I might even get to the grocery store later and expand on my guacamole-only diet. The best part of my day so far was on the ride to work when I was informed that I have a soccer game Thursday night. Awesome, I can definitely deal with that. My soccer cleats (and xbox!) were supposed to be on their way down, but apparently it costs $600 to ship a load of crap to Mejico? Plan B is still in the works, but I will probably stop by Sports Authority and pick up some emergency cleats for the game on Thursday...

Back home now, after hitting up Wal-Mart for some more groceries, though no Sports Authority for emergency cleats. I have successfully expanded my drink options from only Dos Equis to now include: Modelo Especial, water, and orange juice. The stove in my kitchen doesn't work (probably operator error), so I cooked half of a frozen pizza in the microwave oven, and then attempted a quesadilla in the quesadilla maker that was left here by the previous tenant. The pizza was fine, but the quesadisaster... I just finished cleaning up.

I intend to do the dishes, go back and blog about Day 2 (yes, I'm doing these out of order), and then slip into a comfortable coma. For now, let me leave you with...

Important lesson for the day: Mexicans don't really care about cheddar cheese. This breaks my heart. And blows my mind. I decided not to bother arguing for the merits of cheddar cheese over other cheeses, but let me say this: it is hypocritical to have a country so obsessed with cheese, and to not at least offer a small spread of cheddar. There, I said it.

Day 2

Traveling from Mexico City to Queretaro, and settling in.

Day 2 was much less eventful than either 1 or 3, but it was still pretty interesting. I started the day off in the airport, which was also from where the bus embarked to Queretaro. So, it should've been fairly easy to navigate, since points A and B were in the same place. However, Benito-Juarez International Airport is freaking massive. I had to take a city bus and pay $10 (pesos... so ~$1 USD) to get to the other side where my actual bus left from. This process took a good 30-45 minutes. My Spanish is strong enough to ask for directions, but not strong enough to receive them. So, I paid careful attention the hand gestures, walked about 200 yds, and then asked someone else.

Once I actually found the bus, I had to pass through a bull crap security check, where I was called a gringo. And fair enough, the dude was spot on: I'm a gringo. Pero, yo puedo oir y entender... asshole. Anyways, the 3hr bus cost $256 MXD (<$20 USD) and actually turned out to be pretty luxury. We got bagged lunches that comprised a high-fiber granola bar, a drink, and a ham/cheese sandwich with mayonaise and jalapeños. Not bad actually.

When I arrived in Mexico, my friend's girlfriend picked me up and dropped me off at my house around 1pm. Well, actually she can't drive, so she and her friend picked me up and dropped me off. The plan was to tentatively maybe all get dinner together later that night. So, when I walked to the grocery store (~5 minutes from my house), I only bought enough groceries to make salsa/guacamole, milk for breakfast, and beer. Anyways, dinner fell through, so I ate guacamole for lunch and dinner. Obscene amounts of guacamole, actually. I probably should have pooped leprechaun green today, but everything looked normal (that detail is for you, mom).

The craziest thing that happened to me during day 2 was trying to light the hot water heater. After dinner, I did all my dishes. I noticed that while i let the water run for 45 minutes straight, the water temperature never even approached tepid, let alone warm/hot. I wasn't about to take a cold shower or no shower in the morning, so I industriously set about locating the hot water heater. After doing that much, I unsuccessfully fiddled with nobs and buttons until I smelled gas and decided I should take a different route: reading the instructions. Plan B held its own challenges though, as all the instructions were in Spanish. As my sister Hannah rightly pointed out, Rosetta Stone had failed to teach me the pertinent vocabulary. So, I looked up freetranslation.com and sat outside and typed the instructions into the website to translate them step-by-step. I laughed when I realized that there was a step for lighting the match, and then also another for putting it out. The freetranslation.com approach was actually pretty good, except one term kept getting translated as "GOATEE". It's doubtful that this was the intent of the author to address goatees, but whatever the case may be, I got the darn thing lit and was even able to take a warm shower. What is really confusing/bothering me today (Day 3) is that I just finished washing some dishes, and I still didn't have hot water in the kitchen... oh well. C'est la vie.

Day 1

Raleigh to Queretaro (almost).

After trianing in Raleigh, NC for a week, it came time for me to travel to Queretaro, Mexico. So, I had arranged my itinerary so that:

1. I'd fly Delta and accumulate more skymiles and sweet benefits,
2. I would NOT be in Mexico City after dark, and most definitely
3. I would NOT spend the night in Mexico City .

So on Saturday morning, I woke up at 4am to drive to the airport, drop off the rental, and still make it to the gate ~2hrs before my 7:10am flight to ATL, where I would connect to MEX. Once in Mexico City, I would board the PrimeraPlus luxury bus and be en mi casa no later than 4pm in Mexico, 5pm EST.

Sign #1 that the day was going to be a bust: the girl next to me absolutely could not stop talking once I accidentally attempted conversation. Mom and dad: you were right, talking to strangers is a terrible idea. I'm sorry I ever doubted you.

Around 6:45am, I was pretty concerned when I realized that no one was boarding, and there certainly weren't any flight crews to be found. Then it became clear that we were going to push the flight back because we were missing flight attendants. Story is that they got in late from Detroit. I don't know if flight attendants have a union, but assuming they do, it's apparently powerful enough to stiff an entire flight because they're tired from partying the night before. My 45 minute flight to ATL was canceled.

After standing in line for 2 hrs to sort out the details with Delta, they put me on a 5pm flight to ATL. (Note: that is a little over 12 hours after I arrived at the airport in the first place, and also the same time that I had expected to be slipping my shoes off and slipping myself into my bed.) To totally make things right, Delta offered $18 in vouchers. I'm not one to look the gift horse in the mouth. The vouchers purchased a bbq bacon burger and a chicken quesadilla, while I footed the substantially larger portion of the bill for 4 22oz beers. Airline vouchers cannot buy beer, I found out.

Upon finishing my 4th beer, it was brought to my attention by my Mexico contact that I would miss the last bus to Queretaro by a good 5 hrs. So, I would have to stay in a hotel in Mexico City. Perfect. I took this up with Delta, they readily offered to comp a night in a hotel in Mexico, though i would have to take care of it when I landed there. Fair enough.

In ATL, I tried to trick their Delta desk into booking me a hotel, but same story: had to be handled in Mexico City.

Before going farther, I'd just like to point out that I never had to submit to a full cavity search, or really a search of any kind. That is the one thing that went right. Just wanted to mention it.

So, after going through Customs & Immigrations in Mexico City, I looked for Delta. And I found it, deserted. So, I asked for help. A very nice man pointed me back to the secret Delta office that only had a peep hole. No lie, it might've been a speak-easy. There's not telling. Regardless, no one responded, the door was not opened, and I was NOT provided with lodging. So, at this point, I realized that it was 11pm, I was in the Benito-Juarez Airport by myself, I had no transportation, no pesos, and no lodging. Also my Spanish is mierda. Luckily, mierda was enough to figure out that there was a hotel in the airport, which I capitalized on.

Not to belabor the fact that everything went wrong, but real quickly, my room: sucked. I mean, it was nicely decorated, clean, and comfortable, BUT NOTHING WORKED. There were light switches all over the place--might as well have been a modern take on wall paper--but no combination of switching would allow the lights to turn on or the electrical outlets to work. Alright, there was ONE (not an exaggeration) outlet that worked, so I plugged the lamp in while I showered (mostly in the dark, because the lamp was not located in the bathroom), then alternated between charging my laptop and my cell phone.

Speaking of cell phone... Siemens bought me a cell phone. It's a Nextel, so it has the walky-talky feature. Great. It didn't work. I mean, the phone turned on and all, and I could text/call people, but the walky-talky thingy was worthless. Somehow I got a voicemail. So naturally I tried to check it. Whatever the hell my PIN was, I never knew, because I never set it up, and I was locked out of my own voicemail. When I tried to take this up with Sprint, I got a message saying that it wasn't normal operating hours, so I should call back later. Thanks, Sprint. Real go-getters. I was ECSTATIC to find that once in Mexico, the remaining features (calling/texting) were no longer available, so I officially had nothing more than a paperweight. This luckily hit me just as I was not getting cavity searched, so I handled it pretty well.

Day 1 fortunately ended with me passing out in a surprisingly comfortable bed, in a slightly uncomfortably warm room. There were no confrontations with drug cartels, and I was at least able to shower. Hell, and I even made it to Mexico, though just not quite where/when I had expected.