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.