International Relations and a Visit to a National Park

Last week, the country Turkey was mentioned in one of my books. I explained it was near Europe and the middle east, and that it was actually part of two continents.

Then I asked my class, ´Can anyone name a country that is in the middle east?´ Without hesitation, all of my students responded ´The United States!!!!´. Oh dear.

And thus it is my punishment and blessing to be from the United States- I am the cultural ambassador for the most beloved and hated country in the world. I am asked to answer how Americans pronounce ´burrito´ (with a classic gringo R), I am asked to explain why Bush was voted president, why Americans are building a wall to keep Mexicans out, and if its true that Americans are cold people who do not like to kiss or shake hands. I am asked direct questions like ´so, is it true that in the United States, southerners are more racist than northerners?´, ´´Why can you dance- isn´t it true that Americans don´t dance?´ and ´´Is it true that Bush is only interested in Mexico for Petroleum and that he has plans to buy Pemex?` In one short response I am asked everyday to explain grand, unexplainable generalizations and mysteries (for me) that Universities are doing research on and people are writing books about.

Its a bit exhausting when I think to hard about being a gringa. Sometimes it is exhausting to have public transportation beep their horn at you, to hear things like ´let this precious beautiful light skinned woman pass!´ when walking past two men on the sidewalk, and to live under the stereotype that you are a rich american here on adventure with loads of money to spend and time to waste smoking pot and drinking coronas at the beach. Sometimes I don`t think about it, but a lot of times I am sure that when Edwin and I are walking together, people assume that I am a traveling gringa passing through san cristobal who has hooked up with a mexican for a week to learn spanish and experience mexican culture, but I will soon be off to my homeland taking artesan products and coffee galore.

Here in Mexico, well, at least in Chiapas, people are very direct, and say the obvious politically incorrect things that we would avoid at all cost in the US. It is not uncommon to nickname your friend ´fatty´, and making jokes about the color of someone´s skin or a deformity is fair game, and not considered outside the lines of friendship. People say to the man who owns the corner store ´Good evening, white skinned man´, and Edwin has a cousin they call ´the little black one.` Along these same lines of being direct, there is a tragic and creative title for a poor neighborhood in San Cristobal that I`ve been wanting to share for some time : Sal Si Puedes (Get out if you can).

Okay, but on to my weekend adventures, which are much less serious.

This friday night I first went out to a fantastic restaurant for a going away party for a teacher here. There I drank fruity wine and accidently ate a taco made of BRAINS (it was yummy, believe you me), all while listening to excellent traditional mexican ballads. Then I went DANCING salsa with my new friend Karina, and had an excellent time. Karina is awesome and lots of fun, and we are going to sing karyoke too, maybe next weekend. There was a fantastic, jealousy-inspiring show of salsa dancing, quebradita (which is like super dangerous chaps and hat wearing cowboy spin your partner kind of dancing), and even a little 7 year old girl salsa dancer! It was a fantastic night, with live music, millions of people celebrating, performances, the everything that Cuba is in my imagination and in music videos.

Saturday I saw the movie Norbit. Have you seen this movie? its halarious. It really is, despite my best respectable judgement. Other things happened that day, like the car broke down and I ate a hamburger, then Edwin and I drove to San Cristobal in the lovebug and then fell asleep immediately in exhaustion. Oh, also, we both had parasties so we began taking parasite medicine. Isnt it romantic?

Early Sunday morning we got a coffee in a chilly san cristobal cafe. It was so cold that everyone was wearing jackets, scarves, and even gloves! We started our adventure past indigenous Tzeltal villages and the scene of the first Zapatista Battle in the beautiful coniferous forested mountains, and soon arrived in the oldest city of Chiapas, Comitan de Dominguez.

I was completely enchanted with Comitan, with its lovely Spanish architechture, crisp air, and quaint tranquil feel, so different from the hot, lively, busyiness of Tuxtla, and much calmer and boring (in a nice way) from the European-packed streets of San Cris. We got a breakfast of fruit and bread (so as not to anger the parasites) and we on our way. I´ll not lie, my mood was ruined, as the parasite struck and left me in a state of crankiness for the rest of the time, but I will try to make the story better than it actually was due to my mood.

After Comitan we arrived to Los Lagos de Montebello, a national park of about 7 lakes surrounded by mountains and coniferous forest. Apparently you can swim, kayak, and rowboat in these lakes that vary in color from aqua blue to teal to a shade similar to green lentil soup. However, when we arrived it was raining and freezing, so cold in fact, that I was wearing a shirt and jacket and my nose was running and I actually had to go to a little comedor and get a homemade style hot chocolate, which was absolutely no sacrifice for me.

About halfway through the lake viewing we ran into a little boy, maybe 7 years old, who asked us with serious eyes `where are you from?` I told him we were coming from Tuxtla. Immediately, he burst into detailed explanations of how ``For a small price I will offer you my services as a guide to take you to all the lakes with explanations and even up to the Guatemalan border, I offer a very good guide service.´ I giggled as I looked at his little 7 year old face and imagined him as our professional guide. We got in the car, remarking how funny he was, then after a few seconds, decided to reverse the car and offer him 10 pesos for his services. He agreed, and hopped in the backseat, so small he didnt even reach my shoulders.

His name was Rogelio and he was from Tsiscao, from the village, not the lake, we were sure to clarify that he did not live in the lake. He was 7 and studied in the elementary school and had never left the national park area, although he knew everything about it and answered all of our questions with a quick, 1-5 word answer, always very professional and serious. His explanations included detailed explanations such as this:

´So tell us about THIS place Rogelio.´
´Here we have a lake, there is another over here, and two more over there, as you can see.´ Pause...
´´Okay, is that all?´
´´Over there are women who sell quesadillas and art.´
´´Anything else.´
´No, thats it.¨

Haha. He didnt do much, just provided us with a cute kid for entertainment. We fed him a quesadilla, then he directed us to the border of Guatemala and Mexico. Who knew???? I went to Guatemala this weekend and spent the one remaining Quetzal I had on a piece of candy and bag of chips. I went to Guatemala! Ha! On complete accident.

So, this is the border: just a little town and a few white stone markers that say ´mexico´on one side and ´guatemala´on the other. This is it- no police, no immigration offices, just stones. However, I believe the border is much more serious than it looks, due to this conversation:

Me: So, Rogelio, do you have guatemalan friends?
Rog: No
Me: Not even one?
Rog: NO!
Edwin: Only Mexicans?
Rog: yes.
Edwin: racist from birth?
Rog: Yes!

My my, it seems that its not just the US and Mexico with border issues.

Anyway, we came back to Tuxtla last night and now I am relaxing (its a mexican holiday), looking forward to coming home after just two weeks more of classes ;)