Sweet bread (pan dulce)

This has been a busy week.  Natalie’s parents are visiting.  It has been a lot of fun to show them around.  It makes what we are doing here seem more real.  Before visitors arrived from home, it felt like we could have pinched ourselves at any moment and woken up in Oakland.  Now we know that is not an option.  

This will be a quick entry.  Just a few, unrelated items.  

First, something we miss very much from home is the weekly bread delivery by our neighbor, Friedbert.  Once, or sometimes twice, a week, Friedbert goes door-to-door around the block distributing surplus bread he picks up at a community center where he teaches Tai Chi.  Helen especially loves to answer the door for Friedbert.  She likes to see if he has any of the small rolls that are her favorite.

Why do I mention this?  Today on our way home from school, one of Helen's classmates, Carla, gave her a bag with two pan dulce rolls.  It is not the first time Carla has given Helen bread.  I asked Helen where Carla gets the bread.  Helen's explanation:  "Carla has a Friedbert."  She said it so matter-of-factly that it took a moment to understand what she meant.  When I did, it gave me a tinge of homesickness.

Helen and her beribboned classmates.  Do they each have a Friedbert?

Second, Max really wants us to buy him a knife.  They sell hand-made, decorated knives at some of the outdoor markets.  We are waiting until we visit a workshop where they make the knives.  We heard there is one in Ocotlán.  Why does Max want a knife?  Ask the cucumbers.

Third, Max's soccer team finally has started to play games.  They suffered a 4-0 loss in the first game, but came back last week to win 4-1.  The next game is Saturday.  Watching games here is similar to watching games at home, with a few noteworthy differences.  In Oaxaca, (1) it is ok to yell at the players (yours and the other team's); (2) it is ok to yell at the referee; and (3) it is ok to wear porn.

Not your typical Soccer Dad tee-shirt.

Natalie captured this shirt art using skills she has honed photographing shoes.  --Harrison

Things that go "Boom!" in the night

On our way to school this morning, Max told me about a disturbing dream.  He dreamt he was shot in the stomach.  “I think it was because there were firecrackers exploding outside while I was asleep,” he told me.  He probably is right.  There are loud noises throughout the night.  Many work their way into our dreams. 

In an earlier post, Natalie described the neighborhood chorus of cats and dogs.  We get the full chorus about once a week.  On the other nights, there is just scattered barking and meowing from the cat and dog population.  Here is a list of other noises we hear on any given night:

* Firecrackers (increasing as we head toward Easter)

* Sirens (sometimes eerily similar to night sounds in Oakland)

* Opossum (rooting through our garbage if I forget to take it in before bed)

* Discotheque (actually, a party room in the hotel at the very top of the hill, so the disco beat is interspersed with people making toasts until 4 in the morning)

* Peacocks (I thought they were cats.  Natalie says peacocks. She is confident.)

* Other birds (including parrots, which are loud)

* Helen hitting her head on the wall next to her bed, rolling off the bed, or yelling downstairs that she needs to pee

* Moth trapped in our kitchen light (3 nights and counting)

* Helicopters (only once – on Monday, when they arrested a gang leader who was hiding in Oaxaca.  There are allegations that the local police offered him protection.  It is the only time we have heard anything about gangs here.)

* Garbage truck bell (actually, in the morning, but since it often wakes us up I am counting it as a night sound)

In spite of these noises, we sleep pretty well.  Living in a foreign country and speaking a different language can be exhausting.  Most of Max’s dreams are ok and involve no bullets; Helen falls asleep quickly after a bout with the wall, floor, or bathroom; and Natalie and I usually can fall back asleep with the help of a book or the iPad.  We might even miss the noises when we get home.

Our kitchen shelf, including, on the far right, what is left of our own firecracker supply.  Other items, from left to right:  Plastic horse, paint brushes, bag of paintballs Max collected for his slingshot, tape, chili sauce, vanilla (for pancakes), chili/lime salt (for fruit), more chili sauce (the butcher's homemade blend), soy sauce, Helen's science experiment, driveway gate opener, a heart from Helen's English class, Mezcal, canned tuna, plastic bag with cinnamon, dictionary, hotel soap, firecrackers.

News Flash:  Natalie’s parents arrived last night for a visit.  We are all excited.  Max and I saw them briefly last night, and Natalie and I are on our way to meet them now for breakfast.  Later they will go with me to a science fair in Helen’s class.  It is good timing, since usually nobody is allowed into the classroom.  I signed up to present an experiment so we could go in.  The experiment: something involving oil and water and how they do not mix.  --Harrison

The Kids Are Alright

Yesterday Max hit a milestone.  He took an oral exam in front of his class in Spanish and did well.  He was not even very nervous.  Here is how it happened.

A few weeks ago Max was surprised to learn that the next day he had to hand in a report on a Oaxacan ethnic group.  He knew nothing about the assignment, even though it had been assigned a few weeks earlier.  Natalie and I already had asked the teacher several times to make sure Max knows what the homework is, so we were a little frustrated when we learned about the report.  The next morning I told the teacher there was no way he could do the report in one night.  He should have the same amount of time as the other students.  She said that would be fine.  And as a special concession – because I think she felt badly about having forgotten to tell him about the report – she said he could do it orally instead of having to write it down.

The teacher might have intended to make it easier on Max, but he did not look forward to having to answer questions in Spanish in front of his whole class.  Fortunately for Max, the father of the person who is teaching me to make hammocks comes from a very interesting community in the mountainous northern part of Oaxaca state, San Pablo de Yaganiza.  Alfredo (my hammock instructor) has spent hours telling me stories about the town and the customs of the mostly Zapotec population.  Working together, Max and I converted these stories into a one-page outline that formed the basis of Max’s presentation.

The first thing Max’s teacher told him when he stood up to take the test was that he could not use his notes.  Lucky for him he has a good memory.  Then she asked him to tell the class about the group.  And off he went.  Although Natalie and I were not there, we gather from what Max told us and from the way his teacher seems to have taken a greater interest in him that the presentation was fascinating.  Max said that once he started talking the teacher did not ask any more questions.  When it was over, she gave him a 10.

Two months ago, Max would not have believed us if we told him that in early March he would give an oral report in Spanish and do so well.  We would not have believed it ourselves.  It was a proud moment for all of us.

There are a couple of things that have been particularly helpful for Max to learn Spanish.  The first has been spending time with kids his age.  Besides school and soccer practice, we try to arrange play dates – although they are not as common here as they are at home.  Last Sunday was a fun one.  Max’s friend Alonso came over for a couple of hours, then we met a couple of other friends at a paintball park for an impromptu battle.  On the way we stopped for ice cream.  Max and Alonso look so mature in the picture of them eating ice cream, but I am pretty sure they were talking about something trivial like how best to stage a paintball raid.

Discussing Neitzsche or paintballs?

Paintball warriors.  Max (second from left), three friends, and two other kids they met there.

The second helpful thing has been working with a tutor three days a week after school.  The tutor, Mercedes, is amazing.  She helps Max with his homework, and then, time permitting, she spends some time going over Spanish grammar.  (I also take a class from Mercedes once a week, and Helen meets with her twice a week.)  The combination of being immersed in Spanish all day and then going over some of the rules with Mercedes has been perfect.

Last week on our way to Mercedes' house, Max and I stumbled upon a powerful installation by Mexican artist Helen Escobedo, called "Éxodos."

Meanwhile, Helen is hitting her own milestones at school.  She is learning to write in cursive, and to read.  The words she is reading and writing are in Spanish, which makes it especially amusing for us to observe.  Mostly, however, Helen writes one-letter and two-letter sounds, which she is just starting to string together into words.

Helen loves her homework.  Last week she stayed home from school for two days with a cold.  She made us get her homework book from school, and she used the time to catch up on the pages she missed from last semester.

A homework assignment.  Why copy it off the board when you can snap a picture?

Three days a week Helen takes an after-school dance class at the school.  Although Oaxaca is rich in folkloric dances, they teach Hawaiian, Tahitian, and tap.  At first we were disappointed, but not any more since Helen loves the class.

Buying tap shoes under Batman's watchful eye.

Sadly, the same rule that prevents parents from sneaking peaks of their kids in their regular classes applies to the dance class.  We look forward to a performance in May or June.  Until then, we must be satisfied with the frequent previews we get at home.  --Harrison

That's "Man" with an "M"

We have been here for two months.  Everybody's Spanish has improved.  I arrived speaking Portuguese, from having lived in Brazil, which has made it relatively painless to pick up Spanish.  With six weeks of Spanish classes under her belt, Natalie is our resident grammar expert.  We turn to her with our questions.  Max polices our pronunciation.  Sometimes he corrects us, but usually we just embarrass him.  He also keeps us up to speed on the slang we need to know.  Helen plays her Spanish cards closest to her chest.  When interacting with Mexicans she usually says little, or says it in English, but then she will blurt something out in perfect Spanish.  At first it was single words, but increasingly there are short sentences.

While the Spanish gets easier every day, that is not to say we do not continue to have our moments of linguistic paralysis.  It is as if there is a switch to fire up the Spanish, which we sometimes forget to turn on. It happens most often to me when I respond to something by reflex.  If I accidentally trip someone on the bus, I might say "sorry" before thinking to say "disculpe."  Or when leaving a place, "bye" often slips out instead of "adios."  The person usually understands what I mean from the context, and it is easy enough to follow up with the correct Spanish term.

But there is another kind of forgetting to turn on the Spanish switch that can have more serious consequences.  It has to do with thinking in the right language.  Sometimes when I am alone and thinking about something in English, I forget to change over to Spanish when necessary.  It happened this morning.  I was on my way to the bathroom in a restaurant.  The first door I saw was marked "M."

Without giving it a second thought, I walked in.  I am a "Man," after all, and I have been one for many years.  What I am not, however, is a "Mujer," which means "woman" in Spanish.  Fortunately, nobody was in the bathroom. I realized my mistake only upon leaving, when I noticed another door with "H" next to it.  "H" is for "Hombre."

It was funny, but it would have been awkward if someone had been in the Women's Room when I walked in. If that had happened, I am pretty sure I know what I would have said:  "Sorry!"  --Harrison

Red tape

Can you guess what is in the box this man is opening?

Want a hint?  Look where he is, and what company he works for.

Still need a hint?  Go back and look at our blog entry from January 26, “Lost and (not quite) found.”  That entry contains the first part of the saga of the Kindle my parents forgot on an AeroMexico plane last November.  This entry contains the next installment.  The next two photos tell all.

That's right.  I got it back!  Every week or so I have stopped by the AeroMexico office near the Zócalo to ask about the Kindle, which was in a warehouse in Mexico City.  The employees in Oaxaca were helpful, but they could not get anybody in Mexico City to respond to their inquiries.  Finally, last week they took the case to the head of operations in Oaxaca, who sent an e-mail to the head of operations in Mexico City.  I joked that we might have to elevate the inquiry to the President of the Republic before we get a response.  (Har har.)  They responded that it was only a couple of steps below the President already.

Yesterday I received a call telling me the Kindle was at the Oaxaca airport.  Although it was not the most convenient day to go to the airport, I took no chances that it might get lost again.  When I got to the airport, they were expecting me.  Several signatures and photocopies of my driver’s license later, they gave me the Kindle.

In January, I wrote that I had an “irrational sense of optimism” that we would get the Kindle back.  Maybe it was not so irrational.  It is easy to confuse red tape for disorganization.  By red tape, I mean a clerk at the post office cross-referencing a certified mail receipt in three different ledgers before retrieving the package from a shelf with only four certified packages to choose from (as happened when I picked up a birthday present someone mailed to Helen); or the cashier at Max’s and Helen’s school spending five minutes typing who-knows-what into the computer before being able to accept their monthly tuition payment; or, as was the case with the Kindle, needing to go high enough in the chain of command before receiving a response from Mexico City.  There is not much one can do when things are disorganized, but with enough time and patience it is possible to cut through red tape.  That happened here.  Eventually the right person made the right inquiry to the right person at the right time.  It was just a matter of being able to wait for it to happen without giving up.

Sadly, however, the saga is not over.  Four months of sitting unused in a warehouse was more than the Kindle could handle.  Its battery is dead and must be replaced.  So now we turn to Amazon to see if it will honor the warranty.  Hopefully it will.  And with less red tape.

¿Dondé está Waldo?

Sometimes writing this blog about our family trip to Mexico feels very narcissistic.  Natalie reminds me that nobody has to read it, which is true.  Still, the idea that people would want to read about our daily adventures takes some getting used to.  For those of you who have stuck with it, today instead of writing more about ourselves we bring you a game.  It is our own version of Where’s Waldo.  Good luck!

Find the green Clorox container

Find the two smocks with embroidered trim on the pockets

Find Max

Find the person

Find Helen

Find the black shoes with the red shoe laces

Find the one that is not a cactus

Bonus question:  Find the person.  (Hint:  he's wearing red.)

Ok, break is over.  Now back to writing about ourselves.  Yesterday we missed a mandatory meeting for fifth grade parents.  Max did not tell us about it.  Later he explained that when the teacher instructed the students to tell their parents about the “reunión obligatoria,” he did not realize it was an obligatory meeting.  “I thought a ‘reunion’ would be for parents who had gone to the school, and I thought ‘obligatoria’ meant they would be ‘much obliged’ if those parents attended the reunion.”  It is hard to argue with that logic.  --Harrison

Pledging allegiance

Last Thursday was Flag Day in Mexico.  Did you know there is a Flag Day in the United States too?  According to Wikipedia, it is June 14.  Few Mexicans would need Wikipedia to know what day is Flag Day here (February 24).

From an early age kids are taught to revere the flag.  Every school begins the week with a flag ceremony called “homenagen.”  A cadre of six or seven students marches the flag around a courtyard while everybody else stands at attention with one hand on their chest.  (The salute looks funny to those not used to it.  The hand on the chest remains open with palm to the ground.)  Then everybody sings the national anthem, after which the cadre repeats the march while everyone salutes again.

Homenagen for the nursery school and kindergarteners.

Saluting the flag.

Besides school, the homenagen opens other events as well.  For instance, last week Max’s soccer team attended a trophy ceremony at the end of a tournament.  (Max joined the team too late to play in that tournament.)  The ceremony began with an homenagen.  On Thursday, Natalie and I stumbled upon an homenagen competition while walking through a park on our way to brunch.  Schools from around Oaxaca sent their flag cadres to compete.  Our camera battery was dying, but we got a couple of pictures.

In Mexico Unconquered, a book by John Gibler about resistance movements in Mexico from the conquest through the present, Gibler observes that protestors in Mexico do not burn the flag in protest, as they do in the United States and other countries.  Instead they view their movement, whatever it might be, as being true to the flag, and the groups they oppose as betraying it.  There is a widespread reverence for the flag that we simply do not see at home.  Of course, we also are patriotic in the United States and the flag is an important symbol of that patriotism.  But the ways we demonstrate our patriotism in our daily lives do not feel as formal, or reverential, as they do here.

So the question is:  what should Helen and Max do during homenagen while everybody in the school stands at attention, saluting the flag?  We have told them they do not need to salute, but we have seen both of them saluting along with everybody else.  In Max’s case, he does not want to appear to be disrespectful, while Helen probably does it because everybody else is doing it.

Helen practicing her salute.

If Natalie and I had been raised to revere the flag like they do here, it might bother us to see our children saluting a different country’s flag.  Instead, we just think it is cute.  --Harrison