Living La Vida Loca

Dancing. Simply put, Latins have more fun and are less inhibited. For example, they are less concerned with what is cool, what fashion is in, how they look when they dance, or how bad their voices are when they sing. They enjoy life. They are not worried about looking foolish when they sing and dance. They are just themselves and they enjoy life. Americans, on the other hand, are extremely concerned with what is accepted, how they look, and who is watching. Their inhibitions are a wall that is so tall that it is only scaled when we are drunk. That is why Americans drink so much. There is less feeling, less accountability, and less inhibition. Other cultures are not that way. They are more relaxed. The men all have more rhythm, and even when they don’t, they don’t let that stop them from dancing like rock stars.

Whistling. Remember those movies with Mexicans yipping and yelling and whistling? Well, that’s not just the movies. Whenever a loved or traditional Mexican song comes on, loud whistling ensues followed by clapping and yipping. I have yet to perfect my whistle, but you know I am working on it.

Winter. In the morning, it drops to a low of 42+ degrees Fahrenheit. Everyone bundles up as if they were climbing Mt. McKinley. The gloves are on, scarves, hats, winter coats, and the tight, perpetual look of being cold and uncomfortable. Faces are clenched as we march off the metro. I stroll to work in my suit enjoying the warmth of the sun and the clearness of the day, while my compatriots hurriedly jog with their arms wrapped around themselves trying to keep the warmth in.

Being accustomed to weather is an interesting thing. The lows during the winter in Mexico City are only about 5 degrees different than in the summer, according to Weather.com. However, they complain daily about the temperature.

Metro. I don’t know what it is but every time you get to a metro stop, people in the car unload with urgency and velocity. Dozens of workers sprint for the escalator and run up the stairs as though the world was ending in two minutes. I don’t get it. I understand being in a rush to get to work, but pushing, running over, and otherwise mangling each other to get to the bus stop 10 seconds earlier doesn’t make sense to me.

Greetings. Mexicans are generally of Latin descent, and if not, they have at least conformed a little to traditional Spanish culture. Of course this means that the women and men kiss on the check to say “hello” and “goodbye.” And the men have a very friendly way of hugging and thumping each other on the back. It is a quick embrace, thump, thump, thump, and if it is a very good friend, he might get four thumps.

Smells. Depending upon where you are in the City, you will get a different whiff. Unlike in the States, the Metro usually does not smell like urine. The floor is spotless, the interior is rarely abused by graffiti, and someone is always cleaning. But the bad neighborhoods are certainly plagued by that odor. The oncoming scent of a Taco stand is never more than a few blocks away, and the fresh, distinct aroma of corn tacos fills the air. Taco stands and their surrounding areas have the pleasant and familiar smell of Mexican restaurants in the States.

Querétaro. Nothing makes you realize that you live in a big dirty city like a trip to a small village a few hours away. Last Saturday and Sunday, I spend the day in a colonial town called, Querétaro. It was beautiful, had a very nice Historic Center, an aqueduct, and an undeniable charm. Good food, bars, and nightlife too.

More pictures to come...

*****Ismael, Paco, and Kip

*****Skinning Potatoes

*****The Crew

*****Paco and Kip Breaking it Down

*****Isabel and Laura

*****The Bird

The Bird

El Día de Gracias: Where was my ‘Merican Fairy God Mother?

Thanksgiving is not only my favorite holiday, but it is classically American. And I am ‘Merican through and through. Don’t be fooled by my international ramblings and ravings. I love the world, but nothing makes me happier than sitting in a clean, cozy, sweet-smelling American living room with my family, watching football, and eating more than humanly possible.

Not being with any ‘Mericans on this holiest of holidays was difficult. I pondered how to best deal with my Turkey Day- homesickness. There was no other solution than to bring Thanksgiving to México and my international amigos! I thought, “I will show them what ‘Mericans are really all about: food, eating, nodding off, shaking it off, eating more, watching football, dozing off while watching football, and lethargy in general. It will be great!”

I set out to find ingredients that do not exist outside of the U.S. like gravy, cranberry sauce, stuffing, pumpkin pie, and turkeys! How ‘Merican-centric are we not to realize that these things are as ‘Merican as apple pie?

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. That is what it took to find the necessary ingredients for a Thanksgiving dinner in Mexico. After a comprehensive search, I found cranberry sauce, and believe it or not, it was the hardest thing to find (with the exception of stuffing). I went to some weird store with expired Pop-tarts and cleaning supplies. They had 1 can of cranberry sauce that was clearly abused in its illegal border crossing in the 70’s. The dent in the can was big enough for the Mexicans to give me a discount without asking for it. Of course, they were very excited by the sale and wished me a happy Thanksgiving. I suspect they had a big laugh once I was gone: “what a sucker.”

Little Kip grows up. Why didn’t anyone tell me that cooking Thanksgiving dinner was so much work? I thought it was a licitly split affair: fill the turkey with some stuffing, pop it in the oven, and wait for 10 minutes. Then, bang, it is done, all the trimmings magically appear on the table, the pumpkin pie cools in the kitchen while we feast. Where was my fairy God mother yesterday?

I now understand why my mom goes up three days before Thanksgiving to cook full-time with my Aunt. Apparently, they don’t just gossip like hens and pretend to work. They must be working like Mexicans from dusk till dawn for almost 3 days. Oy. Another fringe benefit of being a man, but clearly, not of being ‘Merican in Mexico.

Beginning on Monday, I looked up recipes, wrote a grocery list, checked it twice, and did a little shopping. To my delight, I only had to go to four different places to buy the essential components, and with the oven passing inspection on Tuesday night, I thought I was in good standing.

The result is something similar to what being mugged in a tornado that hits a grocery store before landing in a funeral pire must feel like. Wednesday night was controlled panic. I say controlled because panic can only be described by Thursday. But let’s not skip ahead.

Wednesday night after a long day of work, I went to the pastry shop to order the pumpkin pie, and then I returned to my belovéd grocery store to pick up the 14.5 pound bird. I go home. Preparations begin. Did I mention that I planned to make stuffing from scratch? That was a brilliant idea.

My kitchen is not the place for such grandiose dreams. It is a small Mexican kitchen shared by nine people. Food is stuffed into every nook and cranny, you can’t open a draw without finding garlic, fruits, or pasta. But I forged on. “I am going to celebrate Thanksgiving, damn it!”

I left work early on Thursday with the anticipation of a full day of cooking. One of roommates, Isabel, was not feeling well and decided to stay home from work. How perfect! I have a sue chef! Only she thought it better to remain in bed. At 2:45 pm I started making the stuffing, pealing carrots, garlic, and potatoes, prepping green beans, and corn. I zipped around the kitchen stirring, chopping, adding, dicing, sautéing, and baking.

Cooking such a large bird in a 60 year old oven could be a little dicey, especially since the temperature knob is missing. But it all worked out very well. After six hours straight of slaving over a hot stove, dinner was ready. For those curious, here is the menu:

-Steamed Carrots with a Orange zest and apple juice sauce
-Corn off the cob
-A baked greens beans and onions dish covered with a creamy mushroom and cheese sauce topped of with toasted crackers
-mashed potatoes with roasted garlic and parsley
-Stuffing made from scratch with fresh thyme, rosemary, onions, mushrooms, parsley, etc
-cranberry sauce
-homemade gravy
-a 14.5 pound Turkey roasted for 4 hours
-a specially ordered pumpkin pie
-pecan pie
-vanilla ice cream

In closing, Thanksgiving dinner served 13 people, cost a total of $85, and was the best I could have hoped for in Mexico. Although I missed my family terribly, my new home was very welcoming and supportive. Paco, Ismael, and Ricardo (grandson of la duena, Sra. Franco) all took doggy bags, and my house will be eating the leftovers for weeks to come. Happy Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

*****Mariachi

Mariachi

*****Doing a Jig

Doing a Jig

*****Boats in the Canals

Boats in the Canals

Mexicanization

Work. There is a myth that Mexicans are lazy. People believe that. We have all heard or told jokes of that nature. At the same time though, we have witnessed the immigrant populations working extremely long hours and very hard. And that is the truth of it.

Yesterday, I just had my first 13 hour day. They have got their little gringo working like a Mexican down here. And for those who embellish those different stereotypes, I am talking about the one where the Mexicans work their culos off. I mean, those are like banking hours. Finally, I appreciate what many of you do on a daily basis. However, the difference is that I enjoy what I am doing, and I get paid far less. I didn’t realize when I came over here that I would become slave labor.

Another myth. We have all seen thirty or forty Latin American immigrants piled in the backs of pickup trucks or sitting five across in a lawn care truck. I had one such experience in a Nissan Platina. Basically, you take a Ford Focus, shrink it, and you get a Nissan Platina.

After a lovely Sunday afternoon of picnicking and floating through canals an hour south of Mexico City, in a place that has been called “the Venice of México,” I along with eight others piled into this tiny, weenie, little clown car. It was filled to the brim, but this was certainly not common practice. After an hour back home, I understood why. Oy. In short, no one does that (except in the states). And for good reason.

Metro. You will have to forgive my fascination with public transportation, and more specifically, the metro. As one would expect, people sell anything and everything you can imagine from CDs to pogs to gum as they walk up and down each train car. But they only are able to sell and function on weekends. This is because the metro in Mexico City in the second most used subway in the world, only behind Tokyo. It is packed and after I think the car can’t possibly fit any more people, we stop at a transfer station to pick up more. Needless to say, I am getting to know the people of Mexico City intimately.

Mustache. Everyone seems to have one. It is an honor to have one. Police, street cleaners, business men, everyone has one and it does not appear to be differentiated by class. Well, everyone except my three main bosses sports one. So, I don’t feel the need to fit in perfectly.

Hair gel. It must be cheap. Based upon the amount that these fellas use a day, I would venture to guess that Wal-Mart must sell the industrial size and strength bucket. Believe it or not, I have contemplated locating and purchasing said gel. I would be more aerodynamic, not to mention, chido (cool) and hip with the locals. Also, the gelled hair serves as a protective device if you were to fall or be hit in the head with something. Only time will tell if I will take that leap into the unknown world of greased back helmet hair.

As you can see, I am becoming Mexican. Food, language, culture, costumes, and dance styles.

*****Museo Nacional de Antropologia con Isabel, Morgane, and Kip

Think Outside the Bun

Today’s issue is all about the food. Oh yeah. I suspect that some of you may salivate so much that you will be danger of drooling on your key board, so I recommend getting a napkin before continuing on. The Mexican culinary delights are similar to Taco Bell: nearly everything on the menu has the exact same ingredients. However, unlike Taco Bell, everything has a very unique and delicious taste.

Most taco stands will serve you some beans, salsas, limes, and chips before your meal instead of the traditional bread. There is a very spicy salsa and salsa verde.

Tacos. Aw jeez. These little fellas will fill you up, spice you out, and tickle your fancy. I most prefer tacos al pastor. You generally get three to four tacos. The shells are soft, yet cooked in oil, and are made of corn. Delicious. A meat, still unknown to me, is put on the tacos with salsa picante, a little pineapple, and cheese. I put a little salsa verde and lime juice all over those puppies. Of course, the name helps too. Bien provecho!

Quesadillas. Apparently, real quesadillas are small, batter fried corn tortillas stuffed with a sparse number of ingredients. They resemble an empanada. Today I sampled one with Huitlacoche y queso. One of my bosses, Jorge, described huitlacoche as a mushroom before I ordered it, then explained that it is more of a fungus that grows on corn. Nonetheless, it was delicious, and almost truffle-like, but what isn’t delicious that it surrounded by melted cheese? Quesadillas can also come in the more common, American form. It is good to ask.

Sopes. These are reminiscent of what Mexican restaurants in the U.S. call Tostados. They are fried corn tortillas, covered with beans, meat, onions, and cheese. You douse these bad boys with a little salsa verde and if you are feeling loco a little sour cream.

Tortas. Basically, a torta is a sandwich. But by the same token, cheese steaks are essentially sandwiches. So, what I am trying to say is that a good torta is as good as it gets. I had torta the other day with chopped up steak, melted cheese, tomato, lettuce, lime juice, y salsa picante. Mmmmmmm.

I have yet to try some mole, but there is a place near work that I have been itching to try. Mole if you do not know is a sauce made from chocolate, chicken broth, oil, a variety of spicy and mild peppers, and spices. Interesting and delicious.

L'auberge Mexicano

In this movie, a straight laced American moves into an apartment bordering the ghetto in México City with a cast of seven other characters from México, Germany, France, Italy, and England.

Leonardo, the Italian, 26, philosophizes and speaks the language of love. His girl friend, whose name is unpronounceable, is visiting from Belgium. They met in Spain while studying abroad three years ago and only speak Spanish with each other. She speaks French, Spanish, and a little English, while he speaks Italian and Spanish. They can only communicate in Spanish and are the modern international couple.

The funniest thing about everyone is that they speak Spanish with their own accents. For example, if I didn’t know any better I would think Morgan, la Francesa, 23, was speaking French, that Leonardo was speaking in sing-song Italian, and that Manuel was speaking Méxican. Es interesante.

CULTURAL REFLECTIONS:
The rich and the poor. They are like night and day, like Webster and Shaq, like our president’s brain and that of an orangutan, like D.F. and Manhattan. Although I have not been to a “poor” neighborhood, every single cabbie has said, “if you want to live, you should avoid (insert lengthy list of neighborhoods here).”

So, I guess I should draw the distinction between places I have been: the rich and “middle-class” areas. The wealthy parts of town, like Polanco, are spotless. No really, streets and sidewalks clean enough to eat off of. Everyone is well dressed and in suits. In the middle-class neighborhoods I stick out dramatically even in my cheap suits, the trees lining the side-walk act as trash receptacles, and the taco stands are plentiful.

You can buy Gucci, drink Starbucks, and try on Armani in Polanco. In Escandon, my neighborhood, you are lucky if you can find Wrangler jeans, eat McDonalds, or drink Nescafé. The distribution of wealth resembles that of much of Latin America: there is virtually no middle-class and the rich and poor are extremes on the spectrum. Corruption, power, and education equal enormous wealth, and without two out of those three, you are selling gum and cigarettes to motorists at stop lights.

So many questions. Why is it that all old Mexican ladies carry more than they can physically bear? They are too tough. I asked a lady if I could help her with her bags, she drew them closer, glared at me, and walked quickly away. Perhaps it is just as simple as the fact that the words my friend’s have been teaching me don’t mean what they say.

The food. Did somebody say tacos? Did somebody say cheese, salsa picante, and grease? Why do Mexicans love Subway? Is it Jerry Fogales winning personality? Is it their fresh vegetables? No, I think it’s the only food you can buy that isn’t saturated with grease or covered with cheese. But I love it. Cheap eats, like $1 to $2, for a meal is right up my alley.

Transportation. The metro is much nicer and cleaner than I imagined. And a ride costs less than 20 cents! Holy canoli! And yes, for those Washingtonians, you must have realized that la Capital de México stole our subways name. La capital a la capital.

Side Notes:

Well, the Yahoo Groups idea failed miserably. 26 of the 165+ signed up. I thought you people were of a modern generation. I thought you would be able to click on a link and sign up, but I was mistaken. So, all of you, even those not desiring to read lengthy emails with humor from México are going to receive emails anyway.

If anyone wants to send me some goodies, perhaps a burrito from Chipolte or anything else that I can’t get here please send it to:
Kip Pastor
Constitución 32
Colonia Escandon
11800, México, D.F. C.P.

There is also a house phone, but it is not private and you have to call international.
(001) 52-55-5515-7548. I leave my house at 7:45am and return somewhere around 8pm. And you shouldn’t call after 10:30pm EST. So there is a very small window when I will most likely be cooking or eating. But feel free to give me a buzz sometime.

Although I now know James Taylor was singing bitter sweet, more bitter than sweet, reflections in his song, I still love the song and it will remain an anthem for this experience.

Shout Outs: Gotta give it up to Miguel Basanez otra vez, my savior; Gregory for a pre-birthday wish, Happy Birthday!; all those cats writing me emails; and for those homies still looking for a place to live, you know who you are. Holler.

A little Background

Background. Mexico City was originally built in 1521 by Cortes on the ruins of Tenochtitlan, the capital of the Aztec Empire, in the middle of the now drained Lake Texcoco. It is surrounded by gorgeous volcanos which you can see from tall buildings or driving south on the highway. Mexico City is located in the Mexican Federal District "Distrito Federal", or D.F. as us locals say.

The City. It is huge, HUGE. There are roughly 18 to 23 million people according to a 2005 estimation. It is the second most populous metropolitan area only behind Tokyo, and the 6th largest city. And the population doubles every 30 years! Besides being full of Mexicans, it is very spread out and sprawling. The streets are haphazard, and I still have no idea where the cabs are taking me.

The Traffic. Oy. During the week, it took roughly 45 minutes to get to work for what takes only 15 on Saturday and Sundays. It isn’t just during the morning, it remains all day. Also known as a game of chicken. All intersections, stop lights, and stop signs work as ways to test your cojones.

Climate. The sun is so hot that I just want to go, but not in DF. It ranges from like 75 to 45 daily. Due to the elevation and surrounding volcanos, the temperatue remains cool and lovely year round. But when y’all come visit, we shall head for the hot sun and beaches.

Pollution. So many people, including myself comment on the atrocious pollution of a city many of us had never been to. After spending a few days here, I must say that it is quite clear and nice. Unlike Asia where everyone covers their faces with masks, the car exhaust is similar to that of the US. I mean, they have great oil here, so much so that we are contemplating taking Mexico over. So don’t indulge what you think you know, you have no idea….

Montezuma’s Revenge. This is one thing I have yet to mention. According to a source, who cites VH1 Story Tellers, James Taylor wrote the song “Mexico” about his first and last visit to Mexico. Apparently, he had big diarrhea and throw-ups, and JT vowed never to return. True story. But I am doing fine, thanks for asking.

Seis Cuentos

Buenas tardes,

Before I departed the US, a friend said, "you will have five stories within 24 hours of landing." I smiled and responded, "God, I hope not." Well, she was wrong, I have at least six.

1. Although I am a world traveler and mountaineering extraordinaire, I was quite nervous and anxious about arriving in Mexico with no concrete plans. Since there was nothing much I could do, I marched on. As one would imagine, Customs and Immigration was a breeze. The immigration official said coarsely, "what are you doing in my country?" to which I snapped back, "to rape and pillage of course!" He nodded, smiled, and stamped my passport.

2. I had to call Paco and Ismael to make sure someone was at their apartment in the ghetto so I wouldn't have to wait around outside indefinitely with all my bags at midnight on Saturday. Of course, Mexican phones don't take change, so this presented the second hurtle. The phone card machine wasn't working, of course, and I was at a loss for what to do. When all of a sudden, a facially scared and otherwise terrifying Mexican handed me a phone card with just enough left to call Paco. Paco was at a bar with a girl but assured me that Ismael was home. Yikes. After an uneventful cab ride, other than dodging cars going faster than Nascar, I arrived intact in the ghetto. And to my relief Ismael was home.

3. Ismael thought it would be a good idea to take me for a drink, seeing that I had been in Mexico for an hour and it was Saturday night. Thus, we began an epic journey that I will spare you the details of except that it was about 20 miles of walking and busing. The bar was a little odd, and though I couldn´t initially put my finger on it, I figured out exactly why it was strange when Rodrigo put his arm around me and started blowing air in my ear. This was in fact a gay bar. On second thought, this was obvious because there were no women and the dance floor was packed. Thanks Ismael. He got a laugh and we quickly departed. I must admit that there was a two for one special and part of me wanted to stay.

4. My saviors. One of my dad´s life long friends, Miguel Basanez and his son, Nicholas, picked me up on Sunday to go apartment hunting. They treated me to a delicious lunch of tacos al pastor "gringa" and a sumptuous dinner. Their help, car, knowledge, food, and Spanish all proved to be life-saving. However, at the moment, I am still apartment-less, living in the ghetto on Paco's couch, and taking cabs to work. Miguel took me to seven different apartments. Of course, an individual apartment in a nice area is out of my price range, so we saw shared apartments. One with an old and smelly man whose place was filled, FILLED with old magazines, a crazy and half-dressed old lady, and an assortment of other circus-like folk. In short, I am still looking. It is going to be harder than expected.

5. I once thought that there is nothing scarier than an old lady in South Florida slouched behind a giant, boat of a Cadillac on the highway in the left lane with her turn signal on. Then I traveled to Southeast Asia and was proved wrong. But nothing compares to driving in Mexico City. As my cab sped to my office, the driver turned around to converse with me all the while swerving through near-death collisions. I can't imagine my face showed any _expression other than pure horror.

6. Work. I spent the morning, desk-less sitting in Francisco's office reading Mexican newspaper after Mexican newspaper. Did you know that Mexico is the only city in the world with more AM radio stations than FM? Did you know that Google has just set up an account in Mexico? I sure didn´t. After a few memoranda translations to their big important clients, I took a deep breath, hoped I didn´t screw them up too much, and started crafting this email. For a first day, I can´t imagine a much more stressful environment. I haven't spoken English all day, and if not for my writing, I would probably forgot how. My first duty everyday is to read ALL of the Mexican newspapers and write a summary in English to post on their website for their clients. Oy. Será más difícil que creé.

Work is stressful and extremely overwhelming, especially in Spanish. Why didn't anyone tell me that work sucked? Friday can't come soon enough. And as a wise man in the movie, The Three Amigos, tells us, "tequila...hmmm...it´s like beer." When in Rome.....

Otras Cosas

I think I should straighten a few things out.

First of all, Nicholas Karl Jeffers has asked Elizabeth Ansley for her hand in marriage. That does not affect most of you and roughly 90% of you don't know them. But it is big news, and I am sure that y'all wish them the best.

Second of all, for those of you who don't want to laugh out loud, have a day brightened by adventures, or have an inbox full of my ramblings, I will gladly take you off the listserve if you write me directly.

Third of all, I am moving to Mexico City, Mexico. My job description is vague at the moment, but I will be able to identify exactly what I am doing soon enough. Many of you have inquired to the length of my stay, it could be 3 to 6 months to 12 months to indefinitely, so don't hold your breath. Let's see if I can find my inner Mexican, cause I know that little fella is in there. And I have already started growing my stache.

Lastly, thank you all for your kind phone calls and emails. I really feel loved. It is nice to be reconnected with people. I haven't caught up with many of you in ages. My travels and mass emails illicit responses from friends whose correspondence has dwindled. These relationships have been neglected and life has gotten in the way. I urge you all to craft a mass email and send it out to all of your friends. I know they would appreciate hearing what you are up to, and it will most likely get many to write you back. We all wish that we could sustain more relationships, but the fact is that life gets in the way, mass emails are a great way to reconnect.

And so I'm off for the airport. Wish me luck. I am staying with a Canadian student who my dad met for 20 minutes in California. Of course, Jason is out of town, so his roommates Paco and Ismael should show me a good time. God bless.

Adios Hermanos, Otra Vez

Hola amigos,

As some of you know, I am moving to Mexico on Saturday afternoon. Of course, with the move comes a renewal of the Kip Chronicle. For some the humor of my Asia emails has been missed, for others the opportunity to live vicariously through my adventures, others the procrastination device of long emails, and still others, well, many of you haven't really cared. That is ok. To me, this writing is cathartic.

So, I'm heading off to our great neighbor below, the deep south, yee-haw. Mexico is best known for folk art traditions derived from a combination of the indigenous and Spanish crafts, kidnappings (second only behind Colombia), corruption, pollution, Coronas, and my favorite, its burritos (which is the real reason why I am going).

I know what y'all are thinking: when can I come visit Kip? Well, I am glad you thought of it. You are all welcome to come visit me just as soon as I find a place to live. Unfortunately for me, my parents have decided not to move with me, and thus, I will be forced to seek food and shelter without aid. I do not for see this presenting an enormous problem, but it may take a week or two of bumming from friends' house to house, floor to floor.

For those who don't know, I am working for a small, boutique international consulting firm called De la Calle, Madrazo, Mancera, S.C.. They do mostly international trade issues, including lobbying the U.S. Congress. Should be quite interesting!

Cultural reflections will come as I figure things out. I have no idea where my office is, but I have been told that a suit is mandatory and siestas are a myth. Oy. Sounds like a real job.

Since I leave on Saturday, y'all have nearly 48 hours to heckle me with phone calls and emails. Though I suspect I will find internet fairly quickly in Mexico.

In closing, take care. I will miss you all. Oh, Mexico it sounds so simple I just got to go. Much love.

Vaya con Dios