Adiós, Blog. Hola, New Blog.

Following the lead of several bloggers that I know, I too have decided I need a fresh start as far as blogging goes. "La Vista de la VISTA" refers to my views as an Americorps VISTA (Volunteer In Service To America), and later a member of the Americorps Minnesota Reading Corps. Despite the fact that the experiences I had as a servant to my country have defined many of my personal opinions concerning education, poverty, culture, race, and class; that part of my life is over. Nevertheless, I will forever carry with me the people I came to know and the love they taught me.

I will carry them and their teachings on in my own endeavors as a Kindergarten English Teacher in a preschool here in Cholula. My new blog, http://kyliedalager.blogspot.mx , will focus on my life in Mexico.

I look forward to sharing more stories with you! Thanks for reading.

The People's Dictionary of: People Sighted on a Nude Beach

To celebrate my birthday, MyMan and I went to the beach: Zipolite, in the state of Oaxaca on the west coast of Mexico. We stayed in a cabin at El Alquimista, a beautifully simple resort made up of mosquito nets and breeze instead of that bleach smell you encounter when you enter a hotel room. We fell asleep to the sound of the waves hitting the beach. It was wonderful.

From the porch of the cabin

The beach itself was just what I wanted… fine sand, not too many people, not too many scary waves. It was the perfect place to lay out in the sun and relax.
If you are into public nudity, anyway.
Yep, that's right. Zipolite is the only nude beach in Mexico.

It wasn't as awkward as you might think.
But it was still pretty awkward.

Here is a guide to several, hmm… let's call them, "situations," that we encountered during our stay in Zipolite.

Author's Note:
The level of awkwardness is measured from
1 (a glance, and a shrug of the shoulders as if to say, "eh") to
10 (I WOULD REALLY LOVE TO LOOK AWAY BUT THIS IS JUST SO WEIRD THAT I FIND MYSELF MESMERIZED BY THE SIGHT AHHHH KEEP WALKING KEEP WALKING KEEP WALKING)

So, without further ado:

The People's Dictionary of: People Sighted on a Nude Beach

first timers [furst tie mers]
clothed people who point and giggle at nude beach-goers (when they are not looking, of course)
level of awkwardness: 4
level of awkwardness for the nude beach-goers: 10

liberally conservative girlfriend [li bru lee kuhn sur vuh tiv gurl frend]
female who chooses to stay clothed, yet seems comfortable with her partner going nude
level of awkwardness: 5

liberally conservative boyfriend [li bru lee kuhn sur vuh tiv boi frend]
male who chooses to stay clothed, yet seems comfortable with his partner going nude
level of awkwardness: 5

nude baby [noo d bey bee]
nude baby
level of awkwardness: 0
level of awkwardness when nude baby pees and poops in her highchair at the beach-side restaurant: 9

nude couple [noo d kuh puhl]
two nude people who engage in some sort of public displays of affection, i.e. holding hands, kissing, cuddling in a hammock together
level of awkwardness: 6

nude family [noo d fam lee]
two nude parents and their nude offspring
level of awkwardness: 9

nude forever alone [noo d for ev er uh lone]
nude person who sits all alone. You never see them go into the water. They just sit. Alone. Nude.
level of awkwardness: 8

nude jamboree [noo d jam buh ree]
nude group of friends or family
level of awkwardness: 6

nude pot smoker's jamboree [noo d pot smoh kerz jam buh ree]
nude group of friends or family, smoking pot together
level of awkwardness: 2

nude newbies [noo d noo bees]
nude people who are extremely pale in certain areas. I am sure the certain areas are self explanatory.
level of awkwardness: 7

nude professionals [noo d pro fesh in uhls]
nude people who are tan everywhere
level of awkwardness: 3

nude retirees [noo d ri tire eez ]
nude people over the age of (roughly) 65
level of awkwardness: 10

Despite our primary discomfort… there is something amazing about all types of people being together, free, and beautiful.
We will be back.

50 Reasons I Am My Father´s Daughter

We
real cool
tell Steve Jokes
discuss literary fiction with others
fight over literary fiction with each other
are always right and
always prove why we are right in case you still thought we weren't right but
can accept when we are mistaken…  most of the time
cry at Old Yeller
sneeze loudly
type
destroy our toothbrushes
harmonize instead of melodize
correct your grammar
travel the world
are punny
know punny is not actually a pun
navigate
speak sarcasm
drive Mom nuts
give good advice
are poets
take pictures
appreciate obscure films
remember all the words to all the songs
remember all the characters of all the books
use Wikipedia to help us remember all the words to all the songs and all the characters of all the books
volunteer
care
bite our nails
squint
pass the damn ham, please
take the bus
ride our bikes
are authors
have oily skin and
have canker sores and
have the same chin and
have the same smile and
have the same nose
embarrass our loved ones in public
sign our emails in all lowercase letters
read
lyricize
teach
rap
eat picante
learn more
are flexible, like bricks
believe even five-year-olds should follow board game rules
are always one phone call away.


happy 50th, dad.
love, ur eldest

It´snow Problem

Five days until Christmas.
There´s garland hanging in the windows and a wreath on the wall.
It should feel Christmasy because it looks Christmasy.

Five days until baby Jesús comes.
There are red and green frosted sugar cookies sitting on the counter.
It should feel Christmasy because it tastes Christmasy.

Five days until Santa comes.
There´s a medley of Christmas tunes playing throughout the house.
It should feel Christmasy because it sounds Christmasy.

Five days until presents come.
There are pine trees being sold on every corner.
It should feel Chrismasy because it smells Christmasy.

Five days until Christmas.
It should feel Christmasy because it should feel Christmasy.

Yet, it does not.
Not in Mexico.
Not for me.

Oh, wait. We accidentally desfrosted the freezer?
Oh, wait. There´s a bunch of ice that has come loose?
Let me take care of that for you, Myman.
There we go.

Now it´s Christmas.

Rain or Shine or A Volcano Blowing Up and Spewing Ash Everywhere

At night it is the electric blanket, level eight. In the morning it is the winter jacket and the polkadot mittens. And in the afternoon, it is the sunscreen and the sunglasses, and the winter jacket and the polkadot mittens are thrown into the backpack. Welcome to Cholula. I've had a lot of climate changes to get used to, and not only that; there have been geographical changes as well.
Where I´m from, we suffer similar discrepancies: hot sand on the beach to fog on the hill: it´s always cooler by the lake. However, we do not experience 40 degrees-turned-80 degrees-turned-35 degrees. We do not experience seeing our breaths at 7:15 a.m. only to find ourselves rubbing aloevera on our noses at 3, every day. (Okay, maybe once a year. At the end of May.) We do not experience a rainy season with ducks swimming in the street from August through October. We definitely do not experience a light dusting of ash on our way to work, floating down from the local volcano.

Ah... the volcano.

I have always viewed el volcán, Popocatépetl, as an amazing natural sculpture, made when God saw the Earth as just "soooo cute!" one day and pinched its cheek, leaving a pointed pinch-mark behind. Waking up every morning I would look out my window and not believe my luck, living so close to something so incredible, so powerful, so Lord of the Rings.

Then I took a First Aid class.

I figured it would be the normal, run of the mill First Aid class: cuts, burns, bruises, CPR, the Heimlich, gas safety, fire safety.
We covered all of those topics, plus what to do in an earthquake. For those of you wondering, the facilitator suggested el Triangulo de Vida,

which while researching afterwards I learned is a very controversial method for surviving earthquakes and is not recommended by both the American Red Cross and the United States Geological Survey because most injuries in an earthquake are caused by falling objects, not falling structures. (The "correct" method depends on the country, however, and how the buildings are built in that country, so maybe the guy running the class was right. I just didn't like him very much.)
I will never have to worry about earthquakes, though; mini ones happen in Mexico City every so often, and the drama queens of Puebla always claim that they "totally felt it!" but I never have.

After the what-to-do-in-case-of-an-earthquake briefing, I wanted the class to be over. Three hours had passed. Our speaker had made several sexist comments. I had to pee. I made to put my notebook away...

"Y ahora vamos a platicar de los pasos que uno debe de tomar en caso de erupción de volcán."
Umm... and now we´re going to talk about the steps one should take in case of a what eruption?? Volcano? What volcano? You can´t possibly mean the snow-capped mountain I look forward to seeing everyone morning, can you? I mean, that thing is so majestic! It would never hurt me! Would it?

I learned that yes, indeed, it would.
But before my mom has a heart attack reading this, I will tell you that I also learned the chances of it blowing its top are nearly nil. My heart palpitations soon regulated. It also helped to know that in terms of "risk zones" we live in the outskirts of the "yellow zone," or "zona 2," which will only receive that "light dusting of ash" mentioned above. No lava. And the steps toward saving yourself aren't super complicated: stay inside. Make that just one step toward saving yourself. It sounded easy enough, and nothing like the motion picture of Pompeii: The Sequel I was painting inside my brain. I was soon completely calm. Yet I couldn't help feeling a little disoriented…
"I live with a volcano. It is big. It is active."
…but only for a little while.

Because, mom, Popocatépetl is also beautiful, magnificent, a sight to behold, and in my opinion the top reason Cholula is such a magical place to live.
I wouldn't want to live anywhere else, come rain or shine, or even a volcano blowing up and spewing ash everywhere. I mean, imagine the blog entry on that one!

A Cholula Custom and the Grandma Who Introduced It to Me

Oh boy. She's back. Quick, don't make eye contact. Start up a conversation with the person to your left. To your right. Anyone! Uh oh. Too late... The grandma has returned, and this time she brought reenforcements: another bottle of tequila. Unopened.

Let's start at the beginning. What day is this? Monday. Where are we? In the parking lot of our apartment complex. What are we doing? Honoring Saint Ana. With whom? With our landlords, of course. They invited us to dinner. Along with the grandma, and the other 800 people eating, drinking, dancing, and drinking. Oh, and also drinking. Did I mention the drinking?? That's where the grandma comes in. We'll get to her later.
Our landlords are very religious people. They even have a calendar of all the church's important dates hung up in their window so that everyone who passes by can celebrate, too. This particular Monday happened to be Santa Ana's birthday. All weekend long, the mixiotes were prepared. They look like barbecued ribs wrapped in the skin of the leaf of an agave plant, but have a more smokey flavor instead of sweet. The men sat and tied off the bundles while the women made pasta and a soup that I truly believe was simply veggies and melted butter. Finally, Monday evening arrived.
A girlfriend and I got home at 5:00 where we were welcomed by a drunk man passed out on our steps. I calmly asked him to move out of the way, but he was unresponsive. So I tapped him on the shoulder and with a snort, he rolled over towards the wall to let me pass. How kind! Upon entering the parking lot, our hosts immediately rushed us to the head table, right in front of the band. Oh, that's right! There was also a band. A banda band, with horns and a tuba and a very loud bass drum. A band so good normal people only book them for weddings, if they can afford them. While eating, several men asked my friend and I to dance. We declined. The best was an old, toothless fellow, who said not a word; he simply pointed towards us, then shimmied. 

That's when we burst out laughing, then politely excused ourselves and left. There is such a thing as too much love. Especially if he is ancient and chimuelo.

But wait! you exclaim, you left? What about the grandma?!

She comes in later, when I returned with Myman and our roommate around 9:00.
The music was still kickin'. Some people were still eating, too, but most of the folding tables had been cleared away to make room for the dance floor. On every table (of which there were still nearly 30) we spied at least three bottles of tequila. The good stuff. Along side each bottle were various 2-liters of Squirt. From the moment we sat down, a stream of people began to approach us, tequila bottles in hand. The custom in Cholula, I learned, is to toast people with a shot of tequila accompanied with a shot (or five) of Squirt. "Cheers!" It's actually very sweet, and fun! ...until the grandma gets a little toast-happy and you remember it isn't the weekend. This was now her FIFTH driveby, and I didn't know if I was going to make it.

Quick, don't make eye contact. Start up a conversation with the person to your left. To your right. Anyone! Uh oh. Too late...
"Hola!" she says with a grin.
My "hello" is probably best described as a grimace.
In the blink of an eye, she has taken my dixie cup and poured in the tequila. But wait! I want to say, so I do, "Espera!" and then I recieve a kick from under the table. It's our roommate, who has lived in Cholula for quite awhile.
"What are you doing??" he hisses. "You can't say no! She will think you're rude!"
My eyes must communicate to him the desperation that I feel, because he finally allows me to take just a sip, so that the grandma doesn't think I am a total grosera. "Salud!" Myman drinks the rest, and then we dance the night away. Or until our bedtime, at least. Later that night I fall asleep with a smile on my face, and a delicious mixiote in my belly.

Today, a little over a week later, we awoke to the sound of squealing. Loud, obnoxious squealing. Upon entering the parking lot we saw two, giant pigs lying on the floor. They were dead. "Excellent!" Myman said. "It must be another saint's birthday!" He wasn't far off... tonight is the celebration of the Virgin Mary's accension into heaven. I think I'll go.

One Week

At the beginning of each day at the top of our lungs we yell, "Buenos días, Cholula!" to the church on top of the piramide, to the horses in the fields in front of us, to the buses running every ten minutes, and to the volcano, Popocatepetl.
To be honest, he yells. I only whisper. It's still a little strange to wake up each morning and look out my window to such a beautiful sight. I'm not comfortable enough yet to yell, to greet Cholula like an old friend. To me, Cholula seems almost sacred.
I'll get there though.
After one week I no longer pretend no one is home when the señora knocks on the door before she enters to clean; she isn't a religious man in a suit. She's just doing her job.
After one week I'm making eye contact with everyone I pass on the street. I'm not flinching when the low-lifes honk me off guard, and as to their cat calls... after one week, I'm not embarrassed. I feel sad for these guys. They're so lonely. I ignore them.
I'm already a pro at taking the bus to work, too; I have my six pesos in hand even before I can make out the word "LOMA" on the windshield.
I'm not quite sure what or where LOMA is yet, but maybe that is something I will learn in week two.

Today it is cloudy, but at the very top you can see Popo's white smoke.