¿Cómo se dice "burrrsky lurskys"?

Even if my Fulbright friends didn't understand this McSwainism (which I muttered under my breath repeatedly throughout the weekend), I think it's safe to say we were all in agreement about the frío extremo. On our three-stop trip to the northern part of Puebla, we faced some chilly and rainy conditions, but we kept the complaining to a minimum moderate level and carried on with our plans (who am I kidding? we had no concrete plans bc where's the fun in that? *nervous laughter*).

First stop: Huauchinango

After a very close call at the bus station (most of us got there late but the only punctual "Juan" among us snagged the tickets), we were headed to our first destination-- a town we randomly selected from the book of 111 Pueblos Mágicos with a name none of us could pronounce. 

We soon learned that even the town's residents don't think it deserves its title of "Magical." When we asked a taxi driver about his recommendations for our stay he advised that we leave before someone could rob us (of our money and/or organs). Awesome!! Following this little morsel of advice we decided to hang around long enough for a market breakfast (I'll risk my life for gorditas and quesadillas any day) and then move along...

Sup Jesus

The construction workers in the back wanted to be in this photo real bad

Second stop: Zacatlán

The main attraction of our trip, Zacatlán de las Manzanas, is known far and wide for its apple products (and I don't mean iPhones!). Very much unlike Huauchinango, Zacatlán draws a ton of tourists, especially at this time of year. Between the cider festival and the stands selling artesanía and local foods (will I sound totally pretentious if I say it was totally reminiscent of the Prague/Vienna Christmas markets?! oh well too late...), the town had a festive and cozy feel despite the unpleasant weather. Cider, baked apples, and other manzana-themed delicacies abound, as well as the famous pan de queso. Pro tip: if you are consistently eating you almost don't notice the cold! Almost. 

El torito, a tradition in which a guy walks around with fireworks exploding from the contraption on his head #safetyhazard

The clock show, in which regionally themed robots "dance" in turn 

One of the most-recommended activities near Zacatlán are the piedras encimadas, volcanic rock formations that vaguely resemble all sorts of creatures and objects. Instead of impartially offering his own interpretations of the very ambiguous forms, our tour guide took it upon himself to tell us with 100% certainty what each rock represents. Por ejemplo, this random stone mass is, conclusively, a mother kissing her baby. Duh.

Though it might seem like a weird addition to the itinerary, the Zacatlán panteón is a must-see (actually, come to think of it, this is also the case with cemetaries Buenos Aires and Prague... oops there I go again my b ha ha). The fog added a really spooky but cool ambiance to the gravesites and the surrounding murals.

Is this what they mean when they say history repeats itself?

Left: Last weekend             Right: Fall 2014 in the cemetery of Recoleta

(Not sure what this says about me, but pretty sure I don't wanna know.)

Third stop: Chignahuapan

In summary, Christmas-fever and a giant Virgin Mary. No time for deets right now, g2g watch Gilmore Girls.

Bienvenidos a "Tu Casa"

If Flo Rida were Mexican, the refrain of his hit song would likely be "Welcome to YOUR house."

Allow me to explain.

The first time a new acquaintance pointed down an unfamiliar road and told me that's where my house was, I awkwardly corrected her directions. Turns out, in accordance with the warm hospitality that Mexicans are known for (but which still catches me off guard), people here refer to their own homes as tu casa. Of course I'd heard the gringo-fied platitude "mi casa es su casa," but I had no idea that this logic would be so pervasive in everyday pleasantries.

Now that I've cleared that up, let me tell you about tu casa, a.k.a. mi departamento/my apartment. 

I love living in the centro. Less combi-riding, more café-sitting, and beautiful scenes like these every time I walk out the door.

Note the church on top of the cerro (one of Atlixco's main landmarks)

"¡Sí, vivo por la Avenida Libertad!"

I find myself declaring this quite often, usually in response to students or colleagues who are surprised that I live in downtown Atlixco (rather than commuting from Puebla like many university staff do). Though I technically live half a block down from "Liberty Avenue," I have adopted the Spanish-language Frozen theme song as my anthem. 

Since changing accommodations at the end of September, I have certainly enjoyed great freedom-- to cook for myself, walk the two blocks to the zócalo whenever I please (and I please quite frequently due to the ice cream shops on every corner), and of course to watch excessive amounts of Netflix without anyone judging me (fortunately, my Mexican apartment mate has similar TV watching habits). 

The shared spaces (one could use the terms "kitchen," "bathroom," and "living room" VERY loosely), are nothing to brag about, but they get the job done. My bedroom isn't luxurious by any means, but I adore my little peach-colored oasis.

Succulents from the Sunday flower market

I truly could not be happier about my living situation. With that said, here are some things that have, pues, taken some getting used to:

• Gas oven: I was a little intimidated by this old-fashioned appliance at first, but now it's like getting to light the advent wreath candles every day without having to compete against my siblings for the opportunity! However, I do not recommend turning on the gas for all of the burners at once to "save matches." Last week my life flashed (all too literally) before my eyes as a huge blue flame erupted from the stovetop...
• Water heater: After one too many cold showers (read: one cold shower), I asked my roomie if she had any tips for getting hot water. She said there's no real trick, you just have to run the faucet for about 30 seconds, wait to hear the whooshing sound of the heater, and listen for the popping noise that let's you know it's done warming the water after about five minutes. Nothing to it really.
• Outdoor sink: I don't think anybody likes washing dishes, but imagine having to brave the elements (that is, go out to the concrete basin and hose on the back patio) every time you have to rinse a plate, soak a pot, or disinfect vegetables. I'll admit this means I opt for paper towels as an eating surface whenever possible and only buy as many veggies as I can sanitize at one time. I also try not to think about the fact that I wash my clothes, produce, and dirty dishes in the same place. *shrug emoji* *upside down smiling emoji*
• Trash pickup: In my other abroad experiences I have always been hosted by a family, so I remained blissfully unaware of many household logistics. Now that I'm personally responsible for the disposal of my trash (all those paper towels have to go somewhere...), I've had to learn the (rather hilarious) procedure. Garbage collectors come around on most weeknights, banging the side of the truck to alert us of their presence. Those within earshot then have a short window of time to gather their bags and rush out to the street with the hopes of meeting the truck as it passes and tossing them to the men riding in the back. Completing this process is no easy feat, but I'm proud to say that I have done so a handful of times. On other occasions I have conspired with elderly neighbors to sneakily abandon our trash bags down the block, shhhhhh. 

There are some other little conveniences that I hardly notice anymore-- character building at its finest, hollaaa! But a girl can only take so much of the pioneer life. After a month of preparing my coffee in a pot on the stove (am I dumb for never having heard of the saucepan method before I got here? jk don't answer that), I finally splurged for a coffeemaker. And let's be honest, easy morning coffee makes most anything tolerable.

Outside my bedroom window

On Crashing a Couples Retreat (My first Día de Muertos)

One of many impressive displays in downtown Puebla

Day of the Dead. It's a required topic for every elementary Spanish course or self-described "multicultural" classroom throughout the United States. Coverage of this theme usually consists of a superficial lesson about the Mexican tradition, a calavera coloring page, and-- if you have a particularly fun teacher-- some sugar skull candies.

If you think my description sounds a bit critical, you should know that I myself am guilty of trivializing the holiday when teaching Spanish classes in the past (minus the candies, because I'm not even that cool...). And I'm not sure if showing students this adorable short film helped or hurt in terms of sincere cultural appreciation.

I honestly didn't realize until I got here that Día de Muertos is NOT primarily cutesy or cliché, but rather a multifaceted event celebrated fervently by the masses. Dicho de otro modo, it's a big frickin' deal. It provokes, dare I say, Christmas-level excitement and, for many families, deep spiritual reflection as well.

Student-made ofrenda at the primary school where I volunteer

Given its widespread observance, especially here in Puebla, I was eager to get up close and personal with the customs surrounding this fiesta, beyond the decorations and mini-commemorations surrounding (inundating?) me in my daily life for the weeks leading up to November 1st & 2nd. What better way than to accompany a group of students on their field trip to Huaquechula, a nearby town where the ofrendas have been deemed patrimonio cultural of the state?

Little did I know, the school trip was basically just an excuse for the students (ages 19ish-21ish) to enjoy a largely unsupervised getaway with their significant others. As a result, I was essentially a 25th wheel on a young couples retreat. Oh, and speaking of wheels, there were some difficulties traveling to/through the rural towns by school bus, including navigating some dirt "highways" and dodging livestock:

Upon arrival, I was getting geared up for a 3-hour recorrido of the altars, but it soon became evident that the students were in a hurry to get back to the cabin and party the night away. Despite being disappointed by the unexpected changes in the itinerary (who needs a bread-making workshop when we can have a 5-hour boozy picnic and skip rocks on the river with our girl/boyfriends?!), I still had the opportunity to see several typical ofrendas. During the brief tour-- emphasis on brief-- I was genuinely moved by the families' displays honoring their loved ones.

According to the tradition, altares are constructed to commemorate any death in the family within the past year. In towns like Huaquechula that are known for this custom, families spend a huge portion of their year's earnings to put together the elaborate monuments, which only stay up for only a few days.

I won't pretend to understand the ins-and-outs of the carefully designed offerings-- which all have 3 tiers, are adorned with orange flowers/religious images/candles, and feature the deceased's favorite foods and other items-- but what I did grasp is that each aspect carries an immense amount of symbolism.

It is commonly believed that the spirits of the dead family members return to their homes during Día de Muertos, attracted by the objects that that they loved during their lifetime. While I might not buy into these theories completely, I still see a lot of value in the whole practice; I think it's really beautiful that the act of remembering los fallecidos and celebrating their lives is not reserved for those immediately affected by the loss, but rather shared openly with the public.

Inside the homes guests are respectfully quiet, but the tone is not altogether somber. Families distribute pan y chocolate, or in some cases serve full meals. In the town I visited with a student after the, erm, interesting field trip, we got generous servings of mole and pipián with fresh tortillas and refrescos. 

Pipián verde con pollo

The ofrendas are one main image associated with this holiday, but catrinas might be even more representative. Throughout the rest of the week (did I mention that I had SIX DAYS off school due to the festivities?), I not only watched a parade in which girls from a local dance academy with skeleton facepaint belly-danced through the streets-- danza árabe is big here--, but also served as a judge for a university-sponsored calavera catrina pageant.

I sure haven't taught much English recently, but it's safe to say fun is being had by all*!

*mostly by student parejas