The rest of yesterday was spent wandering around el zocalo or the center of the city. Cuernavaca certainly lives up to its nickname of "City of the Eternal Spring." Enchanting is an understatement to say the least. The streets are generally cobblestone, and there are many architectural beauties including El Palacio de Cortes and various cathedrals. We traveled with our host mother to various places including a large garden with innumerable fountains and art shows. Many vendors of local food, arts, and the like were set up in these areas, and they had painting classes for children. I really appreciate how much they value art. Everything is covered in plants and flowers--sunflowers are a choice decoration. The whole tone of the town is tranquil and peaceful, serene and charming. They were playing jazz in the garden, and I had a moment of teary, inexplicable joy. Just as it was when I was in Jamaica, I find myself wondering why God loves me, yet I am so very aware that He does from the overwhelming beauty of my surroundings. I am so grateful that He has allowed me to be here.
Years ago, I would have found Cuernavaca to be the kind of place I'd want to live. It just has that beauty of simplicity. But yesterday we also came across a few beggars on the streets. One man had leprosy with open sores on his foot that already lacked toes. He was old and dirty and completely forgotten. The contrast of these individuals against the glory of the city was striking. They were begging outside of a cathedral full of ornate gold art where a mass was being conducted for people wandering in and out with their shopping bags and children. And amidst the warmth of The City of Eternal Spring, my heart was captured by them, and I longed to sit with them, hold them, and look them in the eyes as the human beings they are. There is a danger of such a sleepy, gorgeous place--complacency that leads to forgetting the pain of wounded spirits. I was reminded of yet another quotation from Mother Theresa: "If I ever become a saint--I will surely be one of 'darkness.' I will continually be absent from Heaven--to light the light of those in darkness on earth."
As a side note, there are some stark differences from Honduras that I have noted thus far: The traffic here is less crazy. They actually use turn signals, and they respect traffic lights. There is also far less lane-changing on a whim. I also was struck by how respectful the people were. I was expecting to be hissed at, yelled at, stopped, etc. on the street--the joys of being a blonde woman in Latin America--but, that hasn't been the case at all. In fact, the people rarely acknowledge us as being out of the ordinary. Perhaps that is because this is a tourist area. I don't know. Meanwhile, I still catch glimpses of Honduras. A smell will pass by--fresh laundry, fragrant vegetation, some smells I can't even categorize--and I'm struck by a memory or even just a sense of Honduras. I smile every time. I really like Mexico. The people are friendly; the place is so beautiful. Yet it is not home. Mexico is a step closer to Honduras than Jamaica, and I miss Honduras more than I can express.
Today was our first day of classes at Universidad Internacional. We started the day with orientation, a placement test, and a placement interview. I have three classes a day on the advanced level of 420 (whatever that means). My first class is Advanced Writing for the Bilingual II, and today, it was only me and the professor, David Porcayo. During our conversation, he asked me where I was born. I was born in a tiny place called Winder, Georgia. I told him where it was, and we were both amazed that he knew exactly where that was because he had taught at the University of Georgia and was well acquainted with Athens and Winder, Georgia. Pretty amazing. He is a jovial guy--very funny and likes to pick on me. I can tell I will learn from him because he readily corrects me when I'm wrong.
My second class is a culture class about Mexico--also very interesting. In this class, there was only me, a professor, and one other student from the University of Arkansas. Today we talked about the political parties of Mexico as well as the government. We also discussed the indigenous people of Mexico, and the discrimination that they face. We also talked of the origin of the greatest insult in Mexico. Although I don't feel the need to actually write it out here, I will say that it translates to "son of a raped woman" and originates back to the time of Cortes. There is an interesting paradox here. Although everyone here is more or less considered a mestizo, or someone of mixed ancestry, Mexicans, in general, don't wish to claim their indigenous heritage. The Aztecs, Olmecs, Incas, etc. were phenomenal people with very sophisticated intelligence--equal to the Egyptians that built the pyramids, but the people here, in many cases, still feel ashamed to be connected to them through heritage.
My last class is actually an hour of one-on-one conversation. The person who spoke with me is named Mariel, and she is 23, studying Spanish, French, and ESL. She was a lot of fun to talk to. We discussed the culture of Mexico (and Latin America in general) in the realm of expressing care for another person. It's a very touchy-feely culture--something I'm used to because of Honduras. I think it's one of the reasons I like Latin America so much. The people are so open with their lives, and they don't hold back any emotion or affection. Our conversation after that discussion was rather stunted though, partially because I lacked the vocabulary to say what I wanted to say and partially because I'm terrible at small talk in general. As many of my friends have discovered, I am a person of few preferences. I am quite content no matter where I am, and I can find beauty in basically any type of music, food, or hobby. Thus, small talk is often one-sided. I have very few favorites.
I thoroughly enjoyed my day at the university. I love being able to feel the Spanish language part of my brain being stimulated again. I find it easier and easier to understand when Spanish is spoken, and I find myself thinking in Spanish more and more. I am so grateful that I was able to come here before going to Honduras. I'll already be in a Spanish mindset when I get there.
The social element of this experience is rather amusing. I am here with Leigh Ann, a friend and fellow Shepherd student, and both of us are home bodies. There aren't many things that frighten me socially, but I'm also not a social butterfly. While the trend here seems to be that students go out to drink and dance nightly, we are pretty content to have dinner with our host mother and spend our evenings reading and talking. I love having Leigh Ann here because although we don't have classes together, it is so nice to have someone with whom to share the everyday experience. Our host mother keeps telling us that when we make friends we'll go to this place or that place and do this thing or that thing, but we don't really expect to be doing those things. While I would like to go some places just to experience more of the culture and hear some of the local music, I don't see either of us making very many friends to be perfectly honest. I obviously don't have very many people in my classes, and I'm terrible at small talk. If it were up to me, I'd just go places with Leigh Ann and my host mother. Leigh Ann is adorable, and our host mother is so much fun. I'm not opposed to making new friends, but I'm not good at forcing social interaction. So, we shall see. Our host mother is divorced, and although she has three grown daughters, she lives alone. She seems so lonely often, and it seems that the television provides her with the comfort of presence, even if only in the form of background noise--a state I knew well this past school year. I would like to help ease some of that loneliness and hope to be more talkative, but it may take a bit of time to reach that point. The only other person who lives in the house is a man named Alex who we guess rents a room from her. Leigh Ann and I enjoy imagining what kind of techno raves he has alone because he lives on the other side of our bathroom and plays pulsating techno music day and night.
One more quick story before I sign off:
Last night, Leigh Ann and I had already brushed our teeth, changed into pajamas, and settled into our room talking when around 9:30, our host mother knocked on our door and asked if we were hungry. So, we had an unexpected, late dinner of pancakes and strawberry milk--funny surprise. Meals here are on a different time schedule than the typical US schedule (but one conducive to my college kid tendencies)--we eat breakfast at 7:30, lunch (I don't know if that's what they call it, but it's our biggest meal of the day) at 3, and dinner at 9.
Thanks for reading,
Sarah
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