Miranda took off on a 12-day work trip to the U.S. last week, and felt badly about leaving me alone in Puebla. I told her not to worry – reminding her that ripping out the pages of our kitchen calendar and counting down the days until we move back to Austin was something I could just as easily do alone. Still, she knows that my life here is infinitely more interesting with her around to help make fun of all the things we haven’t bothered to try to understand.
It’s not like when we live in Austin and Miranda goes away on a trip. In Austin I have friends I can go out with and Thai food I can make love to while she is away. But here in Puebla, friends are at a maximum minimum and Asian noodles are non-existent, thus I spend most of my time alone working out and watching Woody Allen DVDs. I’m getting buffer and more neurotic than ever before; when I’m not at the gym or at Blockbuster, my time is spent obsessing over the fact that my biceps are going to die some day.
For this latest work trip, Miranda decided to give me some assistance before she left. She knows how much I enjoy the company of others, and how much safer it is for me to have people around in case I overdose on vodka Red Bulls. Thus, before she set off on her business trip, my wife set me up on a date.
With a man named Oscar.
Oscar (pronounced “oh scar”) is a professional Mexican photographer Miranda knows from work; he takes pictures of the furniture products that Miranda is helping to produce down here. After learning that Oscar had lived abroad (in Milan), has travelled all over, is a big foodie, and is not an anti-Semite, Miranda was very excited to introduce us. She knew that, as eager as I am to amplify my social life in any way, I’m more interested in meeting Poblanos than I am expats, as getting to know the former is the key to understanding the essence of the city and, importantly, its speed bumps. And it certainly doesn’t hurt that Oscar speaks English with some proficiency, which can come in handy when my Spanish synapses aren’t firing on all cylinders. Oscar’s inglés is also a plus for Miranda, who continues to boycott the Spanish language due to political reasons (she feels that if she speaks español, the Mexican drug lords win).
To help keep things breezy, Miranda chaperoned Oscar and my first man-date. She arranged for the three of us to have dinner out last Tuesday, the night before she left for Texas (en route to North Carolina for a big furniture show). I’ll admit, I was excited about the prospect of having a new pal in Puebla, though I wanted to play kind of hard to get, thus I wore a long sleeve shirt so as to not show off too much sinew.
We met up at a restaurant near our apartment. I had the fish. Oscar had the big salad. It could not have been any gayer. Especially since there was a beautiful woman (Miranda) sitting right there at our table but receiving no attention. We weren’t trying to ignore her; it was just that the conversation took off in Spanish – about photography, writing, food, wine, travel, the expat experience, etc.
Oscar and I really hit it off, occasionally switching to English in honor of the wonderful woman who helped bring us together. Not that Miranda cared about being left out of the dialogue; after all, there was a bottle of wine at the table. Besides, seeing me finally connect with somebody down here (besides our beloved but often-out-of-town Tony) made her happy, as she knew that it meant a 75%-85% decrease in my bitching and moaning.
When the evening came to an end, that awkward first man-date moment arrived: Do you go in for a bro-hug, or just settle for a simple handshake? If one man initiates the former while the other simultaneously commits to the latter, irreparable damage can be done to a budding bromance. I played it safe – extending my hand for a shake – and, fortunately, Oscar had the same thing in mind. Bromance saved.
Miranda left for her trip the next day, and two days later I received an email from Oscar inviting me to hang out the following day (Saturday). He would pick me up at 5 pm, show me aspects of the city that few gringos ever discover, then we would meet up with his girlfriend and a buddy of his for dinner. While I usually reserve late Saturday afternoons for rapping alone in the bathroom and a healthy pre-vodka nap, I gratefully accepted his invitation.
Oscar arrived right on time the next day; such punctuality made me question his full Mexican heritage. After he assured me that his father was not a Swiss milkman, we took off on our tour.
Oscar is very proud of Puebla, but is also able to poke fun at some of its idiosyncrasies and annoyances. (We have that in common, minus the pride part.) We walked through the city’s historic center, which I’d seen on numerous occasions, but not in this way. Experiencing Puebla through a local photographer’s eye and via his artistic sensibility is quite different from trudging through the streets as an aggravated American in desperate search of a turkey sandwich.
Oscar pointed out several buildings I had overlooked during previous strolls, providing colorful commentary on their architectural and historical significance. He took me down a street lined entirely with shops selling nothing but traditional Mexican sweets. He urged me to try some sort of strange fried taco (called a molote) at a popular food stand. Under normal circumstances, being force-fed fatty food would be a deal-breaker for me, but for some reason I felt a sense of gratitude toward Oscar for taking the time to reveal the hidden, high-cholesterol and high-triglyceride side of his city.
Later on at dinner, I met and shared stories with his girlfriend Monica and his old pal, David (“Dah-veed”). The four of us ate and drank and laughed together, my español building up more momentum than ever before. For the first time since arriving in this city three months ago, I felt like I belonged. Ich bin ein Poblano.
During the drive home late that night, Oscar invited me to play soccer with him and several friends the next morning. You must understand, a Mexican inviting an American to play soccer is one of the most powerful and sincere gestures of friendship there is, like when a Thai invites a tourist to smoke opium, or when a Texan invites a tourist to touch his truck. Clearly, Oscar was ready to take our relationship to the next level.
But were we moving too fast? Perhaps. But when your wife is away and your only other social outlets involve imaginary dialogue with Annie Hall and real dialogue with your own deltoids, you don’t play too hard to get.
I passed the soccer test with flying colors – playing goalie (as I did in high school) for our team and helping us to a 4-1 victory, further cementing the bond between Oscar and me. (He told me before the game that it was all just for fun and exercise, but I questioned that after seeing the opposing team’s goalie cutting himself at halftime.) Gaining the soccer seal of approval in Mexico is instrumental in winning friends and influencing people. In fact, after my third diving save during the game, Oscar asked me if I had ever considered running for local office.
Since that game last Sunday, Oscar has invited me out two more times and introduced me to several of his friends, all educated creative types – photographers, writers, graphic designers – with whom I’ve had fantastic conversations. They have helped me to overcome my initial Puebla stereotypes and my desire to heavily self-medicate. Nobody I’ve met through Oscar blasts indescribably bad music from their homes or vehicles; none of them have rammed their cart into me at the supermarket; none of them have tried to end my life on the highway; and none of them have pulled me over to relieve me of what’s in my wallet. Aside from their affinity for mixing beer and clam juice, and their belief that Jesus had blonde hair and blue eyes, they are premium people.
My eyes have been opened to a whole new Puebla. I’m just sorry that all this has happened while Miranda has been away. Though she is happy that I’ve made a good friend and am on the way to making numerous others, I can tell she is a little hurt that I’m not getting drunk every morning and sobbing over her extended absence.
Miranda, don’t worry – I do miss you and I can’t wait for you to come home on Monday. You are the coolest woman I know, and I love you madly. But don’t get upset if, the next time you ask me to play Scrabble or watch dubbed re-runs of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, I tell you that I have plans with Oscar. Often you will be invited, too; but the point is – and this may be tough to hear – I think we should see other people.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Puebla FAQs
Several of our friends have expressed some interest in visiting us in Puebla, but nobody has purchased nor even priced out any plane tickets yet. I like to think that our lack of guests has less to do with my personality and much more to do with people not being quite sure what to expect down here.
Of course, such tentativeness is my own making; after all, one day I’m blogging about the intriguing adventures Miranda and I have enjoyed since arriving, and the next day I’m hinting at obtaining a straight razor to help me cut considerably short our mandatory six-month stay. I’m not apologizing for such contradictions -- bipolar blogging is all the rage; however, I am owning up to the fact that my rapid cycling between the good and the bad/ugly might paint a murky picture for my readers.
Therefore, I feel it’s time for me to address – in a concise and straightforward manner – the most common questions that our friends and family have posed to us about our lives down here. My hope is that these responses will compel at least a handful of you to hop a jet and come experience the magnificent chaos yourselves.
Q: Is Puebla safe?
A: Puebla is safe; you in Puebla may not be. As an outsider unfamiliar with the unique ways and customs of the Poblano people, you are at great risk of physical and psychological damage. I’ve already elaborated on the physical health hazards in a previous posting (see “Drug Free Dangers"), so let’s move on to what threatens to unthread your hypothalamus.
They say that if a prehistoric man were to be suddenly placed in the middle of a crowded city in the modern world, he would go instantly insane and likely die of shock. Well, the same holds true if you suddenly place an American in the middle of a Wal-Mart parking lot in Puebla. Just imagine – dozens of overzealous lot attendants loudly tweeting whistles while wildly waving their arms in order to allegedly assist people backing out or pulling in. It’s sheer – and shrill – madness, unless your ears over the years have become accustomed to the noise and, in addition, you have taken time to carefully read the quintessential Guidebook to Mexican Hand Gestures.
Instant insanity might also ensue if you stop to ask a Poblano citizen for directions. You see, the eagerness to please others is a cultural norm in Mexico, thus most locals will avoid saying “no” or “I don’t know” to anybody they feel is looking for a more affirmative response. An endearing trait, no doubt, but not when you need to know where to turn left to get to a bar or liquor store after your experience in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Miranda and I have somehow averted any serious neurological damage from the outlandishly erroneous directions we have received from well-meaning Mexicans, but you may not be so fortunate. The key is to make a game of it – Miranda and I like to place bets on how many people we will have to ask before we actually reach our destination – 11? 12? 17? Side bets are placed on the chances of ending up exactly where you started after 30 minutes of searching. Of course, while such games may be fun and will likely fend off dementia, none of that means much if, while attempting to find a restaurant, you are unintentionally led into a drug den or, worse, the Wal-Mart parking lot.
Q: What is the weather like?
A: The climate is one of the biggest plusses about Puebla. With the city situated roughly 7,000 feet above sea level yet being so far south, the sun warms without scorching and the rain stays away for the most part, except for heavy afternoon showers in the summer months.
That being said, when it dips down to 45-50 °F – as it does most fall and winter nights and mornings – you will certainly want to turn up the thermostat. But you won’t find it. None of the housing here comes with central air or heat, nor even window units. Now, as most of you know, I work from home as a writer; thus in the frigid morning hours this past January-March, I was forced to alter my work wardrobe considerably. Donning a ski cap, a parka, fleece-lined sweat pants, wool gloves with the fingers cut out and, yes, Ugg boots, I looked much more like a gay lumberjack than a man of letters.
But now that spring is in full swing down here, we couldn’t ask for better weather. In the mid-60s in the early am and late pm; in the high 70s the rest of the day. Best of all, I can go back to looking like a real man of literary lore – working in just my underwear and a dirty wife-beater, unless it’s an unusually cool April morning, in which case I will add my Uggs to the ensemble.
Q: What is the food like?
A: Puebla is largely regarded as the culinary capital of Mexico. Most gringos are unfamiliar with the diversity of Mexican food, thus when they hear such a claim to fame they equate it to something like Everton being the oral hygiene capital of England. Being at the top of the bottom is nothing to cheer about. But the truth is, the food here in Puebla will surprise you. In addition to being the birthplace of mole sauce (an odd concoction of dried chili peppers, ground nuts/seeds, spices, and Mexican chocolate -- most commonly served over chicken), the city features numerous restaurants serving up fine international (mostly Italian, French, Spanish and Argentine) as well as fusion fare. In fact, the most renowned culinary institute in the country is located just down the street from our apartment. It’s reportedly quite difficult to gain acceptance to – and graduate from – the school, this according to a former student I met who was expelled a few years ago for cheating on his flan exam.
The only real downside to the dining experience down here is the aggressive up-sell attempts by waiters in several of the restaurants. These servers – trained to take gringos for every extra peso possible – embrace an auctioneer approach to taking your food order: “You want the steak, ok – do I hear a steak with a side of shrimp? Steak with a side of shrimp? Steak with a side of shrimp? Hey! We have a steak with a side of shrimp – do I hear two steaks with a side of shrimp, a bowl of tortilla soup and a bottle of red?...” Never look one of these waiters directly in the eye or you’re done for; just keep your head down, say or point to exactly what you want on the menu, then feign a narcoleptic episode.
Q: What are the people like?
A: I would rather not try to respond in detail to this one at the risk of over-generalizing such a large group of people (Puebla has a population of nearly 1,500,000). It’s is safe to say, however, that every Pobano citizen is 5’ 4” tall and an Aries.
Q: What are the most interesting things to do in Puebla?
A: There are countless responses to this question. Here’s a brief list of some of the most enjoyable thing to do here:
• Going to the bus station and taking a bus to Mexico City
• Going to the bus station and taking a bus to Oaxaca
• Going to the bus station and taking a bus to Vera Cruz
• Going to the airport and taking a plane to Cancun
• Playing Scrabble.
So come on down and visit us already! Just be sure to bring some earplugs, a detailed map, your appetite, and extra money for bus tickets. Oh yeah, and a pair of size 9 ½ Uggs – mine are rapidly wearing out.
Of course, such tentativeness is my own making; after all, one day I’m blogging about the intriguing adventures Miranda and I have enjoyed since arriving, and the next day I’m hinting at obtaining a straight razor to help me cut considerably short our mandatory six-month stay. I’m not apologizing for such contradictions -- bipolar blogging is all the rage; however, I am owning up to the fact that my rapid cycling between the good and the bad/ugly might paint a murky picture for my readers.
Therefore, I feel it’s time for me to address – in a concise and straightforward manner – the most common questions that our friends and family have posed to us about our lives down here. My hope is that these responses will compel at least a handful of you to hop a jet and come experience the magnificent chaos yourselves.
Q: Is Puebla safe?
A: Puebla is safe; you in Puebla may not be. As an outsider unfamiliar with the unique ways and customs of the Poblano people, you are at great risk of physical and psychological damage. I’ve already elaborated on the physical health hazards in a previous posting (see “Drug Free Dangers"), so let’s move on to what threatens to unthread your hypothalamus.
They say that if a prehistoric man were to be suddenly placed in the middle of a crowded city in the modern world, he would go instantly insane and likely die of shock. Well, the same holds true if you suddenly place an American in the middle of a Wal-Mart parking lot in Puebla. Just imagine – dozens of overzealous lot attendants loudly tweeting whistles while wildly waving their arms in order to allegedly assist people backing out or pulling in. It’s sheer – and shrill – madness, unless your ears over the years have become accustomed to the noise and, in addition, you have taken time to carefully read the quintessential Guidebook to Mexican Hand Gestures.
Instant insanity might also ensue if you stop to ask a Poblano citizen for directions. You see, the eagerness to please others is a cultural norm in Mexico, thus most locals will avoid saying “no” or “I don’t know” to anybody they feel is looking for a more affirmative response. An endearing trait, no doubt, but not when you need to know where to turn left to get to a bar or liquor store after your experience in the Wal-Mart parking lot. Miranda and I have somehow averted any serious neurological damage from the outlandishly erroneous directions we have received from well-meaning Mexicans, but you may not be so fortunate. The key is to make a game of it – Miranda and I like to place bets on how many people we will have to ask before we actually reach our destination – 11? 12? 17? Side bets are placed on the chances of ending up exactly where you started after 30 minutes of searching. Of course, while such games may be fun and will likely fend off dementia, none of that means much if, while attempting to find a restaurant, you are unintentionally led into a drug den or, worse, the Wal-Mart parking lot.
Q: What is the weather like?
A: The climate is one of the biggest plusses about Puebla. With the city situated roughly 7,000 feet above sea level yet being so far south, the sun warms without scorching and the rain stays away for the most part, except for heavy afternoon showers in the summer months.
That being said, when it dips down to 45-50 °F – as it does most fall and winter nights and mornings – you will certainly want to turn up the thermostat. But you won’t find it. None of the housing here comes with central air or heat, nor even window units. Now, as most of you know, I work from home as a writer; thus in the frigid morning hours this past January-March, I was forced to alter my work wardrobe considerably. Donning a ski cap, a parka, fleece-lined sweat pants, wool gloves with the fingers cut out and, yes, Ugg boots, I looked much more like a gay lumberjack than a man of letters.
But now that spring is in full swing down here, we couldn’t ask for better weather. In the mid-60s in the early am and late pm; in the high 70s the rest of the day. Best of all, I can go back to looking like a real man of literary lore – working in just my underwear and a dirty wife-beater, unless it’s an unusually cool April morning, in which case I will add my Uggs to the ensemble.
Q: What is the food like?
A: Puebla is largely regarded as the culinary capital of Mexico. Most gringos are unfamiliar with the diversity of Mexican food, thus when they hear such a claim to fame they equate it to something like Everton being the oral hygiene capital of England. Being at the top of the bottom is nothing to cheer about. But the truth is, the food here in Puebla will surprise you. In addition to being the birthplace of mole sauce (an odd concoction of dried chili peppers, ground nuts/seeds, spices, and Mexican chocolate -- most commonly served over chicken), the city features numerous restaurants serving up fine international (mostly Italian, French, Spanish and Argentine) as well as fusion fare. In fact, the most renowned culinary institute in the country is located just down the street from our apartment. It’s reportedly quite difficult to gain acceptance to – and graduate from – the school, this according to a former student I met who was expelled a few years ago for cheating on his flan exam.
The only real downside to the dining experience down here is the aggressive up-sell attempts by waiters in several of the restaurants. These servers – trained to take gringos for every extra peso possible – embrace an auctioneer approach to taking your food order: “You want the steak, ok – do I hear a steak with a side of shrimp? Steak with a side of shrimp? Steak with a side of shrimp? Hey! We have a steak with a side of shrimp – do I hear two steaks with a side of shrimp, a bowl of tortilla soup and a bottle of red?...” Never look one of these waiters directly in the eye or you’re done for; just keep your head down, say or point to exactly what you want on the menu, then feign a narcoleptic episode.
Q: What are the people like?
A: I would rather not try to respond in detail to this one at the risk of over-generalizing such a large group of people (Puebla has a population of nearly 1,500,000). It’s is safe to say, however, that every Pobano citizen is 5’ 4” tall and an Aries.
Q: What are the most interesting things to do in Puebla?
A: There are countless responses to this question. Here’s a brief list of some of the most enjoyable thing to do here:
• Going to the bus station and taking a bus to Mexico City
• Going to the bus station and taking a bus to Oaxaca
• Going to the bus station and taking a bus to Vera Cruz
• Going to the airport and taking a plane to Cancun
• Playing Scrabble.
So come on down and visit us already! Just be sure to bring some earplugs, a detailed map, your appetite, and extra money for bus tickets. Oh yeah, and a pair of size 9 ½ Uggs – mine are rapidly wearing out.
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