A great deal to report (Ocampo and Angangueo, Mexico)

WELL. It's been a while. In fact, it's been so long that this blog post is intimidating -- I want to write about so many things that my fingers are cringing in apprehension. Don't worry, fingers! The suffering will end by 11:30, when I'll leave for Ocampo for my now daily English class with Karina -- we are learning the present progressive (just like that!) and I have to walk and hop and run and stand around town, asking her, "What am I doing, Karina?" ("You are walking, hopping, running, standing," I hope she will say.) These exercises are good for me, because -- oh pain and suffering! -- it is getting colder and colder every day, and if I'm not walking and hopping and running around town, I'm blowing on my hands to warm them up. Who knew that I was such a weather wimp? California spoiled me.

The classes are also good for me because Karina and I usually go to visit Anaisa, her niece, afterwards, and we do things like go on walks to Las Cruces (Ocampo's lookout point) (also its makeout point for those romantic young couples with nowhere else to go) or relax in Anaisa's house. We've also gone on a longer afternoon trip to San Jose del Rincon, a town in the state of Mexico, where we visited Anaisa's aunt and uncle and cousins. The highlight of that day was an unexpected rainstorm that caught us on the drive back to Ocampo -- we were riding in the back of Anaisa's parents' pickup truck and were soaked to the bones by the time we got home. We giggled hysterically between shivers.

A while later, Adriana and I were standing at the kitchen door, watching the backyard river flood. Oof! We renamed it the Rio Bravo -- before it was the Rio Miranda -- and lamented the fact that our backyard would be full of garbage again by the time the flood ended. It is amazing how much trash accumulates by the riverside, and sad to think that, after we pick it up, it is just going to end up accumulating somewhere else. What will future archaeologists say when they find our giant piles of plastic bottles and bags? ("Pigs!") Plastic bags are the worst. I have done some planting in the backyard, and, everywhere I dig, a few inches down, I find a layer of plastic bags that I have to pull out with my herculean strength (they are ornery! and I'm sure that I can hear them laughing when I slip and fall on my butt). Now when I look at a pretty green field, I think, "Plastic bags!" They are probably there, beneath the grass, snickering, not decomposing as well-behaved things do. Readers: avoid them! Or reuse them a thousand times before throwing them away. Also avoid products with lots of packaging, and give away your old things instead of throwing them away, and . . . well, you know, the three R's. LOVE THEM.

On to other things: Adriana and I have continued to live in harmony together with Nina the Lopsided Kitten (who is now so bold that she stalks and chases the sheep that graze in the neighbors' backyard and also their large dog, to whom she is snack-sized). We sit and talk and watch movies -- I am now acquainted with world-famous Mexican actor Cantinflas, who is hilarious -- and look at the stars when the sky is clear and cook (she does) and eat (both of us do) (I do the dishes, though, so as not to mooch shamelessly) and drive to Angangueo or Ocampo to do social rounds or eat tacos. When we're feeling more ambitious, we go to Zitacuaro, where we shop at the market or at a giant grocery store, and I have started to frequent the Thursday tianguis (weekly market). Adriana's friends drop by occasionally for an evening visit, meal, or smoke, and also to help us with things around the house. We call it "the perfect house (with defects)," but there are so few defects now that it may soon be upgraded to "the perfect house (defectless)." We have a constant water supply, electricity where we want it, a fridge (!), a mirror in the bathroom, doors that mostly close, plenty of kitchen utensils . . . all that's missing is a jacuzzi, and someday we plan to fill up the concrete water tank in the backyard to serve that purpose. Then even rich celebrities will be jealous of us!

In addition to cohabitating our perfect house harmoniously, Adriana and I have discovered that we are excellent travel mates. A few weeks ago we drove with a friend, Brian, to a "balneario" near a town called San Jose Purua, where we spent the day swimming in the green, murky waters of what used to be a luxury swimming pool in an abandoned private club. Well, almost abandoned -- it is now run by a staff of about three, one of whom charges a minimal entry fee at the gate and two of whom sell potato chips and instant noodles at the bar. Adriana and I spent some time exploring the decaying buildings, some of which already had plant-covered floors, and walking along a road in the surrounding forest. We gaped at the Mother of All Trees (enormous, old, beautiful), oohed and aahed at interesting flowers, and speedwalked back to the main facility when we heard suspicious whistles and hushed men's voices coming from the nearby vegetation. Later, Brian and I went along another path that overlooked a great green canyon and had been taken over by a stream, so that our feet were always wet. We realized at some point that the wall above us was full of eroded stalactites and rock curtains -- we were walking in what used to be a cave! We thought about how many other caves we had walked over unknowingly and bounced in excitement.

This past weekend, Adriana and I went to Los Azufres, a forest with natural hot springs. I laughed at Adriana for bringing what I thought were the entire contents of our perfect house (including the stereo) on a camping trip, but insisted that she share her blanket that night when my extremities were numb and I couldn't sleep from the cold -- then she laughed at me. We walked, read, lounged in the warm pools, built a fire with Gabriel and Ricardo, two friends who visited, admired the stars, and came home smelling like rotten eggs. The smell lingers; even after scrubbing away at my clothes like a madwoman, using detergents and softeners that smell like "roses and jasmine," "fresh spring," and "fiesta" (?), I catch a faint whiff of sulfur every time I walk past the clotheslines where they are drying. I consider it a souvenir -- essence of Los Azufres.

Adriana also invited me to attend her school's anniversary celebration last Wednesday. We arrived late to the footrace from Ocampo to the school (about three kilometers, I think), so Adriana had to cheer on her students from the car instead of from her assigned spot by the side of the road, but she made up for her tardiness when we got to the school. Her job was to organize the students welcoming the visitors -- mostly members of the municipal government and students from primary schools -- and they were very welcoming indeed. Even I got to wear a little badge, and I was introduced around by Adriana's friend Luis as "a fellow English teacher." The morning ceremony was predictably boring; I don't understand why people think that speeches have to be humorless and dry, especially ones directed at junior high school students. There should be jokes! There should be music and dancing! There were, in fact, music and dancing, but they came after the speeches. The school's drama club, dressed to the nines in long colorful skirts and suits, the boys with black mustaches painted on their upper lips, danced a little routine, which I applauded wildly. I also watched Mexico's important historical figures (well, small and adorable impersonators of them) march by; I was the most enthusiastic spectator for this part of the show, too.

My absolute favorite event, though, was the hot air balloon competition. Several groups of students constructed big balloons out of crepe paper, and, after filling them up with gas, lit the wick at the bottom opening and let them fly! Most burned instead of flying, which was tragic, because they were so beautiful -- a red heart, a multicolored star with tassels on the points, a multicolored cube, among other works of art. And sometimes the flaming pieces of balloon fell in the midst of the students, and I'd think, "Well, that's it. Somebody's hair will light on fire and things will turn gruesome." But nobody's hair lit on fire, nobody died, and, if someday I work at a school, I will try to convince the higher-ups to let our students play with gas and fire and highly flammable materials.

And, finally, I have to write about something that I did alone, but which was certainly a highlight of these past three weeks: I spent four nights and three days at El Bosque Village, a planet-loving community in a forest near Patzcuaro (if you Google-image "Patzcuaro", you will see that the people living at El Bosque Village are lucky ducks). It is run by Brian and Marie, who are from Washington and Wisconsin, respectively, and several volunteers from all over the place who live there for periods lasting from several weeks to several months. I spent the first morning helping to build a chicken coop out of cob (a thick mixture of dirt, sawdust, pine needles and water) with Judith from Germany and Margret from Oregon, and that afternoon played legos with Gonzalito (the son of Soco, a woman from the nearby town of Zarzamora, who comes every Saturday to help cook) and Brenda from Mexico. In the evening I sat in a sauna with Brenda, Trevor from England, and Marie. The next day I walked in the forest and read, played volleyball, failed miserably at archery, and learned basic trapeze tricks with Judith, who has done trapeze for ten years! And on the last day of my visit, I spent most of the afternoon in Zarzamora, learning how to make and bake bread in a wood-fired stove with Soco's mother, Alicia. My fellow pupil, Margret, and I were exhausted by the time we got back to El Bosque Village -- making bread is not for the weak of spirit! We kneaded like it was our number one purpose in life, and, when our empanadas turned out deformed and bleeding apple butter, we did not despair but rather rejoiced, because we could eat them (the good ones were sold). Poor Alicia. She is patience and tolerance embodied.

All of that sounds decadent in a hippie-dippie way -- and it was -- but it was also an invaluable learning experience. In addition to working on an eco-friendly building with my own hands, I read about eco-friendly architecture in El Bosque Village's relatively extensive library (it rivals Angangueo's public library), and was inspired by all of the neato things people have come up with. As a result, I have revised my Future Fantasy: I'm not only going to live in New Mexico, the state of states, geographic apple of my eye, but I'm also going to build a house there out of bags of dirt. Yes, dirt! Bags of it! You can come visit. (If you are intrigued, look up "earthbag building" and be amazed.)

I also learned from the people there, and this was the best part of all. Brian, Marie, Margret, Forest, Marifer, Brenda, Judith, and Trevor were all interesting and open and friendly, and we talked about a variety of things that made me happy. We also talked about . . . time! And finally, after all those paragraphs about happenings, I come to my project.

After writing about my Watson project anxiety in the last post, I was possessed by Watson project fire and started "interviewing" people with a vengeance. I informed Anaisa and Karina that every time I saw them, they had to draw a different picture in my little blue book (they took this well), and talked with several Ocampo friends and acquaintances at length about my project. The most interesting conversations were the ones I had with Gabriel and Jacob, who had vastly different opinions about humans' interaction with time. Gabriel mentioned linear time (we age), cyclical time (we eat at around the same times every day), and then said that, now that technology allows us to "control" time, we are the ones losing control. We are lost without our cell phones and watches, and we think little of hopping on a plane and emerging in a different world a few hours later -- travel is losing its meaning. We are getting used to being able to be wherever we want to be whenever, and think that we are "wasting time" when we're not there (e.g. when we're in the car). That time wasn't "wasted" before.

Jacob had a very set view: the world is governed by cycles, but humans are exempt from these cycles. We are different from animals and other living things because we can control our activities, and even our lifespans, while they are the slaves of instinct. I asked if this was true of evolution -- if humans weren't a part of that, either -- and he said that he believed in evolution, but that humans weren't a part of it. Humans were made in God's image, and we were not subject to the same rules that govern other things in the universe. This was fascinating to me: a mixture of science and religion, with humans set apart from the rest of the universe. I discovered how close-minded I am when I kept having to bite my tongue to keep from arguing with him -- I am so convinced that some things are true (like the Big Bang, even though it is such a wacky theory, and evolution, and our un-special status) that I completely discount other possibilities (humans created by God, not part of evolution). I don't think that I should believe everything -- I'd explode -- but I should at least be able to listen to everything.

At El Bosque Village, I spent the last evening interrogating Brian, Margret, Forest and Marifer, with whom I practiced my goal of listening to everything. It was the first time I talked with a group of people, as opposed to an individual or two people, and it was great! Brian said that time was like the third dimension to beings in Flatland -- we can't point to it. My questions (like, "How would you explain time to an alien?") invite BS, because they encourage people to wax philosophical and say things that don't make sense, but, in a real, down-to-earth sense, time is simple: we are born, we get older, we go through a number of biological phases, and we die. As we age, we discover the ratio theory of time -- the older one is, the shorter a day (or a month or a year) seems because it is a smaller part of the whole. When he did wax philosophical, Brian said that he did believe in a universal time, and that he thought of it as a bunch of vectors -- the present is the intersection of the past now and the now-now and the soon-to-be-now. The past doesn't exist the way the present moment does, but rather as a remnant; the remnants of the past are the now. And the future doesn't exist, either, until it becomes the now. Brian was convinced that all humans had to believe in the past and the future. How could people make plans, or think about their lives, without placing them in that framework?

Marifer, in contrast, said that time doesn't exist, but rather was invented by humans. And -- shoot! -- my watch tells me that it is 11:39 in the morning and I should be heading out the door to my English class with Karina. In fact, I'm probably going to be late. What an anxiety-causing invention! I will finish writing this entry in the afternoon and post it the next time I am online. It is long enough already, no?