One Picture is Worth a Thousand Pig Heads

**This blog is not endorsed by the U.S. Department of State or COMEXUS.**

They say a picture is worth a thousand words-- a piece of advice that has been proven true by photojournalists throughout the ages. "They" also say a lot of other useful things, like "look both ways before you cross the street" and "don't eat food that you find on the floor" and "don't trust a man with a second head on the back of his real head." 

In my last post on the local market,  I wrote approximately a thousand words attempting to describe the "ragtag majesty" of a place which effortlessly became one of my two favorite spots in Toluca (the other being a park which I will hopefully write about soon). But the post was woefully short on photos, and so it was a bit hard to picture the colorful things I wrote about.

To remedy that, I took a ton of photos while I was in the market buying supplies to make lentil soup (Fart Alert), which I will use to illustrate the "simultaneously beautiful and frightening patchwork of colors, shapes, and health code violations" that makes up the local market.

Let's start with a (literal) overview:

I made this picture really big so we could do a little game of "I Spy."

In the above picture, can you find:

• Several dolphins leaping gracefully out of the water?
• A pilgrim?
• Two beer bottles?
• Cow stomach?
• Waldo?

Believe it or not, all of the above can be found in the photo. LOOK CLOSELY.

Now we will move into the particulars of the market.

This is the vendor where I buy my lentils (Fart Alert) and oats.

Upon closer inspection, the colored circles reveal some foods that are not typically sold in the U.S. (at least in bulk):

Red circle: Whole sticks of cinnamon

Orange circle: Dried shrimp

Pink circle: Tamarind (a fruit used to make homemade juices)

Blue circle: Dried hibiscus flower, boiled in water to make tea

Green circle x 4: Dried chile peppers. SO MANY CHILE PEPPERS

This is where I buy my onions, potatoes, and carrots (and nothing else, because I know what I like and I buy ONLY THAT). Today I bought two onions, six carrots, and a potato to make lentil soup (Fart Alert) which cost me about one dollar total.

This is where I buy my fruit.

$70 FOR A KILOGRAM OF KIWIS?? What has this world come to? Never mind that it's 50 bucks for freakin' APPLES!!

^ That is probably what you were thinking when you looked at this picture. What you forgot to take into account was that the U.S. dollar and the Mexican peso both use the same symbol ($), so you are actually looking at red apples that cost $2.50 USD per kilo and kiwi fruit that's a whopping $3.50 USD per kilo (which is pretty expensive for Mexico).

This is a flower stall.

This is a booth that sells (among other things) semi-ligitimate mystical cures for semi-legitimate sicknesses (e.g. hair loss). Also sells candles and dried herbs for making teas.

This is a basket shop. 

Just look at all those baskets.

This is a plumbing stall. Not much more to say here.

I have, of course, saved the JUCIEST parts of the market for last. Perhaps you have noticed that my photos so far have been suspiciously absent of MEAT. This is because the meat department of the market is the most drastically different from anything we have in the United States, and so is the most shocking. 

We'll start off nice and slow:

 Based on the size, I think those must be cow feet. And, by extension, cow brains.

On the right side of the styrofoam tray: bull testicles.

On the left side: Props for Left 4 Dead live action version, set to release in Fall 2017. Pre-order now to reserve your copy

Chicky feets

When I asked this man if I could take a picture of his chickens he asked, "Do you want the chicken with or without a helmet on?" Then he put a motorcycle helmet on the dead upside-down chicken, and I was too slow to get a picture. #WillRegretForAllMyLife

"Darnit Irma, I said just a bit off the top"

And I'm sure you'll all waiting for the pig heads, which I enticingly put in the title of this post to entice you. Well, I was unable to find any raw pig heads today.

So you'll just have to do with these boiled ones:

This little piggy had roast beef

This little piggy had none

This little piggy went to market

AND NEVER CAME BACK HOME

So, that's about it. What are your thoughts about the type of markets found in much of Latin America? Would you like to shop here?

P.S. Waldo was not in the picture

Local Market

February 4, 2017

"Today I entered the market through the shoe section-- the dark, quiet part of the market where even the vendors don't try to talk to you because they know you're just passing through. I mean, who goes to the market to buy SHOES??

There is no slow fade from "depressingly empty shoe section" to "overstimulation and chicken heads." It's an unspoken (and visibly unmarked) rule that similar shops be cordoned into sections, with seemingly little logic (and, again, no signs to tell you where stuff is). To the northeast of Shoes is Piñatas and Balls of String-- to the northwest is Clothing. The the south, along the farthest wall of the market, is Eggs and Cheese. North of Eggs and further east of Piñatas is Incense, Candles, and Herbal Teas (which in turn is next to Flowers). But where I, and probably most other people, spend the majority of my time is in the massive Edible Goods section.

The market is hard to describe because we don't have anything like it in the U.S.-- "farmers' market" is the closest equivalent, but even that falls woefully short. How do you describe Mercado 16 de Septiembre to someone who has never been there? How do you make them understand its ragtag majesty, the simultaneously beautiful and frightening patchwork of colors, shapes, and health code violations? How can I explain that this is one of the most special places in Toluca to me? I still have dreams about the local market in Costa Rica, and I only went there two times, seven years ago-- what kind of mark, then, will this lively mercado have on me?

No matter what I say, words will be totally inadequate. But I want to remember.

The market is a sprawling building, not square or at all orderly, but with protrusions and confusing staircases and countless entrances that always look gapingly dark from outside. But inside it's not dark-- natural light filters in from the roof high above, which is made of plastic windows that are tinted yellow from age and ringed with grime. The roof is three or four stories up, allowing for an expansive view from the second-floor balcony. The second floor, in addition to housing Baskets and all the Plumbing equipment you could ever desire, boasts a number of tiny, family-owned restaurants. Here you can squeeze onto a wobbly bench and order a filling meal of tripe soup (a whopping $2 with all the side dishes) while watching a woman hand-press blue corn tortillas in the next stall over.

All the while you look down over the tarps and haphazard sheet-metal roofs of the vegetable and meat vendors. It's a patchwork of shades of dirty gray, but every here and there you catch the red of a tomato, or a floral arrangement bobbing along as its new owner carries it off to celebrate who-knows-what, who-knows-where. Though the layer of corrugated metal roofs blocks from view much of the bustle below, you can tell by the noise that there is life on the first floor.

It is never quiet in the market. Ancient women shucking the spines off cacti-- plastic bags rustling as vendors deftly wrap up your produce-- the click-clattering of plastic scoops in bins of wholesale M 'n' M's. I could go on, because there is just so MUCH happening here that sometimes I get overwhelmed by the beauty and wonder of it.

The pattering of footsteps on tile. The quiet, solid "thud" of potatoes being stacked in a pyramid. The louder and sharper sound of tenderizing hammers beating raw chicken breasts to a desirable thinness.

And, of course, "Pásale güerita"-- the invitation offered to all shoppers regardless of skin color (though I am one of the few genuine güeras in the city). In the market, everyone is called "güerita" because it is flattering to be considered light-skinned. Every time I go in the market to join in the daily life of my Mexican friends and neighbors, a vendor shouts "What can I getcha, white girl?" and I am reminded of U.S. colonialism and the problematic position I have as an English teacher in a country that is already at the U.S.'s beck and call.

But... at the same time... that's why I'm here. In Mexico. In bustling 16 de Septiembre market, making grammatical mistakes as I buy half a kilo of lentils and a jicama. I am probably the only U.S. American most of these people have ever met. The least I can do is show them that I value their language and way of life.

Maybe that's why I like the market so much-- it represents a culture much different than mine. It is casual and colorful, noisy, dirty, and real. Here, food is not neatly prepackaged or sanitized. It is handed to you by someone who ordered it, washed it, cut it, and stacked it themselves. And also who maybe didn't wash their hands. But here that doesn't matter. Things are different. Less regulation, more laid-back. Life is different here. Lively but relaxed.

In short, I love the market."

On "Home"

This blog is not an official publication of COMEXUS or the US Department of State.

Journal Entry
Wednesday February 1

"Today I miss my home.

I miss the average things, the mundane things, the things I have done dozens of times before and never considered special. I miss shopping at D & W. I miss winter twilights just before we are called to family dinner. I miss the crunch of snow under my feet and the hollow quietness on the hill when the blanket of white absorbs all sound. I miss Grandpa. I miss the smell of Dad's cooking hitting me full-force when I walk in the front door.

I realize that all the things I miss were at home, with my family, before my life as an "independent adult." I don't miss my pink sheets on the mattress in my basement bedroom at the Dayton House. I don't miss the backyard there. I don't miss the living room couch or the dining room table.

I miss the place I'm not supposed to go back to because I'm a "grownup" now. Maybe I miss it because I KNOW I can't stay there forever, or because I miss the closeness of my family around me.

Everyone says "Home is where the heart is." Well then, "home" is a medium-sized gray house on top of a hill with a big oak tree in the front yard and a black dog in the back. "Home" has wild raspberries to the south and bike trails to the north. It has abandoned forts and clubhouses dotted through the woods, it has a tire swing and a hammock and a gnarled mulberry tree and an ancient yellow chair covered in moss that has occupied the same place in the forest for as long as I can remember. Home has two cats and a dog buried in the backyard. Every inch of Home is covered with memories.

Someday I am supposed to make my own home. I can't imagine that. I don't want to imagine a life that doesn't include all the traditions of mine growing up... I don't want my own home, I want our home, our family just like it was when everyone lived in the gray house on top of the hill and we saw each other every day.

This is the dilemma of adulthood. Wanting the New but also wanting the Old, wanting to travel but wanting to be with your parents, loving independence but always feeling slightly lonely. I think everybody has to go through this when they first leave home.

It seems different in Mexico, where even in young adulthood you are NEVER without a home. You live with your parents until you marry, then you move in with your spouse and start a life with them. It's a seamless transition between one home and another. In the United States we move out at 18 or 20 or 21 but don't settle down and start a family until almost 30 (usually)... that's about ten years of wandering. What do you consider "home base" when you've lived in Chicago and two different houses in Grand Rapids and now in Mexico, all in less than two years? 

What about when you have NO desire to "settle down" and it's impossible to imagine living in the same house (or even the same country) for more than a couple years, and you don't know if you'll ever get married and have kids...? What do you call "home" then, when the place where your heart is and always has been is the one place that society tells you you can't go back to...?"

The Meaning of the Piñata

**Although they may wish it, this blog is not an official publication of COMEXUS or the U.S. Department of Education.**


Hi!

Uh, do you remember me? In case you forgot during my excessive absence, I'm Bethany, and if I had to describe myself in one word it would be "absurdly, embarrassingly, and consistently tardy."

Anyway!

The piñata! It's every sociopathic child's dream-- hitting something so hard with a stick that candy comes out of it.

Although it's nearly incontheivable that anyone would be unaware of what a piñata is, let me briefly explain. A piñata is a hollow sphere (usually made with papier maché) that is decorated, filled with candy, and then beaten to a pulp. Sounds like fun to me! Uh oh, I'm a sociopathic child

Piñatas are not very common in the United States. If they are deployed as Instruments of Sadistic Fun, then it is usually at children's birthday parties. For that reason I was surprised to find that here in Mexico, piñatas are actually a traditional symbol of Christmas. Deck the Halls with WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK

The traditional piñata has seven points, each of them representing-- get this-- the Seven Deadly Sins.

Sorry, I'm on a GIF-making kick

There is therefore a deep symbolism embedded in the destruction of the piñata-- you are crushing your sins. When you smash the piñata open and candy comes out, you are reaping the reward of fighting your sinful nature. 

Anyway, although it's short, that's the meaning of the piñata. There is also a traditional piñata-beating song that everyone sings when you're taking furious whacks at the papier maché treasure trove. It goes like this:

"Dale dale dale, no pierdas el tino,
Porque si lo pierdes, pierdes el camino
Ya le diste uno, ya le diste dos,
Ya le diste tres y tu tiempo se acabó!"

The translation is something like this:

"Go go go, don't lose your aim!
Because if you lose the stick you lose your way!
You hit it once! You hit it twice!
You hit it three times, and now your turn is over!"

(Sounds better in Spanish.)

Dia de Muertos, Part I

*This blog is not endorsed by the US Department of Education or COMEXUS.*

So, it's, uh, been a while. In case you forgot, I'm Bethany.

Nice to meetcha again

Sticking to the theme of posting about events a month after they happen, please allow me to inform you about a significant and interesting difference between Mexican and U.S. American culture:

Día de Muertos!

You've probably heard of Day of the Dead and/or seen the movie "Book of Life." It's a film filled with piñatas, music, candy, vibrant colors and bullfighters. I know this because I saw a poster for it once, I think. Halloween is a similar, but by no means equivalent, holiday in the United States. 

Both holidays have macabre overtones-- skulls, coffins, graves-- but the view of death is entirely different. Halloween is about scaring people and getting scared. It's about candy, costumes, and more candy. It's about having fun. Día de Muertos (Day of the Dead) has a much deeper religious meaning that, even in the modern day, underpins all its traditions. I will talk more about the meaning of Día de Muertos in Part 2 of this post.

(This part is boring and about history, skip down to the photo if you are also boring)

Halloween used to have more religious significance than it does today. Samhain, a Celtic holiday celebrated on the night of October 31st, was considered the night when the "veil" between Earth and the spirit world was thinnest. To avoid being recognized by any mischievous spirits that would do them harm, people disguised themselves as spirits. *

The religious significance of Halloween has long been forgotten, although some religious groups discourage its celebration because of its seemingly close relationship with "demonic forces." I don't have a degree in applied theology so I'm not certified to label Halloween as "horrible pagan sin" versus "harmless fun." Rather than engaging in that heated discussion, I'd like to provide you with a picture of me dressed up as a strawberry:

whoa look at that cute little kid. I bet she's gonna marry a hot guy one day

Día de Muertos, while death-focused, is NOT the same as Halloween, and still retains its religious beliefs. More on this in Part 2 of this post. Meanwhile, Part 1 (which you are reading now) deals with a Día de Muertos tradition that is particular to my city, Toluca.

La Feria del Alfeñique

"Feria del Alfeñique" roughly translates to "Fair of Artisanal Sugar Goods" (very roughly). It's a tricky word 'cause it's got that weird squiggly thing in it, so here I kindly provide you with a HANDY-DANDY PRONUNCIATION VIDEO:

In the center of Toluca there is a huge city block lined with antique-ish plaster arches and filled with high-end shops. These arches are referred to as the "Portales" (which translates to-- take a wild guess-- "arches"). 

yes sir, that's them, those are the Portales that killed my wife

These arches are the annual location of dozens of stands selling sugar goods. For the month of October, artisans who have spent the whole year preparing colorful, intricate wads of sucrose peddle their wares to the general public. Since I have written a lot of words, I will now include a lot of pictures to balance it out:

Here is an example of a typical alfeñique stand at the fair. 

Sugar skulls are a well-known symbol of Día de Muertos. Yes, they are really made of sugar, and Yes they can be eaten.

Here is a beautiful specimen (Latin: Craneus Delicious) that I found in the local alfeñique museum.

Also traditional are "borregos" (sheep) made from a sweet pumpkin-seed paste.

This one's gonna Blow Your Mind: this is a tiny candy figurine of a stand selling tiny candy figurines. WHAT

Also present in the alfeñique museum were Flailing Soccer Player Skeleton (above) and Inexplicable Moustache Nun Skeleton (below).

why?

Since I live close to the city center, where the Portales are located, I frequently had the opportunity to visit the fair. I bought myself some sugar skulls to decorate my room (and also a tiny sugar pomegranate, which the ants found pretty quick). The Alfeñique Fair was a really memorable experience because it is not only distinctively Mexican, but also distinctively Tolucan.

Some last pics to finish up before we move on to Part 2, the Day of the Dead altar and celebrations.

 An army of Sugar Sheep ready at a moment's notice to march on your home and devour some Childrenchops, in a shocking (and ironic) turn of events 

Itty bitty chocolate skulls filled with delicious things like Bailey's and eggnog and brain matter

A professionally taken picture of the stalls inside the Portales (will give you the number of the photographer if you need any other stunningly average photos taken)

Read Part 2 here (oops, not yet written)

Works Cited

* "Halloween." Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halloween

VIVA MEXICO

**This blog is not representative of the opinions of the US State Department or COMEXUS. Pssshh, they wish. **

Welcome to Mexico. Land of the taco, home of the mariachi, and the only possible place the following pictures could ever have been taken.

This is a five gallon bucket of green Vaseline.

This is an unsuccessful attempt at advertising.

This is a tiny sombrero that I bought for my cats.

This is cotton candy the size of my whole body.

Ah ha! Welcome to this enlightening and relevant blog post about Mexico's Independence Day, September 16! That's right, you brazen fools, SEPTEMBER 16. Cinco de Mayo is something totally different (the Battle of Puebla, a military victory against France.) Also it's racist for white people to wear sombreros. EVEN on Cinco de Mayo. Remember this. Yes I put on the Tiny Sombrero, I admit it, I am a Huge Racist

Why am I posting about something that happened three weeks ago, instead of posting about it just after it happened as I should have done? Well, you see, folks, I am lazy. And there you have it.

Mexican nationalism is extreme, particularly around Independence Day. Picture the most patriotic U.S. American you know, and then give them three more heads. Each head is singing the national anthem. One head pauses for a moment to recite the Constitution while the other heads continue intoning their heartfelt melody. One of the heads is Abraham Lincoln.

Every single Mexican is still more patriotic than that.

I first noticed Mexico's disproportionate (in comparison with other countries) national pride two years ago, when I met The Most Mexican Mexican during my studies abroad and was astonished at his fanaticism. Since then, I have wondered what stimulates this seemingly extreme nationalism. What I say next is by no means the capital-T Truth, but it was proposed by a Mexican and makes a lot of sense to me. Feel free to disagree.

During orientation we heard a lecture by Mexican scholar, journalist, and celebrated historian Lorenzo Meyer.* (see citations at end of post) Meyer proposed that Mexico's nationalism was a response to living next to and in the metaphorical shadow of a superpower. Because the United States is so culturally and socially powerful (read: overpowering), Mexico NEEDS to cultivate this "proud Mexican" persona in order to stay separate and maintain its own identity. In the lecture, Meyer emphasized just how much the U.S.'s everyday politics affects Mexico. "Estados Unidos es el globo para nosotros," he said. "The United States is the world for us."**

Again, take this with a grain of salt. Mexican pride is not solely because of its "neighborship" with superpower U.S.A. In fact, to say that would be just more U.S. colonialism (taking "credit" for an entire country's worldview). To imagine that we have that much control over another country is self-aggrandizing. Mexico is proud of Mexico because Mexico is AWESOME. Full of rich, colorful culture, hospitality, tradition, and food. Nonetheless, I found what Meyer proposed to be realistic-- our overwhelming presence puts Mexico on the defensive.

On to the aforementioned nationalism.

On September 15 (the eve of the Big Day) I had the good fortune of working at a primary school. And by "working" I mean "actually working for three classes and then spending the rest of the day watching tiny children reenact the overthrow of the ruling class."

Eyeballs of innocent children covered just in case they are in the Witness Protection Program

Please note Patriotic Sideburns painted onto child's head

More of the little dudes

They sang, they danced, they wielded wooden rifles. Your typical Thursday at an elementary school.

That evening I attended El Grito de Dolores, ("The Cry of the City of Dolores" (where the event originally took place***). Interestingly, I noticed that "dolor" is the Spanish word for "pain," which means another literal translation could be "The Cry of Pain"). According to history (and Wikipedia), early in the morning of September 16th, 1810, Mexican founding father Miguel Hidalgo, a Catholic priest, cried out to the Mexican people to rebel against the Spanish government. Thus began the Revolution.*** 

Each year the Grito is relived as a symbol of Mexican independence. In the zócalo (main square) of the city, hundreds to thousands of people gather in the evening for a night of carousing, music, food, and then, finally, The Grito.

My Grito experience was unforgettable. My Mexican roommate, Yunuen, accompanied me and we spent a while milling around the zócalo buying food and talking about Mexico's independence. The square was so PACKED with people that we had to utilize Yunuen's superpower of weaseling through crowds to get close to one of the LED screens projecting the musical acts.

Due to having a fascinating cultural discussion, we almost missed the ACTUAL Grito, which happened at approximately 11 pm. Over loudspeakers, a representative of the government chants an approximation of Hidalgo's rousing speech and the dense crowd responds with "¡¡VIVA MÉXICO!!" ("Long live Mexico!!") According to Wikipedia, this is the translation of the Grito that the President of Mexico usually recites in the country's capital:

"Mexicans!

Long live the heroes who gave us our homeland!

Long live Hidalgo!

Long live Morelos!

Long live Josefa Ortíz de Dominguez!

Long live Allende!

Long live Aldama!

Long live Matamoros!

Long live the nation's independence!

Long Live Mexico! Long Live Mexico! Long Live Mexico!"*

Fortunately, I managed to get one of two "¡¡VIVA's!!" in.

I was (mis)informed that after the Grito takes place, people go nuts throwing Cascarones (egg shells filled with confetti and then sealed up). Cascarones, for some reason, are very exciting to me. I stocked up on some filled with flour and some filled with confetti. 

Cascarón smashing, for your satisfaction

Smashing them on people's heads is also a popular pastime.

The next morning I dragged myself out of bed to attend a parade through the Centro. My main reason for going was that some of my students from the Normal were going to be marching, and I wanted to show them I cared. 

Found 'em

During the parade, I repeatedly found myself gawking with excitement. A number of indigenous cultures were represented in the parade:

The marching was ridiculously regimented:
(Yes, the video works even though it doesn't look like it)

There was a large military presence in the parade. I was stunned when I saw this:

The acronym for this branch of the police is "F.E.A.R." (Federal Ejercito something-something). Like, Mexican police, if you're trying to fix your reputation as crooked and abusive, this is REALLY not gonna do it.

Last note before I sign off for the night.
In the U.S., culture and race are INCREDIBLY delicate things. Jokes about skin color are not tolerated, and cultural appropriation is incredibly offensive. You would NEVER see someone play up their (or another's) cultural stereotypes, as this would feed into oppression. 

However, it appears to be wholly acceptable for Mexicans to embrace their stereotypes.

During the independence festival, it is totally appropriate for Mexicans to wear sombreros, green-red-and-white false eyelashes, and even adhesive mustaches to celebrate the independence of their sovereign nation. This is sort of like U.S. Americans celebrating the Fourth of July by putting on fat suits, then carrying a hamburger in one hand and a hot dog in the other while wearing a beer can hat. 

So about U.S. patriotism... Do you go to the lengths that Mexicans do?

How do you celebrate the Fourth of July?

Citations

* "Lorenzo Meyer." Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia. Wikimedia Foundation, Inc., 21 Sep 2016. Web. Accessed 7 Oct 2016.
**Lorenzo Meyer. "Panorama Actual de México y Perspectivas con sus Relaciones con los Estados Unidos." Welcome Orientation 2016, Fulbright García Robles/COMEXUS, 24 August 2016, Hotel Krystal Grand Reforma Uno, Mexico City, Mexico. Keynote Address.
*** "Cry of Dolores." Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia. Wikimedia Foundation, Inc., 28 Sep 2016. Web. Accessed 7 Oct 2016.