High Altitude Cooking

The aims of this blog are sharing what I'm learning and communicating about what I'm doing.  Some of what I'm doing is everyday living, but frequently there's a twist to it that involves figuring stuff out and/or trial and error.

You may not know this, but Mexico City is one of the highest altitude national capitals.  Denver is called the "Mile High City" because of its altitude (we learned in elementary school that there are 5280 feet in a mile).  Mexico City's altitude of 7350 feet makes it the almost-one-and-a-half-mile high city.  So here's a little bit of physical science information that you might or might not know:  the higher the altitude, the lower the air pressure.  Big deal, you may be saying.  But if you're trying to cook and even moreso if you're trying to bake, it is a very big deal.  Lower air pressure makes water boil at a lower temperature, thus making it more difficult to cook things in or over boiling water--it takes longer because the water is not as hot as one would expect at a lower altitude.  Why is this an issue in baking?  Well, when water or any other liquid boils, it evaporates.  Thus, in baking a cake, for instance, liquid begins evaporating sooner and this can cause the cake to be dry.  What's more, lower air pressure also affects the leavening process, where certain ingredients produce gases that make the cake rise.  What happens here is that gas is produced faster (which is really what water boiling is as well--water changing from a liquid to a gaseous state), the cake rises faster, but because this is happening at a lower temperature that it would at or near sea level, the rest of the chemical reactions are out of synch.  The structure of the cake is created by the starches in the flour, the sugar, and the fats.  If the cake rises too fast, the center falls because it isn't as done as it should be.  So, there are various adjustments that one can make to a cake recipe to change the chemistry to try to account for the lower boiling, faster rising, etc.  (a little more flour, a little less sugar, a higher temperature, a longer cooking time, etc.).  Okay, end of first physical science lesson.

Remember above when I said Mexico City's altitude is 7350 feet?  Well, to the local population, it's 2240 meters.  That's right--they use the dreaded metric system, not only for distance but also for weights and dry volume (grams) and liquid volume (liters).  Sure, we know about how much two liters is (a two-liter bottle of Coke/soda/pop--duh!), but how do teaspoons and measuring cups compare?  For most of the cake ingredients, if you have measuring cups and spoons for the English system of measurement and your recipe is written in the English system, everything works fine.  But if the fat you are using is butter, the usual way it is measured is by the stick (which is 1/4 pound, 1/2 cup, or 8 tablespoons).  The wrapper of a stick of butter is conveniently marked into tablespoons with additional markings indicating 1/4 cup and 1/3 cup.  But if the butter is sold in a country that uses the metric system (which, by the way, is almost every country in the world except for the US), turns out a box of butter is not one pound and the four sticks of butter in the box are not 1/4 pound each.  With nothing to compare it to in the grocery store, the box looked about the right size.  However, when I opened it at home, the sticks looked like they were flattened--about the right dimensions in length and width but not in height.

All of this is to say, it's Doug's birthday and he was returning from the US, so I was going to surprise him by baking one of our favorite cakes.  First I had to try to buy an appropriate pan for it because, as I may have mentioned previously, there is NOTHING to bake in, in this otherwise very fully-furnished apartment.  Last weekend I found a pan that's not exactly right but I thought it would work.  First I made sure I could get all of the ingredients for the cake.  Then I got my sister to fill in some details in the recipe (via Facebook, of course). 

Saturday afternoon I started to bake the cake.  First step, as my mother taught me, is turn the oven on.  Uh-oh--the oven temperature is measured in degrees Centigrade and my recipe calls for 400 degrees Fahrenheit.  Yes, we learned the conversion from Fahrenheit to Centigrade in school, but it's one of those things that I don't really remember.  I could figure it out, but I don't remember it.  Luckily, though, we now have the internets, so I quickly found a conversion calculator.  If I remember correctly, it was 224 degrees C.--something like that.  So I turned the oven on to that temperature.

For this particular cake, making the batter involves melting the butter with water and powdered cocoa.  After this mixture boils, it's added to the sugar and flour and then the rest of the ingredients are stirred in.  So I usually start the butter melting with the water and cocoa, then measure the sugar and flour, etc.  I opened the butter box and dumped out the--oops--flattened sticks of butter.  Shit!  Read on the stick of butter (mantequilla) that it's 90 grams.  Great--how much of a quarter pound is that?  Internets to the rescue once again.  Of course I needed to round somewhat and eyeball where to cut the sticks of butter, but I had enough for both the cake and the icing.

So, how'd the cake turn out?  Well, let me tell you that although I knew that high altitude baking is tricky, I learned all of the specifics that are in the first part of this post WHILE THE CAKE WAS IN THE OVEN.  When I noticed that it looked funny (like, the outside edge was tall and the middle 90 percent of the cake was much shorter).  Needless to say, it's not the right consistency, but it tastes better than several others I made experimentally when I was 13 or 14 (once I got baking powder and baking soda mixed up and used the wrong one, resulting in a two-layer cake that was only about an inch tall and somewhat the consistency of sawdust; once I decided to substitute green food coloring for the red that's called for in a Red Velvet Cake--that cake looked like it was made of spinach).  I think I was so preoccupied with the differences in measures that I was having to deal with that I forgot to explore the OTHER difference--the effect of the altitude!  My mother always said "Live and learn" (as she choked down chocolate sawdust/spinach velvet cake).  Only time will tell whether I learned!

Random Tidbits

I don't think I have anything major and new to write about, which maybe is an indication of settling in here.  However, I have written some notes to myself about observations I've made--small, curious things that don't amount to much individually but, taken together, do communicate more about the context and the essence of the place.  Sometimes things that are curious or strange to me may have more to do with living in a huge city for the first time than with living in Mexico, but people who have lived in New York City or Chicago will have to judge that.

Grooming in Public
Every day that I go to my university, I use the Metrobus, one of the many types of public transportation here.  It is a double- or triple-sectioned bus that uses a dedicated lane (the extreme left-hand lane) on a two-way street.  Buses going in both directions share stops that are between the northbound and southbound lanes.  The bus is usually quite crowded (I mean, seriously packed).  The front "car" is supposedly reserved for women, children, older people, and people with disabilities, which is more or less respected by the rest of the men.  The way many people drive in Mexico (especially taxi drivers--and there are a LOT of taxis) is go about as fast as you can until you have to stop.  The brakes must be really good here (or replaced frequently) because stops are sometimes quite sudden!  The Metrobus drivers drive the same way, I think.  Thus, it's not exactly a smooth ride.  Everyone holds on, usually with two hands (everyone who is standing and has two hands, anyway).  What is really amazing to me is that women frequently are putting on their makeup as they are riding the Metrobus!  If they are standing, they may have one arm wrapped around one of the upright poles that are for holding onto. And they are putting on eye shadow, eye liner, mascara--even curling their eyelashes.  It looks eye-endangering to me.  I'm not sure what's more curious--the putting on of eye makeup in this setting itself, or the fact that sometimes they are using a metal teaspoon instead of an eyelash curler.  The first time I saw this, I thought, "Oh, she must have just forgotten her eyelash curler but had a metal spoon in her purse...".  But when I was remarking to our Spanish teacher about the applying of mascara, eyelash curling, etc. she asked whether they were using an eyelash curler or a spoon--apparently, it's a common practice (and I've seen it several times since then).

Just Call Me Teri
Everybody else does.  I introduce myself as Theresa, but most people, even if they are meeting me for the first time, almost immediately change it to Teri.  I've accepted it--I know it's a friendly shortening of the name.  Really, I have nothing to complain about because it's easier to have a name that people can pronounce rather than one such as Doug ("Doog") or Jeff ("Ypts"). 

This Ain't No New York Deli
In one of the restaurants we've been to several times, I asked one of the managers why all of the music they play is in English (it's '80s pop mostly) and he said, sounding surprised that I didn't know this, it's because the restaurant is supposed to be like a New York deli.  Let me describe it and see if you think it's like a New York deli:  it's on a rounded corner and open on close to 180 degrees of a circle; the tables are all probably 3-4 feet by 3-4 feet and at least three feet apart;  there's a full bar; there's a large, upholstered couch in an area in the corner facing a big, flatscreen TV; there's a glass case with some meats and cheeses in it; the place advertises its specialties as coffee and mezcal; I don't think they have cheesecake.  Really, the only thing that seems remotely like a New York deli is the case with meat and cheese.  I think it's mostly for decoration.  To be fair, I wasn't looking for there to be a New York deli here, and perhaps it's payback for the authenticity of many, many Mexican restaurants in the US.

Class Differences?
If you've read my blog previously, you might remember that I was really bothered by the shoeshine guy who tried to polish my black tennis shoes while I was trying to walk away from him and Doug and I were yelling "NO!"  Well, one time I was at the previously-mentioned restaurant that is not a New York deli and noticed a shoeshine guy getting the business of some businessman, while the businessman was seated at a table.  The businessman also was enjoying the cigarette-lighting services of the wait staff. 

Speaking of Cigarettes...
There are several startling differences between the food service operations at UNAM and what I'm used to in the US.  For one thing, the prices are extremely reasonable--I pay the equivalent of about 60 cents for a cup of coffee (okay, it's not good coffee, but neither is anything available at OSU in my opinion!).  Today I had lunch for about $1.60.  It seems they aren't trying to get every penny out of the students that they can.  The other really strange thing is that the food outlets sell cigarettes--single cigarettes.  At one of the food places, there's even a lighter on a string, hanging on the potato chip display.

Ah, as I'm writing this, I'm hearing the sound of another roving vendor, which I just identified last night.  The sound is one of those bulb-and-horn things that sometimes used to be on bicycles.  It's on a bicycle-cart-thing that has a big, round basket on the front and one of those big thermoses like you see Gatorade dumped out of onto the winning football coach.  In the basket are somewhat sweet breads of some kind (our doorman said donuts, but I doubt they're actually donuts) and in the thermos is coffee.  It's a fairly typical thing for people to have for dinner--around 10 p.m.

Social Action--There and Here



One of the younger Fulbright-Garcia Robles fellows lamented, as he posted an update about Occupy Wall Street, "Why am I not there?".  It's a strange thing to watch what's going on, and with the technology of live streaming video, we were able to do just that last weekend when hundreds of people were arrested/detained/whatever on the Brooklyn Bridge.  As I told my younger friend, this is the first time a movement like this has sprung up in the US in my adult lifetime and I have hopes that it really amounts to something.




This grafiti refers to the casualties in Pres. Felipe
Calderon's war on narco traffickers--50,000
deaths and counting, it says.



Meanwhile, back in Mexico, there's social action worth mentioning, too.  One current movement is called "Moviemento por la Paz con Justicia y Dignidad" (movement for peace with justice and dignity).  This is a movement established by Javier Sicilia, a poet whose son was murdered earlier this year in narco trafficking related violence.  The movement recently held "Caravan por la Paz," which was a road trip of some 630 people in 14 buses and seven cars, for 10 days, from Mexico City through central and southern Mexico.  With approximately two stops per day, the group marched and held demonstrations in a number of cities, towns and villages that have been savaged by violence.  In some of the locations, the violence has been at the hands of narco trafficking; in others, the conflict is more longstanding, based in oppression of indigenous people, and at the hands of the state or entities sponsored by the state.  Part of the process was to hear the experiences of people in the various locations.  One of the Fulbrighters whose research is related to state response to violence experiences accompanied the delegation.  Here's a link to more information:  http://movimientoporlapaz.mx/.  It sounds like it was very interesting and moving.  (The website is in Spanish but has plenty of pictures.)

What I really wanted to write about this time, though, takes us back to 1968.  The Olympics were to be in Mexico City--a first for a developing country.  At the same time, there was a very active student movement that was seeking more support for education, more freedom, and more democracy.  The students had had large demonstrations in the Zocolo, but the government was unwilling to budge an inch.  Finally, on October 2, 1968, another demonstration was planned in another location in the city--the Plaza de Tres Culturas (plaze of three cultures, which has Aztec ruins, structures from the Spanish colonial period as well as modern Mexican; photo left).  The crowd gathered was reportedly smaller than those earlier in the summer, but still numbered 1000-2000.  Various regiments of the army arrived and surrounded the plaza, and a massacre occurred with a yet-unknown but large number of deaths.  After that, the student movement (what was left of it) went into hiding.  (Here is a link to a very moving NPR story about the massacre:  http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=97546687.  The story is in English, with some Spanish speakers translated.)  It's chilling listening to accounts of what happened and the almost total secrecy that has existed since 1968 (I was in the third or fourth grade, to give you an idea of the scale of time here).  Sure, we had a national guard shooting during a protest in the late '60s (or early '70s?) in the U.S.--in Ohio, even.  Four students were killed and a number of others were injured.  It was definitely a shock and awful, but here possibly more than 1000 people died or were "disappeared".  This effectively ended the student movement.  Most of the Olympians had no idea it had happened because it was immediately covered up.  Reportedly, this affected Mexico for many years.

"Don't pardon and don't forget"



October 2 is remembered here through several different events.  I had learned of a demonstration in the Zocolo, from a student group at the school of social work.  Doug and I were planning to visit a different historical site, but in figuring out how to get there, we realized that it was very near La Plaza de las tres Culturas, so we decided to head there instead.  This was early afternoon and we were thinking that probably anything that had been happening at Plaza de las tres Culturas would be over.  However, the large police presence at the Metro station indicated otherwise. 

Groups of (mostly) young people were in formation for a parade, with banners for various (mostly leftist) political parties, facemasks, and flags.  We learned that the theme of the demonstration was opposing increased militarization of the country and campuses.  We decided to observe for a while--Doug was taking pictures we were both trying to figure out what some of the banners meant.  The march started moving and we moved alongside.  We were pretty near the end of the marchers when they started moving.  At first, the police presence was minimal, with some vehicles following the marchers and a few officers on foot here and there.  However, the closer we got to the Zocolo, the more police there were, and the more heavily fortified. 

Five or six blocks from the Zocolo, the march turned down one of the narrow streets in the main historical center (Cinco de Mayo).  Large, metal walls had been put up to protect the buildings, which also made the street several feet narrower.  At times, we could walk behind the police (like in the photo to the left here), but other times there wasn't room for that and we had to walk in front of the police who were dressed in riot gear.  Some of them had large fire extinguishers.  Note that we were not participants in the march, but rather observers accompanying the marchers (it's illegal for foreign nationals to participate in protests).  Because we have been to Mexico a number of times and attended large, public events, this is not the first time we have seen a large police presence in riot gear, so I'm less freaked out about it than I would be otherwise (the first time was at an event that translates as the Night of the Radishes, a festival in which groups compete for prizes with scenes constructed from large, carved radishes--some of which are up to two feet in length.  That time, the riot police were shoulder to shoulder around the radish displays.)  However, this was the first time that we have been more or less inside a protest march.


This kid is painting something akin to "F the police".
Note the gringa in the pink tee shirt and the men walking
 in the opposite direction.

The marchers were well-behaved and the police were, as well.  I had interacted with several of them--one who moved over to make room for me to get up on a curb alongside where the marchers were entering a long underpass under several crossing streets (I was not about to accompany them through a tunnel!  Way too paranoid for that.).  As I said, the marchers, overall, were well-behaved, but there were a few people along who were spray-painting grafiti as they went, as the photo to the left illustrates.  This was one of a series of tags and I was walking ahead, trying to get further away from the tagger. Very shortly after this picture was taken, the tagger ran ahead of me, and the two men walking toward us grabbed him.  They were police in civilian garb.  Doug and I ran to the other side of the street (which was also lined with police in riot gear.  The marchers, seeing that someone was being detained, turned on the police and began yelling insults at the police (one of which was "Pitufos!", which is the name for the Smurfs in Mexico,  others were, of course, more profane).  The police on that side of the street closed ranks and raised the riot shields; reinforcements also ran to that side.

We had come a long way with the marchers, but at this point, we wanted to leave.  The first street we tried to turn down was blocked by officers who would not let us through, but a block later we were allowed to exit Cinco de Mayo down another side street.  Highly adrenalized, we figured out where we were and made our way to the nearest Metro station that was not in the direction of the marchers.

I think the Mexican flag with crosses in the center represents
people who have died, such as the protesters of 1968

The incident with the tagger apparently was an isolated one as the newspaper the next day reported a peaceful march (and the newspaper I read is one that would have reported widespread conflicts between the marchers and police).

 The banner below is from the school of social work at the university with which I'm affiliated.  I think the one further below is from another social work program outside of Mexico City.  As I understand it, my school is the only one in Mexico City.  It has a LARGE undergraduate program and a smallish master's program.  I plan to write about social work education in a later post. 
  



"Stop the militarization of academia and the country"
Escuela Nacional de Trabaho Social
"National School of Social Work"
Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico
National Autonomous University of Mexico

"If you want security, don't ask the police, demand education"



"Social Work--We are preparing to improve the dignity of the people"

Dias de la Patria

Quiz of the day: When does Mexico celebrate its independence from Spain?
a. July 4
b. Sept. 15

c. May 5 (Cinco de Mayo)

d. Sept. 16

Answer interpretation:

If you said a--July 4, you just might be from a red state;

If you said c--May 5, you just might be a Corona Light-sipping gringo;
If you said b--Sept. 15 or d--Sept. 16, you would be correct. Actually, it's both b and d as I'll explain.

El Dia de la Independencia was a little over a week ago, September 16. The holiday is actually celebrated over two days (who doesn't like that?!) for an interesting historical reason. Doug and I went to the Zocolo for the celebration, so this post will include pictures and commentary on the happenings and some of the history.

Location: the Zocolo--this is the historic center of Mexico City, said to be the largest public square in the world, next to Red Square in Moscow. It's big. Currently, it is configured as an open plaza with a giant flagpole in the middle from which is flown a giant Mexican flag.

The daily raising and lowering of the flag is a ceremony somewhat akin to the changing of the guard in London, complete with a band and marching around the square. Around the Zocolo are located the National Palace on one side, the National Cathedral on another side, two blocks of city government buildings across from the National Cathedral, and another long block of buildings across from the National Palace, in which the ground floor houses some retail outlets and the top floors house hotels with open terrace restaurants. Various events take place in the Zocolo--concerts, including one by Shakira a couple of years ago with close to 210,000 attendees (the record largest gathering); public demonstrations/protests/occupations, such as one by (former) electrical workers that had gone on for more than a year; viewing of Mexico playing in the World Cup last year on giant TV screens; and an ice rink over the Christmas season.

Why two days?Mexico's struggle for independence from Spain is said to have begun with "El Grito" or the cry/yell for independence by Miguel Hidalgo y Castillo on September 16, 1810. The initial rebellion against the Spanish colonial government failed, but this event is still considered the beginning of the war of independence. The celebration of it was moved to September 15 by long-time dictator Profirio Diaz because September 15 was his birthday! (The reign of Profirio Diaz is also the reason for term limits for elected officials--somehow, he was always the only candidate.) Today, El Grito is made by the president late in the evening of Sept. 15. The president comes out of the palace onto a balcony (see below), rings a large bell several times, and issues the cry (here translated courtesy of Wikipedia):

Mexicans!
Long live the heroes that gave us the Fatherland!
Long live Hidalgo!
Long live Morelos!
Long live Josefa Ortiz de Dominguez!
Long live Allende!
Long live Aldama and Matamoros!
Long live National Independence!
Long Live Mexico! Long Live Mexico! LONG LIVE MEXICO!!!!

The president's rendition is punctuated by the crowd shouting in response "Vive!" (which is what Wiki translated as "long live"), with a raised fist pump. Then the president waves a big Mexican flag back and forth a number of times. This is followed by singing of the national hymn and extensive fireworks.

Fireworks, facing the National Cathedral

On the second day, September 16, the Zocolo is filled with military personnel and equipment for a demonstration of solidarity with the president and a parade from the Zocolo down several city streets to the Angel de la Independencia statue on Paseo de la Reforma. The parade includes flyovers by various current and historical aircraft, tanks, grenade launchers and other large weaponry, and various watercraft carried by motorized vehicles.

Tanks lined up on the Zocolo

I think this fires gas-propelled grenades

Check out the unusual camoflage
(the walking brush pille)

Our Experience--we were in danger of being crushed once and trampled another time; clearly, personal space was violated! We also really, really enjoyed it.We had decided that we wanted to go to the Zocolo for the festivities. Doug returned from the US that day, so it was late in the afternoon/early in the evening when we were ready to go. I tried to call a taxi and got no answer, which wasn't a good sign. I called a different company, though, and we did get a car sent. Soon we started to notice streets that had been closed, until finally the street we were on was closed shortly in front of us. The driver had to turn back toward the direction from which we had come and then the drive got even more confusing! And it started to rain. I realized that we hadn't brought umbrellas, which is really dumb in Mexico City because it has probably rained 3/4 of the days that I have been here, in the late afternoon or early evening. The driver had warned us that he probably wasn't going to be able to drive all the way to where we were staying because of street closures around the Zocalo--we understood that, having experienced it last year when we were in Mexico City. About three blocks from the Zocalo, we couldn't go any farther in the car so it was time to walk in the light rain. When we got one block from the Zocolo, we encountered tight security, complete with metal detectors and bag X-ray. The screeners wanted me to open my backpack because they had seen a bottle in it (yes, I was carrying a bottle of wine to the hotel). They were not allowing alcohol into the secured area, but I convinced them we were going to a hotel and promised not to open the wine except at the hotel. Amazingly, they let me through. (As Doug would point out, they were not police or military, but probably volunteers. Later, after we had been to the hotel, police took our bottles of water when we were going through a different security point.)

By this time, the rain had stopped. In the Zocalo, there was a stage set up for live music and giant TV screens on which the musical entertainment was projected so that it could be seen from just about any location in the square.

The buildings surrounding the Zocolo were decorated with lights, some of which formed intricate displays, such as various symbols of Mexico (an eagle perched on large prickly pear cactus, holding a rattlesnake in its beak--the symbol from the flag, left) and its independence (Hidalgo and the Angel of Independence, below).

People were in front of the stage watching the performance and others were gathering facing the palace. We walked around for a while taking pictures and then decided to take up a location in front of the palace since that was where the action was going to occur. Then it started to rain. Then it started to pour. Then people who were in front of the palace started running for the adjacent government buildings which have covered porticos. By the time we got to the buildings, the sheltered space was gone and we were almost crushed between people who were already there and MORE people who were trying to get under the cover. We got absolutely drenched, and it was a little chilly. The rain let up and most of the people went back out into the Zocolo. We decided to stay under the cover of the porticos, and we were glad we did because there were intermittent downpours the rest of the evening!

The pop/country music performance yielded to a series of more traditional performances--dances, mariachi music, and finally traditional Mexican songs that many people in the crowd sang along with. (I had to convince Doug not to sing "ay, yay, yay, yay I am the Frito Bandito"--not cool.) There was a period of fireworks, then more singing by choirs in front of the palace.

Finally, the screens began showing a ceremony from inside the palace, in which a color guard presented the flag to the president and then the president and his wife paraded down long hallways to the balcony. As described above, the president rang the bell and orated the grito. It may sound corny, but it was really kind of exhilarating to have this large crowd shout back at the appropriate times. By the end, we were shouting, too, "Vive Mexico!"

The next day we were back for the military exhibition and parade. People were packed in much tighter than my comfort would allow. The parade was pretty interesting, though. I don't think I've ever seen in person many of the weapons.  Glad it was a peaceful parade though and not real use of any of them!

Culture Shock

I assume that everyone who is reading this has heard of "culture shock" but please bear with me as I wax academic and provide some definitions, just so we're on more or less the same page to start out. Culture, at its base, consists of "a network of shared meanings that are taken for granted as reality by those interacting within the network" (Zapf, 1991, p. 105). Although culture is surely learned through socialization beginning with infancy, it eventually takes root in the consciousness of individuals and is the lens through which the external world is interpreted. So, when a person is immersed in a different culture by, say, moving to another country, the taken-for-granted meanings frequently are no longer relevant. Since the person is not used to needing to figure out what EVERYTHING means from scratch, at first she may not realize this and continue to interpret happenings through her cultural lens. When she realizes that her unquestioned internal meanings might no longer be relevant, she experiences what is known as culture shock. The literature describes culture shock as having several phases; some authors identify four phases and others identify five, some starting with a positive appraisal and others with initial negative appraisal. What I'm intending to do with this post is tell you some of what I've observed in myself and others in regard to culture shock.

I've previously written about this a little bit, about the concept of personal space. Of course, I've also written about a number of cultural observations as well. Culture shock, though, has emotional content that I've only hinted at.

The first time Doug and I traveled to Mexico was eight years ago, for a conference at which Doug was presenting a paper. We spoke VERY little Spanish at the time (mostly I knew some words for food, how to ask what time it is but not how to interpret the answer, how to count to ten, curse words but not really what they meant--from growing up in west Texas). We were in Merida a couple of days before the conference was to start, so we were going off to visit the town square. Looking at a map trying to figure out how to get from where we were to the town square, I made the astute observation "It would be easier to figure this out if all the streets weren't named 'Calle'." What I didn't know at the time was 1) "street" is "calle" in Spanish; and 2) the order of words in the name of a street is different in Spanish than it is in English. So, Calle 8 is 8th Street. I was feeling frustrated with the difference; when we figured out that calle is street, I also felt dumb (maybe the feeling is embarassment or self-loathing). I don't think I consciously blamed Mexican culture for that, but probably did at some level.

After the conference was over, we were staying for another week for vacation and I had planned a driving trip to various other places in the Yucatan (Merida is the capital of the Yucatan state). Driving was much easier than in England, except that there were highway signs that we had no idea what they said (that still happens sometimes). The second place we were going was an island off the north coast of the Yucatan peninsula. We were going to need to park the car in a village on the mainland and take a ferry to the island. I thought there would be parking lots where we would pay to park (the guide book had indicated there would be places to park so I thought that's what it meant). We got to the little village and didn't see any parking lots. We did see the pier and the ferry and a number of fishing boats. Then we saw people waving us toward a low building of some kind. When we got closer, we could see that there were cars parked VERY close together in the building. An old man pointed me toward a space, Doug got out of the car because there was not going to be room to open both doors, and I parked. By the time I got out, the old man was lowering a hammock, showing us that he slept there to guard the cars, and Doug was trying to pay him. The man was refusing to take the money, so Doug thought that meant we were supposed to pay someone else. Two other men (well, one man and one teenager) came over, so Doug was asking them where we were to pay. One of those guys spoke a little bit of English and we finally figured out that we were supposed to pay when we came back to get the car! Once again, we felt like the big, stupid Gringos. They didn't seem to mind, though. Then we were trying to ask about the ferry and the man indicated that he had a fishing boat and would take us to the island (for a fee, of course). That seemed more interesting that a commercial ferry, so we went for it.

These are examples of where our conceptual maps didn't reflect the reality of Mexico in terms of language/word order and how a parking lot works (or even what a parking lot is!). When we tried to apply our conceputal maps, we were frustrated. When we realized our conceptual maps didn't work, we were embarassed. Other people might have been angry (I had my own angry reactions to cultural differences in India, but that's another story!).

The early experiences of culture shock, as I said earlier, are characterized by negative appraisals by some authors. I think both Doug and I had mild experiences of this. They weren't horribly negative, but there certainly were times of frustration. For some people, the early period in experiencing a new culture is more infatuation--everything about the new culture is so interesting and so special. In the Mexican culture, for instance, family is so much more important than it is in the dominant US culture. The second time we were in Mexico, we were with a group of social workers and social work educators (mostly) from the US. We certainly heard expressions of this--Mexican culture was being perceived by some in our group as so much better than our home culture because of the emphasis on family. Some authors refer to perceptions such as these as a "honeymoon" phase of culture shock. I, on the other hand, have felt almost somewhat offended when people who have just met me ask if I have kids. I heard this as "you should have kids or you're not normal;" instead, I think it is just a reflection of the importance of family here.

If one is immersed in a different culture for long enough, inevitably experiences of both types happen. When I wrote several weeks ago about how dogs are different here than in the US, there was probably some of that overly-positive appraisal happening. However, I would still say that most of the dogs I see in our neighborhood here are better behaved in public (even though there have been a few instances of dogs left outside a restaurant howling, barking, and going totally wild when their people returned to them. I blame that on the people!).

Mostly, I don't perceive of things here in general as being better than or worse than in the US--just different. Some of the things that are different I like quite a lot most of the time. For instance, there is a high degree of politeness--greetings are expected both when you enter and when you leave. That's nice most of the time. I think I will have more fully adapted to the culture here when I don't even think about it but just do it, when it's neither nice nor a pain in the butt, it just is.

As I'm writing this, I'm hearing the sharp whistle used by the guy who goes around with a machine to sharpen knives. Talk about something different!


The article I referenced above is: Cross-cultural transitions and wellness:
Dealing with culture shock. International Journal for the Advancement of Counseling, 15 (2), pp. 105-119 by Michael Kim Zapf.

Mexico City Political Update

This is a brief and partial follow-up to my previous post on politics in Mexico. 

The first update is, an alert reader suggested that the suspicious/premature (or whatever) burning of election records happened in an earlier presidential election in which fraud is widely believed to have happened.  I haven't been able to confirm or deny that, but it's entirely possible that I mixed up details of accounts of previous elections in Mexico. 

The second update is much more current:  the declared candidate for nomination for the governorship of Mexico City I wrote about last time was fired from his post as Secretary of Social Development.  He has said in press conferences and interviews that the firing was politically motivated.  I haven't sorted out the details, but the current governor (who did the firing) is apparently a candidate for the presidential nomination.  I think they are from the same party, but perhaps from different factions, so that might have something to do with it.

Admitedly, that's a pretty vague report and analysis. If you get tired of hearing about the U.S. presidential hopefuls, google Mexico presidential elections and enjoy! 

On a sidenote, but not unrelated, if you try to read about Mexico politics, be prepared for acronyms that are never explained.  One of them refers to the candidate from the left who ran against the current president from the far right.  It's his initials, AMLO, which always makes me think of LMAO, but really they're not the same thing.:)

A Little Bit About Politics in Mexico

Those of you who know me well may be surprised that I'm writing about politics since I usually avoid discussing politics (US politics, especially) as much as I avoid discussing religion.  However, learning about politics in a different context is interesting to me--I think I'm less emotional about most things when taking an anthropological view.  As usual, what I'm going to say is a combination of new knowledge and things I have learned from previous experiences in Mexico.

Don't glaze over here during this brief historical overview!  I really do have a reason for telling you all of this. (obligatory disclaimer:  this is my understanding of history and events; I have not extensively fact-checked my recollections of things I have read and lectures I have heard)

Prior to the arrival of the Spanish in what is now Mexico, the land was populated by various indigenous peoples.  Unlike Eurpoean settlement in what is now the US, the Spanish didn't kill off and/or drive out the previous occupants.  This is not to say that they didn't kill indigenous people, either through violent means or through disease, but in addition to that, they enslaved the people and put them to work.  They also heavily promoted conversion to Catholicism.  Mexico as a country was established after a revolution against Spain; independence from Spain was declared in 1810 but not won for several decades.  Then in 1910, there was a popular revolution that eventually resulted in a new constitution.  The national government of Mexico is structured similarly to that of the US (bi-cameral legislature and a president), but there are some key differences.  One difference is that a single political party held the presidency and the balance of power at most levels for more than 70 years, perhaps in part due to proportional representation. Term limits in the constitution prevent re-election after a six-year term of office, so there was consistent turn-over in the person who occupied the presidency, but not the party.  That party's influence waned in the past 15 years or so (but may be waxing again) when control of elections was removed to oversight by an independent body.  In 2000, a candidate from the far right was elected by voters seeking a change.  Then in 2006 the presidential election was highly contested between a candidate of the party of the left and another candidate of the party of the far right.  The results were so close (mere percentage points apart) and because irregularities existed in counting of some of the votes (does this sound familiar?) the candidate from the left refused to accept the result and there were months of occupation of the central square of Mexico City by supporters of the left.  The representative of the far right took the seat of the presidency (although he entered into the legislative chamber through a side door and was whisked back out it when scuffles broke out).  Some time later, there was a mysterious fire in the election bureau and the voting records were destroyed. The war declared by the current president on the narcotrafficking cartels and the resulting level of violence and death among Mexicans in the past several years has resulted in doubt that his party can mount a successful third bid for the presidency.

The party of the left has held the governorship of Mexico City since direct election of the governor and legislature was instituted in 1997.  The presidential candidate from the left who almost (or actually, depending on point of view) won in 2006 was governor of Mexico City.  Under the leftists, Mexico City laws and policies have become much more progressive than those of any state in Mexico or of the Mexican federal government (or, in many ways, of the large, familiar neighbor to the north).  For instance, in Mexico City, abortion is legal as is same-sex marriage and euthanasia.  Additionally, there is a small monthly pension for older people and a number of progressive social programs and initiatives.  The progressive nature of social policy and social programs is, of course, what attracted me to Mexico City to do my research.

Elections are coming up, next summer I think, and candidates are beginning to announce.  THIS IS WHY I'M TELLING YOU THIS.  Someone who is a faculty member in the Escuela Nacional de Trabajo Social (that's national school of social work) at UNAM (my university here) publicly announced his candidacy today for the governorship of the Federal District of Mexico (Mexico City).  I have been to a couple of events where he was the featured speaker, one of which was a celebration for the national Social Workers Day.  He occupies a cabinet-level position in the government of Mexico City (secretary of the department of social development), so is directly involved in development and other types of services.  My research collaborator also works in that department.  I had gathered from various articles and editorials posted by my research collaborator that a candidacy was planned--and it looks like it has a good chance of success according to a couple of newspapers.  Part of his progressive message is a feminist perspective--imagine that!

This is pretty exciting--a social work professor potentially occupying one of the highest elected offices in the country.  And I get to be a fairly up-close spectator during the campaign process.  I sort of feel like I'm in the right place at the right time.