The Dead Bride of Chihuahua

I recently had a couple of friends take me downtown for a little informational tour. We drove by things I'd seen before, but this time I saw them with a complimentary history lesson as a bonus. One thing that caught my interest in particular was Chihuahua City's legendary corpse bride, La Pascualita.

Urban legend has it that La Pascualita ( the little Pascuala ( the name of the oringal store owner ) ) was going to get married about 75 years ago. The evening before her wedding day she was bitten by a black widow and died before ever having tied the knot. Overcome with grief, her mother decided to forever preserve her daughter's corpse and adorn it with the loveliest of her wedding dresses at her bridal shop. On full display still today stands La Pascualita, forever begging the question of her authenticity.

Me? I don't buy it, really. Granted the corpse/mannequin looks incredibly realistic, with pores, cracked skin, varicose veins and the works, I'm not sure how much stock I can put into the idea that a corpse has remained in such unbelievably perfect condition for over 75 years. Fortunately for the legend, the locals buy it completely. Every year on the Day of the Dead ( which I believe is November 2nd ), the local school children set out candles and flowers in front of her display window. There's also some deal-i-o about a couple bursting into argument in front of the store. When the girlfriend turned to leave him, the man shot her. As she bled on the sidewalk she asked La Pascualita to save her and, ironically, she lived. This leads some to believe La Pascualita has supernatural powers. ( In case you're wondering, I didn't get this information from just a select few, I did some research on the matter after the fact )

In any case, I really don't care if it's a preserved corpse or a kick-ass wax dummy. The point is that the whole legend says something fascinating about the culture. I'm sure somehow it's tied to Mexico's extreme spiritual roots ( from which the flag's seal being based on a vision by an Aztec leader is also stemmed, I'm sure ), and I terribly impressed. It actually reminds me a bit of the Mothman shenanigans over in (West Virginia?). How awesome to have something like that around.

Something beautiful

I went out with a couple of ladies from my school about a week ago, one of whom was Mexican. We got to talking about some of the differences between the U.S. and Mexico. Eventually, prompted by a large Mexican flag hanging from the ceiling behind her, I asked what the seal in the center signified. This is what I got.

Disclaimer: This is what I was told. I'm writing what I know, without any additional research past what the young lady from here in Mexico told me. If for any reason any of my knowledge is incorrect, I'm really sorry. Please feel absolutely free to correct me.



It apparently began with the Aztecs. The leader of a tribe of Aztecs had a vision -- the place where an eagle feasts on a snake on a cactus would mark the Promised Land. He rounded up his crew and they embarked on a pilgrimage in search of this land that would grant them happiness.

They eventually happened upon an enormous lake, near the middle of which was an eagle perched on a cactus feasting on a snake. They stopped there based on the leader's vision and created their land out of the lake. They farmed from the edge of the lake, slowly filling in what was water with soil until eventually the lake was replaced with farmed land. This would eventually become Mexico City.

The girl I was talking to was convinced that the vision and its discovery is a legend, but it's apparently true that Mexico City is built on top of a lake. From what I understand, shortly after Mexico's Independence Day in 1821, its current official flag was chosen based on this legend. The green on the flag stands for the independence movement and peace and hope. The white stands for purity. And the red stands for the Spaniards who joined in the quest for independence as well as for the blood of the national heroes.

Personally, I'm rather fascinated by the whole deal. It screams culture and national pride. Yet at the same time, I've yet to encounter any insane, right-wing patriots. Only people who carry their own blood with a humble pride. There's a beautiful story painted in three blocks of color and a seal. I understand it's likely to be the same with every flag, but I'm here now and immersed in it all and I'm hooked on the gentle fire of it all.

Flag - "la bandera"

THIS, is a "banderita", a "little flag". Called so because of the green ( lime juice ), white ( tequila ) and red ( Sangria ), taken in that order. And it's also delicious.

Breathing

On Friday evening I went with a friend to a ranch. His grandparents own a house there in which they no longer live save for Sundays, so we bought some beers and went there to spend the night.

Anyone who knows me knows I get a little cranky when I leave civilization. My heart is rather locked to heavily populated areas. In going there, knowing I'd be spending the night, I was a bit skeptical. But I can say without a doubt that if, on my death bed, I knew what it would have been like yet never had gone, I would be pretty disappointed in myself.

I've never experienced air so perfect. It was like the mountains were breathing and I could taste their breath, sweet and crisp. Not a single cloud was anywhere in sight, and the temperature went from comfortably warm during the day to long-sleeve cool at night. Rancheros herded their cattle on horses, and women in native clothing peddled their wares out of enormous burlap sacks slung over their shoulders. Most of all it was silent. Nothing but the occasional cricket.

The evening was what got me. I have never in my life seen so many stars. Never. I thought I had, during the occasional cabin trip in northern Minnesota, but it was nothing compared to what I saw on Friday night. The Milky Way was bright and streaked across the whole sky, and from what I could tell, there was nearly no black, only stars. I saw at least a half a dozen shooting stars. I swear I never wanted to look away. My camera wouldn't be able to catch the starlight, so I just stared for as long as I could, almost petrified of the idea of ever forgetting what I saw and how I felt.

For a few moments I caught myself understanding how important it is to be alive. It's worth it just for moments like that, I think.

Farewells come too soon.

I left my classes today realizing that I have one week left with my students. For as much as I was bitching about my first hour class in the beginning, I've grown unbearably fond of every one of them. I'm going to miss the shit out of them when they're gone. They are all unbelievably intelligent people, and 100% unique from one another. I watch them absorb what I teach them and use it in conversation and I am so proud of them. Sometimes I'll teach a lesson and then have them do exercises on their own. When they read them aloud, everyone will be flawless, and I feel like squeezing all of their faces off.

It's likely I'll end up teaching them again over their further courses, but I'm sure a few I won't see again and that's just plain depressing. I find it hard to believe that I'm going to have to deal with this feeling every 7 weeks. I'm sure I'll become numb to it eventually, but right now it's horrific.

As if things weren't rotten enough, my roommate informed me yesterday that he might be moving to Ciudad Juarez in November for work. This creates a few different scenarios:

I stay where I'm at where it's furnished and I'm comfortable with the routine, but I'll have to seek more work to make up for my roommate's financial contributions.

I move in with this girl who was severely in love with me, because she has a place and I would be paying less there. Problem is I rejected her as she made an advance, and I know she's going to hold that over my head if I take it up. Plus, it'll just be strange.

I move into an unfurnished place near downtown where the rent is dirt cheap but there's no furniture and Heaven only knows what kind of neighborhood it will be.

It's not a for sure thing, I guess, but he seemed pretty tickled by the idea of moving closer to the United States in order to facilitate his English learning. I can only hope he changes his mind so I don't have to deal with the whole fiasco. I rather like my dingy little neighborhood, and I can hardly wrap my brain around trying to figure out a new bus route. For now I'm going to stick my head in the sand away from reality and pray it just goes away and he decides Chihuahua is where his heart is. We'll see.

Update

Three shots of tequila later and I still feel like total crap. Only now I'm buzzed and expecting a headache in the morning. Here's a warm shout-out to the cretins who suggested this miracle solution.

I sneeze on buses that have juggling sunglasses.

I officially have a cold, and I feel like death warmed over. And that breaks my little heart because I cannot stand being sick. I'm one of those people who, when they're experiencing any sort of physical discomfort, just whines a lot. Plus, it's been a while since I've been sick, so as I felt it coming on, I welcomed it with a smoldering dread. However, I've decided that I refuse to be ill. It just won't do. I can't call in to work, and I will not deal with being miserable. It turns out that the local remedy is two shots of tequila with a wedge of lime. One person informed me of this miracle cure, and I interviewed several others as to its authenticity. It turns out it's real. And thus, in about 15 minutes I shall be going to a bar with a friend to take care of business.

The Bus from Hell has become the Bus from Not-Quite-All-the-Way-Into-Hell-Maybe-Like-Purgatory-Or-Something. The beginning of October was the harbinger of a new route for the month. Apparently they switch every other month. This month, I get right on the bus, and it takes me right to my job. So for the month of October, I don't need to switch buses 10 minutes into the commute, and I don't need to be screwed over by the shit-head bus drivers who either like to ignore my ringing of the bell and drop me off a mile from where I need to get off, or just don't ever come to the stop until I'm forced to take a taxi. October is the month of glory. The month of singing angels and rays of light. The month of peaceful commuting. Until November.

You know what I love about Mexico? The cool shit like the street entertainers. Sometimes people will hop on the bus with their guitars and tamborines and play a little tune in hopes of a few pesos. Other times entertainers will stand in front of the line of cars at a stop light and do something sweet, like contortionism or juggling. The other day, some guy came out with flaming batons and and a little acrobatic dance while spinning those firey devils all over the place. It might seem annoying to the natives, since they're basically doing it for cash. But at least they're not the assholes in Minneapolis who come up to you with a sob story like "My father lives in New Hampshire and he's got 2 days to live and I need $100 dollars to ( get me some bizooze ) get there on a bus." These people have guts to get out there in front of an audience in traffic and pull of some seriously talented shit. If you're ever here and you see one, drop 'em like 5 pesos -- they really deserve it.

Finally, I got peddled on the street for sunglasses today. Now, I live and breathe for sunglasses -- the more ridiculous the better -- so I was hooked immediately. What was awesome is that he wanted to sell them to me for 30 bucks, because they're Gucci knock-offs. Please. Like I'm going to spend 30 dollars on cheap imitations when I could buy my own cheap imitation at the stand at the mall. I told him I didn't have any cash on me. Well, he wouldn't give up, and eventually I pulled 30 pesos ( 3 dollars ) out of my back pocket and told him it was all I have. And now I have sexy sunglasses. I'm assuming he just wasn't having luck getting rid of them so he took what he could get, because he walked away looking pretty sad about his failure to make bank, but, whatever. I'm wearing these mothers at night.

This is what's up.

In a mere 4 days I'll have been in Mexico for 2 months. Crazy, or what? I can't decide whether it's gone by in a flash, or if it feels like forever. On one hand, everything is entirely familiar now. It feels like home. I've established a routine and the newness has subsided into a settled comfort. And arriving here seems like an eternity ago. On the other hand, where the hell did the time go?

Last week was midterms for my classes. It sounds a little more haughty than it really is, since the courses are only 6 weeks long. In any case, they all whizzed through them with flying colors. I can't say how proud I am of my little students, learning present perfect and present perfect continuous and all that. In several cases, the sentences they put together were flawless. I don't think I could have been happier. It almost breaks my heart that the courses are so short; I've grown very fond of all of them. Even the first class.

The Spanish is moving right along. Slow but steady, and that's just fine with me. I have a couple of friends here who speak no English at all, so it forces me to utilize all of the Spanish I've got. And they're very decent about it. Patient, understanding, politely correcting my mistakes. It makes it easier, and I'm pretty darned grateful.

I wish I had something to really write about, like an event, but I've been kind of exhausted this last week and haven't written when I should, so most things seem like a blur now. A few bars, a couple of movies ( Stardust and Knocked Up ( for my second time -- I saw it in the U.S., too ), classes. That pretty much covers it. They were all interesting events, but I let them sink too far into the past and now the details have dulled.