Sign of the Times

Some day in the distant future, cultural anthropologists will dig around for announcement signs to learn about our society in 2009. I saw a sign in a shop yesterday that gave me pause. This was in a local quick-print computer shop (think Kinko's but mom & pop Mexican style). I went in to have some copies made off my portable USB memory stick. Pasted in big letters on the back of the cash register was this sign:

"If you didn't bring correct change with you, BEFORE you request any service, ask us if we have change to break your bill."

"Wow!" I thought. So now it's the CUSTOMER'S responsibility to A) always have correct change and if not, B) make sure the shop owner has sufficiently stocked his coin drawer to operate his business. Huh? When did it become the responsibility shift from the shop owner to the CUSTOMER to have the proper resources to do business?

It struck me as something that you'd never see in the States. But here...nobody minds. In fact, the lack of change is endemic here. If you give a shop owner a 200 peso note (about $15US), they roll their eyes and plead, "don't you have anything SMALLER?" A 500 peso note (about $35US) causes major alarm. The manager has to be called over. They hold the note up to the light to look for that watermark. They turn the note over and over as though desperately trying to find a reason to reject it. It's as if--in the States--you present the cashier with a $1,000 note. Same skepticism. But we're talking $35 here.

My own uninformed guess is that the Mexicans have never quite gotten comfortable with the idea of paper money. Give me that good old fashioned gold doubloon or a few solid silver pieces of eight. After all, for three centuries the mines of Latin American produced most of the world's two precious metals, silver and gold. A paper bill just doesn't have the same intrinsic "heft." And, of course, after numerous currency devaluations (most recent in 1994), why would they trust it?

Another indicator of Mexican's distrust of paper money is their reluctance to accept notes that are damaged in any way. Say for example you go to the vegetable market to buy some tomatoes. The lady who runs the stand gives you change by pulling a ragged, grayed, and sweaty 20 peso note out of her brassiere. If you then try to pass that note you're going to be S.O.L. A torn corner, a piece of Scotch tape, any raggedy-assed looking bill simply will not be accepted. Then it's a game of trying to find some shop to pass the nasty note onto. Try Burger King. For some reason, they take all bills without too much fuss.

Earthshaking News

The earth shook. Really. Last night we had an earthquake. I wasn't sure until one of the ladies I volunteer with mentioned it this morning. I had been sound asleep last night...around 12:30 a.m. I thought I was dreaming. I thought I felt the bed move. Beds don't usually move when you're in them ALONE. So I just rolled over. But sure enough, it was a tremor. In Mexico, depending on where you are, you have the option of either: earthquakes, hurricanes (on the coast), flooding (in Chiapas and Tabasco state), or organized crime violence (mostly in the north). Your choice.

My other earthshaking news is that I had an accident. Last night while slicing veggies for dinner, my finger ran into a carving knife. The carving knife won. Blood everywhere (NEVER a good ingredient in stir-fry). So: what do you do when you're all alone in the house, in a foreign country, no car, and have an emergency? I had the presence of mind to wrap the finger tightly and walk around the corner to the medical office. Since it was 8 p.m., no doc was in. The nice lady in the waiting room, though, asked if I had transportation. "No." She called the clinic about 6 blocks away and off we went in her car. I was thoughtful enough to refrain from bleeding all over her front seat. The doc there cleaned and bandaged the wound. Couldn't do stitches since it was though the nail. I went back today for her to change the dressing. It still hurts like hell. I go back again on Friday. But I was pleased with the medical attention.

I'm Living in the Navel of the Moon

The other day I stumbled across the meaning of the word "Mexico."
It comes from the Nahuatl language. The Nahuatl culture is also known as "Aztec." One of the foremost modern Nahuatl translators said that "Mexico" comes from 2 words in Nahuatl: "metatli" (moon) and "xictli" (navel). Put them together, and you get "navel of the moon."

There is a little disagreement over the first section of the word, and...instead of "moon" it may be "maguey plant" (from which tequila are mescal are made). So, depending on how you look at it I'm either living in the Navel of the Moon (nice and poetic) or the navel of the maguey cactus (sort of pre-alcoholic). I prefer the Moon.

Chupacabra Found

This, from the news reports today, makes my day.

For those skeptics among you who poo-pooed its existence, hah! You probably don't believe in the Abdominal Snowman and the Tooth Fairy either....or even the Great Pumpkin. Bah! Humbug!

Here's a link to the news report from San Antonio:
http://www.koco.com/news/20661717/detail.html Supposedly this student at a Texas taxidermy school brought in the corpse of this unknown beastie. His story was that it was raising hell in his cousin's barn and they put out some poison. What they got themselves was a dead chupacabra.

The chupacabra was a formerly mythical beast who was making the rounds in Puerto Rico, Cuba, and Mexico, sucking the blood of domestic animals, especially goats.

I'm holding my breath for the first Big Foot.

The Definition of High Pressure Salesmanship

OK...so tonight I went down to the zocalo for my favorite treat, a cantaloupe popsicle. I buy them at a shop on the town square, "La Michoacana." It's all natural with big chunks of ripe cantaloupe in the bar. Yum.

I then took the popsicle and myself over to a park bench to watch the local folks milling about (this was around 9 p.m.). I'm deep in reverie (spaced out) when two cute little monkeys (kids) about 5 years old come over to try to sell me chiclets and cheap necklaces. Sadly, this is all too common. The smallest of children are walking around the town square trying to sell junk to tourists. Ever hear of child labor laws, anyone?

I politely say, "no." The one little kid...obviously trained in a used car showroom in New Jersey, maybe?....doesn't take "no" for an answer: He comes up and with a cheezy grin STANDS right on top of my sandaled bare foot. OW..OW...OW...Ouch!

His motto: If at first you don't make a sale, just step on the bastards.

What If Jesus Met Lenin and Socrates?

I'm forever running into Jesus down here. Not the biblical one, of course, but Jesus Gonzalez, Jesus Ortega, Jesus Martinez, Jesus Ruiz. It's as common a man's name as "Bill" and "Jack" are back home. Still, it's a bit unnerving when your waiter comes over to your table in a restaurant and says, "Hola, amigos! My name is Jesus, and I'll be your server tonight. Can I get you a cocktail to start?" My point: Jesus wouldn't say that. It's weird.

I was thinking of the old Walter Cronkite series "You Were There" back in the 60s and 70s. For those of you too young for such memories, it was a video series in which CBS News reporters went back and "interviewed" important personages from history. Maybe it was that series or maybe it was an essay I read somewhere, but I recall the fictional exercise of bringing together a number of figures from distinct historical time periods. Wouldn't it be fun to see what they'd have to say to one another?

In Mexico, it's common to name your kid after someone famous in history. For example, at the Casa Hogar, Niños de la Luna shelter where I volunteer (kids of prostitutes), one of the little kiddies, about 3 years old, is named "Lenin." Not like Beatles' John, but like the Russia kind (communism and socialism still have there adherents here). So the other day, Lenin was crying his head off and I asked the lady what was wrong with him. "Lenin has wet his pants," was her reply. Just try to comprehend that without giggling.

And then last Wednesday, I went to a chamber music concert at Teatro Juarez. Very nice. The principal violinist was Socrates Urbieta. His brother plays violin in the group, too. His name is Ulysses Urbieta. Their mom must have had a thing for Greek men. Anyway, just so you know.....Socrates plays a mean violin. Do you think he'll ever meet Jesus and Lenin?

Nipple, Nipple, Who's Got the Nipple?

We all have pretty much the same stuff--ears, toes, fingernails, chins....and nipples. Therefore, in English, we have a word for nipple: it's called "nipple."

But not in Spanish. Just to confuse Spanish language learners, they made up TWO completely different names: "tetilla" for a those found on a man; and "pezon" for those found on a woman. And to further complicate things--

You know that every noun in Spanish has a gender, unrelated to what it is. For example, "casa" (house) is a FEMININE noun ending in the letter "a." "Aeropuerto" (airport) is a MASCULINE noun ending in "o." With me so far? So the noun "tetilla" (MAN'S nipple) is a FEMININE noun, even though the little buggers appear on a man's chest. And...no surprise here..."pezon" (WOMAN'S nipple)is a MASCULINE noun. Go figure. Gender bending at it's most confusing.