Comic Relief or Reality?

Dear Mom, Dad, and America,

I know plans for my return are set for this coming Thursday, but I have made the executive decision to cancel these plans. I have fallen in love with an exotic dancer (stripper is derogatory) who goes by Bubbles on stage. Now that I think about it, I don't know her actual name, but it doesn't matter I will find out when we apply for our marriage license tomorrow. Besides, Bubbles flows so wonderfully off the tongue, I actually prefer it and love doesn't need a "real" name. You may be wondering what I will do here in Mexico. I have decided to be a Luchador, or in English, a Wrestler. I am working my way through the amateur ranks right now as "El Burrito," because I have been told I will need to eat many burritos to gain some weight and to stand a chance as a Pro. It may seem nonsensical, but my skills are improving daily and my trainer, Diego, says "you show great promise," because, "you much taller than other Luchadores." Plus, I have the extra motivation to work hard as I have a family to care for now. With that being said, Mom and Dad, I will still need my allowance because I have decided to relieve Bubbles' ex-husband of his child support responsibilities for their 3 children; Jesus (pronounced Hay-Zeus), Roberto, and baby Maria. This will only be until I have established myself as the best Luchador in the history of Mexico. I know this may come as a huge shock, but when you're in love, you're in love, and I knew it from our first dance, albeit she was the only one dancing, but I felt a deep connection and a strong mutual affection. I can only ask for your understanding and hope you will come visit us, and your three grandchildren, soon. To my friends, I will miss you dearly. This has been a difficult decision for me to make but I see my destiny in the Mexican Wrestling World (I have great moves from the top rope and look great in mask and tights) and I see my future with my beloved Bubbles.

CRIT- Round 2,3, & 4

This, Friday, and Thursday morning I spent volunteering at CRIT, the children's rehabilitation center that is the topic of an earlier post. The trip to CRIT, unfortunately, yet more efficiently, requires me to take the Red Bus, full of commuters and rather professional looking drivers with far less character and pizazz than their Blue and White counterparts. I hop off at Avenida Chapultepec to grab a bite to eat at a place whose name escapes me, but I have popped in each of trips out to CRIT. I am undecided on my true feelings for the place, as they have not had granola to go with my fruit and yogurt the past three of my visits. My favorite part of the trip to CRIT, apart from actually spending time at CRIT, is taking the train. The train in Guadalajara consists of only two lines. The line I take travels North and South along Avenida Federalismo. Not a scenic route by any means, buildings become more dilapidated and depressing as the train moves South away from the center, but I do enjoy watching the more devout of my fellow passengers make the Sign of the Cross as we rumble by Santa Filomena, a notable church along the line. My first visit to CRIT a couple weeks back was primarily a tour of the facility, while my past three visits had me actually interacting with the kids and members of their families. Most of my time has been spent playing Jenga and Dominoes, tracing pictures from various coloring-books for the kids to color-in, and assisting the youngsters with some of the more difficult puzzles while they await for their, or their parent's or sibling's, appointments. My poor Spanish has caused a few minor communication problems, but nothing that couldn't be worked around with a few points and head nods. One instance, from the three days spent at CRIT, that will stick with me for the rest of my life, happened this morning when a boy of about 12 joined our game of Dominoes. His particular handicap is that he does not have either of his arms, thus he played by using his toes to grasp the dominoes while maneuvering his upper and lower legs, all with outstanding dexterity, to place the pieces in position on the table. It just goes to show the creativity that those with disabilities can have to do what they want. It was beautiful. I must say, no matter the occasion, Jenga is always a crowd pleaser. Personally, I may have to take a few months away from the game. The better part of my 3 hours at CRIT on Thursday was spent finding the best block to remove from the tower to neatly place back atop the structure, as well as, once the blocks toppled to the yelps, cries, and hollers of my playmates, rebuilding the crosshatched collections of three across into their complete, Jenga form. No doubt it was a suspenseful and joyous morning watching that tower lean and fall to the dismay of one and joy of all the rest, but when the Jenga blocks were removed from their rolling shelves on Friday I made straight away to the drawing table to trace images of Pooh and Tigger, to which I was and still am quite proud. Both Friday and today, I made friends with the little fella who was most concerned about completing every puzzle available. I found this takes the least amount of Spanish as those who enjoy the puzzles are the most shy and prefer the only interaction to be a High Five after the puzzles completion. As an aside, my birthday is tomorrow, and if anyone would like to give me present I would greatly appreciate a difficult puzzle, preferably of some work of art or great landscape, or if you would rather donate one to CRIT, that would mean even more. Spending time with these more introspective youngsters has restored a childhood pleasure of mine in puzzles. But, more importantly than finding my inner child, I have come to better understand the expression, "Children are our Future." Sure, we have all heard it, but I had always thought that applied to me, "I am the future," and my thoughts of younger generations were that they, "Just aren't as cool." But, that is not the case. It is the kids the age of my Jenga playmates that will be making the decisions when most will think I am too old to even matter. So, in conclusion, let us remember the importance of education, whether for able or disabled, American or Mexican, let us provide it and let us provide a good example for what it can produce.

IDER Factory

Yesterday afternoon was spent observing and touring a factory in a town about a half hours car ride outside of the center of Guadalajara. The factory builds refrigeration units to be attached to trucks that transport goods such as milk, eggs, yogurt, gelato, ice cream, among many other items that must be chilled in transit. The reason for the trip, IDER, the refrigerated unit manufacturer, is a potential employer of the disabled and COLABORE wanted to take a tour and see if there was a job suitable for one of the people they try to help. The tour was given by, and unfortunately I didn't catch his name because of the noise coming from a metal cutter, one of the accountants who happened to be in a wheelchair. I know the refrigerated goods I buy at my local supermarkets, gas stations, and pharmacies arrive there in trucks equipped with refrigerated carriers, but to see all the lines of production, and to put it as simply as possible, was really cool. I thoroughly enjoyed to see steel beams cut to varying specifications to become frames for the units, then walled, lined, and insulated, followed by the installation of the air conditioner, and finally planted on the back of assorted truck beds. Anyways, IDER should be commended for their wheelchair and handicap accessible bathroom. Of the companies COLABORE visits theirs is by far the best and of the quality not usually seen here in Mexico. This alone shows their dedication to making strides toward a more diversified workforce. In regards to the positions that can be held by the disabled at IDER, they are a bit limited. Most of the labor requires an able-bodied employee who has no trouble with lifting beams, working with tools, and other machinery, which limits the potential disabled employee to either the hard of hearing or mute. Even then some sort of alternate communication must be established between them and existing employees to ensure appropriate completion of tasks. Office work is another possibility for someone who is physically handicapped or confined to a wheelchair as IDER already has an accountant who has this impairment. But, as mentioned in an earlier post, disabled employees with the kind of education needed for a desk position are few and far between. And, it must be mentioned, the factory is located a good ways outside of Guadalajara and it is almost required that the employee COLABORE assigns have their own form of transportation. Despite these few difficulties it is good to see companies like IDER making progress towards hiring the disabled and extending proper accommodations to them. Progress is influential and this is a great sign for the future of the disabled seeking work in Mexico.

Quincenera

A couple of weeks ago, I had the great pleasure of making the acquaintance of my friend Sergio. I had been sitting alone at a restaurant not far from my house and Sergio asked me to join him and a few of his buds at their table. Initially I was taken aback and a bit skeptical of the invitation that was extended to me in perfect English and furthermore surprised to find out Sergio is a student at MIT. His father is from a largely Tequila producing town about an hour outside of Guadalajara and Sergio comes down here with the rest of his family every summer. One night, Sergio and I were out having dinner and a couple beers when he asked if I would be interested in attending the party for his two cousins’ Quincenera (fifteenth birthday celebration). Since I am trying to absorb as much Mexican culture as possible during my short stay I eagerly accepted the invite. A Quincenera marks the transition into womanhood for a young girl and in some ways is comparable to a Sweet 16, but I feel a Quincenera is more culturally significant and steeped in greater tradition. The party was held this past Saturday and prior to cramming into a taxi with Sergio and his immediate and extended family I spent a bit of time at his house, eating with and meeting his family members. An absolutely wonderful collection of people and to see them interact, to see their closeness really solidified my impression that family is of the utmost importance in Mexican culture. Like I mentioned the cab ride to the event hall was a tight fit since two cabs were sent for 12 persons, but we managed and I felt much closer to the family upon arrival. The party was a grand occasion with large, ornate gowns worn by the hostesses, great food, great drinks, and guests that were really in the mood to dance and celebrate until the wee, wee hours of the morning. There was a DJ playing various electronic party tunes and, of course, Mexican favorites that were enjoyed by all until 3 a.m. when the band arrived to take over musical duties until 5 a.m. The music and the dancing was, like most parties, the centerpiece of the late night and none were exempt of the latter. At one of my breaks from the action a thought reoccurred from a cousin’s wedding in Puerto Rico a few summers back, I have to wonder what my Nana and Sergio’s grandparents think of the popular music today, what thoughts run through their heads as a song entitled “Sexy Bitch,” is transmitted at a decibel loud enough to shake buildings and scare ear drums. Just a thought. Sergio’s family was nice of enough to alleviate the worry of making it home after the party came to a close by letting me stay at their home and I was greeted the next morning with a much needed cup of coffee and delicious piece of sweet bread. When I thought I had overstayed my welcome I was asked to stay for lunch and in the meantime play a card game by the name of “31” at 5 pesos a hand with the fellas. Lunch, like all the other meals graciously provided by Sergio’s mother, was delicious and it was exactly what I needed before catching a cab back to my apartment to ready myself for the work week ahead.

Buses

From my first day I was told the buses in Guadalajara were an experience and an attraction in and of themselves. I didn’t quite understand what this meant until my maiden and subsequent trips on the Blue and White. I will refer to the buses only by their color as the names of the various companies and lines are unimportant for my purposes. The Blue and White’s are the most prevalent in the city and operate in all the neighborhoods I have seen. Their passengers are those that prefer the least expensive form of transportation in the city and can be described as the commoners of Guadalajara. My first trip on the Blue and White was of no particular purpose beyond taking it merely for the experience because as soon as I hopped off I walked a couple of blocks down Avenida Chapultepec in the center of Guadalajara to catch the Blue and White to return to the University. The main draw, for me, to the Blue and White is more the opportunity to see the bus drivers than to observe the passengers. The maiden trip, made last week, was quite the thrill, the bus driver didn’t seem to care that I was a peso short of the standard fare and was more concerned with his phone conversation and getting to the next stop. The bus jumped into acceleration nearly putting me on the bus floor before I could deposit my short fare, maybe the driver noticed it was insufficient and his abrupt departure from my stop could have been his way of letting me know. I usually try not to generalize people, but here in this case it is impossible not to as all the drivers of the Blue and White I have encountered prefer shirts without sleeves, have a knack for smoking and talking on cell phones simultaneously while driving, and sweat profusely. I have no problems with and thoroughly enjoy sleeveless shirts and tank tops, to the dismay of a former girlfriend, and I use clinical protection deodorant to help with my own sweat issues, but I did have a bit of nervousness upon first sight of the triple tasking of my Blue and White driver, considering he was using two hands for three tasks one of which was operating a motor vehicle filled to maximum capacity. Looking around I could tell I was the only passenger with any sense of concern about this. And as it turned out, even though his driving can be seen as erratic and always on the offensive as he swerved through and in front taxis and other cars, often greeted with angry honks, my driver seemed in complete control. After that I have found a great deal of enjoyment in taking the Blue and White around town, it must be the thrill seeker in me, because I prefer the dilapidated Blue and White’s with its edgy and seemingly careless drivers to the tie wearing operators of the Red bus who get me to the same place, but without the showmanship. Just yesterday, having a bit of time to kill I took the Red bus into the center of Guadalajara, it was the first to come to my stop, for a leisurely stroll as it wasn’t too hot and there was a pleasant breeze. But, as I saw rain clouds approaching I made my way to a bus stop and was pleased to see a Blue and White coming to scoop me up. Along the half hour ride, there began a torrential downpour and although the windshield of the bus was being pounded by rain and clouding with fog my confidant driver maintained his ruthless control of the road despite the extreme lack of visability. Even with urging by one passenger to clean the windshield with his handkerchief, my driver not so respectfully declined as I feel he saw it as an attack on his capabilities. And for whatever reason I felt no concern or worry about the safety of myself or the other passengers, I like to think this guy knows exactly what he is doing and the Blue and White is not a machine he operates but rather a mechanical extension of his own limbs.

Religion & Mexico

Everywhere I go there are reminders that Mexico is a country comprised of a population that is overwhelmingly Roman Catholic. If my memory serves me correct, it is 97 or 98% of the people are of this religious persuasion. Shops in el centro historico are filled with images of Jesus, the Virgin Mary, and saints for sale alongside crucifixes, rosaries, and other idols. Every cab I have ridden in has had at least one picture of a patron saint, the Virgin, or Jesus fitted into an unemployed air vent or has had a rosary and/or crucifix hanging from the rearview mirror. At my acknowledgment of such items signs of the cross are made accompanied with kisses followed by points and eyes to the sky. In a corner of the central courtyard of the upscale shopping plaza of Andares sits a veneration point dedicated to Mary. Even while shopping for your top-notch luxury goods you can take a moment to say a prayer or offer thanks for the blessing of being able to afford a Ferragamo suit or a handbag made by Gucci. Religion has the unique ability to transcend social class because as some pray in their Dior shades others are selling plastic crucifixes at a busy street corner in hopes of buying a few tacos at the end of the day. In Mexico, both circumstances fall under the same Faith, whether you feel the Lord has shed his wondrous light upon you or you see your life's struggle as your cross to bear, in the end you are hoping to meet Peter at the Gilded Gates of Heaven. Having no inclinations to any sort of Faith and finding no religion to be better than the next my thoughts can be considered heathen at best, but I find more support from personal intellect and experience than a religious foundation. However, I have tried, and as a product of the Catholic School System I have had many conversations with Jesus and asked Him many questions, its just that He has never gotten back to me or I am blind to the signs He sends. Thus, I am not a Believer within a religious context and my beliefs lie in the power of the human experience, our ability as homo sapiens to articulate and think beyond survival instinct unlike any other other species. Could this ability have been bestowed upon us by a some divine being? I haven't the slightest idea. So for now, I am content to observe Mexico and Mexicans as a place where their religion holds a great deal of importance in all facets of daily life. From early Mass each morning to giving props to God after scoring a game winning goal, Roman Catholicism is everywhere.

CRIT- Occidente

This morning I visited a completely donation funded social project by the name of CRIT. Occidente refers to its location, there is a CRIT in each State of Mexico. As just mentioned it is all donation based with the majority of the donations coming from an annual telethon put on by, the appropriately named, Teleton. The telethon gathers various Mexican celebrities like singers, actors, actresses, and race car drivers to help raise the money necessary to support CRIT. What does CRIT actually do? They are a collection of doctors, physical therapists, psychologists, and volunteers whose main objective is to rehabilitate the disabled youth of Mexico. And from what I saw today they do a damn fine job, damn fine. And the excellent work done at CRIT is well known as there is a three to four year waiting list for families to receive their services. Modern equipment housed in an extremely modern facility with fun decor in balloon, plane, and Noah's Arc motifs making it less hospital-esque, sitting atop a hill on the outskirts of Guadalajara. The facility services hundreds of youths and their parents each and every day. I was truly blown away. Physical therapists working with kids with cerebral palsy in machines that position the body in the walking form so as to develop a more natural and more functional range of motion, all the while watching 'Kung Fu Panda' on a screen in front of them. I have never seen anything like it. An important factor to note in all the therapy sessions I was able to view was that the parents were directly alongside them. Whether it be poolside during a hyrotherapy session or in room with instruments to stimulate the tactile, auditory, and visual senses for the blind and deaf, parents were always there to offer support as well as take lessons learned home to be practiced. Parents also had therapy sessions of their own, to assess what they can do for their children. A second notable factor is support. At CRIT there is no such thing as 'can not.' It is an extremely positive environment for these youngsters and everyone from the doctors to the volunteers want these kids to succeed. Speaking of those working at CRIT, I must say, they all had a smiles on their faces and it was more than obvious that everyone there really loved and truly believed in what they were doing. It was an extremely emotional and enlightening morning. I hope to make it back before my time here, in Guadalajara, can be called a wrap.

Andares to Angahuan

Once I had overcome my stomach illness Thursday afternoon I found myself at the modern shopping plaza of Andares, not far from the high rises mentioned in an earlier post. I must continue to hark upon the central theme of my entries. That being the noticeable contrast I have come to find in Mexican culture. Andares is full of high-end boutiques, shops, and restaurants I was not expecting to see before this adventure began. While surrounding neighborhoods can be considered the bane of capitalism Andares represents all that is lavish and luxurious in such an economic system. With its upper echelon patrons strutting their stuff in the latest and hip fashions the shopping plaza exudes anything but what first comes to mind at the thought of Mexico; heavily armed drug cartels and police, murder, illegal immigration, landscapers, so on and so forth. While trying to capture all of this, with my broken screened Samsung L100 digital camera, I was told by a security officer, who had been notified by the security office watching the plaza via CCTV, that anymore picture taking would result in the confiscation of my camera. He was carrying a twelve-gauge shotgun with plenty of ammo around his waist. Needless to say, I eagerly complied without trying to snap a shot of him or anything else. So, I must do with those I was fortunate enough to get (all on FB). From Andares I turn my often-fleeting attention to the village of Angahuan (Ann-ga-wan). It is a community of an indigenous Indian population found a four-hour’s journey away from Guadalajara in the State of Michoacan. I was invited to observe the village by Dr. Rosario Athie, a professor of philosophy at UP, during my orientation last week. She has made many visits to Angahuan over the past seven years and has made many friends in the village as she has a personal interest in preserving their way of life, one that contrasts furthermore from that of the stylish shoppers found at Andares. The car ride alone, once off the main highway leading from Guadalajara to Mexico City, was a sight to behold. Amidst tree covered hills, mountains, and volcanoes kissing or sitting above the clouds I found that the curves meandering through the landscape could easily be the setting of the next commercial for Audi or BMW’s latest sport sedan. Wild flowers litter the valleys where volcanoes’ abrupt protrusion and flat tops discern them from the surrounding topography while towns along the route have donkeys and dogs roaming as they please through their streets. In the car, Dr. Rosario played one of her favorite artists, Enya, and I could not help but sense the harmony between music and surrounding. I also had to share that Enya was a favorite of my Mother. Her reply was that “we are probably of the same generation.” I immediately concurred. Once in Angahuan, Dr. Athie and I had a lunch of shredded steak, vegetables, rice, and beans at one of the two local hotels. Afterwards I was introduced to a guide and a horse that would take me to the ruins of a Church located in the valley directly below Angahuan’s current location. The village use to occupy the area around the Church but the eruption of a volcano in 1943 has turned the town’s previous location into a lava field and all that remains is what is left of the Church. The ride by horse took about an hour and a half each way and I had little directing to do as my horse seemed to know the trail quite well. The now long solidified lava fields gave the impression of being on a distant planet and the only thing Earthly about the area was the Church’s structure and the intermittent greenery making it’s way through small crevices in the grey rock. After climbing around the uneven and sharp lava rock Chavez, my seventeen-year-old guide, and I made our way back up the hill. I was able to gather, as he spoke no English apart from “ready?” that the black dirt that comprised large parts of the trail has maintained this hue since the immersion of the area in volcanic ash more than sixty years ago. Back in town, I met up with Dr. Athie at the home of family who she has grown fond from her visits. I was greeted with odd looks from the younger children and the utmost kindness from the mother of the family, who filled me with a mint-like tea, bread balls filled with chili, homemade cheese, and a broth based soup whose only notable flavor I could discern was cilantro. One of the girls in the family would return with us to Guadalajara, Dr. Athie has acquired a scholarship for her and two other girls that would join us at a technical school in Guadalajara. It must be noted that the newest addition to this family, a cute and plump baby girl, has been named Rosario in honor of Dr. Athie. Rightfully, Dr. Athie was and is extremely flattered and proud of the gesture. Once my appetite was completely satiated Dr. Athie wanted to meet with another friend in the village, the local priest. I was invited to join but declined on account of my poor standing with the Catholic Faith and decided to spend my time sitting and making friends with little children in the town square. I did however accompany Dr. Athie to a meeting with the proprietors of the local school, formerly the town hospital. The conversation consisted of Dr. Athie’s suggestion that less funds should be dedicated to ensuring the Chapel on the school grounds be well decorated with fresh flowers for the Virgin Mary. Her proposal was that these funds would be better suited to help feed the elderly and less fortunate in the community and the main point of her argument was that the Virgin would agree and it seemed those in charge of the allocation of funds agreed, as well. As it is in Angahuan family is first and community is a close second in terms of importance in the hearts and minds of the people. Needs are met in that unselfish order. One lives one’s life with that in mind. Families do hold their own property but the resources of that property are allocated to support the community as necessary. Aesthetically speaking, the community prefers a more traditional way of life. Women dress in bright dresses and tops and because of the cool temperatures are generally draped a type of scarf that can double to carry a young child or other commodities such as groceries. Horseback has been maintained as a preferred source of transportation and children whose legs cannot reach the foot holsters of saddle masterfully ride up and down the rock or dirt covered streets. It may seem primitive that some to many houses are unequipped with indoor plumbing and electricity but such modern amenities mean little to the people. It is a way of life based upon the qualitative not the quantitative, it is what one has not how much of it, and as long as the family is able to live and the community maintained all are happy. Time is of little importance in the town as meetings are arranged after events as opposed to a number on a clock. As I went to sleep that night to the chants in the native tongue of Perhepechan that resound from loudspeakers dotted throughout the village I had to be thankful for the opportunity to see such a place. I had no idea what time it was when I arose to the same chants that put me to sleep but I did feel a sense of disappointment knowing that I was returning to a world where quantitative measures rule. Dates and obligations strictly set by the numbers on my watch, my cell phone being the crux of my existence, social standing holding a near top priority in my life, and the amount of money I possess controlling every ability I have.

My Food Problem

This past Wednesday and Thursday found me with an upset stomach. All that was warned against came to be true. Lots of water and a simple stomach medicine put me right back atop my form and Thursday continued without a hitch. I have been sure to steer clear of the tap water since my arrival, thus I have a serious contention with my stomach weakness, that being the weakness of the American stomach. How is it the strongest country on Earth developing the weakest stomachs? This chip in our armor psychologically affected me much worse than my stomach. The perception of weakness, of not being strong enough to handle Mexican cuisine has left me feeling like a giant baby. Now, I know this is often attributed to sanitary standards, foreign bacteria, and the like, but the damage has been done. I have to be looked after now by my superiors at work and the family around me so as to make sure my American needs are met to prevent further illness. And to be frank, I hate it; it is not the special treatment I like to receive. I feel my weak, American stomach has made me a liability. It can be taken as a sign of the superior standard of living found Stateside, that everything we consume is cleaner or better than Mexico and other developing countries. It should be deduced from my above sentiments that I tend to disagree. I see the inability for me to consume without concern here in Mexico as an inferiority, a vulnerability that exhumes a difference across U.S. and Mexican borders that dampers my experience and, again, leaves me feeling weak compared to a third of my North American counterparts. It could merely be a personal Achilles heal that I incurred this minor illness, but I do not think this for a moment, I am just attempting to flush out potential arguments that may disrupt my opinion. For my conclusion I propose we (U.S. of A) stop waiting for the rest of the world to play catch up to our way of life. Let us say “to hell” with the cleanest water on the planet for a while. Let us say “to hell” with butchering our genetically modified cows and chickens in a plant far, far away from where we consume them. I want to see my steaks and wings cut in front of me down the street in an open storefront. I want the vegetables I buy to still have dirt on them. I don’t want to buy bottles of water for the sole purpose of filling my ice tray. I don’t to be “afraid” of the food I eat when I travel to “lesser” countries.

My Purpose in Guadalajara

COLABORE, the social project I am interning with is essentially a link between the disabled and potential employers. At the core of this objective to connect the disabled to the labor force is the idea of equality. COLABORE wants the physically and mentally handicapped to be as much a part of general society as possible. In Mexico, those with various handicaps have an especially difficult time integrating into the labor force mostly due to a lack of education and extremely limited finances. As it is, few people in Mexico are well educated and even fewer with disabilities receive beyond an elementary level of schooling. Special needs programs in Mexican public schools are in short supply and where they don't exist teachers either don't have the training to assist special needs students or don't want to deal with such students. To put it into perspective only around 2% of Mexicans go to a University. It is COLABORE's mission to be an avenue for the disabled to gain the education needed to find work or if physically debilitated search out jobs manageable given their disability. One major obstacle, at least in Guadalajara, is the matter or transportation and commuting. Buses that are wheelchair accessible go unused because drivers don't want to take the time to use them or they don't want to give up the space that could be occupied by more paying customers. Both scenarios occur given the bus driver knows how to operate the lift and that the lift is even operational, which many are not due to lack of upkeep. The reason wheelchair accessible buses even exist is because operators are exempt from taxes upon purchase. Also, UP is located a 30-40 minute car ride away from where most of the people they wish to help live. If they do not have access to personal transportation it is an extremely expensive commute by taxi as most come from lower to lowest socioeconomic classes. To circumvent the barrier transportation presents COLABORE, every other week, travels to an old home in el centro historico to offer their services as it is more convenient for most. Yesterday morning I had the opportunity to sit in and observe one of these seminar and interview sessions. The session began with an informative presentation on the rights one has as a potential employee and ways to properly present oneself for a job interview. One of the first things mentioned, and I translate, is that every person has the legal right to socially useful work. The point being to let those in attendance (whose disabilities consisted of contorted hands, the hard of hearing, and the possibly learning disabled) know that they cannot be denied work because of their disability and as a citizen of Mexico they are entitled to seek job opportunities. The presentation went on to list workers rights such as fair pay, prevention from risks, social security benefits, and a Christmas bonus (required in Mexico). In addition to being educational I feel the above information has an additional personal utility in that it inspires confidence in the disabled. It reminds them that they are no different from any other employee despite a their handicap, which is often minimal. The second half of the presentation dealt with the importance of proper interview conduct such as; being on time, knowing the name of the interviewer, looking people in the eyes, having an unruffled resume, the importance of firm handshakes, and proper attire for males and females. This all may seem like common sense for those who have been taught proper personal presentation long before they can even remember. But, please keep in mind those in attendance come from extremely different backgrounds where such behavior is either not taught or ever seen. The one on one interview process was extensive and extremely personal. Questions were raised about drinking and smoking habits, whether or not the interviewee had any tattoos, past drug use, and their familial and friendly relationships. I came to find out that this is standard procedure for COLABORE and in Mexico. Employers have the legal right to ask these questions and can even submit the potential employee to a medical examination as HIV and having a tattoo are reasons to deny one a job in certain sectors. For COLABORE it helps to recognize the presence of any sort of behavioral problems or signs of depression. This is understandable since COLABORE wants to maintain good, working relationships with the companies it sends employees, but, coming from the United States the allowance of personal questions in the interview process was surprising and rather intrusive.

Orientation and Contrasts

Day one of my internship or volunteership, dependent upon how you look at it, was more of an orientation than a day of labor. I met with my superiors in the COLABORE office located on the Universidad Panamericana (UP, from here on out). After a brief run through of what the organization is all about I took a tour of the campus where I will be spending most of my mornings and early afternoons. The UP is a wall guarded campus filled with various administrative buildings, classroom complexes, gardens, gathering points, and courtyards all extremely well manicured and extensively landscaped giving it the feeling of an intellectual oasis amidst the bustling suburb of Zapopan. It's appearance is a stark contrast to my neighborhood of rock streets and dusty sidewalks only a 5-7 minute walk away. Once my MacLappy was set up for internet use my tour ended and so began my exploration of my greater surroundings. First stop, el centro historico de Guadalajara, about a twenty minute cab ride East of UP. Again, I called upon my trusty cabby, Miguel, and along the ride I noticed as surrounding buildings became older and older, as well as more graffiti strewn. As an aside, I have yet to see a metropolis with more 'tags' and other forms of wall art than Guadalajara. No building or wall is safe apart from Cathedrals,Churches, a few historic Municipal Buildings, and homes. The architecture of el centro historico is noticeably Spanish in derivation and like all historic districts some buildings are better preserved than others. Also like many historic districts there is the differentiation between the new and the old in the types of businesses that occupy the buildings. Local tiendas sit alongside KFC's and Dominoes and while old women sew their wares young people with headphones sit in groups and smoke cigarettes. It's not necessarily the types of people that change from place to place but rather the flavor of the place itself. Beggars and street peddlers sit amongst renowned squares while tourists snap photos all the over the world but each square exudes its own personal sense of history and culture that allows one to develop a unique perspective of that part of the world. My perspective, although acquired merely in an afternoon and which I hope to develop, is one of grit, desperation, and triumph. Grit in the way that el centro historico is rough around the edges, no if's and's or but's about it. Desperation in the triumph of Spanish Conquistadors over the indigenous, indian populations that occupied Guadalajara pre-colonization. Desperation also in that it appears Mexico was particularly hard hit by the World's economic decline. Empty storefronts and buildings abound in this part of town with quite a few unfortunate characters walking the lesser avenues and streets. On the other hand, later in the afternoon, I found myself taking a taxi to a restaurant I had read about before my travels, 'Amorcito Corazon.' As far as I can gather its location on La Avenida Americas is in the financial district of Guadalajara. So far, this is the only part of town with little to no graffiti. I feel this can be attributed the healthy number of security guards posted outside the high rises of Mexico's largest banks and firms as well as foreign firms. The most surprising being HSBC (Hong-Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation). After being in the, at times distressing, centro historico the site of construction of large, modern high rise apartments and offices in this part of town bestowed a sense of hope for the future of Guadalajara's economic situation as well as that of the rest of Mexico.

Mi Casa

My home for the next few weeks will be at Calzada Alamos 123, Colonia Ciudad Granja. I live in an apartment behind a gated compound owned by Juan Jose Cardenas. The compound includes the house he shares with his wife along with another home that is occupied by his nephew and his family. The area is completed with a wonderful soccer pitch that is around 60-70 yards long. I am hoping that after these three weeks I will be ready to take on the likes of Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi in Brazil for the 2014 World Cup. I plan on recording my progression as a 'jugador de futbol' and sharing the video footage with Bob Bradley. What I find most interesting about my home in Guadalajara is that each night two massive German Shepherds are let out of their day long cages to guard the property. No two animals would be scarier to encounter in the late hours of the night. Hopefully, on a night I come home after they are let to roam, they do not mistake me for an intruder. I am going to make sure to make them my friends by giving them treats while they are secured in their kennel.

Bienvenidos Blogalajara

On the eve of American Independence I arrived in Guadalajara unable to reach my landlord, Juan Jose. Fortunately, the airport taxi service provided me an escort to the center of the city to 'Mision Carlton,' an absolutely fantastic hotel complete with bar and discoteque. Although wonderful accommodations the highlight of the late night was my first encounters with the Mexican people. My taxi driver had an excellent taste in music as he blasted his favorite tune, Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough." I found a great deal of comfort in such a party anthem and being able to convey my appreciation for the experience in my barely elementary Spanish. Once checked in around midnight I found my place at the all but deserted hotel bar. The owner of the bar, having lived in Anaheim, CA spoke nearly perfect English and was very helpful and informative on the various types of tequila y cervezas available and allowed me to sample a plethora of both (I came to find out much later that these samples were anything but free). Through his encouragement and a bit of liquid courage I was able to practice my Spanish with two waitresses and I gathered a bit of confidence in my skills in the language that would carry over into the next day's cab ride to find my home in the neighborhood of Zapopan. I now have an extremely reliable source of transportation in Miguel Infante. My great appreciation of 'futbol' has been my ice-breaker and along with some extremely helpful flash cards acquired from the NYU bookstore I not only have a chaperon in Miguel but also an amigo.