The Mija Chronicles

Mexican food and culture, on both sides of the border

Expat Life

Remaining calm amid swine flu, earthquakes, and however else God decides to smite Mexico

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Both the pharmacy and the paint store were out of face masks. I thought it’d be best to stay home, even though my dad told me how to make a face mask out of a T-shirt. (That’s okay, dad.)

However, since I’ve been home for four days in a row, I’m dangerously close to going stir crazy. Here’s how I avoided the madness today:

1. CLOSE LAPTOP AND DO NOT READ THE NEWS.

2. Paint the living room wall with one coat of Comex Wasabi Green.
Living room before
Living Room after

3. Make an eggy orange bread pudding. (Which looks more like a cheesy breakfast strata in the photo below, but whatever.) Oranges have Vitamin C. Eggs have protein. That’s good. Die flu, die!

Orange bread pudding

4. Compose this blog item in my head while I’m painting.

5. Try not to pass out from the paint fumes.

So. That gets us to now, 7:49 p.m. Guess I’ll fire up the laptop and watch another episode from the first season of The Wire.

First swine flu and now earthquakes?

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I was IM’ing with a friend a few minutes ago when suddenly the house started swaying. I thought I was getting dizzy. I.e., OH CRAP, I THINK THE SWINE FLU FINALLY HIT ME.

Nope. It was an earthquake. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m getting the hell out of this house.

As a side note, the quake did wake up my street. It’s been deathly quiet all morning, and now people are outside talking.

Update: El Universal says the quake was centered northeast of Guerrero. Still no word on injuries/deaths/material damage. However, I am loving the comments on El Universal’s story. Two faves:

“Ay no manchen. Que sigue?? Mañana van a llover ranas.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. What’s next? Tomorrow it’s going to rain toads.

“Qué sigue?? El Popocatepetlzaso??”
What’s next? Popocatepetl’s gigantic eruption-disaster?

Off to paint now. Much more calm than earlier.

Ignoring the Big Pig in the room

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I’ve been trying to stay optimistic about all this swine flu stuff, but it hasn’t been easy. The media is screaming about how everyone in Mexico City is terrified. People who live here admit to being terrified. Deep down, I’m a little scared too.

It’s weird how all this has evolved. Friday I didn’t care. Saturday I went out, bought paint, took pictures of people in face masks, went to lunch… and then I got a scratchy throat. I curled up under a blanket and gulped an E-Boost, and searched the Internet on whether everyone with swine flu actually dies. Couldn’t find the answer so I asked Crayton, “Am I going to die from the swine flu? I mean, I know we’re all going to die eventually, but am I….?” He sighed. “You’re not going to die from the swine flu.”

Yesterday I felt much better, so I went to the gym. Part of me wondered whether I was signing my death sentence by using a possibly-infected elliptical machine. (Whatever, I’m going back today, pigs be damned.) Now I’m starting to think: Is it really bad that I don’t have a face mask? Soldiers haven’t handed them out in my neighborhood. I figured every pharmacy would be out, too, so I haven’t asked. But without a face mask am I… exposing myself?

The yogic side of me says it’s completely useless to be scared, because that wastes energy and doesn’t accomplish anything. It’s crazy to worry about something you can’t see or smell or hear. More than that, it creates stress, and that lowers the immune system, making way for a big ol’ swine to barge in and lounge on the veiny sofas of your bloodstream.

Today, I am ignoring my fear. I’m going to finish painting my living room, go to the grocery store, write, and make orange bread pudding from an old cookbook of my grandmother’s. I’m not going to get scared that the city seems much quieter today than on a usual Monday, and that I didn’t hear the guy yelling “GAAAS!” this morning (I think that’s what he yells), and that no one is honking their horns.

Maybe I will ask the grocery-store pharmacy for a tapabocas. Just to cover all my bases. But I am NOT going to obsessively read the news. That just makes everything worse.

Are we all going to die from swine flu?

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I was home yesterday surfing the Internet when the swine flu craziness broke. Mexico City was shutting down schools. People needed to avoid large crowds. I got an email from a DF-dwelling friend saying, “There are no more face masks left in the city!” and another from a friend asking me whether I was okay. Actually, I was tired. Stayed out too late the night before. Just wanted to eat a salad with my homemade walnut-miso noodles and go to bed. So I did.

Maybe I’m totally naive here, but I’m not that concerned about this swine flu stuff. We left this morning for the paint store — an errand I’d planned all week, and hell if I was going to let swine flu stop me — and people were out walking their dogs, eating at cafes, taking out their trash. Even my favorite juice guy was on the corner doing his thing:

Juice guy, the day after swine flu hit

It doesn’t seem different from any other weekend, except for the fact that maybe one in 10 people walking around wears a face mask. And the taxi drivers are wearing them on too. But not every taxi driver. No one is running around screaming, “Don’t inhale! Wash your hankies!”

My friend Joy told me she saw a CNN headline that said Mexico City was shut down, but that’s really not true, at least not where I am. However, the hip youngsters of Condesa and Roma were too scared to go out last night, according to a poetic report in El Universal. As the story related: “The streets of these neighborhoods shone emptily, uninspiring, sad, without their traditional charm.”

I figure as long as I wash my hands and get sleep, I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll pick up an anti-viral juice, too.

The strange world of Mexican doormen

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“Portero” means doorman in Spanish. A lot of middle-class apartment buildings here have one, or they’re supposed to. (Sometimes apartment owners are too busy squabbling amongst themselves to hire anyone.)

We had a portero named Vicente when we first moved in. He had bleached blond hair and a surly expression. Sometimes he wouldn’t show up for work. Or he’d leave for the day and forget to turn off his radio, so we’d come home to find cumbia and merengue blaring in the empty vestibule. The weird thing was, even though he obviously didn’t care about the job, no one wanted to fire him. I’d tell my landlady, “Vicente didn’t show up today,” and she’d sigh and grouse about how they needed to get rid of him.

Finally, a few weeks ago Vicente got canned. And we got a new portero: Pablo.

Pablo shows up to work. He cleans the floors — a portero prerequisite — and he’s usually downstairs at his post. But he’s… odd. He rings my bell for weird reasons. Once he rang to tell me I had a visitor, but it ended up being for another apartment. He rang my buzzer a few minutes later to tell me sorry, he got mixed up.

A few days ago, I’d just gotten out of the shower and — BZZZ! — there he was, standing on the other side of the peephole. I grabbed my robe and answered the door.

“Can I come in?” he said.

I should mention here that Pablo is a short guy, probably just over five feet. He has huge brown eyes and a quizzical expression that always make him look like either a deer in headlights, or like he’s not quite sure what he’s looking at, like maybe you’re an alien with green gunk spewing out of your nose.

I asked him, “Why do you need to come in?” and he gave me the alien-gunk expression.

“I need to clean the glass,” he said.

“What glass?”

“The glass above the entrance to the building.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand, why do you need to come in?” Me still in my robe.

“To clean the glass.”

I finally figured out that he needed to access the glass through my apartment, but I said sorry, I’m in my robe and about to leave anyway. He looked confused and then disappeared.

The next morning, while I was having coffee: BZZZ!

“Did I leave una franela around here somewhere?” He was referring to the striped cleaning cloths that overrun Mexico City.

“Umm…. no….” He gave me the deer-in-headlights look so I rambled on. “Maybe on the terraza? Dejame checar.”

Sure enough, the little cloth lay on our porch. No idea how it got there. I returned it to him and he smiled, and then disappeared again.

If I was a more cynical woman, I might be a little worried. Why in the hell is this guy ringing my buzzer so much? How did a random flannel cloth end up on my porch? What’s wrong with him? Actually, I think he’s just a little slow. He is trying really hard and I’m sure being a portero doesn’t pay very well. Our first portero in Polanco slept in a tiny stucco box on the other side of the front gate, barely containing a twin bed and a TV.

Just to be sure, though, I’m gonna keep an eye on this Pablo guy.

We officially have Internet!

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NBA Basketball via the InternetI know sometimes I go wild with the exclamation points, but this time they’re needed. Came home last night to find hubby watching the Dallas Mavericks’ game on TV. Streamed via the Internet. DUDE! It’s here, it’s here!

He was giddy because he finally got to watch NBA basketball, and I was giddy because this meant no more daily Starbucks trips. So I had another glass of wine, snapped the slightly off-kilter photo above and then posted on my Facebook page: “DUDE WE HAVE INTERNET!”

I think I yelled at the universe too loudly. We woke up this morning without water. It ran out while Crayton was in the shower.

Oh well.

No word on a pipa yet, but I’m sure everything will fix itself somehow. I really don’t care much to be honest. I’ve been googling all day. I’m tired and thirsty and hungry — and I haven’t showered yet (sorry Mom… and Crayton) — but I can’t quit now. There is still more googling to be done. It may even last through dinner time.

Tomorrow I’ll try harder to join the real world.

Maybe this is what culture shock feels like

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I’m starting to feel strange when I visit the U.S. I’m… anxious. Uncomfortable. I hate watching home decorating shows, because everyone has a huge home and it seems wasteful. I hate going to Bed Bath & Beyond because I can’t buy anything there for my own home — see the shower caddy photo — and I’m frustrated that I don’t have access to such a store in Mexico. Even watching TV at my mom’s house annoys me, because there are so many commercials, and so many shows. How does anyone have time to watch these shows? There’s a reality show about dog groomers hosted by Jai Rodriguez, for goddsakes. I love me some Jai. But Groomer Has It? Like, really?

I don’t know what to make of this. I feel like the girl in the movie who meets Prince Charming, but seethes to everyone, “I hate him!” because she can’t bring herself to admit that she’s in love.

Really, visiting the U.S. makes me suddenly wish I lived there again, and it gets harder to go back to Mexico because I haven’t completely adjusted here yet. It’s hard to conjure up a “Who cares if we have no water?” attitude while taking a hot shower and drinking glassfuls of Olympia tap water, ya know? Yet at the same time, I can’t stop talking about Mexico to my American friends, and the yummy taco shop near our house, and the tianguis, and the little juice guy on the corner. I feel stuck between both places.

The solution seems to be not visiting the U.S. for a while. Good thing, we won’t be there again until late August. And on that trip, I’m going to go to H&M and that’s it. No BB&B.

Live blogging Obama’s visit to Mexico

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Obama photo by Ronaldo Schemidt / AFP/Getty Images

Since I had to be home this afternoon to wait for the carpenter, I turned on the local news, prepared a steaming bowl of homemade sopa, and decided to live-blog Obama’s visit to Los Pinos from the confines of my family room. Here’s how it went down:

2:13 p.m. The Mexican national anthem is a surprisingly jolly song. Everyone is singing, even Felipe Calderón. Our national anthem sounds so mournful in comparison. When the band starts it up, complete with fluttery flute, Obama puts his hand over his heart and looks somber. He doesn’t sing, but does smile during the “land of the free” part. Oh god, I’m going to cry. That smile! Those ears! Where did this sudden burst of pride come from?

2:17: Calderón just name-dropped JFK.

2:19: The translators are taking forever. Calderón: “We’re a nation that believes in freedom.” Pause. Silence. Translator: “Somos una nación que cree en la libertad…” Or something like that. My Spanish note-taking isn’t so speedy yet.

2:23: Calderón: “We have before us the opportunity for a new era in trust in cooperation.”

2:24: Calderón, new era, blah blah blah. “In order to grow and prosper, we need American investment like America needs the strength of the Mexican labor force.” He adds that this new era will comprise a “shared responsibility” in the fight against organized crime.

2:28: As the translator rambles through Calderón’s pomp, Obama stands politely to the left. I wonder if Obama’s thinking: “I wonder what Michelle’s doing right now?” Because I wonder what Michelle’s doing right now. Maybe she’s watching this on CNN. But probably not the international version, because they’re not broadcasting it.

Calderón wraps up his speech by saying in heavily accented English: “Mr. President, let’s build a new era. Yes we can.” The translator translates the last sentence as “Sí podemos hacerlo.” Oh well.

2:29: Obama is called “El Excelentísimo Señor Barack Obama.” I love it. Love it. I want this on a bumper sticker. Or a T-shirt. To compliment my Michelle T-shirt. (Not joking on that one.)

2:30: Did they get a Puerto Rican to do the Spanish translation? What’s up with all the dropped s’s?

2:31: Obama says he wanted to visit Mexico so early in his presidency because “the bonds between the two countries cannot be broken.” Then he name-drops Chicago, and all of its great Mexican culture. As a nation, he adds, “we’ve benefited from the culture, energy, ambitions” of the Mexican people. “My hope is that the U.S. has had something to offer to Mexico as well.” Uh, yeah…. DOMINO’S???

2:34: Obama applauds Mexico for “courageously” taking on the drug cartels. It’s critical that the U.S. be a full partner in fighting drug trafficking, he says. He casually mentions the Mérida Initiative and stemming the flow of American guns into Mexico.

2:36: Awww. He called Mexico’s performance in the G-20 summit “outstanding.” Wrapping up his speech now. “It’s wonderfully fitting to see the children of Mexico–” [musical interlude in my head: I believe the children are our future…] –“because we are reminded that the reason we serve in government… is because it allows us to offer them a better future…”

He thanks Calderón and smiles a boyish, shy, embarrassed-fifth-grader smile.

So there you have it. Calderón on his tiptoes and Obama not saying much either. Although reinforcing the Mérida Initiative is kind of a big deal. Maybe this means it’ll get more funding.

Update: Obama, at press conference later this afternoon, vows to reduce the flow of illegal weapons into Mexico

*Photo via The LA Times

Mexican Obama fever!

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obama mania

Everyone is talking about Obama’s visit to Mexico City. EVERYONE. Even in my Internet-less and TV news-less world, I’ve talked about it with the cleaning lady, the carpenter coming to fix my kitchen shelves, the architect of our building. The photo above shows today’s front-page of Reforma, where an artisan puts the finishing touches on one of the 5,000 latex Obama masks made especially for the president’s visit.

Yes, MASKS. I love Mexico.

“It’s as if the Pope was arriving, or a movie or rock star,” said Abraham Gómez, president of the mask company Morphix Group. He also offered: “Obama is more popular than Felipe Calderon. You don’t see anyone making reproductions of him.”

I wish I could get my hands on one of these masks, but no one knows how exactly they’ll be used. (A gift to the president? A carnival-style welcome from an exuberant crowd?) A city official in Yehualtepec, Puebla, asked for them to be made.

Here’s a peek at Obama’s itinerary, according to Reforma:

— 1 p.m.: President arrives at the Mexico City airport
— 1:30 p.m.: Official reception at Los Pinos
— 8 p.m.: Dinner honoring the president at the Anthropology Museum (where the president will hopefully take a quick tour and have a cocktail, but that’s not confirmed yet)
— Friday at 8:50 a.m.: President leaves for Trinidad and Tobago.

I’m dying to know if Michelle’s coming too — can’t you just see her in a Maria Pinto dress, walking off Air Force One? — but there’s no mention of her anywhere, so I’m guessing she stayed home. Boo.

No water in Mexico City, anywhere

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Everyone’s been buzzing about the latest water news: Mexico City officials said they’re shutting off the taps to the entire city starting today, and lasting through Monday. No one will have water, the newspapers said. Not just our neighborhood in Cuauhtemoc. We still haven’t “officially” had water for a few weeks now.

Our building manager ordered another pipa, which arrived this morning at 5 a.m. Of course the driver rang our buzzer. (The joys of being apartment No. 1.) Crayton read in Reforma this morning that one family who’d lacked water since Monday bathed themselves in a man-made beach in Coyoacan. (Wish I could link it, but Reforma is subscription-only.) Strangely, El Universal is reporting that some places in Cuauhtemoc and Alvaro Obregon still have water. Where is the logic in this?

I’m off to Seattle to celebrate my mom’s 60th birthday, but I’m thinking about organizing a rain dance on my back patio when I get return. Let me know if you’re in.