Day Five, Assimilation.
Today would be nothing like the previous day. When my alarm sputtered into my ear at 6 a.m. I got out of bed. On this day, my first task was to shower and being that I had a couple of years to practice this task, I was quite adept. I felt bad for whoever was on the other side of the wall to my shower, but only slightly, as I was singing "Dance, Magic Dance" as made famous by David Bowie from the 1986 Jim Henson movie Labyrinth. And before you ask, yes I was even doing the "You remind me of a babe. What babe? The babe with the power..." part. At ten minutes to 7 I sat down at my hotel room's desk to attempt to figure out how to dial into a conference call using the hotel phone. My list of materials to accomplish this task was extensive: AT&T calling card, instruction sheet for said calling card, hotel binder with instructions for dialing the US, laptop with conference call phone number information, hotel phone, hard surface on which to bang forehead. As it turns out, this would be the most difficult and aneurysm-causing part of my entire trip.
First I tried the most logical of options and followed the instructions on the calling card. It instructed me to first dial my country of origin's international access line listed on the opposite side. Easy. I then dialed my patch-through number listed on the back of the calling card, and waited for the prompt. A friendly computer told me to dial the number that I was trying to reach, so I did. Not a valid number. Okay, let's try this again only this time I'll add the "001" for reaching the US, which took me to the next prompt: enter in my access code from the front of the calling card. A different, but equally as friendly computer told me that I was not authorized to do "this". How helpful and informative of an error message. So was I unauthorized to dial to the United States or unauthorized to use this card? I tried again, and again, and again using different combinations of numbers to attempt to reach the US. I even tried directly dialing the number without any calling card, which took me to a message in Spanish that while I didn't understand, I could at least make out a maniacal "Ha ha ha". Eventually I was able to figure out that repeatedly hitting zero while conversing with the helpful calling card computer took me to an operator. She said that I should not be able to reach the number that I was calling but she would put me through anyway. Ok, thanks? I think that little piece of advice may have actually been even less informative than the generic message I got from the computer. At least I made the meeting...
And that's it. No really, the rest of the day is so boring that when I try to type out any details the upper half of my body slumps over as I pass out from boredom. To avoid any cerebral damage ( for both you and I ) I'll give you the basic run down: I had my ID badge so I didn't have any problems getting into/around IBM, I knew what to expect from the taxi ride, so while it was still harrowing, I wasn't sweating bullets. I spoke a little bit of Spanish here and there, and I ended up staying at work until about 7:30 Guad time, then working from the hotel for the remainder of the night. I saved the world a few times in the process, but really no big deal. I did however find my new favorite Mexican beer while working in the Hotel lobby bar, which is called Tecate. It's a lighter beer, and it's nothing like Corona. So hooray. Anyway, let's pretend this day never happened, shall we? Excellent. Moving on...
Day Six, Friday!! Victory.
Today started out much like the day prior, as I found myself repeatedly slamming my forehead into the marble desk in my hotel room before leaving the hotel and heading to work. During the 40 minute trek across Jalisco (the state that Guadalajara is in), I thought about how much nicer the taxi rides in the morning are compared to those on the way home. I realized that the taxi drivers that wait at the hotel are much more capable of driving a standard transmission, so there is much less jerking and neck snapping during the full speed, four-way merge process. It's funny how excited I get as we pull into IBM, narrowly missing the speeding cars on the highway, as I get to pull out my badge and hold it proudly towards the guards for admittance to the technology campus. And it's also funny how not excited I was when I was quietly minding my own business, working at my desk when a very loud and obnoxious klaxon started going off. Okay, I admit, that was a dumb statement. Have you ever heard a klaxon that wasn't loud and annoying? Didn't think so.
There were blue lights flashing and I had no idea what was happening. Was the building on fire? A chemical leak? I didn't know whether I should fish the key out of my pocket and untether my laptop from its security cable in case there truly was an emergency, but since nobody else seemed to be taking their belongings, I decided against it. I followed the flow of employees out into the hallway and down a metal staircase into a parking lot where I immediately noticed that familiar, smug look of the militant snobs who hold the stop watch and mark down the time of each group of employees to see how long it takes them to get out of the building during a fire-drill. They were in fact so asinine today that they were making us line up according to how fast we made it out of the building. I was one row over from the "<2 min." sign. Yeah, they actually had signs stuck into parking cones so as to better identify the success/failure (life/death) of their employees. The sun was beating down on us, and I was profusely sweating in my jeans and polo. As I glanced around at the rest of the employees I noticed that many of them had jackets and sweaters on, and nobody seemed to be warm in the slightest. I guess living your whole life in such warm conditions slightly skews your perception of hot and cold.
A number of people started moving up and down the rows to my right, giving stickers to the people who "survived" the emergency. I didn't know whether to be jealous of the stickers or appalled that they were treating their employees like fifth graders, but before I made up my mind a woman with a megaphone appeared out of thin air and started berating those of us there were too slow to deserve a sticker. I don't know exactly what she said, but the people around me were groaning as if they were being told they had to work non-stop through the rest of the weekend. After an exceedingly obnoxious amount of time standing in the sun, we were finally allowed to go back inside. The rest of the day was business as usual, except for my occasional urge to trip somebody as they walked through my cube snake flashing their sticker on their shirt like they won some kind of prize.
Around one o'clock in the afternoon on the way to the cafeteria with my usual crowd, I learned that a number of years prior on this exact date a massive, terrible earthquake rocked this portion of Mexico. Every year since, on the anniversary of the quake, they have this emergency fire drill as a reminder that another quake could strike at any time. I also learned that I was lost? I don't know why, but it seems that my entire life has been plagued with people losing me. First there was Wildwood, NJ and then numerous trips to Gabriel Brothers, and now this. Apparently, nobody could find me during the fire drill, meanwhile I was walking out with the rest of the employees seated around me. The guy that sits directly behind me said that he got up to leave and did not see me sitting at my desk, yet somehow he was in the less than two minute line. So he insists that I had to have left before him, yet he made it out before me. Well somehow this sparked a chain reaction with him calling all of my IBM contacts on site to make sure somebody was taking care of me. Nobody seems to believe that I can take care of myself for some reason. When I was "lost" in Wildwood I was taking care of myself just fine eating scraps of food out of the sand and bedding down in perfectly acceptable sand dunes for rest when I needed it. I was okay then, and my family freaked out. I was okay now, and my fellow IBM employees freaked. Oh well, that will have to be a mystery left unsolved.
The rest of the day was spent in anticipation of the night's activities. Earlier in the week I had been briefed that every Friday is basketball and drinking for the Guad guys, wherein they literally play basketball and then go out drinking all night. It sounded like a great time, so I had been waiting all week to play and it was finally the end of the work day. Time to venture into the unknown again...
David, Daniel and I headed out into the parking lot and loaded our belongings into Daniel's hatchback Honda. We drove across the parking lot towards a secluded section of the capus that was mostly fenced off. We parked the car and headed to an employee rest area where we all changed into our basketball clothes. The entire time I couldn't help but wonder where this basketball court was, as I had only seen a soccer field on the way to the rest area. Once we were all changed and ready, we headed directly into the soccer field, or at least what remained of a soccer field. The goals were decrepid and falling apart, as their nets barely clung to their frames. The field itself was extremely unkempt and the grass itched my knees as we journeyed across the near side, behind one of the goals. There had recently been a rain storm that had passed through the area so my tennis shoes sank into the earth, and water splashed on my ankles with each soggy step. Got to the edge of the field, which was bordered by what looked to be a moat, but may just as well have been an open-air sewage or irrigation system. As we climbed through a broken piece of fence I couldn't help but wonder if what we were doing was even allowed. We followed along the moat for about 30 yards before coming to a make-shift bridge. We had to cross this bridge individually as it wobbled and shook, bringing with each step the liklihood that it would go crashing down into the stagnant water below. Upon reaching the opposite side, we went back in the direction that we had come, squeezing sideways between two fences. Once we rounded the corner of the inner fence I could see the basketball court. The weeds that we were trodding through on this leg of the journey were even higher and more irritating than the high grass on the soccer field, but eventually we were able to climb through another section of broken fence to firmly plant our feet on the basketball court.
The recent rain storm had deposited three large pools of water on the court, which were hastily being swept off the court with the help of an old broom and a few bunches of palm fronds. Those that weren't helping to clear the water were practicing their shots at the side of the court nearest the area that we entered. After a quick introduction, I took my place in the rotation and tried my best to appear to have the ability to shoot a basket. This was ultimately a complete failure, and I might have made two shots out of fifteen. It had been about fourteen years since I had played a proper game of basketball, and I was having a heated internal struggle trying to mentally prepare myself for what was about to take place.
The first game started poorly. At first, I was running the length of the court just to make it look like I was contributing. I didn't touch the ball in the first fifteen minutes and once I did, I wished that I hadn't. It was a direct pass from one of my teammates, which I immediately lost control of and allowed to bounce out of bounds. It was a number of plays later before I would touch the ball again, and this time I made sure to give up the ball almost immediately. After a few other touches I finally had a perfect opportunity to shoot. It would seem that the opposing team had caught on to my inabliity to do anything and left me without a blocking defender. I received a quick bounce pass, put the ball up, and tossed. I had awful form, and always have but somehow the ball managed to find its way into the basket. It was a good feeling to have scored a point, even though our team was losing. It was not so good of a feeling that for the remainder of the game, I did nothing else to positively contribute to our team.
The next two games were even worse. I was failing miserably at every aspect of basketball, and our team lost three games in a row. This made me a sad panda. I was having a hard time breathing, I was ready to give up and worst of all, I felt like I had let my team down. They asked if I wanted to play once more and not wanting to look like a quitter, I agreed; however this time they had intended to switch up the teams by switching the best and worst player (me) from each team. The game started off on the wrong foot, as the opposing team scored four unanswered points. Our defense got it together and slowed their scoring down, while the faster players managed to tighten the score gap. It was looking grim for our team, especially considering my contribution as of yet, which made it seem like a game of 5 on 4, when suddenly something strange happened.
We were down by two points, and somehow my quick and awkward hands managed to block a shot and take control of the ball. One of my teammates was already at half court, so I "tossed him the rock". I thought this was a sure score, but somehow their defense caught up to him and forced him to miss. Luckily, he got the rebound and after a few key passes, the ball came to me. I was wide-open and very far away from the basket, yet for some reason I took the shot. It was awkward at best, with the ball spining in directions that you don't normally see, and after a few moments of silence, there was only the swoosh of a job well done. We were only down by one now. We stopped them from scoring and drove back to their side of the court. Within a few passes I found myself open again, and in almost the exact same position. A quick bounce pass to me, and another point for our team. I was feeling pretty damn good about myself right about then. We were tied, and for the first time in all four games my team was not behind... On the next play the same set up, but this time I didn't try to shoot. Instead, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and did a very awkward bounce pass to one of my teammates moving across underneath the basket, who thew a layup and got our team in the lead. After finally attaining a lead, our team was able to seal the deal quickly; and the best part was that I had the pleasure of knowing I actually contributed.
After basketball, we left the technology campus and headed about a mile down the highway to a little bar called Pino's, which was quite literally on the side of the highway. We odered a 20 gallon bucket full of bottled beer, and drank the rest of the night away. The waitress would bring us ramdom plates of snacks such as spiced assorted nuts, sliced cucumbers mixed with slivers of hotdogs, weird fried little funyun-type things drenched in hot sauce, and bowls full of sliced lime. After our second bucket of beer, we called it a night and I got a taxi ride back to the hotel. As I lay in bed that night, watching Golden I thought about how awesome it was to hang out with the Mexicans that evening. I had a great time playing basketball, and had lots of laughs at Pino's. Even though I couldn't understand every single thing we had talked about that night, I was quite positive that this was the most vulgar group of people I had ever been involved with. And that made me smile.
September 27, 2008
September 25, 2008
The Day the Earth Stood Still
September 17, 2008. Guadalajara, Mexico. Day Four, Destiny.
Static. The alarm clock made its presence known by sputtering out distorted voices and wihte noise at well beyond the acceptable decibel level of the human ear. It was 6:00 a.m., Central Time and today was my first day to venture out to the IBM site for work. I went to bed relatively early the night before so I was feeling extremely rested and relaxed. I turned the alarm clock off and thought about what my day would be like.
The desert was beautiful. The sun was still low on the horizon and it cast long shadows before the sand dunes as I sat atop my trusty steed. I wanted to take my shirt off and wear it on my head like they do in the movies, but as I reached back to pull it over my head I was unable to feel the fabric between my fingers. Oh well, no matter: As I watched the rhythmic moveements of the muscles in the back of my horse's neck I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my right eye; something fast. There was a gigantic camel spider, and it was running full speed towards me. Before I had time to react it was already leaping through the air, screeching like a pterodactyl. I reached across and unsheathed the machete from the left side of my saddle. In a single motion I brought the blade across my body and down in a path that would intercept the creature. Suddenly I found myself staring at the belly of the beast as it hung, suspended in mid-air, my blade cleaving its body in two. The faint red glow emanating from its thorax read 8:00.
I leapt out of bed and shook the dream from my thoughts. It was now 8 a.m., although luckily the alarm clock was set 15 minutes fast, so I was not yet late. Speaking with the local engineers the evening prior, I learned that most people arrive on-site between 8:30 and 9:15; which gave me just enough time to throw on some clothes and head downstairs to grab a taxi, conveniently waiting in front of the hotel. The man who greeted me inside the taxi asked where I was going in English, so without hesitation I said "IBM". His response was an expression of pain and confusion on his face as he turned away from me. There was a long moment of silence while I looked around for a seatbelt, he soon turned around to face me and said, "¿A donde?". So his knowledge of English was a trick... I had to recall the Spanish alphabet as I slowly spelled out, "E, Bay, Emmay", which he understood and off we went. I still couldn't find a seatbelt...
My first taxi ride in Mexico was from the airport to the hotel. It was rather late at night and there were very few cars on the road. This, however, was an entirely different experience. As we emerged from the hotel block we immediately came to an abrupt stop amidst heavy congestion. The main road's four lanes were at a stand still with bumper to bumper traffic, and the service roads on either side were in the same condition. Since I had only been awake for approximately twenty minutes I was way too tired to pay attention to what was happening outside of the taxi, all I knew was that there were many many abrupt stops and swerving in and out of lanes. My eyes may have been closed, or I may have been in a deep haze and not noticed the taxi driver's style of driving, because honestly I don't remember thinking anything out of the ordinary.
40 minutes later we made a left turn over two lanes of highway traffic and entered the IBM/Foxconn/Sanmina-SCI/Hitachi technology campus. As we pulled up to the guard gate, the men checking badges motioned to see mine. Oh dear. I frantically searched my laptop bag, as that would be the most logical of places for me to have stored it. It wasn't there. I was horrified as I realized that in my rush to get out the door of the hotel, I forgot to look for my badge. The taxi driver was directed to the visitor's center, where I needed to get out and sort out this situation. So to the desk I proceeded, where I was met by two employees. One female, and one male. Neither of whom spoke English, and neither of whom could understand the preposterous Spanglish phrases that were spewing from my mouth. I felt like just going home and laying in bed for the rest of the day, as I felt utterly helpless.
Suddenly a golden ray of hope shone upon me as I heard, "Do you need some help?" asked of me in a Spanish accent. I looked to my left and lo and behold, my ticket inside was standing next to me. Now in retrospect, I have no idea how I would have gotten into IBM on that day without forgetting my badge, as I would never have met this man, who not only got me past the visitor's desk, but also took me to the security center to get a badge and subsequently through the catacombs of the building to the offices where my IBM contact was located, acting as my personal translator the entire way. It was hard to stop thanking him the entire way, as I was dumbfounded at my lack of preparation on my part; yet I was also amazed at my good fortune.
Once I was safely inside the IBM office area, I settled into my desk located in a long, winding continuous cube of 10 occupants, which we will refer to as a cube-snake. As if that weren't enough people to share a single space with, the "front wall" of the cube isn't even at chin-height, so you effectively share your cube-snake with the next cube-snake of residents, with your new best friend sitting across from you and staring into your soul. I found that putting my laptop in the corner of my desk allows me to avoid staring directly into the eyes of the person in front of me; however in doing so I gain two additional sideways glancing friends, always using their periphery vision to make sure you aren't concealing any weapons and in the process of launching an offensive. Boy am I glad this isn't my permanent work environment...
I ate lunch that day with a number of local employees that were a healthy mix of engineers from IBM, Sanmina-SCI, and Foxconn. They spoke completely in Spanish, were extremely vulgar, and full of jokes. We laughed almost the entire time, and my Spanish comprehension steadily grew. Furhter more, something dawned on me this first day, which explained a big mystery. Up until this point I had been eating my lunches around noon, and always found that no matter what establishment I went to, they were always completely empty. I was always utterly alone as I ate. While I may have known this as a boy, I had completely forgotten that in the Spanish culture they eat later than those of us from the United States (usually between 1 and 2 p.m.). In the very least I could declare one mystery solved... Even though I still can't figure out why people love to make out everywhere, although I have yet to see any IBM employees gratuitously making out on-site.
What I have discovered since this first day has been that eating later in the day is actually quite advantageous. Not only do you come back to work with only 3 hours ahead of you instead of 4, but you also seem to want to eat less when it comes around to be dinner time, thereby making the potential for eating something light like a salad even greater!
After my first day of work, I was feeling pretty good about myself. I got a healthy reminder-dose of Spanish, got boat loads of work done, met new friends, and learned a lot in the process. When it came time to leave, I had my IBM contact take me to the reception area so that the receptionist could call for a taxi on my behalf, which only took about ten minutes to arrive. I opened the door, sat down, and told the driver to take me to Hotel Presidente. This car did not have any seatbelts in the rear, just like the taxi from that morning, but I was not concerned as I didn't know what I was really in for. I have the feeling that if I would have relayed the information to the taxi driver of this being my first "official" taxi ride between IBM and the Hotel, he would have turned around to face me, emitted a deep, brooding laugh and then peeled out, fishtailing into two cars in the process.
As we left the IBM campus I knew something was awry. The driver's knowledge of how to drive a stick shift seemed limited, as the car jerked to and fro. As he steadied our bearing down the highway I peered through the front windshield, to bear witness to the six lanes of barely moving traffic ahead. The strange part however was that I didn't see anywhere for the highway to split from three lanes to six. As we got closer, not only did the driver not care to slow down in the slightest, but I realized that the six lanes of traffic were in fact still three marked lanes, with the cars packed so tightly together that they created their own fourth lane. Where did the other two lanes come from you may ask? Well that's simple math children, as four lanes, plus two shoulders equals six lanes of usuable space. Why let that crumbling edge of the road go to waste? I fully appreciate the fact that they are getting the most out of their tax dollars. So much so, that the next time I'm in the States and see one of those "Your tax dollars at work" signs on the highway I'm going to do donuts around it and then dig it up and mount it to my hood. If my tax dollars were used to buy that sign I think that I should own it as well as use it as a battering ram to teach cars how to drive faster.
We were well into the thick of this mess, which you could call highway grid lock, when the driver started demonstrating what I like to call the four-way merge law. Apparently, in Mexico the law is that when you are going to merge into another lane, regardless of on which side it is relative to your vehicle, and regardless of how fast you are traveling, you must only use your four way flashers to signal the merge. Any use of a single turn signal is considered weak and gutless. I guess I should have paid more attention before when I was riding in taxis so that this law didn't surprise me in the manner that it did. Now let's clear this up before anybody tries to complain: the driver was using his turn signal as we traversed and exited the IBM parking lot, so they were fully operational as we got onto the highway. This is just the law. I also began to notice that as other cars came within inches of running us off the road, they too were using their four-way flashers instead of turn signals. Nice.
Further pushing my mind into the realms of terror and shock, I found that it is completely common place to lacksidaisically drift half-way into adjacent lanes of traffic when there is an unoccupied space. Not only does this declare you as victor of two lanes at once, but it also give you twice as many opportunities to use your four-way flashers, thereby proving exaclty how gutsy you are. Any vehicle over ten feet long is also considered to be not deserving of occupying an entire lane all to itself. If a bus or tractor-trailer is mid-merge, and has yet to occupy the entirety of its recently chosen lane, it is considered good form to block the merge process by forcing at least half of your vehicle's volume into the unoccupied section of its lane. Anything less is considered to be proof of no skillz. The final law that I was given the honor of bearing witness to was the full-speed law. This law states that at any point when you are not completely stopped, you must travel at that which is considered to be full speed for your vehicle. After starting and before stopping you have exactly five seconds to get from zero to maximum speed or vice-versa. The quicker that this transition between full-speed and zero can be performed, the easier it is to prove your worth as a driver.
One final note about seat belts. While the backseats may lack the devices, the front seats retain their straps of safety. It has thus been rather common place for the taxi driver to only put their selt belt on after exiting the highway and entering the slower-moving, denser city streets. This is possibly to avoid getting eaten by dinoaurs, because when you wear your seatbelt it is a well known fact that they cannot see you. So after forty minutes of white-knuckle, teeth clenching, four-way merging, full-speed stopping and starting travel I was rather spent. I kindly paid the driver and headed back to my room. Once my body tremors had subsided and I was able to breath normally, I changed out of work clothes, put on some gym shorts and headed to the Olympus Club gimnasio. I was fully prepared to do a long and relaxing work out, which I typically like to begin by doing 30 minutes of cardio. Unfortuntaely for me, somebody else in the gym had an entirely different idea.
I was keeping to myself doing my cardio and watching CNN as a young fellow entered the gym. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties, and he was carrying a clipboard and a Nalgene bottle full of an unknown liquid. Now I've seen people like this before at ever single gym that I've stepped foot into, so I paid him no mind. With my ninja senses I observed him retrieve three sets of dumbbells, and subsequently reposition a weight bench into the exact middle of the open floor area. He then proceeded to commence his strenuous workout. He picked up his first set of dumbbells to do curls, and immediately started grunting. Actually, he wasn't grunting he was moaning. In fact, moaning doesn't even describe the noises that he was making. This was obnoxious, loud grunt/scream/moan/crying. I wish I could have recorded this guy. I mean, every single rep from his first to his last in each and every set was just ridiculous. No matter what he was doing, he kept making this terrible noise. I could not take being anywhere near this guy, who was also by the way completely in love with himself and would stand in fromt of the mirror after every set to flex. Twenty minutes into my workout and I had to leave because I just couldn't take it. I returned to my quarters to unwind by watching some riveting Golden, only to find a true gem being played. 007: You Only Live Twice. Fantastic way to spend the evening I'd say.
Static. The alarm clock made its presence known by sputtering out distorted voices and wihte noise at well beyond the acceptable decibel level of the human ear. It was 6:00 a.m., Central Time and today was my first day to venture out to the IBM site for work. I went to bed relatively early the night before so I was feeling extremely rested and relaxed. I turned the alarm clock off and thought about what my day would be like.
The desert was beautiful. The sun was still low on the horizon and it cast long shadows before the sand dunes as I sat atop my trusty steed. I wanted to take my shirt off and wear it on my head like they do in the movies, but as I reached back to pull it over my head I was unable to feel the fabric between my fingers. Oh well, no matter: As I watched the rhythmic moveements of the muscles in the back of my horse's neck I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my right eye; something fast. There was a gigantic camel spider, and it was running full speed towards me. Before I had time to react it was already leaping through the air, screeching like a pterodactyl. I reached across and unsheathed the machete from the left side of my saddle. In a single motion I brought the blade across my body and down in a path that would intercept the creature. Suddenly I found myself staring at the belly of the beast as it hung, suspended in mid-air, my blade cleaving its body in two. The faint red glow emanating from its thorax read 8:00.
I leapt out of bed and shook the dream from my thoughts. It was now 8 a.m., although luckily the alarm clock was set 15 minutes fast, so I was not yet late. Speaking with the local engineers the evening prior, I learned that most people arrive on-site between 8:30 and 9:15; which gave me just enough time to throw on some clothes and head downstairs to grab a taxi, conveniently waiting in front of the hotel. The man who greeted me inside the taxi asked where I was going in English, so without hesitation I said "IBM". His response was an expression of pain and confusion on his face as he turned away from me. There was a long moment of silence while I looked around for a seatbelt, he soon turned around to face me and said, "¿A donde?". So his knowledge of English was a trick... I had to recall the Spanish alphabet as I slowly spelled out, "E, Bay, Emmay", which he understood and off we went. I still couldn't find a seatbelt...
My first taxi ride in Mexico was from the airport to the hotel. It was rather late at night and there were very few cars on the road. This, however, was an entirely different experience. As we emerged from the hotel block we immediately came to an abrupt stop amidst heavy congestion. The main road's four lanes were at a stand still with bumper to bumper traffic, and the service roads on either side were in the same condition. Since I had only been awake for approximately twenty minutes I was way too tired to pay attention to what was happening outside of the taxi, all I knew was that there were many many abrupt stops and swerving in and out of lanes. My eyes may have been closed, or I may have been in a deep haze and not noticed the taxi driver's style of driving, because honestly I don't remember thinking anything out of the ordinary.
40 minutes later we made a left turn over two lanes of highway traffic and entered the IBM/Foxconn/Sanmina-SCI/Hitachi technology campus. As we pulled up to the guard gate, the men checking badges motioned to see mine. Oh dear. I frantically searched my laptop bag, as that would be the most logical of places for me to have stored it. It wasn't there. I was horrified as I realized that in my rush to get out the door of the hotel, I forgot to look for my badge. The taxi driver was directed to the visitor's center, where I needed to get out and sort out this situation. So to the desk I proceeded, where I was met by two employees. One female, and one male. Neither of whom spoke English, and neither of whom could understand the preposterous Spanglish phrases that were spewing from my mouth. I felt like just going home and laying in bed for the rest of the day, as I felt utterly helpless.
Suddenly a golden ray of hope shone upon me as I heard, "Do you need some help?" asked of me in a Spanish accent. I looked to my left and lo and behold, my ticket inside was standing next to me. Now in retrospect, I have no idea how I would have gotten into IBM on that day without forgetting my badge, as I would never have met this man, who not only got me past the visitor's desk, but also took me to the security center to get a badge and subsequently through the catacombs of the building to the offices where my IBM contact was located, acting as my personal translator the entire way. It was hard to stop thanking him the entire way, as I was dumbfounded at my lack of preparation on my part; yet I was also amazed at my good fortune.
Once I was safely inside the IBM office area, I settled into my desk located in a long, winding continuous cube of 10 occupants, which we will refer to as a cube-snake. As if that weren't enough people to share a single space with, the "front wall" of the cube isn't even at chin-height, so you effectively share your cube-snake with the next cube-snake of residents, with your new best friend sitting across from you and staring into your soul. I found that putting my laptop in the corner of my desk allows me to avoid staring directly into the eyes of the person in front of me; however in doing so I gain two additional sideways glancing friends, always using their periphery vision to make sure you aren't concealing any weapons and in the process of launching an offensive. Boy am I glad this isn't my permanent work environment...
I ate lunch that day with a number of local employees that were a healthy mix of engineers from IBM, Sanmina-SCI, and Foxconn. They spoke completely in Spanish, were extremely vulgar, and full of jokes. We laughed almost the entire time, and my Spanish comprehension steadily grew. Furhter more, something dawned on me this first day, which explained a big mystery. Up until this point I had been eating my lunches around noon, and always found that no matter what establishment I went to, they were always completely empty. I was always utterly alone as I ate. While I may have known this as a boy, I had completely forgotten that in the Spanish culture they eat later than those of us from the United States (usually between 1 and 2 p.m.). In the very least I could declare one mystery solved... Even though I still can't figure out why people love to make out everywhere, although I have yet to see any IBM employees gratuitously making out on-site.
What I have discovered since this first day has been that eating later in the day is actually quite advantageous. Not only do you come back to work with only 3 hours ahead of you instead of 4, but you also seem to want to eat less when it comes around to be dinner time, thereby making the potential for eating something light like a salad even greater!
After my first day of work, I was feeling pretty good about myself. I got a healthy reminder-dose of Spanish, got boat loads of work done, met new friends, and learned a lot in the process. When it came time to leave, I had my IBM contact take me to the reception area so that the receptionist could call for a taxi on my behalf, which only took about ten minutes to arrive. I opened the door, sat down, and told the driver to take me to Hotel Presidente. This car did not have any seatbelts in the rear, just like the taxi from that morning, but I was not concerned as I didn't know what I was really in for. I have the feeling that if I would have relayed the information to the taxi driver of this being my first "official" taxi ride between IBM and the Hotel, he would have turned around to face me, emitted a deep, brooding laugh and then peeled out, fishtailing into two cars in the process.
As we left the IBM campus I knew something was awry. The driver's knowledge of how to drive a stick shift seemed limited, as the car jerked to and fro. As he steadied our bearing down the highway I peered through the front windshield, to bear witness to the six lanes of barely moving traffic ahead. The strange part however was that I didn't see anywhere for the highway to split from three lanes to six. As we got closer, not only did the driver not care to slow down in the slightest, but I realized that the six lanes of traffic were in fact still three marked lanes, with the cars packed so tightly together that they created their own fourth lane. Where did the other two lanes come from you may ask? Well that's simple math children, as four lanes, plus two shoulders equals six lanes of usuable space. Why let that crumbling edge of the road go to waste? I fully appreciate the fact that they are getting the most out of their tax dollars. So much so, that the next time I'm in the States and see one of those "Your tax dollars at work" signs on the highway I'm going to do donuts around it and then dig it up and mount it to my hood. If my tax dollars were used to buy that sign I think that I should own it as well as use it as a battering ram to teach cars how to drive faster.
We were well into the thick of this mess, which you could call highway grid lock, when the driver started demonstrating what I like to call the four-way merge law. Apparently, in Mexico the law is that when you are going to merge into another lane, regardless of on which side it is relative to your vehicle, and regardless of how fast you are traveling, you must only use your four way flashers to signal the merge. Any use of a single turn signal is considered weak and gutless. I guess I should have paid more attention before when I was riding in taxis so that this law didn't surprise me in the manner that it did. Now let's clear this up before anybody tries to complain: the driver was using his turn signal as we traversed and exited the IBM parking lot, so they were fully operational as we got onto the highway. This is just the law. I also began to notice that as other cars came within inches of running us off the road, they too were using their four-way flashers instead of turn signals. Nice.
Further pushing my mind into the realms of terror and shock, I found that it is completely common place to lacksidaisically drift half-way into adjacent lanes of traffic when there is an unoccupied space. Not only does this declare you as victor of two lanes at once, but it also give you twice as many opportunities to use your four-way flashers, thereby proving exaclty how gutsy you are. Any vehicle over ten feet long is also considered to be not deserving of occupying an entire lane all to itself. If a bus or tractor-trailer is mid-merge, and has yet to occupy the entirety of its recently chosen lane, it is considered good form to block the merge process by forcing at least half of your vehicle's volume into the unoccupied section of its lane. Anything less is considered to be proof of no skillz. The final law that I was given the honor of bearing witness to was the full-speed law. This law states that at any point when you are not completely stopped, you must travel at that which is considered to be full speed for your vehicle. After starting and before stopping you have exactly five seconds to get from zero to maximum speed or vice-versa. The quicker that this transition between full-speed and zero can be performed, the easier it is to prove your worth as a driver.
One final note about seat belts. While the backseats may lack the devices, the front seats retain their straps of safety. It has thus been rather common place for the taxi driver to only put their selt belt on after exiting the highway and entering the slower-moving, denser city streets. This is possibly to avoid getting eaten by dinoaurs, because when you wear your seatbelt it is a well known fact that they cannot see you. So after forty minutes of white-knuckle, teeth clenching, four-way merging, full-speed stopping and starting travel I was rather spent. I kindly paid the driver and headed back to my room. Once my body tremors had subsided and I was able to breath normally, I changed out of work clothes, put on some gym shorts and headed to the Olympus Club gimnasio. I was fully prepared to do a long and relaxing work out, which I typically like to begin by doing 30 minutes of cardio. Unfortuntaely for me, somebody else in the gym had an entirely different idea.
I was keeping to myself doing my cardio and watching CNN as a young fellow entered the gym. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties, and he was carrying a clipboard and a Nalgene bottle full of an unknown liquid. Now I've seen people like this before at ever single gym that I've stepped foot into, so I paid him no mind. With my ninja senses I observed him retrieve three sets of dumbbells, and subsequently reposition a weight bench into the exact middle of the open floor area. He then proceeded to commence his strenuous workout. He picked up his first set of dumbbells to do curls, and immediately started grunting. Actually, he wasn't grunting he was moaning. In fact, moaning doesn't even describe the noises that he was making. This was obnoxious, loud grunt/scream/moan/crying. I wish I could have recorded this guy. I mean, every single rep from his first to his last in each and every set was just ridiculous. No matter what he was doing, he kept making this terrible noise. I could not take being anywhere near this guy, who was also by the way completely in love with himself and would stand in fromt of the mirror after every set to flex. Twenty minutes into my workout and I had to leave because I just couldn't take it. I returned to my quarters to unwind by watching some riveting Golden, only to find a true gem being played. 007: You Only Live Twice. Fantastic way to spend the evening I'd say.
September 21, 2008
On the Verge of Driving the Porcelain Bus
I can't believe I did that. As I sit in the lobby bar anxiously awaiting the Steelers game, I whipped out my laptop to write my next entry for the "Chronicles of a Mexican Legend" story. At this moment I realized a glaring omission from my last chapter. In fact, it would be impossible to detail the events of the following day without this very important detail. So let us return to my day of Discovery...
Day Two, Discovery - Errata.
El Presidente features two restaurants: Las Frutas y Floras, and Alfredo di Roma. Up until this point I had avoided Alfredo as it was the more expensive of the two, but today was a day for celebration! Now I'm not a gambling man, in fact I might just be the worst person to ever attempt to gamble as I ignore the basic facets of success in the game. I think my biggest problem is that I don't know how to walk away when I'm up. Like Frederick Jung told his son George, "Sometimes you're flush and sometimes you're bust, and when you're up, it's never as good as it seems, and when you're down, you never think you'll be up again, but life goes on". Powerful, I know.
So I took a gamble and headed into Alfredo's, hoping that I would hit jackpot twice in one day. The first thing that I noticed when I sat down was the three-picture frame hanging next to me (I'm not sure if it was hung using Scotch tape or not, but it was on marble...). This piece featured three Presidents of the United States, each sitting at a table with a stereotypical Italian chef next to them: mustachioed, portly, and smiling ear to ear while holding a gigantic portion of Fettuccine Alfredo aloft in the air on a pasta spoon. Apparently, the three Italian gentlemen were successive generations of the Alfredo family, the presidents were John F. Kennedy, a young Jimmy Carter, and the venerable George H.W. Bush. Apparently from what I could make out of the signage around me, this particular Alfredo family was the original inventor of the famous dish (Fettuccine Alfredo).
So as I sat admiring the try something as exotic as the Shrimp and Scallop Risotto. As I sat awaiting my food I was delighted by the spread of different breads that was displayed before me by my waiter. First there very long, skinny crunchy sticks that tasted like an herb-infused crouton. I was delighted by the hint of saltiness that these sticks featured, as it complemented my Margarita perfectly. Next I investigated the contents of a covered basket to see what treasures I would find within. My first pick was a cinnamon-sweet bread, with a fat slice of Italian Sausage nestled in the middle. This was by far, the most impressive piece of bread I had ever tasted. Upon my first bite, my tongue was tingling with the taste of cinnamon and sugar, which took me back to my days as a child, when my Mother would make me Cinnamon-Sugar toast on the days that I stayed home from school with a tummy ache. Almost immediately the sweetness was overtaken by the spices and oils of the sausage, which was a splendid sensation that could only be properly enjoyed with eyes closed. The most fantastic part of this journey into bread land was after each bite was swallowed, the taste of sugary sweetness remained, if not only to inspire the next bite. The remaining selection of bread was pitifully bland compared to the explosion of flavor that I discovered on my first pick, so I will spare the details of boredom.
My Risotto finally emerged from the chef's den and was placed in front of me. Now being as that I have never tried Risotto before I wasn't sure what to expect. What I laid my eyes upon was a soupy bowl of rice and scallops, with a single piece of shrimp sticking out, tail-end up in the middle of the dish. Whether Risotto is meant to be as soupy as it was, I am not sure; however in retrospect I don't believe that this particular dish should have had such a consistency. Regardless, in my ignorance I proceeded to taste the dish. There was ground basil sprinkled among the rice, and the scallops were plentiful. Every bite tasted of salty shrimp, and the warm creamy taste was comforting like a fireplace on a cold winter's night. I would be a liar if I said that I did not thoroughly enjoy every bite, yet for some reason I was unenthusiastic about finishing every last bite. The portion was not large, in fact the waiter was surprised when I did not want anything aside from this one item; yet still, I could not bring myself to clean my bowl. As I sat staring at the remainder of my dish my stomach felt full, yet a tinge of hunger remained. Without giving this sensation too much thought I paid my check and headed towards the bar area to witness the celebration of Mexican Independence day.
September 16, 2008. Guadalajara, Mexico. Day Three, Regret.
My eyes shot open. I had to double-check to make sure that the feeling of having a fifty-pound dumbbell on my chest was only in my mind. I glanced around the room. Something was wrong. It was dark, as usual, but something was definitely off. I made the effort to roll across the bed and peer into the haunting red glow of the alarm clock. 3 A.M. My stomach twisted into a knot from the movement. I had the taste of mercury in my mouth. Mercury and shrimp. All I could think about was what the risotto looked like, and what it would look like on the way out. I took deep breaths... yoga breathing, that usually helped. Laying down was painful, and sitting up was even worse. There was no helping it, I was sick. My stomach churned and bubbled. I felt like a meth head was boiling ammonia inside of my torso as my stomach cramped and turned inside out. I immediately regretted my decision to eat a seafood risotto as I paced around the room. I was helpless. After a none-too-pleasurable half hour in the bathroom I attempted to lay down. I might have closed my eyes for ten minutes before being jolted awake by the same feeling. This was the sequel. After the second trilogy was complete I was convinced that I had Montezuma's Revenge.
I spent the first half of the day wallowing in a cold sweat. What a terrible feeling: to be sick in an unfamiliar place, with nobody to provide comfort, and worst of all in a foreign land. I couldn't eat, and I could barely sleep. I felt like I had spent the previous day laying in the middle of the highway getting run over by trucks. My breathing was labored, my entire body was full of aches and pains, not to mention how sore my muscles felt. I was exhausted and battered. It is times like this when more than ever I missed the embrace of my love. While every moment apart from her is like an eternity, this was much worse. My only consolation was that today was still a holiday, so I wasn't missing any work. I was at the very least able to work out of the hotel room in the moments that I wasn't trying to sleep or being devastatingly sick. But even in those moments, I could not help but think about how sorely I missed my one and only. Her vision comforted my thoughts while I wasn't reeling in pain, and very well may have been the one thing that gave me the strength to pull through and endure the pain that I was experiencing.
Eventually my stomach settled and I was able to stay away from the bathroom for more than an hour, which was a big bonus. It was approximately 3:00 in the afternoon, at which point I ventured downstairs to eat a salad since I wanted something very light. I was able to stomach this so I knew that I was on the path to recovery. The remainder of the day was spent relaxing on the bed and watching some half-decent movies on Golden. My final act was to mentally prepare for the following day, which would be my first adventure into the unknown realms of IBM Guadalajara.
Day Two, Discovery - Errata.
El Presidente features two restaurants: Las Frutas y Floras, and Alfredo di Roma. Up until this point I had avoided Alfredo as it was the more expensive of the two, but today was a day for celebration! Now I'm not a gambling man, in fact I might just be the worst person to ever attempt to gamble as I ignore the basic facets of success in the game. I think my biggest problem is that I don't know how to walk away when I'm up. Like Frederick Jung told his son George, "Sometimes you're flush and sometimes you're bust, and when you're up, it's never as good as it seems, and when you're down, you never think you'll be up again, but life goes on". Powerful, I know.
So I took a gamble and headed into Alfredo's, hoping that I would hit jackpot twice in one day. The first thing that I noticed when I sat down was the three-picture frame hanging next to me (I'm not sure if it was hung using Scotch tape or not, but it was on marble...). This piece featured three Presidents of the United States, each sitting at a table with a stereotypical Italian chef next to them: mustachioed, portly, and smiling ear to ear while holding a gigantic portion of Fettuccine Alfredo aloft in the air on a pasta spoon. Apparently, the three Italian gentlemen were successive generations of the Alfredo family, the presidents were John F. Kennedy, a young Jimmy Carter, and the venerable George H.W. Bush. Apparently from what I could make out of the signage around me, this particular Alfredo family was the original inventor of the famous dish (Fettuccine Alfredo).
So as I sat admiring the try something as exotic as the Shrimp and Scallop Risotto. As I sat awaiting my food I was delighted by the spread of different breads that was displayed before me by my waiter. First there very long, skinny crunchy sticks that tasted like an herb-infused crouton. I was delighted by the hint of saltiness that these sticks featured, as it complemented my Margarita perfectly. Next I investigated the contents of a covered basket to see what treasures I would find within. My first pick was a cinnamon-sweet bread, with a fat slice of Italian Sausage nestled in the middle. This was by far, the most impressive piece of bread I had ever tasted. Upon my first bite, my tongue was tingling with the taste of cinnamon and sugar, which took me back to my days as a child, when my Mother would make me Cinnamon-Sugar toast on the days that I stayed home from school with a tummy ache. Almost immediately the sweetness was overtaken by the spices and oils of the sausage, which was a splendid sensation that could only be properly enjoyed with eyes closed. The most fantastic part of this journey into bread land was after each bite was swallowed, the taste of sugary sweetness remained, if not only to inspire the next bite. The remaining selection of bread was pitifully bland compared to the explosion of flavor that I discovered on my first pick, so I will spare the details of boredom.
My Risotto finally emerged from the chef's den and was placed in front of me. Now being as that I have never tried Risotto before I wasn't sure what to expect. What I laid my eyes upon was a soupy bowl of rice and scallops, with a single piece of shrimp sticking out, tail-end up in the middle of the dish. Whether Risotto is meant to be as soupy as it was, I am not sure; however in retrospect I don't believe that this particular dish should have had such a consistency. Regardless, in my ignorance I proceeded to taste the dish. There was ground basil sprinkled among the rice, and the scallops were plentiful. Every bite tasted of salty shrimp, and the warm creamy taste was comforting like a fireplace on a cold winter's night. I would be a liar if I said that I did not thoroughly enjoy every bite, yet for some reason I was unenthusiastic about finishing every last bite. The portion was not large, in fact the waiter was surprised when I did not want anything aside from this one item; yet still, I could not bring myself to clean my bowl. As I sat staring at the remainder of my dish my stomach felt full, yet a tinge of hunger remained. Without giving this sensation too much thought I paid my check and headed towards the bar area to witness the celebration of Mexican Independence day.
September 16, 2008. Guadalajara, Mexico. Day Three, Regret.
My eyes shot open. I had to double-check to make sure that the feeling of having a fifty-pound dumbbell on my chest was only in my mind. I glanced around the room. Something was wrong. It was dark, as usual, but something was definitely off. I made the effort to roll across the bed and peer into the haunting red glow of the alarm clock. 3 A.M. My stomach twisted into a knot from the movement. I had the taste of mercury in my mouth. Mercury and shrimp. All I could think about was what the risotto looked like, and what it would look like on the way out. I took deep breaths... yoga breathing, that usually helped. Laying down was painful, and sitting up was even worse. There was no helping it, I was sick. My stomach churned and bubbled. I felt like a meth head was boiling ammonia inside of my torso as my stomach cramped and turned inside out. I immediately regretted my decision to eat a seafood risotto as I paced around the room. I was helpless. After a none-too-pleasurable half hour in the bathroom I attempted to lay down. I might have closed my eyes for ten minutes before being jolted awake by the same feeling. This was the sequel. After the second trilogy was complete I was convinced that I had Montezuma's Revenge.
I spent the first half of the day wallowing in a cold sweat. What a terrible feeling: to be sick in an unfamiliar place, with nobody to provide comfort, and worst of all in a foreign land. I couldn't eat, and I could barely sleep. I felt like I had spent the previous day laying in the middle of the highway getting run over by trucks. My breathing was labored, my entire body was full of aches and pains, not to mention how sore my muscles felt. I was exhausted and battered. It is times like this when more than ever I missed the embrace of my love. While every moment apart from her is like an eternity, this was much worse. My only consolation was that today was still a holiday, so I wasn't missing any work. I was at the very least able to work out of the hotel room in the moments that I wasn't trying to sleep or being devastatingly sick. But even in those moments, I could not help but think about how sorely I missed my one and only. Her vision comforted my thoughts while I wasn't reeling in pain, and very well may have been the one thing that gave me the strength to pull through and endure the pain that I was experiencing.
Eventually my stomach settled and I was able to stay away from the bathroom for more than an hour, which was a big bonus. It was approximately 3:00 in the afternoon, at which point I ventured downstairs to eat a salad since I wanted something very light. I was able to stomach this so I knew that I was on the path to recovery. The remainder of the day was spent relaxing on the bed and watching some half-decent movies on Golden. My final act was to mentally prepare for the following day, which would be my first adventure into the unknown realms of IBM Guadalajara.
September 19, 2008
To the Victors Go the Spoils
September 15, 2008. Guadalajara, Mexico. Day Two, Discovery.
The TV was on. The channel? Golden. The movie? Nick of Time (1995) starring Christopher Walken and Johnny Depp. I had never seen it, but I'd watch anything with Christopher Walken. Unfortunately, today I had more important matters: setting out on an epic journey. My purpose was simple, to relish in the rich Mexican culture that was all around me, and in the meantime practice speaking Spanish. What I did not know however, was that by the end of this day I would be knocked unconscious by a freight train and thrown 50 meters, only to be found bleeding and face down in a pool of stagnant sewage by a roaming howler monkey...
Okay so I lied about the freight train part, but you clicked the link didn't you? I'm sorry it was a dirty trick. It won't happen again...
This day started much like the day before. I threw on some clothes and headed across the jungle bridge to arrive at Plaza del Sol. Being that the previous day was a Sunday, many of the stores were unavailable for my perusal. So I decided to spend some time carefully scanning each nook and cranny, with the hopes that I would discover a diamond in the rough. I started by scanning the shops located along the perimeter of the Plaza. During this initial phase of my investigation I witnessed a handful of young couples in love. Fiercely making out... In fact, I was disturbed and quickly walked past as each time I stumbled upon a make out session, it became increasingly more bizarre. After a single lap I had not discovered anything spectacular, so I proceeded inward, towards the shops that were sandwiched between the outer perimeter and the main courtyard area.
This leg of my journey left me extremely disappointed. Nowhere could I find a single interesting shop. It seemed like the shops were in a pattern: baby clothes, shoes, textiles, cell phone provider. I quickly grew bored and prematurely moved onto the final objective: the Courtyard. This was the bread and butter of Plaza del Sol. At approximately one quarter mile long there were enough shops here to keep me busy all day. I moved with a hurried pace, entering only those shops that inspired curiosity. The first shop that I entered was a super market, wherein lied a most peculiar scene.
I was strolling down the center aisle towards the foods section when I noticed something very familiar to me. A couple, making out in the middle of the aisle. I hesitated only for a moment, so as not to startle them. On a second glance I noticed that they were both wearing similar outfits, nay, identical outfits. Their loving embrace dissolved as they interlocked fingers and casually strode towards the back of the store. They were about ten paces ahead of me when I noticed something else peculiar about their matching dress: they were wearing smocks. This is when it hit me; these two were employees of this store. There were other people wearing the same outfit stocking shelves and giving out samples of mystery meat. I was severly confused and didn't know whether I should be concerned or delighted that such an event was not uncommon in the public eye.
My mind was bloated with questions, and I had yet to practice any Spanish. I quickly darted into a few more shops before deciding that shopping was not my cup of tea, and decided to find something delicious to eat for lunch. I had been warned about a few of the eateries within Plaza del Sol, which led me to traverse back across the foot bridge and begin walking. I didn't know where I was going, and I had no idea what I would find; but some unknown force guided me. I walked past block after block of boarded up buildings and thick, overgrown parking lots that had been long-since chained off to the passing cars. Most people would not continue as long as I did, but something told me I was about to discover something. I came around a slight bend in the road and gazed upon what I thought was a forest.
As it turned out, I was looking at a park-like area. This area was encircled by a three lane traffic circle, which was connected to the highway in front of El Presidente. I don't know how long it had been since anybody had cut the grass, or trimeed any of the trees but the entire area was in terrible condition. I noticed sporadic benches, and piles of litter next to the over flowing trash cans. I followed the flow of traffic around the circle, passing rows of houses and the occasional broken down Volkswagen Beetle. Before I had even traversed half of the circle I saw a sign and immediately recognized the name: "Tacos & Charleys". I had been informed of this place, but had never learned the location. Somehow I knew that this was the true purpose of my journey. I moved under the over hang and sat at a table right inside the open-air restaurant. I was the only customer, and it was exactly noon. I uttered my first poorly-pronounced phrase of Spanish and ordered a Modelo and the "Especial Charleys".
I had no idea what to expect, but I didn't care. I had walked for so long that my stomach was burning with hunger. A bus boy brought me a bowl of tortilla chips, followed by fresh pico de gallo. He came back with guacamole, and a bowl of freshly chopped onions. He came back once again with two bowls of liquid, which appeared to be hot and mild sauces. "Now this is service", I thought as I watched the cars zip past. Suddenly, to the left something caught my eye. There was a bench in the park area that had one side half sunken into the earth. On this bench two people were seated. They were making out. I was absolutely positive at this point that I was in fact, in the Twilight Zone. How can so many people need to make out in public? Strange indeed, but I didn't have time to ponder, as my food was ready. To this day I'm still not entirely positive what it was that I had ordered. I received a basket of tiny flour tortillas, and a large plate of assorted meats covered in a thick layer of cheese.
I didn't hesitate to figure out what I was about to eat, I simply shoveled a spoonful onto a tortilla and devoured it. My senses were delighted with the juicy flavor of steak, coupled with the salty sweetness of ham and the bitterness of sauteed onion, followed by the gooey warmth of sharp and mild cheddar cheeses. On my next helping I added Pico de Gallo, then Guacamole. I tried one with the raw onion, and another with the hot sauce. My tastebuds exploded with pleasure as I downed helping after helping. I was in utter bliss. Suddenly I was overcome by a great sadness. My hunger had subsided, been satiated, and had transitioned to the feeling of being full. I could not eat any more, and I realized my great folly: I didn't know how to ask for the remainder of my plate to go. :(
I should've googled that before I left, but the thought had never crossed my mind. My waiter friend came to the table and asked if I was done. I panicked, terrified at the thought of that wonderful meal going to waste. The waiter saw the terror on my face and briskly walked away from the table. I didn't need to say anything, for we had connected on another level. He knew that deep inside my soul, I was broken down by allowing this food to be taken away. I polled the back of my mind, reaching deep into the catacombs trying to think of how to say "box" in Spanish. If I could just think of that one word I would be able to mutter something that he could understand. After thirty minutes of staring longingly at my half-finished plate I came up with nothing. I motioned to the waiter for my check, and took one last glance at my food so as to remember its glory.
I paid my check and walked back towards my hotel, lamenting my food with a song of mourning. I felt defeated and lost; as if I had abandoned my own kin. As I sulked through the Hotel lobby and towards the elevator I made a pledge to myself that I would never again let such a splendid thing go to waste. I finally made it back to my room and collapsed onto my bed, weeping for three hours...
Eventually I was able to pull myself together as I headed downstairs to the Olumpus Club Gym on the second floor (11). There were a number of very elderly Mexican gentlemen riding the cardio bikes in the front room. They each wore a pair of white/cream colored slacks, dress shoes, dress belt, and no shirt. Very excellent. Now I know exactly what I'm going to do when I get to be that age. So I did my workout, returned to my room to shower, and proceeded downstairs to catch the evening's festivities. Mexican Independence day was upon us!
There was a gazebo that had magically replaced the lobby furniture, and behind it stood a marching band. Quietly, they conversed amongst themselves. I could tell that they were rife with excitement, as there seemed to be a buzzing of energy among everybody present. As the clock struck 10:00, a tremendous roar came over the lobby sound system that had been hastily thrown together. It was the noise of a crowd in downtown Guadalajara, being broadcast on the television sets. A priest came out of the bar area followed by two robed men bearing Mexican flags, and they proceeded up the steps into the center of the Gazebo. As the priest turned around to face the small crowd that had shambled away from their drinks the background noise subsided.
He began to speak. He spoke phrases in Spanish that I didn't full understand, but every phrase began with "Viva ...". The crowd would answer back after every call with "¡Viva!". Finally, the call-and-answer session ended with three chants of "¡Viva Mexico!". It was all very moving and powerful. The band started playing and suddenly there were two bar maids, traversing the crowd handing out scotch glasses full of tequila. Not wanting to look like an outsider I eagerly grabbed a glass and held it high above my head. There was something about the energy amongst these people that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. These people truly loved their country, and relished in their culture. As I stood there contemplating the meaning behind this day's journey I couldn't help but think to myself: Viva Mexico.
The TV was on. The channel? Golden. The movie? Nick of Time (1995) starring Christopher Walken and Johnny Depp. I had never seen it, but I'd watch anything with Christopher Walken. Unfortunately, today I had more important matters: setting out on an epic journey. My purpose was simple, to relish in the rich Mexican culture that was all around me, and in the meantime practice speaking Spanish. What I did not know however, was that by the end of this day I would be knocked unconscious by a freight train and thrown 50 meters, only to be found bleeding and face down in a pool of stagnant sewage by a roaming howler monkey...
Okay so I lied about the freight train part, but you clicked the link didn't you? I'm sorry it was a dirty trick. It won't happen again...
This day started much like the day before. I threw on some clothes and headed across the jungle bridge to arrive at Plaza del Sol. Being that the previous day was a Sunday, many of the stores were unavailable for my perusal. So I decided to spend some time carefully scanning each nook and cranny, with the hopes that I would discover a diamond in the rough. I started by scanning the shops located along the perimeter of the Plaza. During this initial phase of my investigation I witnessed a handful of young couples in love. Fiercely making out... In fact, I was disturbed and quickly walked past as each time I stumbled upon a make out session, it became increasingly more bizarre. After a single lap I had not discovered anything spectacular, so I proceeded inward, towards the shops that were sandwiched between the outer perimeter and the main courtyard area.
This leg of my journey left me extremely disappointed. Nowhere could I find a single interesting shop. It seemed like the shops were in a pattern: baby clothes, shoes, textiles, cell phone provider. I quickly grew bored and prematurely moved onto the final objective: the Courtyard. This was the bread and butter of Plaza del Sol. At approximately one quarter mile long there were enough shops here to keep me busy all day. I moved with a hurried pace, entering only those shops that inspired curiosity. The first shop that I entered was a super market, wherein lied a most peculiar scene.
I was strolling down the center aisle towards the foods section when I noticed something very familiar to me. A couple, making out in the middle of the aisle. I hesitated only for a moment, so as not to startle them. On a second glance I noticed that they were both wearing similar outfits, nay, identical outfits. Their loving embrace dissolved as they interlocked fingers and casually strode towards the back of the store. They were about ten paces ahead of me when I noticed something else peculiar about their matching dress: they were wearing smocks. This is when it hit me; these two were employees of this store. There were other people wearing the same outfit stocking shelves and giving out samples of mystery meat. I was severly confused and didn't know whether I should be concerned or delighted that such an event was not uncommon in the public eye.
My mind was bloated with questions, and I had yet to practice any Spanish. I quickly darted into a few more shops before deciding that shopping was not my cup of tea, and decided to find something delicious to eat for lunch. I had been warned about a few of the eateries within Plaza del Sol, which led me to traverse back across the foot bridge and begin walking. I didn't know where I was going, and I had no idea what I would find; but some unknown force guided me. I walked past block after block of boarded up buildings and thick, overgrown parking lots that had been long-since chained off to the passing cars. Most people would not continue as long as I did, but something told me I was about to discover something. I came around a slight bend in the road and gazed upon what I thought was a forest.
As it turned out, I was looking at a park-like area. This area was encircled by a three lane traffic circle, which was connected to the highway in front of El Presidente. I don't know how long it had been since anybody had cut the grass, or trimeed any of the trees but the entire area was in terrible condition. I noticed sporadic benches, and piles of litter next to the over flowing trash cans. I followed the flow of traffic around the circle, passing rows of houses and the occasional broken down Volkswagen Beetle. Before I had even traversed half of the circle I saw a sign and immediately recognized the name: "Tacos & Charleys". I had been informed of this place, but had never learned the location. Somehow I knew that this was the true purpose of my journey. I moved under the over hang and sat at a table right inside the open-air restaurant. I was the only customer, and it was exactly noon. I uttered my first poorly-pronounced phrase of Spanish and ordered a Modelo and the "Especial Charleys".
I had no idea what to expect, but I didn't care. I had walked for so long that my stomach was burning with hunger. A bus boy brought me a bowl of tortilla chips, followed by fresh pico de gallo. He came back with guacamole, and a bowl of freshly chopped onions. He came back once again with two bowls of liquid, which appeared to be hot and mild sauces. "Now this is service", I thought as I watched the cars zip past. Suddenly, to the left something caught my eye. There was a bench in the park area that had one side half sunken into the earth. On this bench two people were seated. They were making out. I was absolutely positive at this point that I was in fact, in the Twilight Zone. How can so many people need to make out in public? Strange indeed, but I didn't have time to ponder, as my food was ready. To this day I'm still not entirely positive what it was that I had ordered. I received a basket of tiny flour tortillas, and a large plate of assorted meats covered in a thick layer of cheese.
I didn't hesitate to figure out what I was about to eat, I simply shoveled a spoonful onto a tortilla and devoured it. My senses were delighted with the juicy flavor of steak, coupled with the salty sweetness of ham and the bitterness of sauteed onion, followed by the gooey warmth of sharp and mild cheddar cheeses. On my next helping I added Pico de Gallo, then Guacamole. I tried one with the raw onion, and another with the hot sauce. My tastebuds exploded with pleasure as I downed helping after helping. I was in utter bliss. Suddenly I was overcome by a great sadness. My hunger had subsided, been satiated, and had transitioned to the feeling of being full. I could not eat any more, and I realized my great folly: I didn't know how to ask for the remainder of my plate to go. :(
I should've googled that before I left, but the thought had never crossed my mind. My waiter friend came to the table and asked if I was done. I panicked, terrified at the thought of that wonderful meal going to waste. The waiter saw the terror on my face and briskly walked away from the table. I didn't need to say anything, for we had connected on another level. He knew that deep inside my soul, I was broken down by allowing this food to be taken away. I polled the back of my mind, reaching deep into the catacombs trying to think of how to say "box" in Spanish. If I could just think of that one word I would be able to mutter something that he could understand. After thirty minutes of staring longingly at my half-finished plate I came up with nothing. I motioned to the waiter for my check, and took one last glance at my food so as to remember its glory.
I paid my check and walked back towards my hotel, lamenting my food with a song of mourning. I felt defeated and lost; as if I had abandoned my own kin. As I sulked through the Hotel lobby and towards the elevator I made a pledge to myself that I would never again let such a splendid thing go to waste. I finally made it back to my room and collapsed onto my bed, weeping for three hours...
Eventually I was able to pull myself together as I headed downstairs to the Olumpus Club Gym on the second floor (11). There were a number of very elderly Mexican gentlemen riding the cardio bikes in the front room. They each wore a pair of white/cream colored slacks, dress shoes, dress belt, and no shirt. Very excellent. Now I know exactly what I'm going to do when I get to be that age. So I did my workout, returned to my room to shower, and proceeded downstairs to catch the evening's festivities. Mexican Independence day was upon us!
There was a gazebo that had magically replaced the lobby furniture, and behind it stood a marching band. Quietly, they conversed amongst themselves. I could tell that they were rife with excitement, as there seemed to be a buzzing of energy among everybody present. As the clock struck 10:00, a tremendous roar came over the lobby sound system that had been hastily thrown together. It was the noise of a crowd in downtown Guadalajara, being broadcast on the television sets. A priest came out of the bar area followed by two robed men bearing Mexican flags, and they proceeded up the steps into the center of the Gazebo. As the priest turned around to face the small crowd that had shambled away from their drinks the background noise subsided.
He began to speak. He spoke phrases in Spanish that I didn't full understand, but every phrase began with "Viva ...". The crowd would answer back after every call with "¡Viva!". Finally, the call-and-answer session ended with three chants of "¡Viva Mexico!". It was all very moving and powerful. The band started playing and suddenly there were two bar maids, traversing the crowd handing out scotch glasses full of tequila. Not wanting to look like an outsider I eagerly grabbed a glass and held it high above my head. There was something about the energy amongst these people that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. These people truly loved their country, and relished in their culture. As I stood there contemplating the meaning behind this day's journey I couldn't help but think to myself: Viva Mexico.
September 17, 2008
Zorro's horse only speaks Spanish
Here's the deal; on Saturday September 13th, I was in need of a taxi to the airport. I was embarking on a journey. This journey would be my first solo adventure into a foreign land, and possibly the most interesting one. For this reason I am chronicling the events of my trip into this blog. I will try to dedicate one post to each day; however I make no promises. In case you couldn't guess from yesterday's post, I am in Mexico. Guadalajara to be exact, mira:
When I arrived here Saturday evening, I checked into the Presidente Intercontinental Hotel, witnessed the Guadalajaran Soccer team take over the Hotel lobby, and went to bed...
September 14, 2008. Guadalajara, Mexico. Day One, Exploration.
Awake. First day in a foreign land, and I had nothing to do. I sat up groggily from my king sized bed and turned on the lamp within arms reach. The curtains in this room were the standard hotel issue: triple-ply canvas laminated in a mystery wax-like substance. Somehow, they always have the ability to defy the very laws of physics by resisting all light penetration, even when slightly parted. It was impossible to intuitively grasp what time it was, so I used every ounce of energy left in my aching body to roll all the way across the bed and flop face-first into the stack of unused pillows. From this vantage point I had a clear view of the alarm clock, which read [:18:88]. I took that as an omen, closed my eyes, and tumbled from atop pillow mountain into white sheet valley below.
I opened my eyes once more. I wasn't sure if I had slept any longer, but the room was definitely darker than last I saw it. Was it still night time? Was it even Sunday anymore? "Am I really in Mexico?", I wondered. Forcing myself out of bed, I stumbled to the non-Newtonian curtains and threw them open, letting the harsh sun stab me in the eyes like a bad scene out of Nightmare on Elm Street. It certainly appeared to be mid-day, but there was no way of being sure without a working clock, so I turned on my laptop. It was barely past 10 in the morning, which was a plus since I had no intention of sleeping through my day of relaxation. After nearly ten minutes of absently staring at my background image of Aurora Borealis my brain functions activated like a Particle Accelerator. I'm in a new time zone. It's actually 9 AM. While updating my timezone information I logged into my company's network and checked my email. I already had email from the local Guadalajara folks, which was somewhat of a comforting sign... but what's this? "Tomorrow is Mexican Independence day? The plant is closed until Wednesday?!". Suddenly my day of rest and relaxation was turned into a three day marathon of unpredictability and self-discovery.
It had been a long time since I had even thought about the Spanish language, and I figured it was time to dive-in. Face first. Engulfed in flames. Covered in salt. And dripping with bleach. Throwing my cares to the wind, I threw on my shorts and a tee-shirt and headed out the door. I had been briefed by my colleague/mentor about the Plaza del Sol, located conveniently across the street from El Presidente; so that was my destination. In order to cross the "street", which is really a 4-lane highway with regards to how fast people drive on it, I had to cross a pedestrian bridge. As soon as I stepped onto the decrepid metal monstrosity I was transported to a set prop from LOST. I felt like I was in a tunnel going into an abandoned Dharma facility, where I would be met by a gaggle of Raptors. With guns. And machetes. Alas, there were no Raptors and no Dharma facility. Just a gigantic shopping area that was like the Voltron of strip malls. An outdoor strip mall for the legs, with an indoor shopping mall area as the torso. There were large banks and department stores on opposite sides (there were the arms). And finally there was a long, and festive courtyard with three fountains and lots of kiosks for the head. Yes, I got lost walking around this area, but I didn't really care. I had nothing better to do really.
Four hours later, and nothing to show for it except for a tube of toothpaste that I almost left at the counter when I bought it, I decided it was time to return to my lodgings and grab some lunch. This is the boring part, so I'll skip ahead a bit... It's now late afternoon. Aware of the impending Steelers game, I frantically asked around the hotel if any local places carried American Football. They assured me that the Hotel bar would, but the Guadalajaran soccer team that I saw in the Hotel Lobby the night before was on. There was no way that they would switch their futbol for American Football, which made me a very sad panda. So I proceeded to eat dinner at the restaurant next to the Lobby bar, and longingly stared across the hallway towards the televisions.
7:15 Central Time. Kickoff. Did mine eyes deceive me or did I just see a flash of Black and Gold? Yes! My Steelers were on! I missed their first regular season game because of the Panthers game conflict, so what sweet, sweet retribution this was. I hurried to scarf the rest of my dinner and ran over to the bar, so that I could relish in the majesty of the Black and the Gold. There I sat, alone. Whooping and screaming with nobody else around but the barman. A few hours later and a second regular-season victory for my Steelers. Could this day get any better? Yes. Yes it could, as upon retiring to bed I turned the TV on, only to discover the holy grail of television channels. Golden, a movie channel that plays all American movies with Spanish subtitles; however there was a catch: the movies are censored... in the subtitles. Yes, unedited American movies. They had me at Lethal Weapon. They had me at Lethal Weapon.
When I arrived here Saturday evening, I checked into the Presidente Intercontinental Hotel, witnessed the Guadalajaran Soccer team take over the Hotel lobby, and went to bed...
September 14, 2008. Guadalajara, Mexico. Day One, Exploration.
Awake. First day in a foreign land, and I had nothing to do. I sat up groggily from my king sized bed and turned on the lamp within arms reach. The curtains in this room were the standard hotel issue: triple-ply canvas laminated in a mystery wax-like substance. Somehow, they always have the ability to defy the very laws of physics by resisting all light penetration, even when slightly parted. It was impossible to intuitively grasp what time it was, so I used every ounce of energy left in my aching body to roll all the way across the bed and flop face-first into the stack of unused pillows. From this vantage point I had a clear view of the alarm clock, which read [:18:88]. I took that as an omen, closed my eyes, and tumbled from atop pillow mountain into white sheet valley below.
I opened my eyes once more. I wasn't sure if I had slept any longer, but the room was definitely darker than last I saw it. Was it still night time? Was it even Sunday anymore? "Am I really in Mexico?", I wondered. Forcing myself out of bed, I stumbled to the non-Newtonian curtains and threw them open, letting the harsh sun stab me in the eyes like a bad scene out of Nightmare on Elm Street. It certainly appeared to be mid-day, but there was no way of being sure without a working clock, so I turned on my laptop. It was barely past 10 in the morning, which was a plus since I had no intention of sleeping through my day of relaxation. After nearly ten minutes of absently staring at my background image of Aurora Borealis my brain functions activated like a Particle Accelerator. I'm in a new time zone. It's actually 9 AM. While updating my timezone information I logged into my company's network and checked my email. I already had email from the local Guadalajara folks, which was somewhat of a comforting sign... but what's this? "Tomorrow is Mexican Independence day? The plant is closed until Wednesday?!". Suddenly my day of rest and relaxation was turned into a three day marathon of unpredictability and self-discovery.
It had been a long time since I had even thought about the Spanish language, and I figured it was time to dive-in. Face first. Engulfed in flames. Covered in salt. And dripping with bleach. Throwing my cares to the wind, I threw on my shorts and a tee-shirt and headed out the door. I had been briefed by my colleague/mentor about the Plaza del Sol, located conveniently across the street from El Presidente; so that was my destination. In order to cross the "street", which is really a 4-lane highway with regards to how fast people drive on it, I had to cross a pedestrian bridge. As soon as I stepped onto the decrepid metal monstrosity I was transported to a set prop from LOST. I felt like I was in a tunnel going into an abandoned Dharma facility, where I would be met by a gaggle of Raptors. With guns. And machetes. Alas, there were no Raptors and no Dharma facility. Just a gigantic shopping area that was like the Voltron of strip malls. An outdoor strip mall for the legs, with an indoor shopping mall area as the torso. There were large banks and department stores on opposite sides (there were the arms). And finally there was a long, and festive courtyard with three fountains and lots of kiosks for the head. Yes, I got lost walking around this area, but I didn't really care. I had nothing better to do really.
Four hours later, and nothing to show for it except for a tube of toothpaste that I almost left at the counter when I bought it, I decided it was time to return to my lodgings and grab some lunch. This is the boring part, so I'll skip ahead a bit... It's now late afternoon. Aware of the impending Steelers game, I frantically asked around the hotel if any local places carried American Football. They assured me that the Hotel bar would, but the Guadalajaran soccer team that I saw in the Hotel Lobby the night before was on. There was no way that they would switch their futbol for American Football, which made me a very sad panda. So I proceeded to eat dinner at the restaurant next to the Lobby bar, and longingly stared across the hallway towards the televisions.
7:15 Central Time. Kickoff. Did mine eyes deceive me or did I just see a flash of Black and Gold? Yes! My Steelers were on! I missed their first regular season game because of the Panthers game conflict, so what sweet, sweet retribution this was. I hurried to scarf the rest of my dinner and ran over to the bar, so that I could relish in the majesty of the Black and the Gold. There I sat, alone. Whooping and screaming with nobody else around but the barman. A few hours later and a second regular-season victory for my Steelers. Could this day get any better? Yes. Yes it could, as upon retiring to bed I turned the TV on, only to discover the holy grail of television channels. Golden, a movie channel that plays all American movies with Spanish subtitles; however there was a catch: the movies are censored... in the subtitles. Yes, unedited American movies. They had me at Lethal Weapon. They had me at Lethal Weapon.
September 15, 2008
¡Viva Mexico!
What is it about Mexico that makes it so special? As I see it, there are two very differing views when it comes to this issue. The former being that Mexico's rich culture and vibrant celebrations set it apart from the rest of the world, while the latter will insist that the abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables, along with the diverse culmination of flavors within any particular dish are the key facets to the country's unexplainable charm. I however, have an entirely different view. Allow me to elucidate...
This past evening I was enjoying a beverage at the bar, while the hotel staff was setting up for a raucus celebration. You see, today is the beginning of Mexico's celebration of their Independence from tyrannical Spanish rule, so it is a big deal (almost as big a deal as Ron Burgundy). While I was quietly observing the preparations for tonight's celebration, I witnessed something that embodies the very essence of what I believe makes Mexico one of the most endearing places on this planet.
A manager brought a stack of framed pictures out of an unknown location and set them on the bar while he returned to said location to retrieve something, which I assumed was a tool to assist in the process of hanging the pictures. I was somewhat correct in my assumptions, as he did retrieve a tool; however not exactly the same type of tool I would have chosen. I will spare the theatrics and tell you that what he returned with was a spool of scotch tape. He then proceeded to take the picture frames and tape each of them to marble pillars in the way that a child would tape a note to the inside of their locker. A long strip, pulled taut on each corner. You cannot make these kinds of things up. ¿Mexico? Me encantada.
This past evening I was enjoying a beverage at the bar, while the hotel staff was setting up for a raucus celebration. You see, today is the beginning of Mexico's celebration of their Independence from tyrannical Spanish rule, so it is a big deal (almost as big a deal as Ron Burgundy). While I was quietly observing the preparations for tonight's celebration, I witnessed something that embodies the very essence of what I believe makes Mexico one of the most endearing places on this planet.
A manager brought a stack of framed pictures out of an unknown location and set them on the bar while he returned to said location to retrieve something, which I assumed was a tool to assist in the process of hanging the pictures. I was somewhat correct in my assumptions, as he did retrieve a tool; however not exactly the same type of tool I would have chosen. I will spare the theatrics and tell you that what he returned with was a spool of scotch tape. He then proceeded to take the picture frames and tape each of them to marble pillars in the way that a child would tape a note to the inside of their locker. A long strip, pulled taut on each corner. You cannot make these kinds of things up. ¿Mexico? Me encantada.
September 2, 2008
Google Chrome!
I'm in a real pickle right now. My last post was about Ubiquity; which, after plenty of testing, I can say that I do not want to go back to browsing without. But the interwebs has just learned that Google is now entering the browser wars with their own google-spin on web browsers. My pickle lies in the fact that Ubiquity is Firefox-only as of yet, which means I will not be able to use Google Chrome and Mozilla Ubiquity in harmony; however Chrome does sound and look swanky... So what do I do?
I guess since the aptly named Google Chrome is an early beta yet, I will not be able to rely on it for full-time browsing; however I know that once I get into it I'm going to hit Ctrl+Space and start typing away without realizing that Ubiquity is sorely missing. :( <-- Sad panda. I wonder if Chrome has anything assigned to Ctrl + Space.. and I hope it doesn't break anything when I do it!
I guess since the aptly named Google Chrome is an early beta yet, I will not be able to rely on it for full-time browsing; however I know that once I get into it I'm going to hit Ctrl+Space and start typing away without realizing that Ubiquity is sorely missing. :( <-- Sad panda. I wonder if Chrome has anything assigned to Ctrl + Space.. and I hope it doesn't break anything when I do it!
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