SAN BLAS, MEXICO
March 21st, 2004
That's right, relaxing in Mazatlán was just getting to be too much for me, so now I'm relaxing in San Blas instead.
San Blas is a sweet laidback little town a few hundred kilometres south of Mazatlán (northwest of Guadalajara), to which I came primarily to check out the jungle boat tours....but it's also probably good that I got out of Mazatlán before I murdered the dog across the street.
Took a bus (two, actually) yesterday. There's no direct route, so I had to take a bus past here to Tepíc, and then backtrack north again on another bus. Nine hours. To a town two hundred and ninety kilometres away. Yeah. You do the math.
Intercity buses here are quite the experience. (As are Mazatlán city buses - I'm three for three getting lost on those - but that's another story.) And the experience seems to be mostly about...eating. The bus stops anywhere people are selling anything edible - which is, well, everywhere - and vendors get on the bus and walk up and down the aisle selling grilled corn, tamales, cookies, cakes, raw veggies to snack on, whatever. We also stopped at a roadside rest stop for a meal. The driver said we were stopping for half an hour but it was almost an hour before we got going again. Thank God I took the comfy air conditioned bus - because then.....
Traffic was backed up, and we stopped for about half an hour and waited and wondered what was going on. Finally our young upstart bus driver (he actually looked like you incognito, brother-in-law Sam...similar features but with these crazy gigantic sideburns) decided he'd waited long enough, and passed the convoy of backed up vehicles. driving on the wrong side of a skinny hillside road, squeezing up close to the rocks to let oncoming traffic pass, other drivers pointing at us, shaking their fists, shouting....
I counted sixty pulled-over cars until we got to the cop at the front of the line....who gave our driver a good dressing down and, after another quarter hour or so, waved us through. Two tractor trailers had collided coming around a corner. The cab of the one going in our direction was pretty banged up on the driver's side....and the whole truck looked like it had come dangerously close to getting knocked clean off the hillside. Of course, our driver then sped like a maniac for the next little while to make up time, which was especially disconcerting considering the proliferation of roadside headstones for all the people who've been killed along that way.
All in all a very eventful trip...with an interesting side effect; I got off that seven-hour bus ride understanding Spanish about a million times better. Just being surrounded by locals for that long, everything started to get clearer. At first I thought it was just that they were getting tired and therefore slowing down - and that's partly true, but it seems to be still working! Today I was an absolute champion at Spanish - until my lack of sleep last night caught up with me and I became a moron.
I'm staying in this adorable cheap little hotel a block away from everything, in the cutest, most bizarrely multicoloured room. Very comfortable....I think I was only awake all night because of the imaginary bugs. This town is famous for its supposed epidemic of jejenes, a type of vicious biting sand fly that is so small you can't even see it. Jejenes are one link down the local food chain from shrimp, but apparently the shrimp have been so horribly overfished (overshrimped?) here that nothing is eating the jejenes. I'd been warned, I'd read, I'd read some more....and I haven't been bitten. Even once. Either these flies have gotten way more publicity than they deserve....or I'm just not very tasty. (Also I've been using this repellent that I picked up in Mazatlán which smells absolutely heavenly.) Just the idea of these things, though, was enough to make me feel like I was getting bitten all the time, and I tossed and turned most of the night. Did learn that the word for "bugs" here is "bichos", which I just love because it sounds so much like "bitches", and that seems awfully fitting...as in, "Dem bitches is really bad today." "Dem bitches done bit me all over."
The boat ride upriver into the jungle was quite beautiful. And I did get to see some real live crocodiles, though when I went swimming at the end, not even one attacked me. More evidence that I'm not very tasty?
Back to Mazatlán tomorrow - hopefully not nine hours this time. Fly to Mexico City on Tuesday and then heading back to y'all bitches on Wednesday.
Oh - here's a thought:
On the bus, there was an inflight movie. That's not important. But before the main feature was this ad from the Mexican board of tourism that was like a cheesy music video showing things to see all over the country - with an accompanying cheesy song (with English subtitles) telling you where to go, so to speak. And the refrain was this:
This is how Mexico feels,
This is how Mexico feels,
Like lips on your skin. (oh my!)
This is how Mexico enfolds you,
This is how Mexico tastes,
This is how you wear Mexico on your skin.
(Why Mexico, I never knew you cared!) The "oh my" is mine. But the rest of the lyrics are for real. And I'm thinking that staid old Canada could take a cue here - what do you think?
This is how Canada feels,
Like somebody sucking you off
Behind the arena.
Like a cold beer and a hard cock;
This is how Canada tastes.
Okay, so maybe I've been alone with the crocodiles too long. But think about it.
Adios por ahora, my bunnies,
Lisa
a vacation within a vacation
are you there god? it's me in mexico.
MAZATLAN, MEXICO
March 11th, 2004
Hey my little Canadian monkeys. What's a happenin'? All continues well here in Mazatlán....
You'll be happy to know that I can now settle that age old debate. Once and for all:
School suks! Yes, everywhere! School, in fact, sucks even more in a place like this, when you know you could be at the beach instead, tanning yer ass instead of conjugating verbos.
I now hold a diploma from the Reallyreallyinsanelyridiculouslyfastschoolof spanish, which I attended all last week. It was quite tough, but I'm really glad I did it. Halfway through the week, I was losing my mind a bit: four hours of private instruction each day (with teachers who don't speak english, so you know it's gonna be intense) plus three or four hours of homework each night. And the homework would be stuff like: go home and review everything you learned today, plus teach yourself the past tenses of -ar, -ir and -er verbs, and memorize a hundred new words. Then the next day, we'd spend about a minute going over that, and MOVE ON! It was nuts. It was great at the beginning, but as my brain became a messy jumble of new, half-digested information, I just wanted to scream "I don´t need to know all the spelling exceptions for the third person forms of -ir verbs in the preterite tense! I don´t care!" I am quite happy to bumble around speaking in only the present tense all the time. I mean, me talk pretty one day, but for now...
Besides, I think talking only in the present tense would be good for me as an actor, you know? An exercise in living in the moment. Anyway, it was all good in the end: on the last day of class (which I had actually considered skipping, I was dreading it so), I realized, mid-rant, that I was able to express, in spanish, that I didn´t understand anything, that the homework was too complicated, that I got the exercises while I was doing them, but forgot everything afterward....
I couldn't complain like that a couple of weeks ago! I'll be ranting and raving all over Mexico in no time, you watch me.
So far, in spanish, these are a few of my favourite things:
If you are embarassed, don't say you are embarazado. That would make you not embarassed (well, maybe) but pregnant.
To be constipado is to have a cold.
Food can be caliente (hot), but if you're hot, say "tengo calor". "Estoy caliente" means "I´m horny".
In spanish, there is no separate way to say "I want" and "I love". They are both quiero. So you can't possibly tell someone you want them ("Te quiero") without saying you love them. Interesting. I'm sure this has caused more than one misunderstanding over the years. ( When are these crazy Mexicans gonna get it together?)
So...life since my big long school term....
Good....and lazy. Very lazy. It hasn't exactly been one long siesta, but uhipe q+´0o´kp ñan lkaakuhoiaiapdwqqñl´´ohjoihoipphjohoaewqrdzgfr xgdhgt8 9769uyoi'80u0pijpo324ñlkñ{
Sorry...fell asleep on the keyboard for a minute there.
Lots of reading, eating, snoozing, walking around. A couple of movies. You´ll love this, Xine - I have seen the Cold Mountain trailer twice since I've been here...and I'm sure I will again. I thought you were out of my life, Cold Mountain! Last time, I decided to make a game of it and see how much of it I had memorized. I didn't do too badly. But I think a group of locals sitting nearby thought I was nuts when they saw me mouthing "Mah last thread of cuhrage is to wait" and emoting along with Zellwegger's weather report. I'm sure the ads for the DVD will be on TV nonstop when I get home. Kill me now.
No, wait! Don't kill me yet! I've got reading to do! So far: The Navigator of New York, Invisible Monsters, Ooh Ah Oh Wilderness (thought I should read this little skit I'm going to be doing), Man and Superman (ditto), Lolita, and yes, Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret?. Let me explain. Yes, I have read Are You There God before (they won't let you buy your first bra until you write a test on it). But Kimwun and I recently had the brilliant idea of starting an adolescent book of the month club, in which we reread all those stupid books we loved as prepubescents ( Judy Bloom, Gordon Korman - God I had such a crush on Bruno. Or was it Boots?- etc.), starting with Margaret. The real beauty of it is that you can read these little books in an afternoon - wasting as little of your time as possible, allowing you to continue reading whatever else you're reading. who's in?
The really weird thing was that I read Margaret while between books one and two of Lolita (an old favourite that I'm paying a visit to). And they got a bit mixed up in my drowsy mind. Leaving me with something like Are you there, God? It's me, Lolita. By Judy Nabokov. A very weird book. Who's the villain, anyway? Humbert Humbert....or that catty little shrew Nancy Wheeler? Actually, it was really difficult taking Margaret's problems seriously while poor little Lo was getting banged across America. Who cares if you haven't gotten your stupid period yet and don't know what stupid religion you are?! Lolita's takin' it three times a day, for chrissake!! One day, when I finally decide to go to university, I'll write a brilliant paper comparing the two. Wait a minute, no I won't: yooniversity suks!
Speaking of little kids, I love this internet place, because it's the converted front room of a family home....and there is always this adorable little girl (about three) wandering in and visiting. The other day she was trying to hide the family puppy ( a cute little poodly thing) under my desk. Today she's slightly obsessed with my tattoo. Very cute.
Oh (Gregg, you needn't read this bit) - my friend Gregg sent me an email in really bad spanish, courtesy of one of those translation websites. Don't do it. But the great thing was that he then had it translate everything back into english, with mostly hilarious results, and the truly wonderful discovery that "Hello Ms. Lisa" ended up as "hello smooth señorita". So, with a slight adjustment, I have finally found my superhero name, and would appreciate if you'd all address me from now on as: Señorita Smooth.
And another favourite thing:
In Mexico, it is customary to sign off a letter, even one to the most casual acquaintance with un beso (a kiss) / besos or...
Un abrazo (a hug),
Lisa
(Except for the "Lisa" part. That's not so customary.)
¡hola babayyys!
MAZATLAN, MEXICO
March 1st, 2004
I'll try to keep this brief....
Cuz I've got HOMEWORK!!!!
That's right, boys and girls, today was little Lisa's first day of school. Taking a Spanish class all this week, four hours a day, plus an optional hour of pronunciation practise every morning. I think I can only afford one week, unfortunately, but that's a good start. Of course, the most difficult thing for me will probably be having to be there at 8:30 every morning. It's at the Centro de Idiomas ("language centre", obviously, though this dumb old - well meaning, very nice - broad from Ottawa had actually told me it was the CENTRE OF IDIOMS. Like something from Star Wars.
So excited.... I actually went out and bought notebooks and pencils.(And I have these awesome new erasable gel pens that I got at Zellers before I left home, they are sooo cool.... yes, okay, fine, I´m a nerd, but they really are the greatest thing since sliced bread (which is overrated anyway). Resisted the temptation (thus far) to use this as an excuse to buy a whole new wardrobe of kicky mexican clothes. ("I am not blowing my money, I'm back to school shopping.")
This school teaches group classes, but I ended up being the only one in my group. (Is it on my file wherever I go; does not play well with others?). Luck of the draw, I guess. It makes class a bit more daunting, because it's always me on the hotseat....but I also don't have to wait around for other people, who are inevitably not as bright as I am, to catch up to my level of brilliance.
Mornings are with Gloria, who is awesome, and very tough. I sat in on one of her classes last Friday, and was a little afraid I'd get her, but was also amazed at what she had taught to a bunch of beginners in the course of a week. The afternoon is conversation class with Ana, who today seemed distinctly unimpressed by me and my pathetic lack of vocabulary until the end of the class, when she asked me where I had studied Spanish before, and I told her that I hadn't. Anywhere. She was properly impressed, the natural order of the universe was restored, et cetera.
And you were right, Mom, it happens quickly. I'm up to talking like a retarded five year old already. I'll be jabbering away like one of these crazy Mexicans in no time. Now if only I could understand what they were saying...
Mel, you can tell I've been staring at Spanish too much...I've forgotten how to speak English. When Nicole emailed me that your address was agalnamedmel@hotmail, I stared at it for minutes wondering what in God's name an agal na med mel was. Idiot. (Me, not you.)
I guess I'm getting rather tanned, because the tourists all think I'm a local. It gives me a great ability to fly under the radar here: the Mexicans can tell I'm a tourist, the Americans think I'm Mexican, everybody leaves me alone. I was at a restaurant yesterday (on the Malecón, watching the sun set over the ocean, enjoying the most incredible seafood soup IN THE WORLD - God, I love this town) and this American guy walking by noticed my book sitting on the table (Invisible Monsters, by Chuck Palahniuk). He asked, in Spanish, if he could see it. I said (also in Spanish) sure, and he looked at it for a few seconds, then blinked and said, still in Spanish, "but you´re reading this in English!" I told him that I was Canadian. He had a heart attack. Turns out his wife, over at his table, is from Toronto. Small world.
After leaving that place (following some dumb girly drinks and plenty of entertainment courtesy of the singing bartender, crooning along with a mixed tape someone donated to the place in 1984 - "Welcome to dee hotel caleeeforneea....we aben´t ads that speereeet here seence nineteens sitchty nine"), I went over to the sea wall to meet... the potsmoking reggae-playing surfboard-toting young Mazatlecos!!!!
Wait, I can explain. Last week, on the beach, I met this twenty-two year old surfer dude, Diego, and ended up hanging at the beach all afternoon with him and this little orphan kid Luis Angel. (Okay, you won't believe this, but just now I had to interrupt typing because suddenly Diego was here standing behind me. And I've been trying to avoid this guy...!) Anyway, before he got kind of annoying, he was kind of cool, and speaks pretty good English, and it was nice to actually be able to talk to somebody. Although it was just as cool to hang out with the kid, just pointing and speaking crap Spanish and smimming and running around.
So, the other night, on my way to the singing bartender, I ran into this guy on the street and he invited me to go out with him and his gang, some of whom play in the reggae band with which he plays guitar. As it turn out, we aren't going anywhere because he can't get the car. Who the hell was I hanging out with here? We were just going to sit around on the sea wall. Oh, and it was at least half an hour before any of his friends arrived. I suspect a plot. (But hey, it was a plot that landed me under the moon and the stars watching the waves while a cute guy played a guitar and sang songs to me in Spanish. There have been worse plots.) By the way, the waves are sometimes fluorescent blue in the moonlight. Apparently this isn't usually the case, but this is one of those years that the plankton that cause it are in abundance. Beautiful.
Anyway, when the friends did arrive, it dawned on me pretty soon that Diego, at twenty-two, is the elder statesman of this crowd. So I'm sitting around at the roadside, drinking booze out of a paper bag with a bunch of sixteen year-olds who don't speak English, and my Spanish is kind of terrible. It was just weird. And I'll tell you, nothing like a bit of substance abuse to send the old (or rather, new) foreign language skills down the tubes. Combine a slight case of paranoia with that, and with being the old person around a bunch of teenagers and...well...I didn't stick around too long. Paranoid moment number two: how do I get out of here, (A) without letting this guy walk me home, and (B) without making him look like an ass in front of his friends? (It all worked out in the end.)
Had my first Mexican theatre experience the other day, at the absolutely stunning historic Teatro Angela Peralta, which is a block away from my place. An all-ages contemporary dance piece about street kids. A little uneven, but the design was amazing, with some beautiful puppets and great scenic painting, and some real moments of stage magic. Pretty cool.
Oh, and I did watch the stupid Oscars. I thought this might be my year of escape (Damn you, Andy Bunker! They keep pulling me back in!) but there I was watching them in my room, with loud spanish dubbing. I could barely decipher any of it, the spanish being loud enough to obscure the english, and the english loud enough to muddle the spanish, not that I would have gotten most of that anyway. But there I sat, like a sucker, checking off my ballot and wishing I could figure out more of Sean Penn's speech. Something about penguins....? Anyway, I hope you knew to enter LOTR for screenplay and makeup for me, Andy. Those are the ones I forgot - and other from that, I did pretty damn good.
I think, Gregg, that I'd have a pretty good shot at winning the Miss Skeptical Tourist pageant. Nobody does the cynical smile and wave quite like me. But what would I wear for the ironic evening gown component? I'm afraid all the clothes I packed are a bit too earnest.
Speaking of earnest (yes, I am, in fact, QUEEN OF THE SEGUE!!!), have a great first read this week, David and Evan, and Whittaker. I can't believe you guys are starting rehearsal already...but those poor Pygmalion buggers have been there for, like, six months.
OTHER PEE ESSES:
Barb: Right on, amazing face healer! Keep it up!
Brian, and Nancy, and Doug H., and anybody else who is sick - get well. I am blowing healing pacific breezes your way.
Gregg: You win the prize for best definition of bad humour. May none afflict you. (Or I'll have you leeched.)
Xine: Do not despair. And kick that guy's butt. An actor is just an asshole waiting to happen. We must be stopped. Hi to Robbin and Dave. Keep well. More later.
Madboy: No purple polar bears yet. But I think I ate a giant guinea pig for dinner tonight.
Love to toute la gang. Y:
¡Hasta mañana, manzana!*
¡Hasta pronto, tonto!
In a while, crocodile,
Lisa.
* See you, tommorow, apple!
See you soon, idiot! (!!!!)
