Over the last several months, I would be hard pressed to say
which has languished more, this blog or my reading project. I started this blog to accompany my reading
project--to document my thoughts, my reactions, and, ultimately, my review of
each novel as I finished it. After I
accepted my position with the school in Mexico, I decided to partially hijack
my own blog, dedicating it to my reading project and to my experiences teaching
English as a Foreign Language in Tehuacan.
Despite a few attempts at both over the last year or so, though, it is safe to say that in this effort I have failed.
As my days in the U.S. grow fewer, however, I feel a renewed
urgency to resume both, so this is my
attempt.
Nostromo
To say that I have struggled with Nostromo would be
something of an understatement. I have
enjoyed it at times; Conrad can write with such descriptive clarity and philosophical
insight that his prose is striking and memorable. The difficulty, for me, has been the sheer
number of details to keep straight. Nostromo
is so heavily peopled with characters both major and minor, and so peppered with detail and description, that it is
often hard to keep straight what exactly is going on. This was made no less difficult by the fact
that while in Tehuacan, I was only really able to read in snippets. On the average day, I
was able to steal an hour or so between classes to read, but even then I was
fighting to focus. In my last post I
wrote about the magic of reading Nostromo in the paradise of Puerto Escondido,
and it truly was magical to hear the rise and fall of the waves and a foreign
tongue in the background (as opposed to children chanting “Who Stole the
Cookies from the Cookie Jar,” or my roommate’s adult class engaged in a rather
rude game of Charades). Had I been able to stay hidden away from the world on that magical beach, swaying on a suspended mattress under the shade of palm trees, I suspect that I may have finished the novel more quickly.
Whenever I was able to dedicate myself to the novel, though, I found myself enjoying it. I’m
nearing the finish line (less than a hundred pages to go) and finally I feel
invested in the plot, and I am beginning to understand the major characters,
their pasts, and their motivations as we move into the climax and denouement. And as soon as I finish, I will happily write more.
Mexico
From left to right: Daniel, me, Joe, Brittany and Caroline. Standing in front of the Catedral de Puebla in Puebla, the capital city of the state of Puebla, about an hour an a half north of Tehuacan. |
I have similarly struggled with writing about Mexico since
leaving. When I was in Mexico, writing
about it was difficult for the plain fact that I rarely stopped moving and
working long enough to really write anything of substance about my
experience. Now that I am back, however,
I have been struck with a severe case of writers’ block. In the film Mean Girls, Lindsay Lohan’s character suffers from what she terms
word vomit. She is so singularly focused
on her quest to destroy her nemesis, Regina George, that she can barely stop herself from
talking about Regina nonstop. Lohan’s character impatiently
waits and constantly hopes that someone will even offhandedly mention Regina in conversation
so that she can talk and talk some more.
While I am not seeking to destroy a frenemy, I, too, suffer from a sort
of word vomit. I wait and hope that
someone will mention Mexico so that I can tell some story or other about Mexico
and my adventures. At any hint of an
opportunity I will launch into story after story until someone literally stops
me. When I sit down to write about it,
however, the words fail.
I’m preparing to move to Warsaw, though, and as I sort,
organize, and pack (and, more importantly, finally unpack from Mexico), I feel the need to write about my time in Tehuacan before I
embark on my next adventure. To this
end, for the next three weeks I intend to post a picture every day with an accompanying story.
On our way to our first party. This was also the first time we'd ever crammed this many people into this small a car... |
I know of no better way to start than with the people who
made my experience what it was: my roommates. My
roommates were my everything while I was in Mexico—they were my friends, my
family, my constant companions. They were
the ones to whom I turned with frustrations, successes, failures, and
everything in between, and they challenged me to try new things, and to grow and
expand my horizons in new ways. I met
Daniel in Mexico City International Airport, bonding over vino as the stress of
airline travel slowly ebbed, and I met Joe at our hotel the next morning as we
embarked on a daylong odyssey from our hotel in Mexico City to our much
anticipated apartment in Tehuacan. I met
Brittany and Caroline the next day as they disembarked from the bus (and an
exhausting travel experience that matched our own). On the first day we all met, we locked ourselves
out of our apartment and had to boost Joe and Caroline over a six-foot wall to
balance-beam-walk across two walls, scale the roof, jump catlike onto a nearby
tree and enlist our neighbors to help us break into our own apartment. In the days that followed, we explored,
watched late-night movies, and drank many many beers. We conquered faulty hot water heaters, lit
frighteningly volatile stove pilots, cooked experimental meals, and lived for
days without electricity and running water.
After four or so days of no running water (though it was January, it was
Mexico, so the afternoons were still quite warm and, to put it mildly, we
stank) in desperation, Brittany and I scooped water from the well, and,
equipped with a bucket of shockingly cold water and a pitcher, we washed each
other’s hair. I laughed, cried, and fought with these people, and when we each left Mexico, it was with the promise that someday soon we would all return. I for one cannot wait.
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