The Gringo Diaries
In the most rare of all opportunities, the Porter Reporter obtained the services of none other than Travis Porter himself to report on his most recent travels in Mexico. As background, Mr. Porter left for Cuernavaca, the capital city of the state of Morelos on May 31 and will stay, study, and travel in Mexico for 15 days. He reports that the Internet at his school is spotty and isn’t getting used to typing on international keyboards used in Internet cafes. He still hasn’t figured out how to make the @ sign, greatly hindering his e-mail attempts.
Mr. Porter’s reports will be posted as soon as they are received. The first batch of photos have been posted on the Porter-Reporter Photo Gallery.
Report Number 1
Filed June 4, 2008
I’m finally getting back into the swing of life in Mexico. It’s been 10 years since I have been here for an extended amount of time and really things aren’t so different though, for better or worse, I am.
I think I had a more difficult time with my initial Mexicorientation this time for a number of reasons. First, when I was here before, I was a student and a follower. I was shown how to go through customs, led to the bus with my prepaid ticket and escorted to Cuernavaca by a kindly yet hippy and very gringo Spanish instructor.
Now, I am the leader of others; or at least the co-leader, of a gaggle of wide-eyed students who want answers that I typically don’t have. My fellow leader is my boss, Jim Knapp, whose linear thinking skills rival those of a group of sorority girls on wet t-shirt night at Senor Frogs. These students have no idea that we have no idea. And get this, one of our star students from Hunter College in New York told me that this is by far the most organized experience of its kind. It also helps really this may be the only social work/Spanish language program of its kind.
The second factor working against me is the fact that I’m alone with my familia Mexicana. Before I roomed with another student, and even though he soon drove me crazy, someone to relate experiences with really does help decompress. Estoy un gringo solo en mi casa. So at first, I have listened a lot to what my family says. Most of which I don’t understand, or didn’t, and politely responded with a si or laughed on queue. Mostly at a joke referencing the Rolling Stones’ I Can’t Get No Satisfaction. I’m not sure what he references when he breaks into song or how the conversation gets there but he’s done it four times now. My Mexican mother laughs politely and my boisterous laugh way overcompensates given the situation but I am so ever eager to please.
The last reason I’m having a more difficult time than I remembered boils down to sickness. A mean heroin-withdrawal sickness, like something out of Trainspotting or Bird. No I didn’t see babies crawling on the ceiling or sell my ax for a quick methadone fix but neither would have been out of the realm.
Damn my room is hot and I’m sitting here with a 17” laptop burning an apple serial number imprint on my bare lap.
Back to the sick. It started as cold sweats and a chisel to my temple. I’m trying to help lead a group discussion about the benefits of not knowing what the hell we’re doing and trying to make it sound convincing.
Really, it’s not that we don’t know what we’re doing we just haven’t formalized the times and dates into, you know, words. And these damn students want words. They want them written down. Until the words are written down, we will be lost. We try to explain that it is part of the student’s Mexico experience to go with the flow. That shit happens and it’s all a learning experience. Which actually bears a lot of truth. The Spanish language school has changed many things on our tenuous agenda and that’s largely why we don’t bother too much with too many, you know, words. On paper.
Back to the sick. So I excused myself, I think eight different times from our orientation, trying to get a handle on the sick. Walking to the pool and back briefly pacified the sick. But as soon as I sat it returned with a vengeance. So I thought, well if I just walk, I can beat the sick. So I decided to go with the group downtown to the Zocalo.
We took one of the many white buses downtown. The buses run all the time heading downtown and every one runs about 120 degrees Fahrenheit. That didn’t help beat the sick; it only helped it ferment. Still I thought that walking was the cure, until I stopped at one of the thousands of corncob on a stick vendors. Something about that sweet smell sent me over the edge and on the bus back to my room. Making that decision was one thing, getting there was something completely different.
More later, I need some sleep. Did I mention I have a gekko in my room? It’s very good luck, or so I’m told.
Mr. Porter’s reports will be posted as soon as they are received. The first batch of photos have been posted on the Porter-Reporter Photo Gallery.
Report Number 1
Filed June 4, 2008
I’m finally getting back into the swing of life in Mexico. It’s been 10 years since I have been here for an extended amount of time and really things aren’t so different though, for better or worse, I am.
I think I had a more difficult time with my initial Mexicorientation this time for a number of reasons. First, when I was here before, I was a student and a follower. I was shown how to go through customs, led to the bus with my prepaid ticket and escorted to Cuernavaca by a kindly yet hippy and very gringo Spanish instructor.
Now, I am the leader of others; or at least the co-leader, of a gaggle of wide-eyed students who want answers that I typically don’t have. My fellow leader is my boss, Jim Knapp, whose linear thinking skills rival those of a group of sorority girls on wet t-shirt night at Senor Frogs. These students have no idea that we have no idea. And get this, one of our star students from Hunter College in New York told me that this is by far the most organized experience of its kind. It also helps really this may be the only social work/Spanish language program of its kind.
The second factor working against me is the fact that I’m alone with my familia Mexicana. Before I roomed with another student, and even though he soon drove me crazy, someone to relate experiences with really does help decompress. Estoy un gringo solo en mi casa. So at first, I have listened a lot to what my family says. Most of which I don’t understand, or didn’t, and politely responded with a si or laughed on queue. Mostly at a joke referencing the Rolling Stones’ I Can’t Get No Satisfaction. I’m not sure what he references when he breaks into song or how the conversation gets there but he’s done it four times now. My Mexican mother laughs politely and my boisterous laugh way overcompensates given the situation but I am so ever eager to please.
The last reason I’m having a more difficult time than I remembered boils down to sickness. A mean heroin-withdrawal sickness, like something out of Trainspotting or Bird. No I didn’t see babies crawling on the ceiling or sell my ax for a quick methadone fix but neither would have been out of the realm.
Damn my room is hot and I’m sitting here with a 17” laptop burning an apple serial number imprint on my bare lap.
Back to the sick. It started as cold sweats and a chisel to my temple. I’m trying to help lead a group discussion about the benefits of not knowing what the hell we’re doing and trying to make it sound convincing.
Really, it’s not that we don’t know what we’re doing we just haven’t formalized the times and dates into, you know, words. And these damn students want words. They want them written down. Until the words are written down, we will be lost. We try to explain that it is part of the student’s Mexico experience to go with the flow. That shit happens and it’s all a learning experience. Which actually bears a lot of truth. The Spanish language school has changed many things on our tenuous agenda and that’s largely why we don’t bother too much with too many, you know, words. On paper.
Back to the sick. So I excused myself, I think eight different times from our orientation, trying to get a handle on the sick. Walking to the pool and back briefly pacified the sick. But as soon as I sat it returned with a vengeance. So I thought, well if I just walk, I can beat the sick. So I decided to go with the group downtown to the Zocalo.
We took one of the many white buses downtown. The buses run all the time heading downtown and every one runs about 120 degrees Fahrenheit. That didn’t help beat the sick; it only helped it ferment. Still I thought that walking was the cure, until I stopped at one of the thousands of corncob on a stick vendors. Something about that sweet smell sent me over the edge and on the bus back to my room. Making that decision was one thing, getting there was something completely different.
More later, I need some sleep. Did I mention I have a gekko in my room? It’s very good luck, or so I’m told.
Hola, is it really you Travis, mi hermano? It looks like a harry guy has taken your place. Su enferma....es terrible.
I hear if you eat the street vendor food you will be cured...much like walking cures sickness. Au revior for now
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