After Class

I just finished the last of my midterm exams, and though I may fail Sociologia (just kidding, mom!) I feel as though an immeasurable weight has just been lifted from my shoulders. After spending more than three hours trying to analyze antiquated, ambiguous poems (in Spanish, no less) and then engaging the complete brain-melting exercise that is "uses of por vs. para" I'm definitely ready to cut loose this weekend. Good thing, too, because my class and I are going to Guanejuato this weekend, which has even more majestic colonial architecture than Morelia and an even better bar/club scene, from what I can remember from the time I went there in January. Needless to say, we're planning on rampaging throughout the city like the Gauls sacking Rome (thanks, Wikipedia).

But before we go there, I thought I'd talk about my rather eccentric and awesome group of teachers who have guided my education through half of a summer session now. I'll start with my literatura teacher Rochi, who will be guiding our little excursion this weekend and is probably the easiest grader, which definitely earns her points with me. Rochi's probably the oldest of my teachers, and her benevolent poise and infinite patience with our stupid questions makes her appear in my mind's eye as the Mexican grandma I wish I had. She also has this funny thing she does that I've noticed other lit teachers do where she gets on a little bit of a random tangent and makes herself chuckle slightly before realizing that we're all totally lost. It's very funny in a charming way.

Also quite funny is my professor of Sociologia, Pepe. Along with Rochi, Pepe taught both Lorencito and Shayla (my host siblings) French, and he's repeatedly reminded us that's "one of the best French teachers in Mexico." Pepe always wears shirts of an average color range with bright, neon-colored, corduroy pants, usually in either blue or orange. This has lead to one of my classmates dubbing him "The Corduroy Conquistador," which is pretty much the best nickname I've ever heard. We're all pretty sure that he's gay, and his pithy, self-amused manner of talking certainly further fits into the profile. But he's extremely witty (maybe too witty for us, since most of his jokes fly over our heads), and he's very good at pointing out the blatant contradictions about Mexican society that persist to this day. He's also very found of drawing crude pictographs on the white board to visualize what he's saying, which usually just makes it harder to figure out what the Hell that may be if you haven't been paying close attention.



I'm also quite fond of my historia professor, whose name is Pichi (pronounced like you were saying "peachy keen!"). Pichi lives very nearby me in el centro, and many times she passes me walking to the bus stop and gives me a ride in her hilariously orange car. Pichi's class has been moving a little slow (we've been talking about the prehispanic indigenous groups for four weeks straight), probably because she always gets side-tracked on passionate rants about how racist and misogynist Mexican culture can be. She definitely has her take on history, and she never shies away from giving it to us straight, which I like. She also has lots of hilarious stories about when she lived in Kentucky and had to teach lots of Southerners how to Speak Spanish when she couldn't understand a word of their English.

Last and most certainly least of my teachers is Beatrice, who talks way too loud and kind of sucks. Beatrice teaches us Spanish, which you would assume to be the most important class in which to make sure that everyone is up to speed and knows what's going on. Apparently not to Beatrice, who obviously wants to rush through her lesson plan as quickly as possible and go home. Recently my buddy John asked her to give him a small list of commonly used Spanish words that he could practice to improve his speaking, and she just Xeroxed him the first page out of a Spanish-English dictionary. Half the time when people raise their hands to ask a question she "conveniently" doesn't notice and moves on to the next poorly-conceived language exercise. It doesn't help that she also seems to have the worst taste in music out of anyone I've met here: for one in-class assignment, she had us translate the words of "Llegaste Tu" by Mexico's answer to 98 Degrees, Sin Bandera. Yeah, that's right, their name is "Without Flag." Other groups need a flag, apparently.



Lastly, I thought I would share this photo of the Combi I ride to school everyday, which I took simply because it was the first (and only) time I've ever seen one of these things empty. Far more common is having oh, twenty people packed into the space you see above, with another two (and the driver) up front. You see, Combi's are not really buses in the classic sense, but Volkswagen buses retrofitted to act as public transportation in Morelia's notoriously cramped, winding streets. Speaking of cramped, you learn very quickly why Mexicans care so little about personal space when you have to hunch into one of these things pressed firmly against four random strangers.

That being said, there is a pleasant camaraderie to the Combi's that you just don't find in American public transports. Depending on time of day, everyone says either "good morning," "good day," or "good night" when they get inside, and when it's crowded the person sitting close to the driver passes everyone's change up front to pay for their ride. Often times the people sitting will offer to carry your bags for you if you're standing, and everyone gives the elderly a hand to get on board if they're having trouble. They don't run on any kind of schedule and have no set stopping points, so you have to ask the driver to stop when you want to get off. Like many aspects of life here, it seems both ridiculous and dangerous at first, but once you get adjusted its got a uniquely personal charm about it.