At Last...

You wouldn't think so, but the process of searching for an apartment is an emotionally taxing experience. When you go to see someone's apartment you get to evaluate the bedroom, kitchen and bathroom, but meanwhile the people living there are evaluating *you* as a person. Are you going to be tidy enough, adventurous enough, quiet enough, interesting enough? Are you going to have a good vibe (or "rollo")? Are you going to contribute something to the house while not disrupting the pre-existing balance? It's like a job interview, but intensely more personal, and you have to do it countless times if you want to find anything you'll be satisfied with. You meet people you'd like to be friends with only to find out you'll probably never see them again. You find places that seem ideal only to get turned down, usually in the form of an excuse so cheap it's almost worse than a flat "no": "we're actually looking for a girl" (do I sound gender-ambiguous over the phone or something?) or "we don't really want students." I got the latter explanation from a student who lives only with other students and who then gave the apartment to my friend Zander, also a student.



Knowing that, you can imagine the heavenly sense of relief that washed over me when I finally, finally got an ideal place to live in. It seems my reference to L'Auberge Espagnole was somewhat prophetic, as I landed an - you guessed it - Auberge with six pan-European residents. There's a sweet English girl, a warm, rather gorgeous French girl, a soft-spoken Catalan dude (they consider it a different race/nationality here, I guess), and three other people I haven't met who could be Japanese for all I know. The important thing is that I finally have a place to call my own, and I don't have to face the prospect of moving into a hostel once we get kicked out of the dorms. Worse case scenario, it sucks and I move somewhere else, right?



With that troublesome piece of business finally set aside, I can now focus on more fun and interesting ventures, such as finding myself a cheap bicycle, visiting Barcelona's beautiful beaches before this summer weather passes, and planning trips around the rest of this vast and wonderful continent. Lately Zander (below, left) has been floating around the idea of going to Amsterdam or Germany, but Evan (below, right) wants to visit friends in France. Everyone's got their own plan, but now that we're actually moving out of this strange bubble of Americana they seem real and tangible, and I feel as though wide vistas have opened for me. For the first time since my plane touched down, I feel genuinely giddy just for being here, and I can't wait to start classes and see what's out there. Unlike when I was in Mexico, I actually have the time to make sure that I do that.

Agoraphobia

Well, at least the jet lag's worn off. But all the same, I can't shake this vague sense of bewilderment I get whenever I step into the blithely exotic, precocious hyper-reality that is Barcelona. Barcelona, where parrots and pigeons are equally bold at scooping up your crumbs in roadside cafes and countless alluring, impeccably-dressed women ride by on motor scooters like some kind of Hells Angels send-up. I guess it hit me when we were looking at Antoni Gaudi's high-modernist architecture (the guy apparently designed many apartments that people still live in, and examples of his work can be seen in the surrounding photos): just what the Hell is going on here?




Maybe it's the vast divide of the Atlantic, but I think Mexican culture has far more in common with that of America than this beguiling netherworld. Despite centuries of colonization, Mexicans have a gruff earthiness that I identify as uniquely American (in the transnational sense) while Barcelonans - to put it simply - are a completely different animal. They can be warm, friendly and they're almost always intimidating in how damn cool they are (those accents!), but just as often they can be temperamental and aloof. They think they have it all figured out, and in many ways, they do: just as many people ride bikes as do cars, everyone sleeps a few hours in the day so they can stay up all night, and they recognize the need for youth to party and socialize. While the US continues to eat its young for *gasp* trying to have fun, Spain designates certain times (festivals, 2 a.m.) and places (nearly every neighborhood in this city) for such activities so that no one has an excuse for bothering quiet families with a noisy house party. Sensible, no?



Like I said, Barcelona is a little daunting in its density of culture and couture, but, as I type from my (glorified hotel) dormitory chock full of Americans, I'd much rather jump in than remain in this protective purgatory. Unfortunately, that requires finding a flat (or "piso"), which in turn requires countless searching on Craig's List-style web sites and, worse, visiting all of these places in labyrinthian neighborhoods until you find a good fit. I've got a few prospects lined up (fingers crossed) and I really hope *something* pans out, because this search is more grueling than all of my classes combined. It's hard not to feel stressed about landing in the right living situation, because the next nine months of my life could be anything from awful (living with 30+ year-olds who like their quiet and solitude) to really insanely fun (a pan-global group of 20-somethings a-la L'Auberge Espagnole) depending on what I get (and Lord knows I can't go through this searching process again).



In the mean time, I'm trying to get adjusted to the finer points of Barcelona living like the ridiculous party schedule (in which going to bed at 3 a.m. is calling it a night early) and drinking wine instead of beer (which sucks here). At the same time, I'm trying to adjust to the general lack of sophistication of many of my peers (apart from the tight-as-ever Mexico crew), some of whom seem Hell-bent on proving the validity of every negative stereotype ever hurled at my homeland by a snobby European. That said, I'm getting along better with them as a whole, and I can't wait until we're all living alone so the need for clicky social circles fades.

Keep the Car Running

I'm currently smack in the middle of what may be the coolest city in the world right now, but it doesn't feel like it. Not yet, anyway. Let me explain: before I get to go to school here for real, I need to do a three week long intensive immersion program with only my fellow Americans for classmates while also living in a dormitory with just them. While some of them are pretty cool (including my close Mexico pals Evan, Ashley and Zander, the last of which I'm lucky enough to be rooming with), I don't imagine myself getting too close with the majority of them, who are all at least two years younger than me and seem more like five years younger. It's not that they're superficial (well, a lot of them are), but more that they just seem pretty naive and devoid of anything interesting to say, ever.



I could make up witty names for them if I wanted: Depthless Santa Barbara Blonde (there are at least twenty of these), Out of Control Asian Girl (who threw up in our bathroom and passed out in Zander's bed after stupidly drinking a bottle of whine by herself), Drug-Craving Lunatic Guy, Anal-Retentive Indian Econ Major, Hapless Frat Dude, etc. You get where this is going: these people are pretty boring, and the most exotic location in the world isn't going to change that. Plus, if Mexico felt like high school in how clicky it became, this group of 80 plus students was already subdivided into odd social circles before it even began. I mentioned before I don't really enjoy this period of social mingling, and I'm looking forward to meeting some foreign students (or God forbid, some Spanish people) as soon as possible.

That would be easier if a) I had classes with them or b) the classes that I do have weren't so long and time-consuming to the point that I don't have the energy to venture outside at all. These intensive language classes are *tough* and some of our teachers are even tougher. Today our language and grammar teacher nearly scared me to death with a Medusa Stare after I took too long to finish reading the instructions for an exercise she gave us. I've heard that sometimes Americans misinterpret the accent here as reflecting anger, but this woman is seriously angry all of the time. Yikes.



But neither endless swarms of sadly, stunningly stereotypical Americans nor obscenely intense Spanish teachers can ruin the overpowering awesomeness that is Barcelona, which I've experience a little since I got here. After I flew in Saturday evening we decided to fight the jet lag and go experience the Fiesta Mayor in Grasia, which is a once-a-year, week-long outdoor festival where the various barios in Grasia compete to see who can decorate their streets best using purely recycled materials. They each have a theme, too: we made it the butterfly neighborhood, which had (you guessed it) butterflies everywhere along with lots of reggae bands, and also the winter neighborhood, which was covered in fake snow and featured lots of techno and 80's music.

After getting tired of walking around, I befriended two loud, friendly Spanish brothers (and the younger one's girlfriend) and followed them to a bar with cheap mojitos and the best sangria I've ever had. Due to my daily mountain of classes I haven't been able to go out since that night, but if it was any indication I'm going to have a blast doing so in the future. If only that future were here now, instead of what looks to be an agonizing two and half weeks away.

In the City

Ahh, Mexico City. Everyone in this country seems to have an opinion about El Destricto Federal, and now I know why: it's so massive, so densely populated, that it almost deserves to be called a country in its own right. How did one city manage to combine the urban claustrophobia of NYC with the unrelenting sprawl of LA while managing to become more bloated than both of them put together? There are blind dudes walking the subways selling compilations of mariachi music, blasting a sample of each song through a mini-amp strapped to their backs. There are trees planted on people's roofs by the city to help balance out the pollution-to-oxygen ratio (it's currently 2:1, I hear). There seem to be just as many foreigners - Chinese, French, African - as there are Mexicans. Needless to say, compared to the rest of hazy, lazy Mexico, it's a weird place.

It's also waaayyy to big to see in just under two days, which is all Eliza and I could muster. We wanted to go out to some clubs, for instance, but our friend Luis, who let us stay at his lonely apartment, lives at least an hour away from anything non-residential. Luis is a smart, gregarious guy with bottomless generosity who is also hopelessly smitten with Eliza, who once fancied him as well but lost interest before he got up the nerve to confess his love to her. As such, he catered to our (or more aptly, her) every need, picking us up when we arrived at 5 in the morning, showing us around the city's tangled web of subways, and even offering us his house key when he had to return to Morelia before we wanted to.



Despite Eliza and I's shared inability to navigate, we did make it to several spectacular museums, including the stunning murals of the Palace of Fine Arts (pictured below), the Museo de Anthropologia, and the old house of Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, which ended up being far cooler than Diego's childhood home in Guanajuato. Mostly, though, Eliza and I just wandered around the city's commercial center, giving in to our poor senses of direction and exploring interesting places as we passed by them. As we took pictures in front of fountains and statues amongst cavorting lovers, she joked that it felt like we were a honeymoon couple, and I had to laugh in nervous agreement. But if anything, the trip just cemented our friendship, as we had plenty of time to get to know each other walking the streets and huddling into packed subway cars.

Our classmates Monika and Kerstin met up with us on Friday night, but those two are so gung-ho and tireless that they had already ditched us the next morning to get an early start on their day. Both girls go to Berkeley, Monika living in a Co-Op and Kerstin a Sorority, and both of them are pretty typical of their respective origins: both down-to-earth, one slightly hippie-dippy and the other slightly girlish. Though we come from the same school I barely knew either of them until this weekend, but they were fun to trek around with. If only they didn't keep such a rigid itinerary.



We tried to end the trip with a visit to Teotihuacan, home to one of the only remaining pyramids in Mexico, but after an hour and a half on an uncomfortable bus ride, we got there just in time to hear the site was closing and we wouldn't be able to clime the old relic after all. Weary and still feeling slightly ill from breathing Mexico City's pollution all day, we headed back to Morelia, ready to sleep in a normal bed again and say goodbye to this monstrosity of a city. All I got for our troubles was this picture:

It's All Gonna Break

Maybe it's just because I just had my last day of real classes, but it's finally hitting me - in just over a week I'll leave Mexico, maybe to never return (yeah, right). All the same, the immense anticipation I feel towards going to Spain is colored with a twinge of melancholy for my impending flight. As a perpetually over-anxious person, the slower pace of life here has done plenty to teach me the plethora of benefits that come with chilling the Hell out. On almost zen-like understanding permeates this country: things will happen when they happen, regardless of whether you lose sleep over them or not. Not to mention that after the somewhat chilly atmosphere of UC Berkeley, the sheer openness and hospitality of the culture still catches me off-guard sometimes. Despite the obvious fact that I'm in no real need of charity and certain people here are, I've been given more free stuff here (beer, dictionaries, rides to the movie theater) from random strangers than some of my best friends at home (that's no knock on you guys, either - I'm trying to make a point).

But it's not just the culture I'm going to miss. As someone frighteningly close to full-fledged, get-a-job-already adulthood, my situation here is probably the last in my life that I'll have so much security and freedom at the same time. I get meals whenever I want until I'm full, and haven't washed a single dish. My host-family provides me with any knowledge I may need, and never asks anything of me other than not bringing girls into my room (I could probably get away with that, too, if I was more morally-weak). After living in an apartment for a year, it's almost infantilizing. There are probably middle school kids with more responsibilities than me.



With this in mind, I'm trying to take advantage of the time I have as much as possible. Even though Ashley, Evan and I had to give a group presentation today on Mexico's 2006 presidential election (somehow, even more dirty and complicated than ours was in 2000), we all went to XO last night, which was thankfully better than my last experience. There was a big group of us, including a bunch of the giddy, flirty Mexicanas from out university's language club and two half-Persian guys (there's more of us!) that were visiting Zander. We all had fun dancing together, and I met some sweet, pretty Mexican girls whose names I can't remember (it was loud, OK?) that fed me drinks all night (what did I say about the generosity here?).

Just like in Guanajuato, someone just *had* to grab Eliza's butt (Zander's budy, naturally) and just like in the gay bar last Saturday, Eliza (pictured above) danced and kissed up a storm with Ugo, who she is in love with and is apparently gay except when it comes to her (too bad "Chasing Ugo" doesn't have much of a ring to it; I made the joke anyway). Eliza is also half-Persian, giving us something not far from solidarity, strengthened by the fact that we probably get made fun of (in a good-natured way) the most out of anyone in our circle of friends here. Eliza's quite the flirt, but in a genuinely friendly way that never feels forced or awkward, and she's probably the easiest girl to get along with out of the Americans here, and by far the most fun to party with.

I've been lucky in that most of my good friends here are also going to Spain (Evan, Zander, Ashley, John) but Eliza is not, which is why I'm glad we're going to Mexico City together this weekend. Janeth (Eliza's host sister) skipped out on coming (to spend time with Evan, who she's deeply in love with), which bummed me out a little (I kind of wish I'd met her first) but it'll give Eliza and I more time to bond. Unfortunately, I have finals on Monday, but my teachers have basically guaranteed me passage onto Spain, and they say that everyone has to go to Mexico City once (and never again). Not to mention that my old bud Alejandro (where you at, Chilango?) has told me so much about the place that I can't resist seeing it with my own eyes. After all, it's probably the last chance I'll get this decade, and, as they love to say here, you only live once.

Familly Affair

Up until last night, I was planning on naming this post "...Are Out of Town" (in conjunction with my last post, get it?): half my class went to Mexico City and the other to Ixtapa. Of course, I was staying in town because my "dadiolo" (as the goofball's been been signing his recent e-mails) is visiting me here. The whole fam's been pressuring him to come down to Mexico to finally apply the Spanish he's been studying for over seven years, and I'm proud to say that my being here might have given him cause to finally pull the trigger.

His Spanish is still pretty uneven, but luckily he's traveling with our friend Mark (pictured above, left), who has known me since the wee age of three (his son was my first childhood friend in preschool) and has traveled to Mexico every year since 2000. We met up at the central cathedral and had dinner in the Jardin de Las Rosas, but they had been traveling all day and are both in their fifties, so they retired to bed before too long. They did get to meet my Rosalinda and Shayla, though, and even dragged them into a predictably-strained conversation about US border control policy, which made for some humorous miscommunications. But Rosalinda told him I was like a son to her, which was a surprisingly poignant moment for me, especially since I'm leaving so soon.



As if that picture doesn't give it away, my Saturday Night was a little more eventful. Liza and her host sister Janeth (also my buddy Evan's girlfriend), along Janeth's friends Jugo and Miguel, took me to my first gay bar (in any country), and it ended up being the most fun I've had here in a while. I was initially intimidated when we walked into the release party for the new gay Mexican lifestyle magazine "Gnutral" (or something like that): everyone was watching several leotard-ed young lads in the center of the bar dancing flamboyantly to Madonna, and the trans gender uh...person in the photo above kept grabbing random guys to dance with him/her. It would seem that the insane amounts of homophobia in Mexico forces the gay youth here to develop a strong sense of community, because everyone in the place seemed to know each other.

There were actually a lot of very attractive women there, but obviously most of them had no interest in me and I didn't feel like too eager to step into that psychological minefield. But as I learned on Wednesday night, sometimes the sense of obligation to hit on girls can totally sink the bar/club experience, and since this obviously a non-issue, I simply danced my ass off to the various disco/electronica sounds of the night and was far happier for it. At one point a rather older gay male started hitting on me rather poorly (I said it was hot in the bar - guess what bad line he replied with?) but luckily Eliza and Janeth (above, to the right and left of me, respectively) danced with me for the rest of of the night to keep him away. I mentioned before that I may have a thing for Janeth, and the endless simulated-sex that is club-dancing didn't help matters, but I'm trying not to let it worry me.



I closed out the weekend with my first Mexican futbol match, between our local Monarchs (perpetually in last place of division one) and Atlante FC. Although it took me and Ethan a half hour to wait in line for the game and it ended with the lose-lose situation of a 0-0 tie, it was a beautiful day and the spectacle of watching soccer where people give a shit (aka, outside of the United States) was worth it. With so little time before I'm leaving this beautiful country, it's hard not to feel the separation creeping in already, but also makes me appreciate it's abundant cultural riches even more.