Something to Write Home About

Now that I've lived here just over 13 months, the "adventure-factor" of my re-location project has worn off a bit.

Well, a lot. I laughed pretty hard when I was in NYC a few months ago, and my friend's roommate, upon hearing that I live in Mexico, asked me what my life was likethere. I started to explain that my work schedule was light, and I don't need a car, and it's really hot, things that for me seem important about my way of life down here. He proceeded to say, "No, no, like the way of life. Don't you eat huevos rancheros every morning and converse with the señoras?" I had to laugh. My life here is different, but not that different. And I like it that way. I like being able to go to the market and buy the best mango you can imagine for 40 cents, but also being able to go to Home Depot if it's absolutely necessary. OK, I've never actually been to Home Depot, but it's nice to know it's there. My point is that I still have my normal life here, I mean it's really not that different. What, with wireless internet, it's more advanced than I was in WI. But, the potential for exoticism is much higher.

I'm rambling. Let me get back to the point.

So the adventure-factor has worn off, but it appeared again two days ago, when I called a new found friend, R, (who's not in the orchestra, yeah!) to see if he wanted to go get a drink or something, and he responded, "I'm in Izamal, do you want to come?" I was a bit taken aback at his quick invitation, since we've just recently met (I don't even know is last name to give him proper initial status on my blog!) but instead of going on the defense, I decided to "go with the flow," as they say. The next day after my rehearsal, I found myself on a second class bus to Izamal, a lovely colonial town about 6o km east of here. It's one of my favorite places on the peninsula, and I was excited to see it again.

R is an archaeologist, and he was working on a new site just outside of Izamal, the remnants of some Mayan ruins and colonial architecture from the early Spanish settlers. A far too frequent occurence, when the Spanish arrived they used stones from the already constructed, sacred Mayan pyramids to build their own churches and altars. This results in a striking architectural juxtaposition- a blatant symbol of the relations, and conflicts, between the two cultures that in many ways still exist today.

When I arrived in Izamal, I sat in the plaza for a while, waiting for R to get off work and give me a call. It's called "The Yellow City" because the whole town is painted this subdued shade of yellow, from the huge convent in the middle of town to all the businesses and houses on the side streets. Everything yellow. It has quite an effect. There are two attractive plazas in town, on either sides of this amazingly large convent, where again you can clearly see how the convent was built right on top of the base of a pyramid.

A beat up, government-owned truck pulled up after a bit, and R jumped out, with his torn up jeans, big floppy hat, filthy from head to toe, with a gleam in his eye from doing what he really is passionate about. He was bouncing off the walls: "We go to eat and then we go the site!" Honestly, I had had no idea what to expect, I didn't even realize he was going to take me to where he was working when I agreed to make the visit, but I loved the idea. I was just along for the ride.

We piled in the cab of the truck, me squeezed between R and his boss, "Sledge Hammer" (that's seriously his nick name). We grabbed some food and then headed down a less known road into what seemed to me as the middle of nowhere. We turned onto a path I wouldn't have even noticed if I had been on my own and continued quite a ways into the jungle-like brush. Finally we arrived at the site, that looked only slightly more developed than the terrain we had covered to get there. They have just begun excavating, so it really was still quite authentic, the ruins as they exist today, virtually untouched.

"The Sledge" has got to be one of the more knowledgeable men I have ever met. He took me through every area of the site, explaining the history, the traditions, the excavating process, the cultural connotations, the challenges. He could tell me where there was grave site based on the shape of rocks, he showed me a piece of ancient flute he had come across, he shared the legends, Mayan and Catholic, and he explained the process of his own work. I was basically enthralled, and felt quite privileged to see this still off-limits site, at the beginning of the project. My favorite part was the colonial walls, built by the Spanish out of the pyramid stones, now overgrown with massive tree roots which over time have become a part of the wall. Although little by little destroying the wall, they are also now the only thing keeping it erect. Indigenous culture, "civilized" culture, nature, all tangled up together.

The last part of the tour meant climbing up a pyramid, which just looked like a hill it was so covered. Actually, did you know there are no hills in this area? The land itself is so entirely flat, anything that you think is a hill is actually pyramid ruins.

Eventually we headed back to town. I enjoyed the ride back, lodged between these two guys whose worlds are so completely foreign to me. That's one stereotype of Mexicans confirmed, in my view, to be true. They are so open and inviting, that even in a situation in which you are so terribly out of place, you can somehow feel comfortable. So I sat there and took in their talk of politics, food, family, and religion, not saying much, but just enjoying the change of pace.

When we got back into town we took a rest in the house they stay in while doing these projects, it's a little house right next to one of the main pyramids of Izamal (there are at least 4 major reconstructed pyramids in the town). Before returning, we just needed to make one stop so "Sledge" could fill up his water tanks. When we stopped, he introduced R as the Mexican archaeologist he is, and then me, as an American archaeologist specializing in something or other visiting to complement her research. I bit my tongue and laughed extensively inside. Who knows why he said that, but it was pretty funny.

The evening consisted of horchata, tacos al pastor, and a chance presentation of folk dances from all over Mexico that was happening that night. There in the plaza, surrounded by yellow buildings, the evening breeze finally coming through, watching the dancers in their brilliant costumes, filled with an energy that comes from that very rhythmic style of dance, I felt lucky to have this part of the world be a memory I'll always have.

The day had worn me out, so we turned in a bit early (for Mexican standards). They had an extra hammock, so I crashed in the back room. Unfortunately, I was too exhausted to take advantage of being inside the locked-at-night gate of the pyramid. We could have climbed it at night and gotten the nocturnal view, but I could barely stand up, much less consider the prospect of climbing multiple stairs.

The last part of the journey is worth mentioning as well. As I had to work at 8:30 the next morning, I took a 6 am combi (a mini van, direct ride) into the city, to arrive on time. When I went up to the ticket booth at 5:50, before the sun had come up, I realized that naturally, the route existed to bus in laborers from the country, essentially, into the city to work for the day. So I boarded the bus sticking out like a tall, white, female sore thumb, and just took a deep breath and accepted it. It's amazing that after all this time abroad, I still feel incredibly self conscious in those situations. Those guys must have been thinking, "What in the world is this gringa doing?" But I feel asleep quickly, and next thing I knew, I was back.

I'm pretty sure that for most of my life thus far, if that opportunity had arised, I would have had a bunch of excuses and not gone. When really, the only thing, is that I was out of my comfort zone for about 18 hours straight. And that's a long time, in fact, I think that's why I was so exhausted at the end of it. But it left me with two invaluable things: an intense pleasure at getting back into my comfort zone, and a comfort zone that's a little bit bigger in the end.

I've never been one for routines, in fact it's perhaps sort of a downfall, having chosen a profession that may depend on them (I'm referring to practicing, mostly). But this experience reminded me why- when we get into patterns, we becoming a bit numb, as if we aren't even really here. And when all of the sudden we are jolted out of them, it's like we wake up into what is this life- things are brighter, more flavorful, more vibrant. And that's what I'm looking for.

So maybe I can keep the adventure factor up. Actually, I had another silly experience involving recording a Bach cello suite in a rock band studio, and an evening of driving around in a car that hardly ran with no license plates, so I guess I'm doing just fine.