July 21, Wednesday - I hit the wall
Wet and tired.
I kind of hit the wall today. It is amazing how tiring it is to think so hard in another language all day. Every single thing is different, everything must be considered carefully, nothing is habit.
I am beginning to feel like I have a bad attitude in general. I had a bad attitude in Thousand Oaks and I have a bad attitude here. I was about ready to buy a plane ticket home at about 4:30 p.m. this afternoon when I was out trudging in the rain.
First, class this morning seemed interminable and hard, and the wooden chairs felt like torture after a couple hours (morning class is 4 hours long).
Lunch
Then there was lunch. I have an hour. I spent a long time looking for some place to eat. I also wanted to buy something to read IN ENGLISH.
I was sick of trying to think in Spanish and needed something to relax my brain with.
I ended up buying $33 worth of books from a rude woman in a bookstore. I don't think she liked gringos.
Even then, only one book, a Oaxaca guidebook, was in English. Almost everything in the store was in Spanish, except a few travel books, one of which was Oliver Sacks' "Oaxaca Journal," which I had read last week and thought was kind of weak and not worth finishing.
The only magazine I could find in English was Runner's World, which I actually considered buying, so desperate was I for something to read in my own language.
Stupid $500 bill
I wanted lunch but only had a $500 bill (about $45). Most small places here don’t have much change, so I couldn't go to a little restaurant.
I went to an outdoor tourist place on the Zocalo. The tables are right out in the open on the square. I wasn't aware what I was getting myself into.
Balloon vendors in the Zocalo
I was immediately set upon and pestered by squads of vendors who surrounded my table.
They were selling everything from fans to jewelry and chiclets - all tiny Indian women and hungry-looking children with huge shiny eyes. I was just feeling so weak and whipped that it was the last thing I needed.
I was almost in tears. And I only had this stupid $500 bill so I couldn't even buy anything from them and get rid of the chiclets kids.
I ended up telling one woman, a really good, persistent saleswoman, to come back after lunch. She bugged me half a dozen times until I got my change after my mediocre sandwich and I could give her $10 for some stupid bead necklaces I wouldn't have paid a buck for in the States, all out of stupidity and shame and guilt.
A lot of those kids looked very sick and hungry, especially one little guy, maybe 8 years old, selling chiclets. He was kind of dazed and listless and terrible-looking. His eyes were too big for his head. I showed him my tourist guide and he of leafed through the pictures, I think pretending to read.
The only thing that made that lunch tolerable was (oh, did I mention the chain smoker at the next table? That added another dimension of pleasantness) the glass of wine I had.
Ah, alcohol with its remarkable healing powers. I have no idea how I could ever quit drinking completely. It's not that I need to drink a lot or even every day. But occasionally, I really, really need just one drink.
My afternoon classes seemed easier. They were definitely shorter, since I arrived considerably late after my ordeal (only I can turn lunch on the Zocalo into an ordeal). I really like Luis, the afternoon teacher, and I think he likes me because I pronounce well and don't mangle the language as badly as Linda, the other student.
Linda is hilarious, really. Luis says "una persona" and she says "uno persono". Luis corrects "persona" and she says, "Yeah, right, persono." It's like she just can't hear the language at all.
Rain rain go away
After class it rained again. I slogged up the street, still tired, almost crying, looking for an ATM. I just felt so worn out. All of the ATMs were behind locked doors and I couldn't figure out how to get to one (it turns out you have to put your card in a slot to unlock the door. If I were more clever or less tired, that would not have been so difficult to figure out). I finally found one where someone was coming out, grabbed the door and went in, much like a robber would, I suppose.
I tried 5 times to work the damn thing and finally figured out that it was like my gas station, where you stick the card in and pull it out fast instead of leaving it in the machine...¡Que chistoso! (What a joke!) I got my 100 pesos and only later did my calculation....All that stress for about $9. Chalk it up to a learning experience.
Cafe Refuge
I finally found a very very nice cafe and had a beautiful caffe latte. The woman who made it was so careful, and it was so pretty...but it tasted just awful. The woman was very sweet, though. She talked my ear off, asking questions about my studies and listening to my bad Spanish. It was an really fine time, sitting there in the warm afternoon, talking to a nice stranger.
I kind of hit the wall today. It is amazing how tiring it is to think so hard in another language all day. Every single thing is different, everything must be considered carefully, nothing is habit.
I am beginning to feel like I have a bad attitude in general. I had a bad attitude in Thousand Oaks and I have a bad attitude here. I was about ready to buy a plane ticket home at about 4:30 p.m. this afternoon when I was out trudging in the rain.
First, class this morning seemed interminable and hard, and the wooden chairs felt like torture after a couple hours (morning class is 4 hours long).
Lunch
Then there was lunch. I have an hour. I spent a long time looking for some place to eat. I also wanted to buy something to read IN ENGLISH.
I was sick of trying to think in Spanish and needed something to relax my brain with.
I ended up buying $33 worth of books from a rude woman in a bookstore. I don't think she liked gringos.
Even then, only one book, a Oaxaca guidebook, was in English. Almost everything in the store was in Spanish, except a few travel books, one of which was Oliver Sacks' "Oaxaca Journal," which I had read last week and thought was kind of weak and not worth finishing.
The only magazine I could find in English was Runner's World, which I actually considered buying, so desperate was I for something to read in my own language.
Stupid $500 bill
I wanted lunch but only had a $500 bill (about $45). Most small places here don’t have much change, so I couldn't go to a little restaurant.
I went to an outdoor tourist place on the Zocalo. The tables are right out in the open on the square. I wasn't aware what I was getting myself into.
Balloon vendors in the Zocalo
I was immediately set upon and pestered by squads of vendors who surrounded my table.
They were selling everything from fans to jewelry and chiclets - all tiny Indian women and hungry-looking children with huge shiny eyes. I was just feeling so weak and whipped that it was the last thing I needed.
I was almost in tears. And I only had this stupid $500 bill so I couldn't even buy anything from them and get rid of the chiclets kids.
I ended up telling one woman, a really good, persistent saleswoman, to come back after lunch. She bugged me half a dozen times until I got my change after my mediocre sandwich and I could give her $10 for some stupid bead necklaces I wouldn't have paid a buck for in the States, all out of stupidity and shame and guilt.
A lot of those kids looked very sick and hungry, especially one little guy, maybe 8 years old, selling chiclets. He was kind of dazed and listless and terrible-looking. His eyes were too big for his head. I showed him my tourist guide and he of leafed through the pictures, I think pretending to read.
The only thing that made that lunch tolerable was (oh, did I mention the chain smoker at the next table? That added another dimension of pleasantness) the glass of wine I had.
Ah, alcohol with its remarkable healing powers. I have no idea how I could ever quit drinking completely. It's not that I need to drink a lot or even every day. But occasionally, I really, really need just one drink.
My afternoon classes seemed easier. They were definitely shorter, since I arrived considerably late after my ordeal (only I can turn lunch on the Zocalo into an ordeal). I really like Luis, the afternoon teacher, and I think he likes me because I pronounce well and don't mangle the language as badly as Linda, the other student.
Linda is hilarious, really. Luis says "una persona" and she says "uno persono". Luis corrects "persona" and she says, "Yeah, right, persono." It's like she just can't hear the language at all.
Rain rain go away
After class it rained again. I slogged up the street, still tired, almost crying, looking for an ATM. I just felt so worn out. All of the ATMs were behind locked doors and I couldn't figure out how to get to one (it turns out you have to put your card in a slot to unlock the door. If I were more clever or less tired, that would not have been so difficult to figure out). I finally found one where someone was coming out, grabbed the door and went in, much like a robber would, I suppose.
I tried 5 times to work the damn thing and finally figured out that it was like my gas station, where you stick the card in and pull it out fast instead of leaving it in the machine...¡Que chistoso! (What a joke!) I got my 100 pesos and only later did my calculation....All that stress for about $9. Chalk it up to a learning experience.
Cafe Refuge
I finally found a very very nice cafe and had a beautiful caffe latte. The woman who made it was so careful, and it was so pretty...but it tasted just awful. The woman was very sweet, though. She talked my ear off, asking questions about my studies and listening to my bad Spanish. It was an really fine time, sitting there in the warm afternoon, talking to a nice stranger.
posted by Suebob at 4:58 PM
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