no hablo espanol

Of all the places I’ve been so far, language has rarely been a barrier, and it’s not because I’m some sagacious language learner (in fact nothing could be farther from the truth), but because English has always been the dominant tongue. It’s not my intention to brag, but my Facebook app, “Where I’ve been” looks like Jackson Pollock took teal paint to a map of the world. During my travels I’ve been a few hundred miles from Conrad’s heart of darkness in Africa and yet all my conversations were spoken in English. I’ve been to South Pacific islands that are a few boat rides away from archipelagos where tribes still haven’t seen Western ways, and still English was spoken by almost all. It wasn’t until I came to a city that is a few hours from the US border that I have really had to make an effort to learn the native language.

When I was in Korea conversing was simple. Just about everyone under the age of 40 spoke amazing English, and as such, there was never a necessity to learn Korean. Not only that, but Koreans tended to re-enforced my ignorance. There were many times when Koreans would ask me to list all the words I knew in their language. For me, this conversation didn’t last very long. Every time I would utter a word in their tongue, the Korean would repeat the word and giggle like I just said the words “Lake Titicaca” to a 13 year-old boy. They were even impressed with words like kimchi, a Korean food which has no English equivalent, and the names of Korean towns and cities. And of course, after they were done giggling, they’d commend me by saying like, “Impeccably impressive, your Korean lexicon is quite prodigious but remember, practice is paramount my compatriot.”

Nothing could be more contrary here in Mexico. I’m not fluent Fred by any means, but I’m taking lessons and learning more each day. Regardless, people here come up to me and engage in full-on Spanish conversations (as they should in their own country), to which I often respond, “Lo siento, pero no hablo mucho espanol. ¿Puede por favor hablar mas despacio?” At this point, given my Korean experiences, I’m expecting to get blown right there on the spot, but instead Mexicans often look a little disappointed and simply stare at me like they caught me urinating in their gas tank.

I respect the tough love the Mexicans assert towards their language. I believe that the ignominious looks I get from some Mexicans for not knowing their language can partly be blamed on the linguistic ignorance of a certain group of foreigners who travel to Mexico. They are described below.

Ask a certain assemblage of people if they know any Spanish when you learn they’re travelling to Mexico, and you may hear them proudly reply, “All I know is, Dos cervezas por favor,” followed by some chortling. Perhaps you know the individuals that make up this group. In male form, they are the guys who wear their stripy, getting-laid shirts every Friday night. They go to a club looking to attract any conscious member of the opposite sex. When they arrive at the discotheque, they realize they are a drop of water in an ocean of stripy, getting-laid shirts and so, to distinguish themselves from the clones they often resort to groping, grinding and/or fighting in order to showcase their unique sense of awesomeness. In female form, these individuals use too much self-tanner and instead of having a fake, healthy glow, they look as if they just rolled around in a giant bag of Doritos. These women can also differentiate each of the Kardashians. These individuals are proud of their Mexican eruditeness (the knowing of one simple phrase), when in actual fact, the closest they’ll get to doing anything truly Mexican is the salsa instructor at the resort in Playa del Carmen named Luis Jose.

In short, I believe that Mexicans are weary of foreigners who don’t speak Spanish, thanks in part to this particular group of people. Furthermore, because of this weariness, I feel obligated to learn more Spanish, so I would just like to thank those guys who idolized Mike, “The Situation” and the horoscope manic girls who travel down to Mexico to have a great time.

P.S. For some reason the people I’ve come across who say, “dos cervezas por favor,” always ask for two, never one. It’s as if this group wants to accentuate their duchebaggery. (If I had to fathom a guess as to why they say “dos cervezas” and not one, it’s because in order to request a single beer, you would have to conjugate uno, to una because cerveza is feminine and that would require an actual thought, so it’s just easy to order two).

P.P.S. I would also like to point out that simply knowing the phrase “dos cervezas, por favour” isn’t all that helpful. In non-resort Mexico, there are follow up questions like: “¿Que tipo? ¿De que tamano? ¿Con hielo? ¿En un vaso?” And you just sit there and stare at the waiter like he swore in front of the Pope.

P.P.P.S. Next time you encounter someone having English language troubles, please go easy on them for me. And please, don’t merely repeat the same thing, only louder and louder. They volume in which you say a word does not, in any way, aide in one’s understanding of the meaning.

Ghettoblaster-classifying

It’s important to learn and know about stereotypes, which is why, regardless of pedagogical context, I always try to introduce the idea to students around the world. In Kuwait, when I asked my students to provide an example of a stereotype, more than one of them seriously replied, “ You know, Sony, Panasonic, RCA, stuff like that.” The answer didn’t surprise me much, I mean, what else could I except from a nation of apathetic, obtuse Middle Easterners?

It’s essential to understand the power and sway stereotypes can have, because if people are uneducated about the issue, then they can completely shape certain outcomes without ever fully comprehending them. As a white male, I am completely aware of the repercussions and dangers stereotypes have, and thus, am obliged to pass along my wisdom to other, less educated people.

This park was created by a deviated artist. It was part Dali, part Esher, part Whoville, part PCP... okay, that's probably a bit extreme -- nothing's Dali-esque.

Recently, I committed a faux pas that almost went unnoticed. A few weeks ago, I ventured a few hundred kilometres (which is an approximation of course, I didn’t calculate the exact distance; I’m not a Korean or anything) into rural Mexico and found myself saying upon my return, “It was nice to finally see ‘real’ Mexico.”

"Real" Mexico. At first it doesn’t seem like much of a queer phrase. ("'Ugh, Oh my God, I can't believe you don't know all the wordth to the 'Rent' Thoundtrack,' said Steve." Now, that's a queer phrase) In fact, most people try to sieve through the layers of excrement to find something real. Of course there are a few instances when one doesn’t want the real thing: Pamela Anderson, prison re-enactments, or housewives from any affluent Californian suburb to name a few.

But getting back to the issue at hand: “Real” Mexico.

What I meant by “Real” Mexico of course, was that I had finally been to a few small towns that seemed to more accurately represent what the outside world stereotypically thinks of when they imagine Mexico. These little towns had city centres surrounded by buildings with New Orleans-inspired balconies and colors. These towns were jostling with old men, sitting around, with their cowboy hats on, eating tacos and talking about the good old days.

But what does that say about the bustling city, filled with Wal-Marts, 10 lane highways, Home Depots, Starbucks, and sushi bars, that I live in? Is this “fake” Mexico? Of course not. It just doesn’t fit our preconceived notions of Mexican life. (In fact, around 75% of the population lives in urban areas and have worked hard for these luxuries). While you look at these photos, and those to come in future posts, please keep in mind that they are the exception and not the rule. While some could argue that I could help change the paradigm by posting a plethora of photos accurately depicting the everyday Mexican life, I’ll be honest, if you want to see a picture of a person standing outside a KFC, just imagine a scene from small-town USA, except for with a skinny person.

In conclusion, it is important not to stereotype or hold-on to preconceived notions. The sad thing is, if one isn't educated about these terrible social simplification, then they might not even know they're guilty of perpetuating them. One must be constantly readjusting their beliefs and perceptions as new information is presented. I offer these words as a gift -- an amazing, free gift. (Cue huge increase with Jewish readership).

This is the same cave that can be seen at the introduction of "Planet Earth: Caves" (the scene with the BASE jumpers). Photos cannot capture this cave that's about as close to the youthful "hole to China" as one will ever see. Of course, if such a hole did exist, they wouldn't be able to look back at us as clearly, if you know what I'm saying.
(>_<)