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I came across a great “documental” (documentary) called Develop: Mayan Territory (http://blip.tv/file/386835). It takes you on a journey through areas populated by the Maya in Mexico, Belize and Guatemala. You get a look at two sides of these communities, the poverty as well as the ingenuity, creativity and communal spirit that unites them.

An underlying theme in the documentary is that of using what is on hand, what you already have around you, to better your surroundings. It is not necessary to look “más allá” (beyond) that. However, by combining forces with people from all over the world, we have the ability to create a closer-knit global community that works for common solutions.

The film is about “el poder de la ideas” (the power of ideas) and the will to make them reality. It provides foreigners with a humble and respectful look at what it means to be Maya and what is possible to accomplish. It is a much needed documentary. “La probreza” (poverty) and “la corrupción” (corruption) often seem to run so deep that it’s hard to believe that there are “soluciones” (solutions). This is especially true if you see it (todos los días” (every day). It’s easy to fall into apathy. This documentary is a reminder that something can be done.

This is especially important for those of you interested in the language and culture of Latin America.

My son has been terribly sick… again. So I decided to take this opportunity to talk about practical health concerns in Mexico.

Americans are known for being very, shall we say, particular about what we eat, where we sleep and the risks we are willing to take. In the School for Foreign Students here in Xalapa, Americans are often a cause for frustration. Sometimes they refuse to put the toilet paper in the wastebasket instead of the toilet. Sometimes they demand immediate medical attention for bug bites. For Mexicans, this is understandably exasperating as these are all things that are part of daily life down here. For Americans, it just takes someone who knows the ropes to get them out of the beginner’s crisis.

I love to do exactly what a foreigner should never do: eat tacos at street stands. They are delicious and authentic, yet they’ve also given me Typhoid Fever. And as far as the water goes, I brush my teeth with it and cook pasta in it and haven’t had a problem. I know people, though, who have gotten really sick just by rinsing their mouths out with tap water. It just depends on the individual.

The other day I decided to buy chicken breast. It seems to be a simple enough operation. There are several people near our home who sell it. At one woman’s stall, I’ve seen the chicken laid out on the sidewalk next to bird poop and chewed gum. I kept on walking. At the next stall, a young couple sat beneath a beach umbrella and kept the chicken covered by a clean cloth. One person handled the money and the other person handled the food. It would have been an ideal place but they were already sold out. So I went to the last stand. Here was a man swatting wasps from his chicken parts. I’ve seen a lot of people buy from him so I imagined he was a safe option.

I started to doubt my decision when I saw how he handled money, his cell phone, ran his hands through his hair and then handled the chicken. I thought maybe I was just being a picky American. So I bought the chicken breast, took it home and washed it before cooking it. We all ate lunch and later on that evening, my baby started throwing up. No one else got sick. I can’t be sure that it was the chicken but I don’t think I’ll be buying from him again. It all comes down to finding the fine line between doing what the locals do and being aware of your own sensibilities.

Before coming to Mexico, I learned that it is not polite to look at babies and children without touching them. As an American accustomed to the large amounts of personal space we need, I always preferred to comment on how lovely the baby is but not to touch her. Here I learned that if I complimented a baby without touching her, it could lead to the baby receiving “mal de ojo,” or evil eye. I needed to touch the baby on the head or the arm. This contact assured that she wouldn’t suffer any negative effects due to one’s admiration. The idea is that if someone admires something so much that she wishes it were hers or feels envy, this negative energy is transferred to the baby, however well intended it may be.

In every market in Veracruz, you can find a seed called “ojo de venado,” or deer’s eye, attached to a small, beaded bracelet. Sometimes this seed has an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe or a saint superimposed, but not always. These are used to protect little babies from strangers and the vibes they may carry. My mother-in-law explained to me that many mothers in past generations placed an open pair of scissors, in the form of a cross, beneath the baby’s pillow as a form of protection. You can also wear anything red or attach a red string to the baby’s wrist. These beliefs are limitless, and many have changed over time.

My son has worn the “ojo de venado” he was given and we’ve picked out red socks for him on more than one occasion. I no longer get nervous when strangers go out of their way to touch him on the head. What’s more, I’ve learned to do the same.

Since we’re talking about “susto,” I’d like to share a personal experience. When my son was only few months old, he fell. As new parents, we were sick with worry and fear, even though Diego showed no sign of injury. He didn’t seem in the least bit affected by his bump. My immediate reaction was to let out a cry and swoop him up in my arms, examining him and running my hand over his little body. Letting out a cry, it seems, is a surefire way of bringing about a case of “susto.”

Shortly after that, he always had cold, sweaty feet. When I say sweaty, I mean drops of sweat ran from his toes down to his heels. He began to wake up in the night crying, something he’d never done before, and any loud noise or unwelcome stranger would make him scream and grope at my neck. At my mother-in-law’s request, we took him to a woman known for having the ability to cure children of “susto.”

The “curandera” (healer) was a happy, round little woman with gray curls and a warm smile. She took Diego into her arms and gently took off his clothes all the way to the diaper. She then reached over to a clay bowl filled with a warm, herbal infusion. She quickly rubbed him from his head to his toes. He began to cry and look around the room for familiar faces, for mommy and daddy. I thought, “Well this obviously isn’t working.”

When she handed him over to me I noticed that his feet were a warm, pink color. They felt warm and dry for the first time in weeks. More importantly, he was back to being his happy, easygoing self. Some things are not easily explained.

When traveling in Mexico, you should be aware of “los malos aires.” Literally translated as “the bad winds,” this phrase can refer to a cool breeze or even negative vibes.

This is the reason mothers bundle their children up beneath three layers of flannel blankets, two layers of pants, a couple shirts, socks and good tennis shoes. I remember when I went to the US Embassy in Mexico City. Mexican mothers carried their babies beneath layers of clothing and cloth while American mothers held their babies in nothing but shorts and t-shirts. They obviously hadn’t heard of “los malos aires.”

This is also the reason one should never run around barefoot. Here in Xalapa, you should always wear shoes, even if it’s hot. Since I grew up barefoot, this has been a point of conflict between my “suegra” and me.

When my son was a newborn baby, people frequently came by to see him. They wouldn’t hold him as soon as they stepped through the door, though. They would wait for “los malos aires” to wear off before exposing the baby to them. In this case, “malos aires” refers to street vibes. Xalapa can be quite chaotic. All the traffic, smog and grumpy people can be considered “mal aire” and can affect the littlest people more than adults.

Don’t be surprised if someone stops you in the street to tell you to bundle up. They are only trying to save you from “los malos aires.”

I have to interrupt this segment on “malestares” in Mexico to share with you our TelMex adventure. If you’ve already spent a significant amount of time in Mexico, you’ve heard of TelMex. Not only that, you’ve also helped strengthen the TelMex Empire.
If you’re not familiar with Carlos Slim and the TelMex monopoly, check out these this post to get a little background:
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/27/opinion/27mon4.html

Once you’re familiar with size and strength of the Empire and the incredible “tranzas” that helped build it, you’ll understand my frustration with the following “anécdota” (anecdote).

We rent a small cabin to a friend. She has been living there for almost two years. Sometimes the phone bill arrives, but usually it doesn’t. Since the only thing TelMex does well is cut phone lines and charge large sums of money, she has been without a connection far more than she has been with one. So she decided to put her foot down. She decided to say “¡Basta!” (Enough!). She decided to cancel her phone line, well, our phone line.

So back in December, my husband and I trekked down to the TelMex offices and said that we wanted to cancel the phone line. Our friend has paid all outstanding dues, so the kind lady behind the desk hit a few keys on her keyboard and said, “There you go. I cut your service.” She told us that we would have to come back in 15 days to make sure there weren’t any more charges. My husband informed her that we would be out of town. “No problem,” she said. “Come by when you get back.”

So about 17 days went by and we went back. Apparently, we were too late. They told us that “come back in 15 days” should have been followed by, “or we’ll reconnect your phone line, charge you a fee and make you do it all over again.” Oh, and that they were going to charge us 500 pesos. Some say those 500 pesos were for calls made after the line had been cut (!?). Some say it was a reconnection fee. Some say they didn’t know what the fee was for, but there it was nonetheless.

After raising his voice and saying something about the injustice of TelMex and the corruption in Mexico, my husband stormed out and made his way to the PROFECO (Procuraduría Federal del Consumidor). There we placed our “queja” (complaint) and went on TelMex’s head office.

Fortunately for us, the manager was once my husband’s student. So, as is customary in Mexico, we were treated well, those inexplicable 500 pesos were taken off the bill and the line cut all because we knew the one with the power.
This is just a small lesson in Mexican bureaucracy.

When traveling in Mexico there are a few “malestares” (malaise) that you should watch out for. You may or may not be familiar with them, but you’ll most likely hear of them after spending a significant amount of time here. In the next couple of segments we’ll take a closer a look at a few of these conditions.
“Susto” (fear) is a psychological or physical reaction to trauma. There are a number of stories about children who go missing, witness a traumatic event or experience other stressful situations and later show physical or psychological reactions that warrant the attention of a “curandero” (healer).

For example, my husband’s uncle, as the story goes, fell into the river when he was a little boy. That alone was a “susto.” But then, when he popped his little head up out of the water, he saw his father taking off his belt. What was really a meaningless gesture was taken for pending doom: yet another “susto.” He sprung out of the river and ran into the house to hide from the leather belt. He got down on his belly and slid under the bed only to find himself face-to-face with a chicken who was just as spooked as he was.

They say that the robust little guy turned into a skinny, pale boy. He started scraping the paint off the walls and eating it instead of real food. It wasn’t until they found a local “curandero” (healer) that he was able to leave his “susto” behind. Although, they say, he was never the same.

On January 2, the oldest cantina in America Latina was shut down by the UNAM (Universidad Autónoma de México). El Nivel (The Level), with its license number 001, has been around since at least 1872.

It has served as a meeting place for writers, artists, the homeless, entertainers and even presidents. Until recently, the cantina was filled with characters with “apodos” (nicknames) like “El Brujo” (The Witch) and “El Colosio” (for his resemblance to the ex-presidential candidate). On any given day you could find “Nivelungos” (El Nivel Barflies) such as “El Tío Monchiváis” (Uncle Monsiváis) and “El Doctor Tatatiú-tatatiú” seated at the bar drinking any one of the joint’s specialty drinks: El Nivelungo, La Patada de Mula (The Mule’s Kick) and La Sangría.

The cantina is often called the last vestige of the “macho mexicano”. It has become a national symbol worthy of detailed ethnography. El Nivel could have possibly been one of the most “Mexican” cantinas still in existence.

Because the UNAM owns the building, they’ve decided to close this chapter of Mexican history to make way for new projects. The newspaper El Universal has a great video short that I highly recommend. You can check it out here: http://videos.eluniversal.com.mx/paginas/videosdet2061.html

You may suggest that translating is nothing more than finding one word’s equivalent in another language. You may believe that your dictionary can solve all your grammatical woes. Your electronic translator or software may seem to be the most reliable way to get the author’s point across.

You would be wrong.

An experienced translator doesn’t just exchange one word for another. If we’re talking about poetry, for example, words have very little to do with it. A good translator reads beyond the words on paper to find the true intended meaning. She taps into the images, sounds, feelings and experiences which the author invokes. That is what she translates.
Ramón Rodríguez is a local poet of international renown. He turned 82 not long ago. In his honor, the University of Veracruz has recovered some of his most important work. Two translations of T.S. Eliot’s poem “Virginia” appear in the literary journal La palabra y el hombre. The first is a more literal translation and the second is Ramon’s interpretive translation.

Here is the poem “Virginia” in English:

Red river, red river,
Slow flow heat is silence
No will is still as a river
Still. Will heat move
Only through the mocking-bird
Heard once? Still hills
Wait. Gates wait. Purple trees,
White trees, wait, wait,
Delay, decay. Living, living,
Never moving. Ever moving
Iron thoughts came with me
And go with me:
Red river, river, river.

Here is a translation done by Octavio Castro López:

Río rojo, río rojo
Tu tranquilo flujo ardiente es silencio
Ninguna voluntad es todavía como un río
Apacible. ¿Os conmoverá este afán vehemente
Sólo hasta que hayáis escuchado
Al cenzontle? Las colinas apacibles
Esperan. Esperan los pórticos. Los purpúreos árboles,
Los árboles blancos , esperan, esperan,
Se detienen y declinan. Vivir, vivir,
Jamás transformarse. Y aun transformándose
Mis férreos pensamientos vinieron conmigo
Y conmigo se van:
Río rojo, río, río.

Here is the translation done by Ramón Rodríguez:

Río Rojo, rojo río
fluyendo silencioso,
ningún silencio como el tuyo,
¿Escuchas el sonido de los pájaros?
los Pájaros que esperan,
como las colinas, como los puentes,
como los blancos árboles que esperan,
que permanecen, decaen, viven, viven,
inmóviles, movibles,
lo que se mueve conmigo
lo que se va conmigo:
Río Rojo, rojo río.

“Sé un caballero,” (Be a gentleman) a father told his little boy the other day, “y cárgale la mochila de la niña” (and carry the little girl’s backpack).

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” I responded. “She can carry her own backpack.” And so my stepdaughter and we continued on our way to school.

I also remember when my husband and I went to see our “partera” (midwife). She is a robust woman capable of shaking big babies out of large women. She needed to buy a “garrafón” (jug) of water. So she asked my husband, who’s about half her size, if he could carry it for her. Now our midwife is as much of a feminist as the next woman, but she is also accustomed to letting the men do the heavy-lifting. Later on she laughed about it and also wondered why my poor husband should have to struggle with the “garrafón” when she could lift it and carry it herself.

This same scene is repeated time and time again. The other day in the office a group of women were huddled around a plywood desk, whispering amongst themselves until one of them spotted my husband. There was no escape. He was volunteered to carry the desk to the next room while the five women stood around and watched.

This is when feminism gets a little muddy. On the one hand, men and women (here in Xalapa) are taught that “caballeros” (gentlemen) should open doors and carry “mochilas” and that women are strong and independent but shouldn’t use that strength to carry their own “garrafones”. It’s another take on gender roles I suppose. More on that next time…