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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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