The final chapter

After the emotional goodbyes in Mexico and the long flight back to Australia I was confronted with a kind of reverse culture shock coming home to where I had once been almost too comfortable leaving behind my new home away from home, cultural re-adjustment works both ways in this respect. The hardest aspect of this initially was the apparent timelessness of everything at home, my friends doing the same things, studying the same courses, in the same jobs, the city, every aspect of life, unchanged. Coming from exchange where you are constantly experiencing new things, meeting new people and travelling to new places, the consistency and predictability of home can be depressing. After some weeks of reflection however I came to the realisation that whilst I was away I had missed home for exactly what it was and so it was completely irrational to want it to be any different after I returned, it is the consistent and unchanging nature of home that makes it so endearing and that secure place that you can always return after foreign adventures such as exchange.

Speaking generally about the exchange experience as a whole, I can comfortably say that it was the greatest challenge and accomplishment of my life. It’s only after you put yourself truly outside your comfort zone that you come to learn and develop such valuable new skills. When I decided to go on exchange I felt that I was living far too securely in my life at home in Melbourne, beyond academic and sporting challenges life was almost stagnant and merely petering along. Most notably exchange challenges and develops one’s independence, their capacity to survive alone, to make new friends, to find a new way to live in a new culture. Personal skills develop at a rapid pace as you meet hundreds of new people within weeks, most importantly from all over the world from all different cultural backgrounds and so developing a greater sense of cultural understanding is unavoidable. Learning in a new educational environment provides a new and rewarding challenge; there is a need to adjust to new standards of academic performance, to collaborate with individuals in a foreign language and to work under the added personal pressure of being away from home. There is no doubt that exchange to any country helps to develop these and many other similar skills, growing the individual as a whole and this is exactly how I felt at the end of my exchange; empowered, confident and ultimately an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

More specifically, with regard to my exchange experience in Mexico, it is difficult to comprehensively articulate the amount that I learnt and experienced in this unique and amazing country. Obviously there are distinct cultural differences that exist between Australia and a country such as Mexico, the thing that amazed me the most was the ease with which I was able to gain a cultural insight wherever I travelled across the country, the kindness and generosity of the people, their inquisitiveness and their passion for their country, their identity and their culture. No doubt this sense of nationalist pride is the result of a tumultuous history of violence and revolution, their fight for independence and freedom. Learning about the colourful history of Mexico while simultaneously travelling the country, living and studying with Mexicans allowed me to encounter a broad cross section of the community and through them see the values of modern day Mexicans. Ultimately what struck me most notably was the diversity of the country and its people, geographically, socially and psychologically speaking. From the deserts in the north to the white sands and turquoise waters on the Caribbean coast, from the devout Catholic to the young educated student, self-aware of their position in the global community and determined to explore opportunities abroad, it is this diversity and growth as much as religious and cultural traditions that distinguish Mexico as one of the most remarkable countries in the world.

I have no doubt that the single skill that enabled me to gain, what I felt, was a significant insight into Mexican culture was my language. From the moment I arrived in Mexico it was the single skill I was determined to work on and develop and as I improved it added to my sense of belonging and the ease with which I lived. 

In the future I will complete a major in Spanish Language as part of my Bachelor of Arts/Bachelor or Laws degree at Monash University and may continue my Spanish via another exchange program or by completing an honours degree abroad. In the meantime I am maintaining my language by tutoring new students and taking the occasional lesson myself, listening to Spanish news and reading articles from foreign papers, but most regularly from Mexico a country with which I retain a strong connection. In the long term I hope to work for the UN as an intern in South America.

I hope that you have enjoyed reading about my time in Mexico, it has been a pleasure to write this blog and relive and reflect upon some of the most amazing experiences of my life. Most importantly I hope that for some this blog can act as a source of encouragement to learn another language, to travel abroad or to take part in an exchange program. 

The fast approaching end

It was, in my mind at least, not long at all before the end of semester had arrived, before I knew it I was studying for exams and even saying goodbye to people I felt I had known for a lifetime let alone just a few weeks. To say that it was ‘over in the blink of an eye’ though doesn’t quite capture the reality of my experience, because for each and every day, for every moment of those days my eyes were open wide, almost afraid to blink out of fear for what I may miss, and it was with this overbearing enthusiasm that I lived these days and experienced everything that passed before me.

As the end did approach it was unavoidably a time to reflect and as I turned back to look across the preceding weeks I was overwhelmed by a thick blanket of nostalgia. There’s something about reflection over a significant and meaningful time in your life, the trials, the hard times seem to dissolve in a wave of pure joy and happiness that seems to wash over the hours, days and weeks, leaving no moment untouched. The reality is obviously a different story, but a day suffering food poisoning in Mexico City is overshadowed by the mere magnificence of a visit to the Palacio de Bellas Artes, the struggles to communicate, the awkward silences, the anxiety and insecurity of being so far from home all but a faded dot on a timeline that stretched across the page and arrived at the present to reveal a self-assured and content me, all the richer for the ups and downs that I had experienced.

So it was, my attempts to reflect accurately on my time away were thwarted, the challenges, the moments of desperation uncontrollably removed from the pages of history, simply overwhelmed by all those memories that brought a smile to my face whenever they would pop into my head. My time at University was the very best example of my own minds trickery. The challenges I faced were real, 8:00am compulsory classes four days a week and living over an hour from the campus by public transport would be a challenge for any Melbourne based University student who is more accustomed to the late morning or early afternoon lecture times and the relative comforts of our public transport system. Being placed in classes with students from all around the world, some who had been learning Spanish for upwards of 12 and 13 years, these were the realities of my time at school, but looking back what I remember most distinctly are small wins that I had along the way, that gradually gave me momentum and confidence to succeed. Giving my first presentation to a class exclusively in Spanish on a topic as serious as the issue of homosexuality in a catholic state such as Mexico was something I will never forget. The relationships that I forged with my teachers; my speaking partner with whom I met twice a week to practice her English and my Spanish. These were the triumphs that I had in the classroom, on the other side of the world in another language and in another educational culture.

The biggest success that I ever had was finally possessing that feeling of belonging, that which creeps up on you slowly but surely and one day takes you over completely, where you are no longer an alien merely surviving in your environment but rather you are you and you are living in your home. You can never say for sure when this moment has come, but one day, all of a sudden, when you are walking down the street saying ‘Hola’ to a friendly neighbour, or talking casually with a worker at your local supermarket you will know that it has arrived. This is the great tragedy of the exchange experience, as you finally overcome your initial trepidation and insecurities and have come to master your new home, it's time to leave. But this will always be the case, the longer one spends anywhere the more at home and secure they will feel and when the time comes to leave it is inevitable that that very moment will be the pinochle of their own sense of belonging.

For me the hardest part of all of this was saying goodbye to all the people I had met along the way. Goodbyes are never easy, but behind the kind words, the hugs and tears there was always the common understanding that this may be the very last time we see each other and at the very least, this is the very last time we will all be together in the same place at the same time. That part of each of our lives exists together, dependent on one another and independent of our other lives and it is this that connects us in this life despite the fact that it has closed never to be reopened. 

Mexico City

The university semester in Mexico lasted for some 16 weeks, a full four weeks longer than the semesters that we endure here in Australia, but such a long semester gave the opportunity to all of the international students to travel over the weekends to nearby cities and states and to do their very best to explore and experience some of Mexico’s cultural and geographical diversity. You could take a Monday off here and a Friday off there in order to create a long weekend and give yourself an extra day or two travelling around with friends or by yourself depending on how compatible your timetables were. I did this as much as I could throughout the semester, exploring nearby cities, beaches and pueblos, but it was Mexico City that stood out to me as one of the most impressive and remarkable places that I visited during my time away.

Towards the end of semester I set off for Mexico City, or D.F as it is known by all Mexicans, for just under a week. I took the overnight bus from the Guadalajara central bus station at around midnight and settled in with my iPod for the next eight or so hours of driving as we made our way south-east to the capital. The bus systems in Mexico were a pleasant surprise, inexpensive, punctual and easy to use there are a number of different companies that operate throughout the country and drive in and out of a central station in every town that they pass through making connections effortless. It is hardly surprising then the number of hours that I would have spent making my way across the Mexican countryside, half asleep on a commercial bus.

Although by this stage of my trip I had spent some three or so months already travelling around Mexico and had well and truly become accustomed to navigating my way around, it was nevertheless somewhat confronting to arrive in D.F, a city of some 20 million residents when you include all of the outer suburbs. Instead of one central bus station there were three to accommodate the immense number of people coming and going from the city each day from all over Mexico. Even after arriving at the bus station bleary eyed and sleep-deprived, I still had to find my way into the heart of the city to find my hostel. Fortunately for me Mexico City has one of the most impressive public transport systems in the world, the equivalent of around 20 Australian cents will get you anywhere in the city on the subway that has a number of lines that branch out to all corners, there are an infinite number of busses and electric powered busses that run the main roads as well.

It wasn’t long before I had dropped my bags at the hostel, with the entire day left free to wander and explore some of the sights near the very heart of the city. Although I was to be in and around the city for nearly a week I had carefully planned out every day to make sure I could cover as much ground as possible, as one can imagine in a city of nearly 20 million there is much to see and do. The first stop was Zócalo, at the heart of the city a giant square surrounded by the Metropolitan Cathedral, the National Palace and Government House. Each building an impressive piece of colonial architecture that helps to create an overwhelming atmosphere of historical importance and significance as you enter. The square is symbolically enclosed by the fundamental pillars of modern Mexican society, the imposing and impressive cathedral tempered by the remarkable government house, the obvious colonial influence overshadowed at times by the giant Mexican flag that stands tall as the centerpiece of the square. It is here where groups will traditionally come to protest against the government, marching through the nearby streets chanting their messages and finally arriving at the square where rallies will be held, leaders will speak and followers will listen intently and cheer loudly. Tents may be erected and protesters may stay for days and weeks, this has become the norm in many respects for groups who wish to peacefully protest. In light of Mexico’s violent history and political struggles, the right to protest and others like it are freedoms that are deeply valued by Mexican citizens, exercised proudly and passionately in acknowledgment of the struggles that took place in order to realize them.

After learning about the history of Mexico in class I had a solid understanding of the chronology of major events, the who, where, when and what. But it was only after visiting some of the key landmarks where significant events took place that I was able to resolve the abstract knowledge of that which took place and on what dates and who was involved with the real experience of standing in the same room where that speech was given, being at the place where protesters marched and so on. It is only in this way that one can fully develop an understanding and appreciate the psyche of the modern Mexican citizen and their impression of their history. It is especially hard to relate to and develop an understanding when you from a country such as Australia where our history and growth has been largely linear in nature, there has been no significant conflict with Britain and our head of state, political involvement and an immense number of freedoms and rights have been evident for many years, except in the case of native aborigines.

All in all, my trip to D.F allowed me to draw a meaningful connection between that which I had learned and that which I had experienced. It is one thing to admire and enjoy the beauty of a city such as Mexico City, but it is another thing completely to see and understand the history, the struggle for it to become what it is today and what most want it to become in the future. Language was the final key in opening the cultural door into another society and with the ability to communicate freely with those who are living the incredible story of this country, you are able to take another step beyond what you hear and see to include the experiences of those that really matter. 

My Birthday in Tuxpan

A few weeks into semester there was a planned excursion to Tuxpan, a relatively nearby ‘pueblo’ or small rural town that was home to a religious festival each year towards the end of January, it just so happened that this year the festival fell on my birthday, the 27^th of January. The festival was an authentic celebration of Mexican faith, a traditional festival that honoured this unique brand of Catholicism, as a result almost all international students were encouraged to head along.

On the day of the festival the students piled into a convoy of private buses owned by the University, which then slipped out of the cast iron gates of the campus and set out along the highway across the desolate landscape towards Tuxpan. Stepping off the bus, a group of two hundred foreigners from Europe, Asia, Australia and North American were hardly inconspicuous but the attention of the locals was firmly focused on the events at hand. We all wandered towards the centre of town, unsurprisingly we congregated around a large Church, as I would find during the rest of my time in Mexico and on my travels throughout the countryside, the Church would almost always provide the centre piece and the most impressive piece of architecture for any village or town no matter what the size, a remnant of Spanish colonialism.

As we approached we saw the Church entrance surrounded by locals that overflowed out through the large doors into the adjacent town square. There were those who were there as believers but mere observers and those dressed up in a rainbow of different colours and outfits clearly prepared to take part in some of the celebrations that were to follow shortly. Not long after we arrived a large group spilled out from the tall wooden doors of the church and stood a flight of stairs above the crowd, together grasping wooden carvings of three distinctly religious figures, they made their way through the crowd slowly and gently to a mix of different sounds, a mariachi band off to the side were responsible for much of the atmosphere and the procession moved forwards in harmony with the sounds that they spewed forth. From the crowd of followers came a mix of clapping and singing and the slap of metal on wood as dancers energetically played their improvised instruments. The atmosphere was intoxicating and it was impossible not be energised by the steady flow of this river of people that sprung forth from the church and gained volume as soon as it spewed into the square. About a hundred or so metres in front of the church the procession came to a halt as the music and dancers continued to move energetically behind the wooden figures, the head of the group then split into three. After asking a nearby local, I was told that each of the figures went off in a different direction through the city and it was your choice as to whom you wanted to follow. The decision seemed largely arbitrary, there was an equally large group of locals following each of the figures and they all contained a group of dancers and musicians who created the fantastic atmosphere that trailed behind the wooden figures. With a couple of other students, together we followed the group through a number of narrow streets for about half an hour, the town had clearly shut down business for the day as those not directly involved in the procession stood out the front of their houses, waving and smiling as everyone passed. Eventually the crowd reached a dead end and from the back of the group came a push to cram everyone in as close as possible, a generous attempt to involve everyone as intimately as possible more than anything else, personal space and preciousness had no place at a time like this. The music continued to blare, scented smoke filled the air, fireworks shot from rooftops all around and the wooden figure was passed to the front of the crowd and adorned atop a small stage that had been carefully erected in the middle of the street. Children danced in the street, playing their instruments loudly as everyone bore a smile and watched on intently.

After the ‘formalities’ of the celebration had ended we wandered carelessly through the streets where groups of neighbours continued to dance in the streets together in carefully choreographed pieces. When we stopped to observe we were offered drinks and food from every direction, part of the festival was the sharing of traditional food and drink that was generously provided by those who had stayed at home. The speciality of the day was a weakly alcoholic ‘ponche’ that came in a range of different shades of red and maroon and was deliciously sweet. As you wandered the streets with an empty, or half empty cup for that matter, local mothers would spring forth with a large jug of their special blend of ponche and re-fill your small plastic cup before you had a chance to protest.

While for some, tokens such as the generous feeding of strangers in the midst of a festival may not seem particularly significant or meaningful, for me, both at the time and upon reflection, the hospitality shown to us as obvious outsiders said much about those locals. When viewed in combination with the rest of that day and the rest of the celebration it said much about their sense of community and togetherness largely through their shared faith in the Catholic Church. Coming from Australia such togetherness and sense of community are not always evident in the same way. Although as a result of Australia’s significant multiculturalism and religious diversity minorities will often have similar celebrations or festivities, those without a direct cultural heritage to somewhere outside Australia such as myself seem to lack the cultural richness that was so obvious on this day. More than anything this is a positive reflection on Mexican culture than a criticism of Australia. The day left me with a lasting impression of Mexico’s great cultural richness, the kind, loving and proud way that we were received and how the experience was shared with us. 

New classes, new friends and a new home

After overcoming the initial shock of arriving in Guadalajara and dealing with the unavoidable jet-lag that has one rising at the most inconvenient of hours wandering aimlessly around the hostel, I had only a couple of nights before orientation week begun at the university. I was fortunate in that there were a few others who had arrived at the hostel during the few days that I was there who were also on exchange at the same university and so I would have at least a couple of people to share the taxi ride with.

It is fair to say that during those first few days in the hostel the excitement of everyone wasn’t exactly palpable. Obviously suffering from jet-lag, but I suspect more affected by nerves and inhibition everyone treaded softly around one another, polite and careful not to offend, very much guarded with the exception of only a few.

When the day finally came to catch an early morning cab out to our University for the first day of orientation it took some thirty minutes driving in the opposite direction before our taxi driver came to the realisation that we were in fact wanting to go to the University ‘Tec de Monterrey’ not the city ‘Monterrey’ (some two days by bus), and so the inadequacies of my language proficiency were once again rammed home in the most obvious of examples.

Orientation was a mix of confusion, excitement, anxiety and a whole range of other experiences and emotions that came and faded rapidly, there was hardly a moment for pause as over 200 international students from every populated continent on the planet mixed and mingled. The first and most notable memory I have from these first few days was the openness with which everyone approached these first few days, a sentiment that was to permeate the rest of my exchange experience. People from all over the world, from different cultural and linguistic backgrounds opening themselves up to new people that would become new friends and to new experiences that would become unforgettable memories. It was this openness and the mixing pot of cultural differences that stands out as the most distinctive aspect of my exchange, how each and every individual warmly accepted others and experienced together the cultural richness of Mexico.

An essential part of this initial period was finding new housemates, people that would form the base for your exchange experience over the coming months. I was lucky enough to find a room in a cosmopolitan house filled with three students, one from Australia, one from France and a local Mexican who studied at an art school; our other housemate was a young Mexican woman who worked professionally. As far as I was concerned it was the perfect mix, two of the students were halfway through their year long exchange and so would undoubtedly have some good and useful advice for me, whilst at the same time I thought it was important to live with some Mexican nationals in order to improve my Spanish.

The last piece of the metaphorical jigsaw puzzle that one has to assemble in order to completely allay their reservations when embarking on such an experience was selection of subjects. Fortunately I had been pre-warned that the curriculum was pretty ‘unstable’ and subjects came and went freely on an ad-hoc basis. Two of my three selections were no-brainers, Spanish grammar subjects, while not the most stimulating or interesting, they are essential in the development of anyone’s language learning. The last subject I chose was one named ‘Cultura y pensamiento de Mexico’ literally meaning ‘culture and thought (or mind) of Mexico’. The selection of this subject proved to be the defining characteristic of the academic aspect of my exchange experience. I was blessed with a passionate, generous and knowledgeable professor who was constantly inspired in the way in which he taught a concise but yet profound and complete history of Mexico to us all, from the early indigenous tribes that occupied the land before the arrival of the Spanish, through two separate revolutions right up to contemporary Mexican society.

The first weeks had progressed more fluently than I could have ever hoped for, I had a new home with new friends in a comfortable area, each of my subjects offered different challenges but were pitched at an almost perfect level for me and the combination of both of these elements was ensuring that my Spanish was improving at a satisfying pace.

Culture Shock

Having overcome the trepidation of my seemingly illusory departure and twenty odd hours worth of flying I eventually touched down in Guadalajara for the very first time. This was in many senses a first, it was the first time I had travelled overseas by myself, it was the first time I would be doing exchange and it was the first time I could test my language skills in a country where Spanish was the native tongue.

For me, culture shock is a cumulative notion, a combination of small events, occurrences, encounters and the like that each steadily erodes your sense of security and self-confidence. But that is not to say that its effects are entirely negative, the process of re-establishing your own sense of place in a foreign land is a highly valuable and rewarding skill, something that inevitably fills you with the knowledge that you can adapt in the most abstract of places.

The first of these encounters came shortly after I stumbled out of the arrivals gate in Guadalajara, through the airport-typical swarm of those waiting for loved ones and past the row of those leaning out over their desks, calling loudly, reaching violently trying to place me on their bus or in their taxi. When I approached the taxi desk armed with the address of my hostel and presented it to the clerk, after a quick glance he directed his stare back at me and made some kind of noise that had the inclination of a question but the meaning of which had clearly been lost on me, I looked back bemused. There was a short stand off and thankfully someone behind me in the line stepped forward to offer some ‘translation’ and I was shortly on my way. But rather than this being a moment about me almost not finding my hostel, it represented a little bit more, I had been studying Spanish for two years at university, I knew all of the tenses, my vocabulary was ok, but in reality I had only been sitting in a classroom, with a teacher unthreateningly guiding me through an artificial language experience, something that was not truly representative of the environment of a native speaking country. The reality was clear, the gap between theoretical learning of a language and practical application is enormous and I had just taken my first step in bridging that gap. No doubt it was going to take some work, thankfully I had the next four and a half months to work on it. The key was clearly, not to be overwhelmed, not to feel dejected or stupid, to have no fear. I would like to meet the person who has learned a language without making mistakes constantly along the way, but in reality I don’t think that person exists.

After making my way from the airport and sliding somewhat nervously into a taxi I was off on my way to the heart of the city and the ride there was to provide my second experience that contributed to my unavoidable culture shock. There were any number of factors that made the ride significant, the semi-psychotic way in which the taxi driver manoeuvred us through the swarm of traffic, the clear blue sky and brilliant sun in the middle of winter or the continued language barrier, which thankfully I was already slowly starting to overcome. But what relegated each of these experiences into obscurity was the poverty that surrounded me in every direction. In hindsight it should not have been so surprising, the areas surrounding airports are never the most distinguished or developed but nevertheless it provides your first impression of a city when you arrive and something that helps to shape and form your expectations. We were very much in the slums, small and dishevelled shacks, walls of mud and corrugated iron, barely standing, each almost leaning on its neighbour for support, privacy and independence between each all but abandoned. Unavoidably my mind wandered, is this what it is all going to be like? Are these the type of places where I will be living? I had tried my very best to arrive without expectations and to allow myself to experience and develop my own impressions rather than be informed by those of others who had been and experienced before me.

Doubts, nerves and unwarranted fears were quickly abated, half an hour later as we navigated our way towards the centre of town the slums were overcome quickly by the types of towering development and grandiose properties that someone from Melbourne would be more readily accustomed. Shortly after, the suburban landscape gave way to the very heart of the city centre, towering churches, halls and museums of colonial architectural magnificence. And so it was, my impressions of slums and poverty had been overcome, vanquished by the presence of cultural richness that would prove to guide and permeate my experiences in the coming weeks, most particularly in my studies of Mexican history. The key now was finding and utilising a key in order to immerse myself in this new country and culture, into the life of the native citizens, going beyond the superficiality of the tourist path 

Pre-departure

The application process for exchange inevitably results in a steady ebbing and flowing of a range of emotions. When you combine the mountain of paper work, the inevitable insecurities about leaving the familiarity of home, the unknown of whether you will in fact be going, you can feel emotionally sapped, a spent force before you have even received your confirmation. This is the state of perpetual uncertainty in which you live until that small envelope arrives, dotted with black ink, which, when you read with a steady eye, informs your future and what will form the next few months of your life. So it was for me, the months of irrational doubt, of questioning my own capacity for exploration were all washed away by a tide of exaltation when I could finally say, with complete and utter conviction, with the most satisfying sincerity, that yes I have been accepted and yes I will be going on exchange to Mexico.

For me, my acceptance came reasonably late, around November and in fact I had already purchased my tickets in a vain of optimism or potential stupidity, call it what you will. Regardless, the last few weeks before departure brought a greater sense of security in that at least I knew where I was going to be and to some extent what I was going to be doing for the next few months. The last few weeks were undeniably different, there was a greater satisfaction in spending time with friends and family, appreciating time together, not taking anything for granted, with the knowledge that the comfort and security of home was soon to be left behind, a speck on horizon. It was as if everything familiar was illuminated in a fresh light and revealed for what it was, truly great. The rhythm of day-to-day life had lost its banality and suddenly life at home seemed harder to leave. But this was no time to feel sentimental, it was time to head off, time to pack away those things that mum tells you that you’ll need and you reject purely on principle and curse yourself later when you’re asking all your friends for a band aid and some antiseptic to treat that strange bite that seems to be infected halfway down your leg. With your pack full and your clothes the cleanest they will be until you step back in the front door some months later, it’s time to head to the airport.

Despite my feelings of independence, of great confidence in what I was about to do, there is nothing that quite prepares you for that moment at the airport, in the shadow of those departure gates, those cold metallic ones that reach from floor to ceiling without pause and swallow you up once you step through them. You make your way by the different groups of families, each group isolated from the next, but inwardly bound by a deep emotion that can often be heard and seen without effort. And so, as I turned to say the inevitable goodbye, there was, unavoidably, the welling of tears in my eyes, but this was the first of many moments that pressure your emotions and sentimentalities, but are an inevitable part of going on an adventure.

I turned, walked through the gates, and was ready for my next stop…Mexico.