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.