The bad news is that my alarm clock is very unreliable. The good news is, the birds chirping in the morning hopefully are. I woke up to their nose instead of the noise from my clock. I ate a delicious breakfast of what I think was mushroom omelet. Victoria showed up with her “brother” Diego. On the ride to school, Diego informed us that he loves beer, and tequila, and discotecas, and the women in Guadalajara. Apparently, because at 23, he has a 6-year-old.
At school, we were divided into our grammar classes, and to tell you the truth, I was not so impressed. Our teacher, Rosie, is an all-right woman, but she didn’t get us very excited about the class. I couldn’t stop looking at the lipstick stain on her front teeth. She gave us a grammar test, which I pretty much aced (it was my saving grace that they didn’t have the dative case on it, or I would have been sunk). We then talked a bit about Mexican culture, of which I’m at least halfway familiar already. Hopefully the plan to go and help at the local elementary school will pan out, and I’ll avoid the class entirely. Instead of culture class, we did a little tour of Morelia, looking at the post office, a few stores, and another governor’s palace, this one of the state of Michoacán. It was covered with murals of the regions and history of the state, and it was pretty interesting. After class, we came back home on the combis, huge VW hippie vans that act as a miniature bus system in the city. We had our lunch of cream of cauliflower soup and chicken in a jamaica (jicama in English, I think) sauce. I know it probably sounds lame for me to talk about what I had to eat, but you have to understand that everything here is so good that it’s worth mentioning. I met Elisa, a student from Uruapán who studies in Morelia and lives with the Garcia family. After lunch, Victoria and I walked all the way back to the school for orientation, and then the whole group went out to eat paletas at the local Michoacana. And by local, I mean the one 2 minutes’ walk from the school, because there are about 5 “local” Michoacanas anywhere you step in Mexico. Afterwards, we headed back to where I lived to find some stores. I needed pants because I forgot to pack half of what I had set out before leaving. We found out that we didn’t live to far away from one another after all, which is great because it’ll be easier for us to hang out now.
I came back to the house and had dinner (French bread pizza, but a thousand times better than any French bread pizza you could ever imagine) and I uploaded my photos, now making it possible for me to update my blog in any way I please.
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1 comment:
Don't worry Honest Dave, we'll continue your lessons in the Spanish dative case upon your return. It's tough, but you'll get it - you are a cunning linguist, after all.
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