Administrative Note and More Bullets!

I've been getting a few new faces stopping by here, and so I thought I'd probably clarify my position on the Comments section.

The way I see it, the Comments section is for the readers' use. Generally, it is anything goes unless I start getting really terrible, hateful comments or if I start getting spam. At that point, I'll reassess the posting process, but let's hope I don't have to cross that bridge.

Also, because I view the Comments section as your territory, I generally do not comment in that section. My feeling is that I've already stated my opinions or views on the topic, and I don't want to be trying to get the last word in. That said, I'll post in the Comments if someone asks me a question directly or if it is apparent people are not understanding my message.

But I do read all of your comments, and they are much appreciated. I enjoy getting some of these conversations started. I also receive e-mail notices when a new comment is left, so even if you are commenting on a really old posting, I still am aware of it.

Now, on to some bullets:

• It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas here. There has been a ground/surface/sea packages spotting in Nogales, and the sleigh...er...truck is loaded and ready to make the trek south. Just because they are a bunch of sadists, they are making us wait until Monday to deliver the goods. I assume it works this way at all posts, but Natalie will take a Home-unpacking Holiday Event (HHE...dead to me, except when it is a holiday) on Monday. There will be dancing in the streets! And coffee for everyone!

• Today is the day I've been dreading ever since right before we left Crystal City for the long drive southwest. On just about the last day possible, I got a very short haircut, secretly hoping it would last two years. Alas, I made it almost two months, but I concede it is time. For my entire childhood and into young adulthood, only one man cut my hair. It was a bit of a traumatic experience when I went to college and finally had to get someone else to do the job. It almost felt like I was cheating on my barber. Then I moved to D.C., and for the first time, I had a woman cutting my hair. Another unnerving event for me. But today, when one of Natalie's colleagues takes me to visit Miss Arizona (not the beauty-queen contestant, I assume), it will be the first time I will get my hair cut by someone who doesn't speak English. Maybe I just need to shave myself bald and avoid this stress.

• Here's a little leftover item from looking back at our arrival here. Would it be too much to ask to get the Internet ball rolling before we arrive. I'm guessing in some of these developing nation posts, there is probably only a single provider, so there really isn't any reason why someone at post can't make the necessary phone calls or whatever so the Internet will be waiting on us instead of vice versa. We actually had two options here, sorta. There are two providers, but if you want anything close to American service, you have to go through TelMex. And TelMex has three plans, but if you want anything close to American service, you have to buy the most expensive plan (about $85 USD per month). Still, we didn't have to wait terribly long - less than a week - but still, this seems like an unnecessary amount of dead time.

• Google AdSense received Strike 1 a few days ago. The ads, apparently, aren't the same depending on where you are reading from, so what I see here in Mexico can be different than what you see in the States or where ever else you might be. But I saw an ad for a quasi-religious group that almost made me pull the plug on this operation. Without repeating its name and accidentally give Google an excuse to hit me with it again, it is a group that serves Hollywood types that believe you have to give the organization money to learn stuff. Oh, and it was founded by a former Si-Fi writer; if you need more clues, Tom Cruise is a member. Anyway, in case anyone else noticed this, let me say that I do not endorse said group, and I will trying to see if I can't block future ads from them.

• Mexican culture, like several European cultures, dictates that when a woman is involved in a greeting, there is cheek-to-cheek air kissing. A little awkward, but when in Rome, right? I still find myself forgetting time to time and there is either an awkward pause before I remember my manners, or an even more awkward handshake only because I forgot my manners altogether. That is when I greet a Mexican woman. What is the protocol for greeting an American woman in Mexico? I've seen Natalie's male colleagues approach it either or, so I suppose it is a preference thing.

• Finally, I think a marketing genius invented the slogan, "It's a dry heat." This is the first or second most common marketing expression I've heard, with "What Happens in Vegas" being in the running as well. So in D.C., the summer is high 80s to low 90s (barring a heat wave) and humid. And it is miserable to go outside. You feel like you are getting steamed. Here, it is mid 100s to mid 110s (barring a heat wave) with just a little humidity (we are in the rainy season, after all), and it is miserable to go outside. You feel like you are getting baked. So either way, you're cooked and better off staying inside, which, by the way, is what most people do here in the late morning through early afternoon. So much for that dry heat baloney.

It's Salsa Time! (and not the dip)

Before moving forward, I guess you all want to hear the conclusion to my riveting leaky ceiling story.

After finishing that posting, about 10 minutes later, right around 10 a.m.ish, again, the doorbell rings. Surprise, it is the all-too-familiar face of my Fast Service Networker (FSN). I was rather worn out that morning having not slept much the night before, and also having just hashed out the tale for all to read, I'm sure my disheveled appearance underscored just how exasperated I was with the situation.

I greet with an English "hello," and as I'm saying that, he greets in a Spanish "buenos dias," so I recovered and echo the same. "How is your Spanish?" he asks. Not good, but I'm studying some on The Stone and there is going to be a class at the Consulate soon, which I'm looking forward to taking. Though the whole time, I feel a little like Jennifer Aniston from Office Space (just substitute "pieces of flair" with "words in Spanish," and yeah, you get the picture. And yes, I just compared myself to Jennifer Aniston). "I don't really like talking about my flair."

Moving right along, I ask the FSN point blank, "Any chance they finish this today?" No. "OK, well, thanks."

Tweedle Lazy took the the day off, I guess, so Tweedle Dee was on his own. First he tinkered on the roof for a couple of hours, followed by his mandatory lunch and smoke break. Then they came back, painted in the ceiling, and the FSN shocks me by saying they are done. It will be interesting to see how our new roof holds up during the next rainstorm, as I got the impression some corners were cut so they could Just Finish the Job Already. At least I don't have to deal with that for a while, and consider the lesson learned: Only in the most dire of situations will I be requesting work done on the house.

There is more to Mexican culture, however, then poor work performance. And last night, we sampled a little more of it. One of Natalie's colleagues got a flyer about a salsa dance lesson and invited us to come along.

That yellow smiling face to the right is actually a pretty good rendering of our instructor, though a little less cartoonish. He even wore the hat.

Want to try something hard? Try being naturally void of rhythm, grace and coordination; then try learning some complicated dance steps; and for the kicker, receive those instructions in a language you don't know. Oh, and I forgot to mention that we were in a non-air-conditioned gymnasium. There is a lot of movement in salsa dancing, but it is a far cry from being an intense aerobic workout. All the same, I was sweating like two-a-day football workouts in full pads under a Kentucky August sun.

The first dance steps we went through were pretty intense. There were probably about 40 steps or so to it, and I did my best to watch his feet because I wasn't getting anything from the oral instructions. In high school, I had learned a few basic steps such as a grapevine and the cha-cha-cha step, which was very similar to the move he referred to as "classico" and was used as the starting point and ending point for the dances. So that helped some.

But this was a whirlwind experience. There was no keeping up this dance - not at the rate he was teaching it, anyway, and definitely not for a beginner  like the three of us.

The second dance was much easier, as long as you were the man. This was a co-ed dance, and the man's main job was to showcase and guide the woman while she twirled about. I made plenty of mistakes, but as long as I was paired with a woman who knew what she was doing, I actually did alright. Poor Natalie, however, has about the same natural dancing skills I possess, plus this dance was very complicated for the woman. She was relieved, I believe, when this lesson ended. Sadly, we don't have any pictures (or video) of our attempts at salsa.

When that was done, they handed out some Tecate Light and we watched while the instructors and some late arrivals took to the floor and amazed us with their dancing. Then, shocking to us, many of our "classmates" got up and started doing steps much more complicated then the ones we just learned. We couldn't understand why they were taking the class when obviously they already were experienced dancers.

For example, during the crazy-hard first dance, there was a pubescent, tall, overweight guy behind me. Being behind me, I never really got to see him dance, but I was guessing it wasn't good. After the first dance, he sat out the second. Made me feel good. Sure, I suck, but at least I was brave enough to keep going. And I don't even know Spanish.

During the dance party, he went out there with two girls, and was spinning them all over the place. Then he started twirling and spinning while spinning them. He was very, very good. I was shocked because on the surface, he looked like he was an awkward teen still growing into his body.

Don't know if this was a one-time only experience or not, but it was fun if not a bit humbling.

Finish the Job Already!

Part of the purpose of the last post was to set this one up. Remember how I said different doesn't necessarily mean worse or better. Well throw that out. In this case, this cultural difference is absolutely worse.

A couple of weeks ago, we had a pretty bad rainstorm. Backyard flooded, thunder shook the house, hours and hours of heavy down pours, et cetera, et cetera. I learned later that it was essentially a 10-year storm, which means that a storm that bad only passes through about every ten years.

This storm was so bad, in fact, that the ceiling in our converted-study sprung a series of small leaks. Nothing devastating, but we had been informed that it is our responsibility to inform the consulate in the even that any thing goes awry in our sparkly new home. Being naive and grateful for said home, I passed the word on to Natalie who sent in a work order.

Either that same day or the next, a Fast Service Networker (FSN)came over to assess the problem. I showed him the few spots that had dripped a couple of times during a pretty bad, and not too common storm. Structural problems are not the consulate's business, so they would have to work with our landlords. Besides, it was raining again, and there isn't much you can do to fix a leaky ceiling during the rain.

The next clear day, the FSN returned with a very old man; let's call him Tweedle Dee. He came and looked at where I said the leaks had appeared, climbed on to our roof and left saying he didn't have everything he needed to fix the problem with him.

Fast forward one week later, and another intense storm later - one that was so intense it knocked out our power for almost two hours, but not so bad that the ceiling leaked anymore - and the FSN arrives with Tweedle Dee and another guy; his name will be Tweedle Lazy. They get started around 10 a.m.ish, which was rather disruptive for me because I had planned to go grocery shopping that day and had dropped Natalie off at work so I could have the car.

Noon rolls around, and the FSN asks if I have some water I could spare the Tweedles. No problem, it was very hot out. They proceed with a two-hour lunch break, work for about 30 more minutes, and call it a day. They'll come back tomorrow. Fine. Works for me; I still have time to go grocery shopping.

Friday is the same routine. They start work around 10 a.m., take a two-hour lunch, mooch some more bottled water (they know they are taking a lunch break; why don't they bring their own damn water?), leave my ceiling looking like this, and leave for the weekend saying they'll see me on Monday.

Well, Friday night another bad storm arrives in the middle of the night. Knocked out power again, briefly, and it probably had more to do with the heavy wind than anything else. Natalie suggests we (me) should check on the study to make sure it isn't leaking. Nah. The only time it leaked, it poured for hours; this storm isn't another 10-year storm. Next morning, sure enough, there is a small stack of very wet papers. The Tweedles have managed to worsen the situation, and in only three weeks time. And there is a chance of rain every day this week, so it is unlikely they'll be here at all and likely that it will continue to leak with every storm. This is your reward for doing what you're supposed to do.


So to tie that exhaustive story back to the beginning of this post, for whatever reason, Americans are a very industrious people. And while not trying to be racist, that trait does not seem to translate to our neighbors in the South.


(Some would say it is our Puritan heritage, but I wholly disagree. Speaking of which, has any historic group benefited more from America's success than the Puritans? What if our nation had not come out on top and rather was a struggling nation? Would people blame the Puritans? After all, what do you expect out of a nation that was founded by Puritans who could make it in Europe? The Puritans and the Founding Fathers definitely are doing better today than they probably ought to be. And before you question me on that, remember that it was the Founding Fathers' failure to end slavery that sparked a civil war some four score and seven years later, so let's not try to invoke their visions when it comes to legislating this country today. But I digress.)


Cultural difference are bound to rear their head from time to time, and we need to keep our guard up so that our reaction will not be insulting to our host nation. But this one I just don't get. Finish the job already!

EFM: Embracing Foreign Methods

Being able to adapt. Accepting other cultures are not inferior - just different. Willing to try new things.

All pretty basic stuff if you want to enjoy your stay in the foreign service. And a lot easier to say than to actually practice.

On Thursday (our first month in the books) I found myself in the grocery store by myself (for the second time) and having some difficulty buying food to prepare for dinner.

In my cart, there were some fruits, a package of chicken breasts and some processed foods. Staring at it, I couldn't think of a thing to make with what I had and I found myself growing irritated and depressed simultaneously.

Which led to my come-to-Jesus moment. My cart was bereft of local staples. During my previous solo grocery trip, I took note of some of the subtle difference between American and Mexican grocery stores. Some of the differences in the aisles and some of the different products available. But I was still pretty certain I would be cooking my foods. The stuff I was used to doing.

Now granted, once my toys arrive in our ground/surface/sea freight, that will make it a little easier to go back to cooking what I know, but for the most part, those toys just increase cooking efficiency. In other words, I'll probably still be facing the same problems of not knowing how to work with what they sell here.

Throwing caution to the wind, I went back to the produce and started filling my cart with some vegetables. They have a lot of tomatillos here, and in different places, so these must be important. Let's pick some up. Have to have some chili peppers, right? How about a couple of serranos, then. Onions are important in every culture, let's get one of those, too.

A brief side story: I don't know much Spanish, which can make grocery shopping a real treat at times. So I grabbed a reporter's notebook for this trip and wrote down the names of all of the foods that I didn't recognize or wasn't a 100% sure on. Then I looked them up on SpanishDict when I got home. The notebook will be my grocery shopping Bible. Best translations to date, a toss up between "chicozapte" (a delicious American fruit, which is odd because I'm not familiar with this fruit) and "grasa mixta comestible" (which literally means edible mixture of fat, but in practice, this is lard).

Now I have some stuff I can work with, but I still have no idea how to blend this altogether to make something "comestible." I try a few Internet searches with lines like, "These are my ingredients" until I finally came across a Web site I favorite'd immediately, www.supercook.com Go play with this Web site. It is incredible. You just enter the ingredients you have, then you can highlight the stuff you want to use, and it is filtering through various other recipe Web sites what options are out there for you.

I ended up with grilled chicken breast and a roasted tomatillo and tomato salsa. Not too bad.

But I was on a role now, so I needed to make a side, too. I love black beans, but I can never cook them well. So I did a few searches and apparently every one cooks canned beans. I wasn't interested in canned bean recipes, I have dried beans. Through the magic of Internet surfing, I eventually found the Web site to the American Bean Association which offered great tips on cooking dried beans.

I found that one of my fatal flaws was adding salt to the beans while they cooked. A big no-no that leads to very dry beans. And here I was just thinking I wasn't letting them soak long enough, which, by the way, the whole soaking over night nonsense is just a myth. Instead, add beans to hot water, bring to a boil, and let the boil continue for a couple of minutes. Then remove from the heat, cover and leave it alone for about four hours.

Using these tips and what I had in my pantry, I made my first successful black bean dish. And there was much rejoicing not only because now I can cook one of my favorite beans, but because I finally decided to alter my methods to fit the environment.

Culture Shock

I was planning on writing this entry today anyway, but I received a somewhat pleasant surprise to find in my inbox this morning a 66-page pdf file entitled Welcome to Hermosillo 2010.

Now, I'm sure Natalie is sitting on pins and needles that I might disclose something in that document that isn't meant to be shared, so I'm going to go ahead and disappoint everyone by promising to keep that document almost entirely sealed. Sorry, but there is just too much paranoia right now to take that route.

I was planning on just tipping my hat to the diplomats of yesteryear and how daunting new post assignments must have been to them.

Can't you just imagine being in the foreign service 100 years ago? "Hey Joe Diplomat, we are sending you to Peking in a month. Here is a copy of The Travels of Marco Polo. I hear the duck is great. Good luck."

Just about everyday since October when we learned we would be going to Hermosillo, I've been researching on the Internet what exactly is in store for me. I realize that this kind of information is only so good, but I have to imagine will cut into the culture shock a bit. That, and the fact that Hermosillo is practically a border town with more American culture present than many other posts.

So then I skimmed through the Hermosillo hand guide this morning for an hour or so, and I started getting a little cold feet. The move to Mexico has lacked teeth; it hasn't seemed like this was something we were actually going to do.

The pdf has ushered in some of that realization. The rest probably won't hit me until we are driving through Arizona.

Now this is the part where I'll share just a little of the info that I read today, though in truth, most of what I'm going to include is stuff we've probably all heard before, and this was merely confirmation. All the same, if Natalie and the State Department would kindly close out of this blog and go do something more productive, that would much appreciated.

First, the Mexican police really do suggest bribes in lieu of tickets. Similarly, don't part with your licenses, passports, etc. In fact, don't even drive with your passport in your car; rather, keep a copy.

While it is better not to drink local tap, Hermosillo is better than most of Mexico in that you can wash dishes with it. I've been practicing not drinking water when we go out to restaurants. "Would you like a glass of water, too?" "No thanks. I'm moving to Mexico. I'm trying to quit."

The heat is scary. The locals say Hermosillo has nine months of winter and three months of hell. But still, for those inclined to feel cold (read as, my wife), they suggest space heaters for winter nights.

Mexican schedules are intimidating. They start the day "early" though that makes sense because it is so hot. By the way, the guide considers starting the work day at 8 a.m. as early. When I did work, that is when my work day started, so I don't think of 8 a.m. as early. But then things get interesting. Morning runs til 1-2 p.m. followed by the biggest meal of the day. Dinner is at 9 p.m., which isn't that weird for the East Coast when we are eating out, but we usually eat our dinner at home around 6 p.m. Going out at night means you better be able to sleep in or be able to operate on less sleep because it will run into the early morning hours.

All not too bad, but as you start adding little differences here and there, and maybe a few larger ones like language, and culture shock is on the horizon. And a lot of heat.

FSI: Foreign Service Infiltrated!

By me. I packed my lunch the night before, put on my State Department Mexican-American flag pin, and snuck into Free Studies Inside (FSI) like I was one of them. By "snuck in" I mean I went through the hoops of getting my name on a list, going through a metal detector and wearing my special badge stating I'm not to be trusted and must be accompanied at all times. I'm so dangerous. It was a real undercover operation.

Perhaps a more accurate depiction is that I was dragged there by my wife to attend a Mexican area studies course. Whenever Natalie comes home from work on Tuesdays complaining about how hard FSI training is, I now can remind her that I sat through three hours of area studies with her, so I know better.

The three-hour course began with student presentations on Mexican culture. By the way, is "students" the right term? It feels like a high school campus at FSI. The presenters were good. Very good. Of course, it helped that they were talking about politics and the American-Mexican War, two of my favorite topics, as opposed to say jewelry making or famous Mexican artists.

Looks like we'll be there for their next presidential election, which could see a new party (well, an old party with new leadership) rising to power. That should make for some excitement. They only have presidential elections every six years (and no such thing as a second term), so I feel fortunate to get to experience another country's political process.

The next two hours represented the reason Natalie thought it was important I attended. Three wives of Mexican diplomats working at the Mexican embassy in Washington came in to do a little Q&A about living in their homeland.

What they described is kind of how I picture America in the 1950s or the rural America of the 1980s...I'm not really sure what I mean by that either.

Close-knit families where it is totally fine to live with your parents until you get married. Families that live in the same towns/region for generations. A culture that is a big on chivalry and low on being PC. (In Mexico, everyone with light skin is a gringo, no offense. And anyone with squinted eyes, no matter how slight, are chinos, which I find hilarious because apparently some of the indigenous peoples are called chinos because of their eyes.)

Following up on the point of chivalry, in which men hold doors for women, etc., one of the female FSOs felt impelled to ask how the local populace would view her soon-to-be-unemployed Esposo Fearing Mockery (EFM). I thought this a valid question, though the three panelists laughed it off stating that all of the men in Mexico will be jealous of him. I think that might be half of what they are thinking, but given some of the other things they said, I would be surprised if there isn't some judging.

In general, this panel session was a bit reassuring because there wasn't much new information for me. Which means I've been good about digging up information on Mexico.