The other day as I was channel surfing and celebrating being back home in Arizona after another year of teaching English in Mexico City, I came across the movie Outbreak. I remember being horrified when I first saw the film at the age of 11, but having been at the epicenter of the recent H1N1 flu outbreak, I couldn’t help but find the humor in the hyperbolic movie. When I first saw the film, the scene when the infected particles of the sneeze spread throughout the movie theatre invoked fear within me about the intimacy of closely shared space. Seeing the movie now, in light of my recent experiences, helped me to realize that the non-life threatening effects of a flu outbreak can also have a deleterious impact.
There are many precautions people in Mexico City are taking to alleviate the anticipated severity of the flu when winter arrives. For example, many are stocking up on face masks, parents are teaching their kids to sneeze into their elbow instead of their hands (the 1st grade teacher at my school taught her kids to pretend that they’re Dracula, covering their mouth as if using a cape) and people are more willing to use face masks when they are sick with just any minor ailment. I have many scary memories from the first month of the outbreak: the SOLD OUT signs at pharmacies informing us that we had to search elsewhere for the face covers, the late night text messages and calls about school cancellation for an unknown disease, and early speculation as to the origin of the deadly strain of flu. Of these images, the one that will remain most vivid in my mind is that of my 5th graders applying antibacterial hand gel every few minutes in class.
As an adolescent, I was terrified of germs. My behavior wasn’t quite severe enough to be diagnosed as any pathological condition, but I remember hating to touch money, public doorknobs, and even rented sports equipment. I washed my hands often and always seemed, to some extent, to have germs on my mind. When I got to college and started to free myself of the burden of my fear of germs, I enjoyed a great sense of accomplishment. It isn’t that many days ago that I was able to hold the handlebars in the Mexico City metro and pay for my tamal before eating it on the street with no worries. I really feel quite liberated now that I can live my life without antibacterial hand gel. I reached the point where I could think about more important things: “are these men going to cede some space for me to get off at my stop?” “Sweet, I just got a strike on my last frame,” and “What is that landmark on the back of the 50 peso bill that I am casually inspecting?”
For the most part, Mexico City’s new awareness of germs and hand cleanliness marks a pivotal step in illness prevention. It is now common to see antibacterial hand gel at hotdog and taco stands on the street. You are now offered a dab of antibacterial gel upon entering a nightclub, and most schools and many public buildings have signs about proper hand washing. What worried me, though, when I saw all of the bottles of hand gel in the possession of my 5th graders, was that they might become as paranoid as I had at their age.
One thing I have learned while living in Mexico is that it’s ok to not be über clean. The flies at the tianguis, the open-air market, that hop from one raw cut of beef to another don’t seem to be harming anyone, and neither are the mayonnaise and eggs that never get refrigerated.
It took me a long time to find the right balance between cleanliness and the freedom to get a little dirty. I am both excited and optimistic about the possible decline in illnesses caused by a more germ-educated population, but I hope that people do not go overboard with the “antibacterialness” I was so preoccupied with as a young adult. It’s just not good for anyone’s immune system.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Swine Flu
I'm back in Tucson for the week since schools are closed to help contain the Swine Flu epidemic. Upon arriving to the Phoenix airport this afternoon, I was interviewed about my experiences. I'll blog soon about what it's like in Mexico City.
Here's the link:
Here's the link:
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Collective Action/Inaction
The other day I was faced with a minor moral dilemma that I would like to discuss. At around 5:00 am, I was awoken to the sound of someone yelling outside my apartment. My initial reaction was, “holy shit, someone broke into my place and somehow tripped and broke their leg because they’re making way too much noise to be a sly burglar!” Because of my tile floors and lack of abundant furniture, any sound coming from nearby intensifies, causing me to believe that the source of the clamor is inside my living room. Realizing that this could not really be the case, I went to the kitchen where I have a good view of the street behind my apartment. I discovered that the screaming was coming from that direction. Although I could not see the actual man in distress, I could hear him yelling, “auxilio, me roban! Auxilio, me están robando!” He was crying for help because he was being robbed. My first thought was to get my cell phone and call the police. Remembering my college sociology class and the story of the woman who was murdered outside of an apartment building full of onlookers who all assumed that someone else would call the police, I headed to my bedroom for my phone. While I made the trip, I was going over the emergency numbers in my head. Is it 0-6-6 or 0-6-0. Is that for “seguridad publica” or for all emergencies!? I returned to the kitchen, cell phone in hand, and took one more careful look out the window to see if I could catch a glimpse of the victim. It was then that I knew I couldn’t make the call.
Across from where I heard the screams, on the wall of the shadowed building opposite the man in distress, I saw red, white, and blue flashing lights. It was a police car, already having arrived at the scene! How great! Someone already called. Oh how great humankind can be! Relieved to see that the police were there, I headed back to my bedroom to catch a few more minutes of sleep when I heard the same cry as before, “help, I’m being robbed! Help, I’m being robbed!” Remembering uncommon stories of police corruption I have heard during my time in Mexico, and thinking about my close friend Sergio’s experience a month earlier of discovering that the policemen that held his stolen car in custody had taken his valuables from the trunk, I realized that the police officers themselves were robbing this man. I looked at my phone and thought, “what do I do? I’ve got to do something but who the hell do I call now!” I felt horrible. At that moment, hated how helpless I felt. There I was, ready to break the societal tendency of collective inaction, but had no one to call.
Across from where I heard the screams, on the wall of the shadowed building opposite the man in distress, I saw red, white, and blue flashing lights. It was a police car, already having arrived at the scene! How great! Someone already called. Oh how great humankind can be! Relieved to see that the police were there, I headed back to my bedroom to catch a few more minutes of sleep when I heard the same cry as before, “help, I’m being robbed! Help, I’m being robbed!” Remembering uncommon stories of police corruption I have heard during my time in Mexico, and thinking about my close friend Sergio’s experience a month earlier of discovering that the policemen that held his stolen car in custody had taken his valuables from the trunk, I realized that the police officers themselves were robbing this man. I looked at my phone and thought, “what do I do? I’ve got to do something but who the hell do I call now!” I felt horrible. At that moment, hated how helpless I felt. There I was, ready to break the societal tendency of collective inaction, but had no one to call.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Micheladas
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Right now I’m in my warm bedroom (thanks to a few days of warm weather) listening to Alanis Morissette in preparation for her February 16th performance at the National Auditorium. Although I know nothing about her current music, I have nearly the entire Jagged Little Pill album memorized from middle school. I’m excited about the concert because I got five other girls from work to go. So it’ll be a fun girls’ night out which, considering the lack of friends problem I had last year, is very exciting.
As I apply for jobs out of Mexico for next year, I have begun to think about what I will miss about this country when I have moved on. Many things come to mind but there is one item in particular that I won’t have to miss because I’ll be able to prepare it nearly anywhere I go. It is the beverage known as the michelada.
Now, a michelada is not the same thing throughout Mexico. My use of the term comes from the chilango version. When you order a michelada here in Mexico City, you get the beer of your choice with a glass of ice with salt around the rim. In the glass there is the juice of two or three little limes. Carefully you pour the beer into the glass not allowing the foam to touch the salt. On a warm day, this is the most refreshing drink imaginable. Without the salt, the lime juice makes the beer entirely too sour. The trick is to lick off some of the salt from the rim just before letting the beer touch your lips. This allows you to enjoy the taste of the lime without the overwhelming sourness and if you plan it properly, you finish the circle of salt with your last drop of beer.
As I mentioned, it is crucial to pour the beer carefully into the glass. If you allow your gustatory emotions to take over and pour hastily, not only do you ruin your drink, but you also compromise the dry dining experience of your tablemates. Although I haven’t confirmed this with actual chemical science, I’m pretty sure that when you combine airy beer foam, lots of lime, and lots of salt, a strong reaction occurs and nearly half of the contents of the glass overflows. The worst part about this is that the reaction is somewhat delayed and so you pour your beer and look away contently to continue your conversation with your friends and all of a sudden everyone is leaning away from you with a look of fright. So, you look back and with luck you grab your napkin just in time to absorb the beer reaching the edge of the table ready to pour onto the jeans that the day before you had to schlep with all the rest of your laundry eight blocks to the nearest laundromat. I am now a more experienced michelada drinker, and fortunately haven’t had any accidents in the last few months.
If you’re going to order a michelada in Mexico or at a Mexican restaurant in the States, be aware that different regions prepare them in different ways. If you go to the Yucatan, for example, you need to order a chelada to get what I have described. If you order a michelada in Oaxaca, you’ll get beer, ice, lime, as well as a tomato juice and chile mixture that can turn your beer everything from bright red to dark burgundy. I’ve tried a few different varieties of these foreign micheladas but nothing is as refreshing as the simple combination of lime, salt, ice and a good Mexican dark beer.
Right now I’m in my warm bedroom (thanks to a few days of warm weather) listening to Alanis Morissette in preparation for her February 16th performance at the National Auditorium. Although I know nothing about her current music, I have nearly the entire Jagged Little Pill album memorized from middle school. I’m excited about the concert because I got five other girls from work to go. So it’ll be a fun girls’ night out which, considering the lack of friends problem I had last year, is very exciting.
As I apply for jobs out of Mexico for next year, I have begun to think about what I will miss about this country when I have moved on. Many things come to mind but there is one item in particular that I won’t have to miss because I’ll be able to prepare it nearly anywhere I go. It is the beverage known as the michelada.
Now, a michelada is not the same thing throughout Mexico. My use of the term comes from the chilango version. When you order a michelada here in Mexico City, you get the beer of your choice with a glass of ice with salt around the rim. In the glass there is the juice of two or three little limes. Carefully you pour the beer into the glass not allowing the foam to touch the salt. On a warm day, this is the most refreshing drink imaginable. Without the salt, the lime juice makes the beer entirely too sour. The trick is to lick off some of the salt from the rim just before letting the beer touch your lips. This allows you to enjoy the taste of the lime without the overwhelming sourness and if you plan it properly, you finish the circle of salt with your last drop of beer.
As I mentioned, it is crucial to pour the beer carefully into the glass. If you allow your gustatory emotions to take over and pour hastily, not only do you ruin your drink, but you also compromise the dry dining experience of your tablemates. Although I haven’t confirmed this with actual chemical science, I’m pretty sure that when you combine airy beer foam, lots of lime, and lots of salt, a strong reaction occurs and nearly half of the contents of the glass overflows. The worst part about this is that the reaction is somewhat delayed and so you pour your beer and look away contently to continue your conversation with your friends and all of a sudden everyone is leaning away from you with a look of fright. So, you look back and with luck you grab your napkin just in time to absorb the beer reaching the edge of the table ready to pour onto the jeans that the day before you had to schlep with all the rest of your laundry eight blocks to the nearest laundromat. I am now a more experienced michelada drinker, and fortunately haven’t had any accidents in the last few months.
If you’re going to order a michelada in Mexico or at a Mexican restaurant in the States, be aware that different regions prepare them in different ways. If you go to the Yucatan, for example, you need to order a chelada to get what I have described. If you order a michelada in Oaxaca, you’ll get beer, ice, lime, as well as a tomato juice and chile mixture that can turn your beer everything from bright red to dark burgundy. I’ve tried a few different varieties of these foreign micheladas but nothing is as refreshing as the simple combination of lime, salt, ice and a good Mexican dark beer.
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