Audio Postcard: The 1985 Earthquake

Having missed out on the last earthquake during the Swine Flu, my first reaction was to get excited when my chair began to sway in the swanky Starbucks in Condesa on Friday. The thrill quickly turned to worry when my friends and I locked eyes, grasping the table with our hands, and heard the Mexican girls next to us repeat to each other, "No mames, No mames," (You've gotta be f***ing kidding me). It was a long shake, maybe 20 seconds, and still going when the security guard ran over and asked us to go outside. There we joined a group of people waiting and smoking in the shade.

Here's a picture I took once we came back inside, since by that point we were more worried about our laptops being stolen than the roof falling in.

The next day, I went to my friend Santiago's apartment in Tacubaya and asked him for his "Earthquake CD." He had shown me this gem a few months ago—a compilation of audio clips, one for every year in Mexico in the 20th century. This is essentially the audio postcard lover's dream. Below you can hear one of the most intense tracks, in which a newscaster greets Mexico City on the morning of September 19, 1985, the day of the catastrophic earthquake that killed 10,000.

Phrases to listen for:

Está temblando poquitito - It's shaking just a little.

¡Ay, chihuahua! - Oh my goodness!

Last looks

I moved out of my apartment in Xalapa and am now back in Mexico City for one final week of tacos, cervezas, and farewells. There are few signs of Swine Flu having ever been here, except for the city health workers who now stand in the subway, squeezing hand sanitizer out of condiment bottles into the hands of riders before they board. I hope they keep that going—it's great!

Here are some shots from the last few weeks, as I tried to be more disciplined with taking my camera around with me.

The elementary school in Coatepec, near Xalapa

Two streams converge to make this nice little swimming hole at the foot of La Granada waterfall, Coatepec

A neighbor lady talks on her phone while standing on her historic-tastic balcony, Xalapa

Phillip and Itzel in my Xalapa apartment, in the jarana-filled days after Son Jarocho camp

A fandango on my last night in Xalapa (see my official blog for more on this later.)

After moving out of Xalapa, I went to visit my friends Naomi, Jose, and Will in beautiful Queretaro. In New Spain, it used to be the gateway Mexico's mysterious northern territories.

A political rally for the PRI party in Queretaro.

Audio Postcard: Fired Up Bush

Colin tries to blend in at a Bush rally in Memphis, 2005

While procrastinating this evening I went back into my old audio folders and came across this funny/moderately creepy clip that I had almost forgotten about. I recorded it at the end of my sophomore year spring break, when our french fry-strewn rental van of friends arrived in Memphis for what we thought was going to be quiet night of ribs at the Rendezvous. To our surprise, then-President George W. Bush was also making an appearance in town that evening. A fired-up crowd was gathering downtown, so we decided to join them and wait for his motorcade.

Audio Postcard: Someone Else's Serenade

Ok, before you get depressed by the title of this audio postcard, let me say that it is actually a recording of one of my most contented moments in Mexico. It came after I was feeling pretty rotten yesterday, on both the physical and loneliness scale. Nothing like being sick and alone in a country that has been nothing but sick and alone for two weeks.

But things were looking up by nightfall. I was feeling better, and working through my tapes from Son Jarocho camp. After a few hours, when I took off my headphones around midnight, I was surprised to hear a sound that had been familiar to me back in Mexico City, but is exceedingly rare here in Son Jarocho country. Mariachis were playing somewhere in the open air.

I climbed up onto my roof, where the sound was easier to trace. The mariachis were about half a mile away, standing in front of the well-lit yellow church of San José. The most I could see were their silhouettes strumming and sombreros bobbing. I scanned the nearby balconies and rooftops, hoping to spot the lucky recipient of their serenade, but no luck. No problem, I thought; that made it all the easier to pretend it was me.

Raise your hand if you feel like caca.

 Oh right, you can't even raise your hand. Nor could you notice that you were putting your shirt on inside-out until it simply was too late. You can't exert yourself beyond ripping open a packet of powdered soup and stirring with one of those excellent two-foot-long Mexican wooden spoons, god bless them, while seated at your kitchen table, head slumped into crook of elbow, wishing to god that Please Please Me, which has come up in your iTunes, would just change itself.

This was bound to happen—you had to get crazy sick at some point, and if it happens while you're living alone in a town that has been paralyzed by flu-fear and emptied of fellow Fulbrighters, well tough. Be thankful that you're sick on a weekend when your primary goal is to finish watching your stack of Pedro Infante movies. Take comfort in the familiar sounds of vendors as they sing up their wares to you and wander down your lane. Tortiiiiiiillas. Tortiiiiiiillas. Fight the urge to open your window and ask them if they also give hugs and take temperatures.

Weirdly though, the evidence of your condition (which we will leave out here) suggests that none of the usual suspects are to blame. This is not swine flu nor the result of a poorly-chosen taco stand. The best explanation you can come up with is your neighbor's frozen watermelon margarita, which you downed way too fast last night while midway through your 2-hour streak of beginner's luck at dice gambling. Worth it?

Worth it.

Jejeje

¡Yay! The flu is so last week. Everyone's in a good mood, enjoying this strange interval when business are reopening, but school is still out. Kids are sitting in their living rooms and on their porches, wearing T-shirts and taking their school lessons over the radio.

I've been lucky to have a steady stream of visitors from the capital, all of them super low-maintenance since a simple visit to the fruit market is like Disneyworld for them. As I type, we've got some Bowie on the stereo, Caley is roasting poblano peppers and Zach is on the next bus to Xalapa. Don't want to jinx it, but maybe my last three weeks in Mexico will be just as festive as the first.