Vecinos 4 life

Whew! In the craziness of leaving Mexico a couple of months ago, I forgot to write a final post and put a neat little bow on this blog. Here goes.

Since returning to the U.S. I've split my summer days between Chicago and Michigan. I have swum in the lakes, sampled the berries of the forests, and attended approximately 75 weddings. All the while, though, I've kept one foot in Mexico by continuing to work on my audio project, pausing only for taco and corona breaks. The end result are my final mini audio-documentaries that highlight some of the amazing young Mexican musicians I met during the year. I'm very happy with how these pieces turned out, so please give 'em a listen at my Fulbright-mtvU Blog!

The next generation of soneros listen up at a Fandango in Xalapa, Veracruz

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: Midnight Fandango

Katie's Camp History:

• 1997: A nine-day trek along the shores of Lake Michigan with my 6th grade class
  
• 1999: A weeklong stint in the woods with other West Michigan teenagers (i.e. church camp)
  
• 2009: A weeklong series of workshops in Son Jarocho music and culture, on a sweltering ranch in Southern Veracruz, Mexico.

After each of the three times I've been away to camp, I always came back 100% jazzed about what I felt I had "gone through." I would scrapbook heavily on my experiences, making hideous collages out of leaves and gum wrappers. I organized my post-camp penpal correspondence with a Jeffersonian seriousness. I made frequent announcements that I was permanently cured of all bug phobias.

But looking back, I notice that my camp fanaticism consistently boomed and faded. I never did follow through on those plans to escape into the Upper Peninsula and live in a burned-out tree (1997), nor did I keep any promises murmured into my hand-knotted rosary (which I made in the craft tent to match my friendship bracelets) to grow up a devout and yet totally rad Catholic (1999).

But now, this time, at 24 years old, I am hoping that my camp hysteria will stick. Unlike at previous camps, last week's Son Jarocho camp, called a "seminar",was designed to equip me with a new skill: to play the jarana and learn the art of singing versos jarochos (verses from Veracruz).

At the same time, our teachers made no attempt to hide that some brainwashing was desirable. The seminario was as much as about getting a grip on Son Jarocho music as it was about adopting the cultural values from which it emerged. This meant learning to:

• appreciate nature [i.e. sleep in tents, bathe in river, and enjoy sporadic access to handsoap]
  
• eat rustic food prepared by local women [I will never eat packaged tortillas again]
  
• respect elders [sitting for two hours to watch a man weave a fishnet is a-ok]
• turn off technology [at one point, getting mildly sick of the sound of my jarana, I snuck away to my tent to listen to some Hank Williams on my iPod. It seemed so out of place that I lasted through only two verses of "Your Cheatin' Heart"...and yeah, the lyrics got to me]
• slow the heck down [see photo]

Daniel from San Antonio, TX, with his constant companion

Above all, our teachers aimed to reform us into respectful musicians. Our group was a confident mix of cosmopolitan Chicanos from the U.S., well-traveled Latin Americans, and two Fulbright scholars. With all of us itching to learn, it quickly became apparent in our lessons that most of us were raised on an American model of showmanship: try hard, try loud, possibly make ass out of self, eventually develop your own style, and stand out. Our teachers, who are painfully aware of this mindset having toured the U.S. and Europe several times, reminded us that Son Jarocho emerged out of the collective creativity of groups, not individuals.

Nowhere was this more important than at the fandango, the communal jam session in which Son Jarocho is traditionally played and danced. Every night, when the ranch was covered in total darkness, we used our flashlights to find our way to the tarima, the wooden dance platform around which the fandango would unfold and escalate until 3 in the morning. After a long day of structured strumming in the sun, the fandango was our opportunity to let the music take over; to surround ourselves with the sounds of more experienced musicians from the towns nearby, and to let our skills take shape in the dark.