Calling All Students!

I've been meaning to graduate from college for nearly a year now. Yes, I did go to commencement and walk and all that. But I don't have my diploma. And I am still officially enrolled in UC Berkeley--which means, though they aren't charging me anything, I still get pesky emails from the PoliSci department no matter how many times I attempt to unsubscribe, but that's another rant.
First I couldn't graduate due to circumstances out of my control: A teacher hadn't turned in grades). Then, when the grades finally registered, more than half a semester later, I was busy: I was in Mexico dealing with language courses, traveling, constant confusion, oh my! That brings us to today. I'm still abroad, but I admit that is no longer an excuse. A year later and not graduated, oh the shame!
Yet, about 20 minutes ago, I thought all that procrastination was going to pay off. I went to the World Nomads website to buy some travel insurance and noticed a link: "Travel Writing Scholarship 2008". What does it involve? You go to the "small coastal village of Kosgoda, 70kms south of Colombo". Where is Colombo? Sri Lanka. What do you do? A volunteer project and then write an article about it for the Morning Herald. Where is the Morning Herald? Sydney, Australia. What do you pay? Nothing. The trip includes not just airfare, lodging and vaccinations, but a free laptop.
It was for students, it said at the top, and I figured I qualified in at least two ways (UC Berkeley and ongoing language classes). Yet, then I hit this pesky line with an even peskier adverb: "To be eligible you have to be currently enrolled and actively studying at a recognised educational tertiary institution."
So, I probably dragged that out a bit. But isn't it great to hear from me after such a long silence? Anyways, YOU should apply. You actively studying college students out there. Here's the link: http://journals.worldnomads.com/scholarships/post/15629.aspx
If you think you don't stand a chance, well, I just won 2nd prize in a (non-active) student study abroad essay competition. So, you too can win. Best of luck!

Life in Chiapas, Part 2

My first few days, though the conversation varied, two central topics emerged. One, because of its climate, San Cristóbal is a great place to study Spanish. Two, I don’t know how to eat tortillas. Both are true. However, the second is slowly changing. When I arrived in Mexico, I would frequently finish meals without once reaching to the ubiquitous stack of towel-wrapped tortillas. The covering didn’t help. Out of sight, out of mind—and mouth. (Ok, that’s awful, but I’m not going to change it). But the real problem was I didn’t know what to do with them. All I could think of was to pile some stuff in middle, tuck in the sides and stuff it in my mouth; the Burrito Instinct. Not only do most Mexicans not do this, it doesn’t work with all dishes. But through careful observation, I’ve discovered other methods. Primarily, roll it up and use it like a finger. Wick up those juices! Another, seen not tried, involves stacking a bunch of tortillas and then shredding them into long strips. What you do with those strips, I’m unsure, because I seemed to have turned away at the crucial moment. So in two months I’ve discovered one new way to eat loose tortillas. Progress is slow.

Life in Chiapas, Part 1

[Sorry for the two-day delay, but the blog is finally back. I beg a sore neck and the busyness of settling into a new place. Thanks for all the demands I resume (...Dad). Glad I can finally fulfill them. I've got a bit of a backlog of travel writing to do, so for now I'll post about twice a week. As I said before, look for more writing by searching my name at EverywhereMag.com. Best.]

I arrived in San Cristóbal de las Casas, Chiapas on Tuesday before the sun. It showed up 45 minutes later, turning the black sky to indigo, then deep sea, then Elvis Presley suede shoe, before settling into a washed jean. I saw it all from a bench in el parque, San Cristóbal’s main square, waiting among the trilling and gurgling birds for the city to awaken.

I am staying in a brown-gated house a few blocks down from my new school, La Casa en El Arbol, The House in The Tree, or better still, the Tree House (and yes, there is a tree house, though no, I haven’t ascended). The double metal doors of my spacious if bare room open onto the courtyard-cum-open-air-garage of my Mexican family’s main house. I suspect I’m living in what was once a storage room.

My first trip of the day is, no different than in the States, to the bathroom. I step into the hallway that opens just past my doorway, then duck, literally, into the bathroom. The toilet is crowded against the metal door—all the doors in the house are metal, which demands careful maneuvering in the later hours. Once I’ve clanged through the doorway, I turn around and go back out, since if I want a hot shower, I’ve got to turn on the water heater by hand. The shower area is enormous, taking up the rest of the long bathroom. But despite the space, the shower drops only a fine and narrow spray to one side. On the dirty blue wall above the shower tiles, someone has written in a red marker: Bañate rapido y te sentirás mejor. Wash yourself quickly and you’ll feel better. So far, the shower itself has proved enough encouragement.

From the bathroom, I dress in my room and then go on to breakfast, through another low doorway. I’m greeted by my latest Mexican mother, Señora Navarro, and a plate of freshly cut fruit—some mix of mango, apple, papaya and melon. I sit at the corner of the table facing a line of gloomy, opaque windows, apparently the spot designated for visiting students. I pour myself a lime tea—which actually tastes more like lemon—and she brings me two more plates, one of frijoles, beans, and another of huevos, eggs, and a giant basket of tortillas. Then she sits herself down at the head, without a single plate—she eats at 11 with her husband—and watches me work my way through the meal. She’s got short, raven black hair—seemingly dyed—less wrinkles than expected for a woman with eight grown children, and generally wears a crimson shawl and a friendly, if unsmiling, expression.

(April 11: A couple of edits)

To be continued...