Apparently Even Jesus had Bad Hair Days

¿Que Pasa?

Scooby dobby doo where are you? Everyone loves that goofy dog (not to be confused with Goofy that other lovable cartoon dog…who to my knowledge does not fight ghosts, which is what distinctly differentiates the two characters). I have a plethora of Scooby Doo stickers, depicting Scooby fighting all sorts of ghouls and ghosts. When I grade papers, the best papers get a Scooby sticker and then those chosen students also get to read their papers in front of the class. It actually works pretty well because the sticker gives them a confidence boost…go Scooby!

The perils of cow patties: Following directly behind a cow herd is dangerous business, word to the wise: look down, not up! Cow paddies are not fun to step in…that is the last time I forget to watch where I walk.

Just buy a tire gage: This has happened numerous times to me…I board a micro bus and the driver gets out of the front of the vehicle to walk 360˚ degrees around the car…kicking each tire as he passes by…what is he doing? Well, he is checking the tire pressure before he sets off onto the road with 30 lives.

A reoccurring problem: When I walk around town, ride my bike around town, or if am just plain out in public chances are I will always be passed by a man on a motorcycle. Now this isn’t such a big deal, except in a machismo society the men always have to shout something in my direction, whether it’s a whistle, or a long drawn out Cheeeeeeelita…doesn’t matter…the fact is they cannot let me pass without commenting. But motorcycle men seem to have a little trouble multi-tasking because 6 out of 10 times, they will be yelling something in my direction and forget that they are driving…and then they stall out! One minute they are yelling at me and the next minute they are stuck in the middle of the street going nowhere because they stalled their vehicle!

Another saint being carried through the streets

Jesus having a bad hair day. When I have a bad hair day I wear a hat...just a suggestion, Jesus.

1 kilometro (most aptly named for reasons which I will elaborate on): I attended yet another wake. This time, however, I did know it was a wake. Therefore, I ask an essential question: How long are we going to be at the wake? The response: “Only a few hours.” Ok, I thought I could deal with a few hours, no big deal, right? Wrong. Well, I neglected to ask another important question: How far away/where is the wake located? If I had asked this question ahead of time, I most defiantly would not have attended but because I forgot to ask this question I got sucked into one wild ride. I got into a small, low ridding compact car (this time I didn’t have to sit on anyone’s lap, which was a plus). We started driving down the highway, so far so good, and then I realized that the driver and all the passengers did not know where the wake was located. So we pulled over, but everyone was too shy to ask for directions. Then they decided to call a relative of the dearly departed, to ask for directions, well this proved futile as well because the person they called was too distraught to accurately explain where the house was located. So we proceeded forward based on an assumption that the house was located by a “bridge.” Now, I suppose this wouldn’t be too bad if there weren’t about a half a dozen bridges located along the highway. So like the ball in a pinball machine, we bounced back and forth between two bridges, we would reach 1 bridge, look around for some kind of “turn-off” and then pull a u-turn on the highway to proceed to the previous bridge (that we had already visited). This went on for the good part of an hour, back and forth, another u-turn, another u-turn, back and forth. By this time, I knew that I should never have agreed to come, and that it was going to be a loooooonnnnnnnnggggggggg night (not to mention I had to bike about 30k at 7am the next morning). FINALLY, we found the turn off, only to realize that the vehicle we were in was not going to be able to off-road the bumpy, rocky road. “But don’t worry Brie,” that’s what the family told me followed by,” It’s only 1 kilometro”…so the car can make it…right? Wrong again. We started off on the “side road” bottoming out the car over and over again (my face cringing at the sound of metal coming into contact with hard stone). About 30 minutes into this off road’in experience everyone realized that it is a lot further then 1 kilometro. So the driver parked the car at a finca (farm), and we all started to walk, because they didn’t want to damage the car further. After a 20 minute walk, we arrived just in time to hear the screams of a pig being killed and mangos falling from a massive tree onto the unsuspecting heads of mourners below. “Is this some kind of sign?...Maybe I shouldn’t be here,” I thought. But the fact was, I had finally arrived and I wasn’t going to be able to leave for at least a few hours. So we un-stacked our white plastic chairs, took a cup of instant coffee that is a customary offering at wakes, along with a piece of white bread (also customary). And we sat down to join the other 70 mourners, who were all gossiping, laughing, crying, and hitting upon every emotion in-between. Fast forward 30 minutes and all of a sudden a person walked by me holding a pig’s head, about four inches from my right arm. My stomach turned, I shouldn’t have had that instant coffee. But it was too late, and I had to avert my eyes away quickly. Luckily, on the other side of me a bucket full of pig parts was passing by…I was surrounded. Around midnight we made that trek back to the car, it was now pitch black, the blackness encompassed us, and the stars shone bright overhead. We had one flash light and we walked carefully down the steep path…I was in front of the group trying to pick up the pace (keep going everyone!). Then my friend, who I was walking with elbow to elbow, lets out a shriek, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. I shone the flashlight in the direction of the movement, and there was a poor little iguana (more frightened of us I am sure) and I think to myself, RUN little guy or you will most surely be caught and eaten in a soup. My friend started screaming even louder, and as I tried to quite her down the iguana escaped into the trees. We found the car where we left it, got back in, bottomed out a few more times, made it onto the highway, and drove home.

Another sawdust painting in the streets

Quick bike story: I was out exercising on my bike, when the chain fell off…no problem….I have a lot of practice fixing my bike, so I flipped that puppy over and started to fix’er up. Well, a group of people on bikes came along and saw me…and took pity. They asked if I need helped, and I said nope, I am just fine. Well, they didn’t believe me…sadly. Because the next thing I know, the leader of the group had taken out his machete and asked me to move aside (I complied immediately…I don’t mess with machetes). The man started to machete my bike chain. In my head I was screaming: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! NO NO NO NO…don’t take a machete to my bike it has been through enough trauma. But he kept going (I felt like crying but the tears just weren’t coming). He “fixed” my bike aka did a lot more harm than good…but his intentions were good. Then the group insisted I ride back into town because they didn’t trust that my bike would stay “fixed” (and I thought it would probably completely fall apart at any minute due to the machete incident). So there I was riding up hills and pedaling on flat road in the easiest gear (my legs spinning out of control) riding back into town. I guess in the end I did get my exercise, but now my poor bike is really bent out of shape.

El Flaco translates into: thin, skinny, scrawny...Hog Dot translates into: ??

Don´t worry, I didn´t purchase a Hog Dot

I attended Semana Santa (Holy Week) this past week…and well here is a brief synopsis (followed by some pictures): On Good Friday, I went to a barrio in la cuidad de León (the city of Leon) where people assembled sawdust paintings in the street (all depicting various religious scenes). There were food vendors lining the streets selling chicken tacos, carne, and fresco. The paintings were brilliant colors and stood out strongly against the blacktop background. Everyone assembled into two lines and walked nearby the edges of the different paintings, taking photos and observing the various scenes. The paintings stretched for blocks and blocks. After everyone had viewed the painting they were stomped out by a precession holding candles and life-size saint statues. Mixed in with the saint statues was none other than Jesus, who had a day glow shine to his face and a women’s brown curly wig adorning is head. I observed that the saints and Jesus were being slowly rocked or swayed back and forth by the groups of teenagers carrying each statue. I thought this was strange and concluded that the statues must be rather heavy and this smooth motion made it easier for carrying the statues. However, this theory was stomped out when I heard a strange sound emanating from the back of the procession. It was a roaring sound, like a motor of a car. I looked over the heads of the montón de gente (a lot of people) and realized that coming up in the rear was a generator. I proceeded to look a little more closely at Jesus and his companions, and realized that underneath their separate pedestals ran meters and meters of extension cords, which all eventually ran into the generator. Therefore, the swaying motion was also an effort to keep the wires securely attached…to give the saints their saintly glow. As for Jesus’ wig, I would recommend they put a hat on him for next year’s parade.

Yes, those are actual children and not mechanical dolls

Sawdust painting that I felt was very whimsical