How IS Guadalajara?

I have had the pleasure of speaking to my parents and several friends in the US over the course of the past week. Everyone asks the same question: “How IS Guadalajara?”

It sounds innocent enough, but in reality, they are asking three separate questions:

1. Do you like Guadalajara?

2. Is it dangerous in Guadalajara?

3. Do you regret moving to Guadalajara?

Well, let me tell you about Guadalajara.

When we arrived last Monday, we noticed that our apartment, though mostly furnished, lacked a trash can and a laundry basket. What were we to do? Why, go to Wal-Mart Super Center, of course. At that point, I decided to play a game with myself and keep track of how many businesses I could find that would be familiar to a US citizen traveling to Mexico.

I had to stop on Sunday, when the list reached 75. Seventy-five! In less than a week! We were standing in what is probably the nicest mall I have ever seen in my life. There were plenty of non-US options, to be sure, but in my short time in Mexico I had already realized that I would never be in short supply of familiar places to shop, especially at the mall. In fact, it would probably be easier to count the ones that are NOT here (Hello, Target, where are you???). So I decided to stop counting at 75. And then I turned a corner and found five more.

View from the mall...WOW!

The apartment we currently live in is situated directly across the street from a public park. Starting at dawn and continuing beyond nightfall, one can find joggers, food venders, and children playing in the park. Incredibly, it is the type of park one would expect to find in the United States 20-30 years ago. You know...they type kids love and parents are terrified of: crazy-tall slides and the ever-popular, long-banned merry-go-round (-o-death).

Our apartment is one block away from Pastelería Jeffrey, which offers delicious desserts and horribly unreliable wi-fi. Across the street from Jeffrey you will find Oxxo. Oxxo is a convenience store in which can be found pretty much the same stuff that you would find in a similar store in the states, minus the price inflation for the convenience of it all.

One block down and two blocks to the left of Oxxo, there is a Starbucks, which has proven quite useful as we wait for our own Internet service to be set up (which will not occur until our permanent dwelling is available). During the holiday season, focus here is not on Peppermint, Eggnog, and Gingerbread flavored beverages, but rather on Cherry Mochas, Nuevo Caramel Chocolates, and Toffee Nut Lattes (Aaron tried, Aaron approved).

One block down and two blocks to the right of Oxxo, there is a Blockbuster. Whereas brick and mortar video stores in the US face imminent demise thanks to the rise of the digital age, here in Mexico business is booming. Rentals are $3.36 USD ($0.80 USD on Thursdays!). US movies dominate the shelves, and many will play on both US- and Mexico-coded DVD/Blu-Ray players. There are many films and television series that originated in the states that are offered here in different (and more exciting) packaging...and some that aren't offered in the states in any form.

Continue down this same street for about three blocks and you will find yourself facing Soriana Super, the largest grocery chain here in Guadalajara. Many familiar brands can be found here, as well as different iterations of familiar brands (Tuti-Fruti flavored Crush and Lime flavored Act II Popcorn, for example).

So, to answer the first question, yes, I like Guadalajara. Although I have only been here for one week, I have determined that I will be able to explore a new culture while retaining access to most of the comforts of home found in the United States. And everything I need is within walking distance.

My typical Mexican dinner. Exotic, no?

As for the second question...is Guadalajara dangerous? I don't know how to properly answer that question other than to say...Is New York City dangerous? Is Chicago? How about Washington DC? Sure they are. All major cities are. The key to a happy existence is to respect the terrain. Know your surroundings. Have an understanding of how to best communicate with people. I can't offer a better answer than that, other than to tell you that I have felt completely safe in my travels. I'm not even afraid of our apartment anymore. At this stage in the journey, my biggest fear is that I will fail to bleach the vegetables properly and give TJ a bad case of Montezuma's Revenge. But again, so far, so good.

As for the 3^rd question, do I regret this move?

I have a habit of reading other Foreign Service blogs. These blogs often discuss a move to a new location, and sometimes have a “making the best of it” feel to them. I began to worry about this as our departure date drew closer and closer. Would we enjoy Mexico, or simply make the best of it?

Maybe I'm jumping the gun, only being one week into this adventure, but I think I have a decent impression of things.

Foreign Service life requires the willingness to leave your homeland for years at a time. This journey to Mexico has required us to do this very thing...yet we are close enough to home that we can get there quickly if necessary.

Foreign Service life requires the willingness to acclimate to surroundings that may not live up to your current quality of life expectations. Here in Mexico, we've had to pay heed to the water situation. We have to bleach our vegetables and only drink from a designated tap in our kitchen. Minor adjustments that have already become habit but will prepare us for more drastic life changes as TJ's career continues to take us to foreign lands.

Bleaching fruits and veggies for the week.

Foreign Service life requires the willingness to live in countries with varying exchange rates. Sometimes it works in your favor, sometimes it doesn't. I'd say this time around, it turned out pretty favorably.

Foreign Service life requires the willingness to be separated from your personal effects (and mail) for an extended period of time (stuff travels less quickly than people). Since we are in Mexico, the time of separation will, hopefully, be shorter.

Foreign Service life requires the willingness to live in countries that do not offer the same dining options that you are accustomed to. Given Mexico's proximity to the United States, this has not been an issue. At all. In fact, my biggest fear, not being able to find Dr. Pepper, proved to be in vain. Hooray!

Foreign Service life requires the willingness to act diplomatically at all times. Well, I think I'm pretty damned pleasant, ok? Alright? Good.

I've always been the type that has seen the grass as being greener on the other side. I don't mean to, but I often have a negative reaction to the present, only to realize how great it was in hindsight. Last night, as we stood in the kitchen preparing dinner together, I confessed something to TJ: “I love our life here.”

How IS Guadalajara? Pretty amazing, actually.

Tequila!

We had barely been in Mexico for three days and already TJ was off in observance of a holiday (US Veterans Day).

To commemorate the event, we embarked on a road trip to the small town of Tequila with two cars full of TJ's new co-workers and their family and friends.

There are a number of ways to spend a day in Tequila. One is by boarding the popular Tequila Express. Another is by visiting the Sauza Distillery. Both are fine options that we will likely explore at a future date, but they were not on the agenda this time around.

Located approximately one hour from Guadalajara, Tequila is a small, picturesque town surrounded by mountains. For all of the modern architecture that can be found in Guadalajara, Tequila is what I envision when I think about the Mexico of old.

It is the home of a handful of very old, very beautiful, churches.

...but even in Catholic-dominated Mexico, tequila is god. Well, ok, maybe not God-god. But perhaps a minor deity.

In fact, a plaque in the town square indicates that Tequila's tequila resulted in the town's inscription onto the list of UNESCO's World Heritage Sites on July 12, 2006. 'The agave landscape and the ancient industrial facilities of Tequila...deserves protection for the benefit of all humanity.'

Indeed.

After exploring the small town and taking in my first authentic Mexican brunch (Juevos Rancheros...yummy!), we treated ourselves to a tour of Jose Cuervo's distillery, La Rojeña.

Highlights of the tour included:

A walk around the grounds of the beautiful Cuervo mansion...

An explanation of tequila production...

And, of course, a little bit of sampling in both the distillery and in "La Cava," where photos were not permitted. The cave is where the Cuervo family's private label, Reserva de la Familia, is stored and aged. We were allowed to sample some of the reserve, as well as some 120 proof tequila not sold in stores...but only a little. Tequila doesn't grow on trees, you know. It grows on Agave plants.

Scared of the Dark

When I was very young, an evil aunt of mine told a horrifying story about finding a tarantula under her pillow one evening. This of course got me into the routine of checking under my pillow, blankets, and bed before going to bed every night. Over time, this developed into a more obsessive routine of checking my closet for boogeymen, going room-to-room looking for home invaders, ensuring all doors were locked, and peeking out of the windows in search of lurking murderers before finally being able to settle down for bed.

Thankfully, as childhood fears often do, this compulsion disappeared over time. I always make sure my doors are locked, but that's it.

Well, that was it. Until now. We safely arrived in Guadalajara Monday afternoon. We were met by a representative from the Consulate, who treated us to lunch, showed us our new home, and even took us grocery shopping. TJ started work the following day, and I spent my free time walking the neighborhood, exploring the park across the street, and reading. When I needed to use the Internet I headed to the local Starbucks, as we are residing in a temporary unit and have not yet signed on with a cable/Internet provider. In fact, I am back at Starbucks this very moment. The holiday drinks are different here. And tasty!

My Spanish, although mediocre, has been sufficient so far. I have advised a passerby of the current time. I have purchased items at the grocery store. I've ordered from restaurants and coffee shops. I have asked for directions and understood the response. When the security guard asked why I was taking pictures outside of our building, I was able to explain. Despite the dangers in northern Mexico, everything seems relatively safe (for the time being, anyway) here in Guadalajara. In fact, everyone that I have encountered so far has been very friendly.

Including the stranger I found in my apartment upon returning from my afternoon stroll yesterday.

He claimed to be from the Consulate. He said that he was there to check on the security system, but now that I was home, he would leave. He only asked that I let the maintenance crew in if they showed up. Ok. What? Nobody had mentioned this...TJ, of course, was not answering his phone. The maintenance crew eventually showed up. They explained something about a power outlet and then left. That's when I heard the ticking sound coming form the laundry room. As I contemplated calling the bomb squad, jumping from our two-story window, or simply waiting it out and hoping for the best, TJ called and confirmed that they were indeed from the Consulate. Relieved, I hung up and went about preparing dinner.

That's when the security alarm went off. TJ, of course, was not answering his phone again. I went down to the parking garage and had a brief, semi-coherent conversation with the guard about the situation. I'm not quite sure what either of us said, but apparently he was, because shortly thereafter TJ called and provided the access code. Someone had called the Consulate and advised that our alarm was going off. I assume it was the guard.

As for the ticking, it's still happening. We think it's the water heater.

Our current apartment is big. Big and scary. It includes a kitchen, dining room, laundry room, two living rooms, two bedrooms, an office, a maid's quarters, 4.5 bathrooms, and two walk-in closets. I say this not to brag, as this isn't even our house (or furnishings).

I merely want to let you know that, last night, it took a really, REALLY long time to check my closet for boogeymen, go room-to-room looking for home invaders, ensure all doors were locked, and peek out of the windows in search of lurking murderers before finally being able to settle down for bed.

Texas Renaissance Festival

What better way to spend our last day in the good ol' US of A than with our friend Patrick (and his entourage) at the Texas Renaissance Festival?

The RenFest is something I remember fondly from my days at Texas A&M, and Patrick and I had been looking forward to this for days. TJ, on the other hand, was dreading it with a passion. It was with great satisfaction that I witnessed TJ enjoy himself immensely. Just as I realized yesterday that the San Jacinto Monument isn't as mediocre as I remembered, TJ learned today that the Texas Renaissance Festival is unlike any other (especially that lame one in Florida).

This was a realization that hit him almost immediately, as we were entertained by this wonderful comedian/magician.

The jousting was kinda boring, but our

enjoyment of the day was untarnished.

These are some happy folks.

This was pretty.

So was this.

Patrick gave his sexy pose and TJ

experimented with some new outfits.

I tried out the longbow.

Xena mugged for the camera.

We watched an amazing glass-blowing demonstration.

We celebrated our fun day with giant

Margarita/Strawberry Daiquiri Swirls.

...while this cutie

tapped the keg.

Thank you, Patrick, for hosting us this weekend. As always, it's been fun.

Next stop...Guadalajara!

A Tale of Two Monuments...and a Dawning Realization

I spent the first 23 years of my life living in Texas. At some point during my childhood, my parents took me on a trip to Houston so that I could see both The San Jacinto Monument and Battleship Texas. I was probably 10 years old or younger, and the memory has certainly faded over time.

Having lived in Northern Virginia for the last several months, I have had the opportunity to see The Washington Monument dozens of times. As it was the fresher of the two monuments in my mind's eye, I had grown comfortable in thinking that Washington was superior to San Jacinto.

That illusion was shattered today.

Standing at 570-feet tall and topped with a 34-foot tall star that represents the Lone Star Republic, The San Jacinto Monument dwarfs its 555-foot 5 1/8-inch tall counterpart in the District of Columbia.

Both monuments are accompanied by a reflecting pool. Here in Houston, the pool is 1,800 feet long by 200 feet wide, with a depth of 4-6 feet. Back in DC, the pool is 2,029 feet long by 167 feet wide, with a depth of 1.5-2.5 feet.

The intricate details found within the exterior architecture speak for themselves.

How is it possible that my memory was filled with visions of a San Jacinto Monument that was identical to the Washington Monument, but smaller and less maintained?

When I graduated from Texas A&M University in 2003, I vacated the state as fast as humanly possible. Despite having lived there my entire life, I desperately wanted...no, needed to leave. I hadn't travelled much as a child and felt stifled as a result. Having spent two summers studying in Europe and working in Orlando, I realized that there was an entire world out there to explore. And I set out to do just that.

Since then, I have only returned to Texas twice. The first time was to spend New Year's Eve 2008 with our friend Patrick here in Houston before making a quick stop to see my parents in Temple. The second time was for my uncle's funeral exactly one year later.

My parents have typically enjoyed visiting me in Orlando, and I have worked this to my advantage. If they come visit me once a year, that means I can selfishly use my vacation time to explore other parts of the world. That gravy train has ended for a variety of reasons, chief among them being that my parents are afraid of flying. My new globetrotting life is not conducive to them taking a road trip in their mobile home. Which they sold anyway. So that's strike one and two, all rolled into one. Strike three being that my father has recently sold his business, which he had been running since I was in Kindergarten. What kind of son would I be if I continued to expect them to visit me, when it will be much more practical for me to start returning the favor?

I saw my parents yesterday, but only for a few short hours. They made the 3+ hour drive from Temple to Houston to spend the day with me. I treated them to lunch at Wings 'n More, which I remembered fondly from my days at Texas A&M. Watching me pay the bill hurt my father's pride. In fact, he asked if I was trying to hurt his feelings.

My parents, above all else, have always been great providers. We weren't wealthy, but we were comfortable. My father was a successful small business owner, and I was an only child. As a result, I lived a childhood, and young adulthood, without want. I had more toys than you could shake a stick at. I was among the first to own a Nintendo...and its subsequent iterations. When I played high school football, they took out large advertisements in the game programs. College? Paid for. Cars? Ditto.

Financially speaking, I couldn't ask for better parents. But I grew up in Texas. Texas folk like to stay put. And, unless you're lucky, they don't tend to understand homosexuality. This lead to two distinct problems. 1) We didn't travel much, which only served to fuel my desire to explore the world, and 2) They didn't take to my being gay very well.

I wasn't disowned. I wasn't cut off financially. I wasn't loved any less. They just didn't understand. They still don't. It's possible they never will. We argue about it from time to time, and usually it's me that begins to fan the flames.

But you know what? When TJ and I applied for our mortgage, they helped with the down payment. They day we moved in, they sent "Welcome Home" flowers. Later, on a visit to Orlando, they gave us matching rocking chairs so we could sit on the porch together. Any time they see TJ, they show him just as much respect as they would if he were my wife. Sometimes I think they even like him more than they like me. Not a horrible problem to have, I suppose.

I guess that's all I can ask for. They aren't perfect. Neither am I. We fight like cats and dogs, but at the end of the day, I know that they love me. And I hope that they know that I love them in return. In my late teens/early twenties I had the misfortune of mistaking a potential lack of understanding on their part as justification for premature rebellion on mine. I wasn't a troubled youth. I didn't act out. I was just an Honors Student....with a bad attitude. And it certainly affected our relationship.

It must be hard for them. Whatever my reasons for doing so, I have effectively moved farther and farther away from them over the past seven years. Even though Guadalajara will be closer than either Orlando or DC, ease of travel is diminished. On some level, they must feel abandoned. On some level, I feel that I have abandoned them.

But life is meant to be lived, and it's up to the individual to determine how best to live that life.

My hope is that they realize that they raised a man that is happy with his life. Someone that has found another person to love. Someone that is able to explore the world just as he always wanted to do. Someone that is beginning to understand the importance of going home once in a while. Someone who now realizes that, whether it be your relationship with your parents or a faded memory of a local monument, maybe the past isn't as bleak as you remember it.

So, no, dad, I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings. I was simply trying to show how grateful I am for everything.

Welcome to the Diaspora

A few weeks ago I announced the premature end of the 365 Challenge and hinted that there might be further changes in the near future. Honestly, I had planned on ending this blog entirely and starting a new one. The reason for this was because I knew well in advance that two important events would occur this very day. But then I realized, why bother? Why not just mold this blog to suit my purposes? And so, I am doing just that.

So what were these two important events?

Well, starting at 10AM, TJ and I began the two-hour ceremony required to complete our conversion to Judaism. It started with individual interviews with a Rabbinic Court (Beit Din) and ended with submersion in a Mikvah...which, to shed light, I suppose one could compare that last part to a Baptismal pool.

Then, at 2PM, we turned in our apartment keys and made the journey to Washington National Airport, where we currently await the boarding call for a flight that will take us to Houston. We will be there visiting a friend until Monday, at which point I will become a resident of Guadalajara in the Mexican state of Jalisco for the next two years. The journey that began in February is finally bearing fruit!

The morning was filled with an indescribable joy that was unfortunately overshadowed somewhat by the knowledge of what the afternoon held in store. We still had some packing to do. We had to arrange a key drop-off with a friend that has generously agreed to babysit our car until the drama with exportation is resolved. We had to make it to the airport, check our luggage, and clear security by 7PM.

It wasn’t until we were on the Metro that we realized our flight was leaving from the OTHER airport. In a week as stressful as this one has been, this bit of news actually worked out in our favor. Our flight was leaving from the CLOSER of the two airports. We couldn’t believe it. Had we known this earlier, we could have perhaps enjoyed the morning a little more, but at this point, TJ is just glad to be relaxing and playing “Plants vs Zombies” on our iPad, and I’m just grateful to have a Margarita coursing through my veins. And rushed or not, I won't even pretend that I didn't get a bit emotional this morning. I'm becoming such a softy in my old age.

As far as changes to this blog, I simply want to focus more on giving it a worldly feel. I know, I know...shouldn’t be a problem, since I’ll be living in other parts of the world. Good. Because I want my readers to get a real taste of what’s out there. I hope I was able to do that to some extent during my time in DC, but looking back I know there were not only more things that I could have shared with you, but also more things I could have shared with myself.

I wonder, have you heard of a diaspora? If not, it’s okay. I hadn’t until this past year.

A diaspora is the movement of a group of people, typically those sharing a national or ethnic identity, away from their homeland. This is something that TJ and I have been preparing ourselves for since February. We have had the opportunity to meet many other Foreign Service Officers and their families during our time in Virginia. Together, we have all established a diaspora that has ensured that we have friends around the world. People we can visit, and who can visit us in return. Peers that we may eventually be working and living with in other countries. People that understand all of the benefits and hassles of this lifestyle.

But there is another type of diaspora. The Diaspora (note the capitalization) refers to the exile of the Jewish people as well as Jews living outside of Israel. As new converts, we now fall into this category as well. As the partner of someone who makes his living moving to a new country every few years, it is my hope that we one day have a tour in Tel Aviv. How amazing would that be?

Until then, please sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. There will be photos. Stories. Local Humor. Recipes. Tales of Suspense!

But before we make that journey overseas, I promise to share some exciting photos of my trip to the Texas Renaissance Festival this coming weekend. Weather permitting.

Life is good, my friends.

Welcome to the DIASPORA.

The Gay Tax

I have already discussed our dilemma with shipping our vehicle to Mexico here and here. I THINK I have finally resolved the problem, but I am NOT happy about it. At all.

In order for the US Government to ship our car, it has to either be in TJ's name, or he has to be married to the person who owns it. What's a new Foreign Service family to do?!?

Plan A: Let's get married! What's that? Oh, right. We can't.

Plan B: Let's just refinance through the current lien holder, Wells Fargo. That way, we can both be on the title! Oh, wait. Wells Fargo won't provide a letter authorizing exportation of the vehicle. Because it isn't for my job. And because we aren't married.

Plan C: Let's refinance with USAA. We can add both of our names to the title, AND they will provide the appropriate documentation for export.

Plan C ended up working like a charm. The only catch was that I had to fly down to Orlando yesterday to fill out paperwork and write a check for about $150, which would cover change-of-title and renewal of vehicle registration. I could have done that here in Virginia, but Orlando is home and we have both agreed that we will take whatever steps necessary to maintain our Florida residency.

We had this timed out perfectly: Arrive in Orlando at 11am. Allow 3 hours for the DMV. Stop by old job to visit coworkers. Drive by the house to make sure the tenants hadn't destroyed the place yet. Return rental car by 5:00pm and hope security wasn't so crazy that I would miss my 6:50pm flight.

Everything went well...at first. Flight landed at 11am. By 11:55 I had not only rented a car but secured my place in line at the Tag Agency. The deed was done by 2:30, and I stopped by CuraScript to say hi to my peeps. We chatted for an hour or so and then I drove to the house.

As I sat parked on the street, rain blasting my windshield, I felt like I should be on "To Catch a Predator: Home Edition." Is it stalking if you own the property? Is it wrong to sit out on the street and scan for any changes to the landscape? Would it be wrong to knock on the door and ask for a tour? Would anyone freak out if they caught me in the backyard, checking on the citrus tree I had planted for TJ's birthday last year? These are questions I didn't get to ponder for very long, because the phone rang. I was needed at the Tag Agency. Something about taxes. If I didn't come today, the title that had been issued earlier would be cancelled. The time was 4:25. I needed to be at the airport in 35 minutes.

I barreled down the road, being far more reckless than I had any right to be given the heavy rain. But I'll be darned if I was going to miss my flight because Little Miss Thing at the DMV couldn't do her job right the first time around.

When I arrived I demanded two things: 1) To know what was going on, and 2) To have a power outlet to charge my phone (even in crisis mode, I want to make sure my access to Facebook, texting, and the Internet goes uninterrupted).

The issue required phone calls to Wells Fargo and USAA to resolve. The clerk hadn't realized that I was refinancing with a different bank, and she needed to find out the pay-off amount so that she could charge me sales tax. In the end, I had to pay $300 more than originally quoted.

Why, you ask?

Because I am gay.

When a married couple refinances a loan, they are not taxed.

When a gay couple refinances a loan, they are taxed. Because they are not married. Despite the fact that they would likely be quite HAPPY to get married, given the chance.

When a straight, single person refinances a loan, he/she is taxed.

So basically, what I learned yesterday was that, in the eyes of the Florida government, my 7-year relationship is worth no more than being single.

I didn't miss my flight, which made me happy. But as I sat in the terminal, waiting for my boarding call, I did begin to question why we are trying so hard to maintain our Florida residency.