Hey Haley

El Dia de los Muertos

I am impressed at the effort put into the Day of the Dead here. Not that I was expecting less, I just honestly hadn’t put much thought into how it would manifest itself. Avenida de la Reforma is lined with 10-foot alebrijes and altars running over with offerings of tamales, oranges, carnations, and special bread called pan de muertos. My roommate made a nice little altar in our living room, decorating the walls with those colorful paper cut-outs you sometimes see in Mexican restaurants. A typical food to offer up is baseball-sized skulls made from sugar or chocolate adorned with shiny jewel eyes and glitter. The church down the street had a little display in the side yard with a skeleton figure, flowers wreaths, and a RIP sign for a deceased parishioner.

Me and the girls went to a Halloween party on Saturday attended by mostly Americans. Great costumes. My friend Joy was the best chola I’ve ever seen, but the concept was kind of lost on the Mexicans. Jacquelynne was a Harajuku girl, a sort of sexy clown from Japan, and Melissa wore a hot pink wig and glittery cowboy hat. My costume was also lost on most people, but I’ll try to explain. 

“Haley” just does not make sense to people who don’t speak English. It’s not a normal combination of sounds, and it certainly is not pronounced how it looks (some of you might remember my alias Jeili, the phonetic spelling of my name in Spanish). The closest approximation to my  name is Heidi, the Swiss fairytale character, which in Spanish rhymes with Haley. Oh, and trying to explain that I don’t have a second last name, which would be my mother’s maiden name, is like saying I was born of a martian petrie dish. I get bewildered looks or confused stammering. To help things along, my boyfriend gave me the pseudonym Heidi Susana Rodriguez Rivera, which is the closest we could get to Haley Suzanne Rogers Rabyor. It has actually come in handy quite a few times, when it doesn’t matter if the person on the other line knows your real name or not. Since people think my name is Heidi anyway, I decided to take on that role for Halloween. I think the idea was better than the lax execution, but you be the judge.

Told you the chola was good.

Subscribe

I update this site on a sporadic basis (trying for a more frequent sporadic basis!), so it might help to subscribe to this blog through a feed reader. I use Google Reader, and turned it into a stand-alone app (meaning I don’t have to fire up my browser and log in to Google to access my feeds, I just open up the Google Reader “application”) . This would be helpful if you also check other sites on a regular basis, and means you will be alerted when I do post something. If this sounds too complicated, forget it. You’d know if you needed a feed reader, anyway. If you do want to, though, here is the feed url: 

feed://www.heyhaley.com/feed/

I’ve added a link to this and the comments feed on the sidebar, under “site stuff”.

GRE-e-easy

Not really. The GRE was highly difficult. I kinda just wanted to say GRE-e-easy. 

I took the test on Tuesday at a testing center here in Mexico City. It was really just a room with a dozen computers partitioned into bright teal stations. I had been studying for this test for a solid 2 months, usually for several hours a week and throughout the weekends. I hand-wrote 300 vocabulary flash cards and carried them around with me in chunks at a time, memorizing them on the subway or my walk to work. I brushed up on my math and writing skills in the meantime. 

The big day started out ok. I made sure I had a decent amount of sleep, did some light yoga, trying not to rush. I cooked up a pot of my breakfast miso, and warmed up my GRE-brain with questions from the book. To make sure I had enough to eat to tide me over for the next 4 intense hours, I began to eat some granola. I was starting to run late, so I found a bag of plastic cups in the cabinet and poured the unfinished cereal into one of them, intending to finish it in the cab ride on the way over.

About 10 minutes later, riding down Chapultepec Avenue, I notice something strange in the cereal. Upon fishing it out with my spoon, I saw that it was a teeny tiny little ziplock baggy. You know, the kind they sell crack or other drugs in on tv. My heart skipped a beat. Or two. “Did someone slip me drugs right before I take the GRE?” ”Can you get high from eating crack?”  ”What if I start hallucinating during the math section?”

My friend Jacquelynne calmed me down, laughing the whole time. She told me if the pencil started writing in purple with gold trim that I should book it out of there. As soon as I sat down in front of the computer, I forgot all about the drug-laced breakfast. I did well on the test, scoring within my target range, without any feeling stranger than the expected anxiety. I guess it was just a plain old plastic baggy.

Food

I love food. I bet you do, too. I’ve had a peculiar relationship with food in the last few months. It all started with a few internal organ infections, which I will not go into here. The internet basically convinced me my insides were teeming with tiny little creatures, which is not too hard to believe when you live in Mexico (some say the water in the capital itself is so chlorinated that it’s safe to drink - um, oxymoron, anyone? - but I still avoid every little drop I can).

I successfully swore off all alcohol, sugar, fruit, caffeine, dairy, processed food, and most gluten and sugary vegetables for a virtually vegan, alkaline, macrobiotic, sugar-free diet. I haven’t eaten meat in almost 10 years, so that one was obviously out of the picture as well. My morning ritual consisted of drinking a shot of juice from one lime + two tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, followed by echinacea drops and detoxifying tea. Breakfast was usually miso soup with broccoli and chard or radishes. The rest of my meals consisted of some combination of local vegetables and whole grains, with maybe some beans or tofu thrown in (all organic, of course). I allowed myself nutty granola for diabetics with melted coconut oil (nectar of the gods) and unsweetened almond or soy milk. My guiltiest pleasure was cashews. Cashews.

As strict as it sounds, this actually wasn’t a huge leap for me. I didn’t eat much dairy anyway, and I needed a break from alcohol for a while. I already bought almost all my groceries from The Green Corner, a local grocer that supplies all this hippie food, and I don’t like coffee or chemical-doused junk food. I’m also accustomed to cooking vegan meals for 40 from my days in the co-op. After two months I felt great! But then a series of visits and vacations forced me to leave my little bubble and eat outside my kitchen. I don’t regret the nachos and margaritas on the beach, but I was worried about what kind of revolt my body would go into. Nothing major happened other than just feeling full a lot. But then another friend came and I went on a crazy sugar binge - mostly cupcakes from this awesome cupcake place in my neighborhood, Cupcakes by Tom. This forced me to realize my sugar addiction, and the need to check it. So, for the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to steer myself back onto the crazy-person diet, just with less doomsday fear attached.

I’m still taking the oil-lime shots, which are not bad at all. They’re sort of like….oily lime juice. Miso with cabbage and radishes is not as Cold War-ish as it sounds; it’s actually quite delicious. I learned how to cook one indian dish that frequents my routine on a weekly basis. My favorite find to come of the whole ordeal? Kasha. Buckwheat, as it’s also known, smells like a mix between medical tape and peanut butter, but it’s addicting. Perfectly little separated brown grains with a nutty flavor. Oh so satisfying.

I thought I’d share some of the recipes from my ascetic days. Perhaps a few “normal” ones will find their way here as well. Buen provecho!

Fifteen

Very few people I ask have ever heard of the ’90s Bay Area punk band Fifteen. Chances are that, if you know me, you probably know how much of an influence they have had on my life, even if you don’t like them or know what they sound like. To read my personal interpretations of some of Fifteen’s music, check out the Fifteen page on HeyHaley. It’s a work in progress, so check back frequently.

Eye Spy Part II

Seven weeks have passed since my surgery, and things are lookin’ good. According to the eye charts, I see better than 20/20 in both eyes. There remains a slight bit of myopia (near-sightedness) in the right eye, but it is barely discernible as long as I’m not obsessing about it. They tell me this is pretty much the resting point of the prescription - it’s not getting any better than this. But, hey, I can live with that!

I’ve been experimenting with eye makeup a bit more (except mascara, which I have avoided like the plague since childhood, when my mom told me it would make my eyelashes break off and fall out). All makeup-wearing women out there deserve more credit - it’s much harder than it looks to achieve the right balance between “just rolled out of bed” and “street walker.” Throw in a variegated color palette, different products for different parts of the eye, and time of day considerations, and one can easily get lost in the sea of choices. The last time I really did all this on a regular basis, I was caking on red eyeliner and black lipstick to a soundtrack of Nirvana and Marilyn Manson. Looks like I’ve got some catching up to do.

Eye Spy

It’s Day 10 of laser-assisted vision. Things are clear! I had a check up on Thursday afternoon, and all things are good. The right eye is still lagging behind, but sees a close 20/20. The doctor directed me to not think about it too much, walking around comparing left to right (how did he know?!). They say in a few more weeks the eyes will settle into their final viewing positions.

The blood spots sort of ran down towards the iris and spread out, still slowly fading away. I am relieved to switch to lubricating eye drops only, instead of the regimen of antibiotic and anti-inflammatory drops they had me on for a week. It’s fine for the eyes, but once the bitter medicine starts running down the back of your throat it’s not fun anymore.

But is it all worth it? Ohhh yeah.

Wocka Wocka Wocka

Oaxaca City (pronounced “wah-HOCK-ah”) is located about 325 miles (523 kilometers) southeast of Mexico City, in the Mexican state of the same name. The area is famous for its many regional dishes and artisan crafts. After celebrating my birthday in Mexico City, my mom and I boarded a nearly empty stagecoach, arriving in Oaxaca about six hours later. 

I first discovered Oaxacan fare at the farmer’s market in Sunnyvale, California. It was Mexican food so unlike Tex Mex that I was instantly intrigued. The grandmother-mother-daughter operation would serve up fresh-pressed tortillas with black bean puree and radish slices, or eggs smothered in tomato sauce, with ice cold horchata. They also sold a variety of moles, of which there are hundreds of kinds in Oaxaca. I’m not a huge fan of mole - I find the mix of cinnamon and chocolate and spices over enchiladas to be disturbing. Chocolate and cheese? Great as a Ween album, not so great as an entree.  There are millions that prefer mole to Ween, however, so don’t take my word for it. 

Their famous hot chocolate, made with condensed milk, comes in what could be large soup cups, big enough to dunk the whole piece of egg yolk bread it’s often served with. Mezcal is another typical find. It’s a little stronger than tequila (actually, tequila is a type of mezcal that originated in the town of Tequila in western central Mexico). Some golden mezcals (gusanos) even have the worm in the bottle. It wasn’t until after I had sampled that kind that I realized the tiny bits of worm corpse floating around the bottle are not vegetarian. Grrr. 

We brought back all kinds of souvenirs from the giant open-air markets, and even some from the pueblos outside the city. My favorites are by far the alebrijes, wood carvings of animals - often creatures of fantasy painted in bizarre neon patterns. I became slightly obsessed with these little figurines, even returning to one stand I liked in the market a few days after our first visit. After buying an elephant with a periscope-like trunk on top of its head and another monster I can’t even begin to explain, we thanked the owners, parents of the 12-year old boy who sold us the pieces. The mother smiled kindly and handed us two hand-painted wooden bookmarks, then went back to pulling the heads off of something with wings. At first glance, I figured they were chapulines, the popular chile-flavored roasted grasshoppers sold on every corner, but the woman explained they were some kind of ant that only comes out once a year. Workers go out to the fields to collect them and sell them for $20 per pound. “They’re delicious!” the husband ensured us. We’d just have to take his word on that one. 

Intricately carved black pottery is another Oaxacan treasure. It’s fired underground or in another oxygen-free environment, turning the grayish-brown clay an inky black. We watched one young girl design a seemingly symmetrical pattern on a pot using nothing but a broken plastic beaded bracelet and a metal carving tool. 

The Oaxacan area is an archeological hot bed. Its crowning beauty is Monte Alban, the site of the spectacular Zapotec indian ruins. In person, it really is breathtaking. We took a quick tour of the museum, then headed outside to climb among the ruins. The location of Monte Alban is no coincidence - the same hill that today provides stunning views over the Valley of Oaxaca was once the prefect vantage point from which to spot approaching enemies. The ancient socio-political and economic center was abandoned around 1000 AD after almost a thousand years of rule. 

The Santo Domingo Cultural Center is worth visiting. The old Dominican church reminded me a lot of the cathedrals in Italy. The open-ended hallways provide windows onto the botanical gardens behind the church, and the inside houses the jewels of Tomb 7 of Monte Alban, among other interesting artifacts from the region. 

We returned a few days later to drizzly Mexico City, worn out and missing the sunshine of the Valley of Oaxaca.

Laser Days of Summer

I’ve worn glasses almost every day since I started driving at 16. There were a couple of stints with contacts, but the discomfort and hassle of it all always drove me back into the thorny arms of my wireframe spectacles. I wouldn’t really even mind wearing glasses if I could do it every now and then, to read, or to work, but having to wear them with a bike helmet or a bridesmaid’s dress just got to be too much for me.

As of Thursday, my shackles have been cut. With a laser. I got Lasik eye surgery here in Mexico (gasp!). Don’t worry, this isn’t some Tijuana chop shop - my doctor is a cornea specialist who operated on Hideki and his brother. It’s been a little over 48 hours and I can already see better than I could without my glasses. I should be at full recovery in 2 weeks, but I’m seeing better every minute.

The whole procedure took 15 minutes and requires nothing more to keep you sane than anesthetic eye drops and two little stuffed raccoons to squeeze. Afterwards, my body sort of shut down, just wanting to rest after experiencing some sort of perceived trauma. After a little nap, I was pretty much back to normal, just wearing plastic lenses with air holes in them taped to my face.

My left eye, which was worse than the other one before the surgery, is already near perfect, with the right eye slowly catching up due to more inflammation (totally normal and undetectable to someone else’s naked eye). For the first day, the right eye felt dry and like there was a contact in it, but now I have just slight dryness and mild sensitivity to light. I also have about 3 or 4 freaky-looking blood spots on my eyeballs, but I’m assured these are normal as well. There’s no actual blood sprung during the procedure, they are more like bruises from the suction cup used to help filet my protective corneal gel. Yum!

Today I felt the rain on my face without impediment and all I could do was smile from ear to ear towards the clouds.

Exiting the Cold Caves of Sloth

It’s been about 6 months since I’ve moved to Mexico City. About four months ago, I set up this blog. I even wrote an awesome first post a few months back, but never bothered to type it up and broadcast it. I think there was something in there about there being trees and sidewalks here, not cactus and sand, and how I’d finally overcome my months-long battle with laziness. Now I’m glad I didn’t post that, because soon afterwards, I slipped back into my sleepy cocoon and stayed there until, well, now. Ok, so I’m not waking up at 6 a.m. every day, but I am actually working a full work week, rekindling my relationship with the violin, and staying current on environmental and political issues. Tackling the exercise component is my next task, although gyms are inexplicably overpriced here, and I’m too embarrassed to run in the park with the other gringos (oh wait, I hate running). Most of these changes happened after my birthday - the big “QC”- I guess I finally got tired of partying and sleeping my life away. It is actually very comforting to know that there is a limit to my indolence. For a while there, I honestly thought my natural state was inertia. But horray! now I know that’s not true - a fact that I’m more inclined to celebrate with herbal tea than a shot of tequila. In short, please accept my apologies for the delay in communication, blog-style.

In my waking hours, I have managed to have quite a few interesting experiences. Claudia and Hideki’s wedding in Acapulco was unforgettable, and the too-short weekend I spent in Cuba with my friend Akira was phenomenal. My mom flew down for my birthday, and after ditching our grandiose plans of visiting half of Mexico in 3 days, we spent almost the whole time in Oaxaca - a sound decision. Other than that, I’ve seen lots of live music, met lots of locals and foreigners, adopted a cat now called Tomate (Tomato), and definitely learned a lot about the Mexican culture - a fascinating and, at times, perplexing society. The details warrant their own page on heyhaley, believe me. Hopefully that one doesn’t take me six months to write up.