Monterrey

Though I'm having one heck of a time down here, the sight of Utah's canyons just calls to my soul. I've got wanderin' bones, but there's no doubt that the West is my home. I just feel right where I belong in that gritty red rock and feelin' that dry Utah breeze. And while I adorn my Ipod with all breeds of music, the refrains of the old west sing to me like nothing else. When I hear Gordon Lightfoot or the Sons of the San Juaquin, I feel like I just came in from playing in the snow and can smell mama's vegetable stew.

Well, Utah aside, what a time it's been down here! In Monterrey, I:

• am teaching free english and guitar lessons
• have become a regular member of the hiking club
• play basketball in the park by my apartment
• only study the day before tests

And the best is yet to come, that's for sure. Learning a language is challenging, but there's no feeling like hearing yourself rattle off your thoughts in a strange tounge. I love it. At this point (March '10) I can converse very well one on one, but I don't usually catch a lot of what locals say to eachother. But that's normal. Oh man I love it.

Starting a social life from scratch in a new culture sure has its ups and downs (as life anywhere does). To get yourself into the culture you have to be persistantly extroverted, or you end up living in the country without being noticed. It can make you feel so awkward and out of place, and want nothing more than to go back to where you are understood and known and loved. But more than that, it brings blossoming friendships, engaging converstations, and the discovery of a new world. You have those moments when all the hard work pays off, like when you're in deep in conversation with Mariana Fernandez over candlelight at a salsa club, in pure beautiful Spanish. Wahoo!!

Last night I was teaching my good friend Erika some guitar in a park by a river. It had just rained, the moon was rising, and we were all alone on a bench on the pier. The songs of Alanis Morisette filled the air, and we were having a grand old time, when all of a sudden, the music was interuppted by a thundering chant from the river: "BE-SO! BE-SO! BE-SO! BE-SO!" I turned to see about 30 middle-aged men putting by in a boat, pounding their fists on the aluminum and chanting at us. You see, "beso" means "kiss her!" The crowd erupted as I laid a fat one on her rosy Mexican cheek. Oh, Mexico! I fit right in here.