Public Diplomacy

The Foreign Service has five "branches" (called "cones" or career tracks) of generalists (different from specialists), and as you all probably know, I'm Consular-coned. However, we are considered generalists which means that we're supposed to be willing and capable of filling any position: Consular, Management, Political, Economic and Public Diplomacy. In Ciudad Juarez, our primary function is Consular, especially considering that we process 25% of the world's immigrant visas and a whole heck o' tourist visas. But we also have a Political/Economic office with two officers and a Public Diplomacy office with one officer and a host of super local staff. Their job is to let the local public know about the U.S. (cultural affairs) and also to let them know about the services the Consulate offers - namely visas.  Quite frequently a call for volunteers goes out to the crew of 45 entry-level officers here (which means on their first or second tour) asking for people who want to do public outreach events regarding any number of subjects. Recently I took up the challenge: first it was with visitors to our Benjamin Franklin Corner in the capital city of Chihuahua where folks come to practice their English or to learn more about American culture. I spent a few afternoons discussing via digital video conference with visitors about the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington and what the Civil Rights movement meant/means to the U.S., and another time we chatted about the lighter topic of popular movie themes. These two outreach events were in English, no preparation required and enjoyable - easy peasy, right?

So a few days ago I decided to risk putting my hand up and volunteer for an in-Spanish presentation on student visas at a large annual book fair here in Juarez. Along with one other Consular Officer, we were to discuss the how-tos of applying for a student visa to prospective Mexican students. Fortunately we had a Power Point presentation to follow along with, but it still entailed standing with a microphone in front of a (small, but interested) crowd on a stage.  I think it went well, actually, and I don't think I shamed my FSI teachers nor promised visas to any and everyone. Okay, it was actually kind of fun. We have these opportunities come up frequently and I guess it's time that I keep trying to push myself to do something slightly uncomfortable.  Heck, many of my coworkers do radio interviews, online Facebook chats and even TV spots on popular topics, usually visas.  But in the back of my mind is our "Composure Under Fire" segment of A-100 where we practiced being cornered in a public event by someone who is particularly ticked off with some recent U.S. policy. So far, the crowds have been very kind - but still - I'm waiting for that luck to run out and for someone to mention something very political or, well, something I haven't exactly been keeping up on. 

However, because I'm a pinky-sworn generalist, I have to be ready to take an assignment outside my particular cone. I've been testing the waters a bit, trying to imagine if I could be an Economic officer or Management Officer, and now I'm seeing if Public Diplomacy might be something I could wear, even if just for one tour. Jury is still out, we'll see.

In the meantime, it looks like my time in the non-immigrant section will come to an end shortly as I've been slated to rotate over to the immigrant section in the coming months. Once again, it feels like as soon as I've gotten comfortable somewhere - it's time to move on. But that's what keeps things interesting, right?  

El Grito!

¡Mexicanos!

¡Vivan los héroes que nos dieron patria!

¡Víva Hidalgo!

¡Viva Morelos!

¡Viva Josefa Ortiz de Domínguez!

¡Viva Allende!

¡Vivan Aldama y Matamoros!

¡Viva la independencia nacional!

¡Viva México! 

¡Viva México! 

¡Viva México!

Thus goes "El Grito," the call that goes out on September 16th at 11:00 pm in towns and cities across Mexico to cap the Dia de Independencia. First delivered in 1810 by Miguel Hidalgo in the town of Dolores, it is traditionally a call-and-respond, with the President (or town mayor) calling out the names of revolutionary heroes and the crowd responding with a loud "Viva!"  In Mexico City, this takes place at the city center (the zocalo) and is delivered by the President in front of a massive crowd, accompanied by the ringing of a huge bell and followed by an equally impressive fireworks show. 

My husband and I only learned of this tradition a short time ago, and decided we'd love to see it first hand from Mexico City. However, by the time we learned of it, it was too late to book tickets or a hotel room in Mexico City anywhere near the zocalo. So instead - we got to take part in much smaller gritos that gave us a taste of the excitement. Yes, a very small taste, but we got the idea.

The first was last weekend in our neighborhood when the park near our house was transformed again into a party stage decked out in red, white and green bunting with decorated tables. Our neighbors handed out patriotically-colored beaded necklaces to the women and kerchiefs to the men. Like the Mother's Day celebration earlier this year, everyone gathered for food, music and dancing, this time to a live mariachi band that played until at least 02:00. Live mariachi has its place and time, let me say. In Bogota live mariachi in the apartment directly beneath ours in a sound-magnifying brick building = not so much fun. In a community park, under stars and waving flags, surrounded by your dancing neighbors and enjoying the warm evening breezes = yes. Granted, we left shortly after midnight and the party was still in full swing, but we were able to sleep courtesy of our white-noise producing air purifier machine in the bedroom. 

Community park getting dressed up for the party

Our neighbors' balcony carrying the colors

Party decorations: Mariachi dress

The spread! Traditional dishes served up by our kerchief-clad neighbors

Not exactly the President, but rather the homeowners board delivering el grito.

Patriotism under twinkling lights

The second grito was yesterday in the small northern California town where I'm staying visiting my father and sister. My husband stayed behind in Juarez, so I went down to the town park in my sister's town alone (which has a majority Mexican population) to see their version. There were booths selling tamales, tacos, elotes and all sorts of fruity drinks and a small (non-Mariachi) band playing. Instead of waiting until 11 pm, el grito was delivered at about 6:30 by the public affairs officer from the Mexican Consulate in San Francisco. She waved the Mexican flag as she called out the patriots names, and the crowd called back the obligatory "Viva!" after each name.  It was a far more subdued crowd than in our Juarez neighborhood, maybe because most of the families present have lived in the US for many years, their kids being born in the US, so it felt a bit more like a celebration of "things we used to do" to keep up the tradition. It was fun, nonetheless. However, no matter that I spoke in Spanish to the ladies selling the tamales, they always answered back in English. Ah well.

The color guard delivers the flag...

...to the Public Affairs Officer from the Mexican Consulate for the call. 

Next year we hope to take in the event from Mexico City itself. We'd better make hotel reservations about now. See if you can catch it on the news tonight wherever you might be.

Road Trip: Puerto Penasco, Sonora

It is with great pleasure that I tell you that I'm writing this from the 11th floor condo overlooking the Sea of Cortez, about 20 miles south of the Sonoran resort town of Puerto Penasco. Yeah, I had never heard of it before either, and unless you're from Arizona or this corner of northwestern Mexico - it's a pretty good secret. 

Well, as much a secret as a fully-developed beach resort within four hours' drive from two major Arizona cities can be, which is really not a secret at all, then is it? (Okay, okay, so it was a secret to US!) Before I go too far, I'd just like to set the scene so you can have an image in mind as you continue to read:

Anyway, it's been well over a year since my husband and I had a true vacation, even if only for a long weekend. Mostly because popping away for the weekend is always easier in theory and our daydreams than in reality due to the whole find-a-good-cat sitter dilemma. The Tabbies have become pretty high-maintenance in their old age. Dodger doesn't want to eat, Toby will eat everything, and Daphne is somewhere in between. So last time we headed out to Marfa, TX, we hired a young co-worker to come in twice a day to feed, water and scoop litter boxes. Which he did. What he didn't do was clean up the puddles of barf that Toby left after he inhaled Dodger and Daphne's unattended meals and promptly got sick to his stomach. (Note to self: Never hire young folks whose mothers still do all their cleaning and cooking to keep your pets and home in ship-shape. Lesson learned.)

But this time we rolled out of town full of confidence that the mother and two young daughters from the neighborhood with whom we left our key (along with two pages of detailed instructions and one test-run under their belt) would take excellent care of the fur family. 

So back to the vacation: We drove north into El Paso, and then west through New Mexico and Arizona before turning southwest across the Tohono O'Odham Indian Reservation, then due south through Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument to the small border crossing at Lukeville, AZ on one side and Sonoyta, Sonora on the other. The whole thing took nearly 10 hours, longer than expected, but it was also far more beautiful than expected. Join us en route:

And you already figured that he has the naked babe painted on the gas tank, right?

Really? Right where we're headed. Awww man. 

As luck would have it... the wind blew in our favor

Stunning backdrop to the Organ Pipe Cactus Nat'l Monument

The Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument was, from our quick drive-through view, really spectacular. The Organ Pipe cacti are about 12-15' tall and apparently come in all shapes and poses. While I was privately anthropomorphisizing the cacti into humans in all sorts of he-larious poses, I then glanced at the horizon and saw an even more surprising backdrop of mountain peaks and ranges. Man, who knew this was all here? Gorgeous. 

So we get to the border crossing, and by now all the traffic that we'd missed by leaving Juarez early had caught up with us coming from the nearby Tuscon and Phoenix. They were there in force, and they brought their toys. All I was thinking was, "Damn! What are the chances that these yahoos are going to be staying in the same condo with us and will be ATV'ing their way up and down the beach in front of us?!"  

The crossing at Lukeville, AZ is much smaller than any of Juarez crossings, and the little town on the Mexican side was colorful, pleasant and quite a bit tidier. But it still had that familiar hard-scrabble, nursing-stray-dog-trotting-down-the-sidewalk, concrete-brick-house feel to it that we're used to and we felt at home at once. Not tempted by dentists or inexpensive pharmacies so popular in the border towns, we were through Sonoyta quickly and back onto the wide-open desert highway towards a coastline that if I hadn't already read the map - I would never have believed existed so close by. (What a surprise it must've been to the first explorers. "Well I'll be... Hey guys, would ya' come take a look at this!")

Mexicans head north for cheap shopping and Americans head south for affordable medical services.

Colorful roadside offerings for those stuck in cross-border traffic. 

We got to the outskirts of Puerto Penasco, turned left at the roundabout that the nice guy in the rental office told us to look for, and headed again into the desert (as in "totally deserted" kind of desert) on a road paved only with packed sand, towards the hope of the condo we'd rented popping onto the horizon sometime soon. And after forging a handful of  "water over roadway" sections that made me glad we hadn't bought a sports car, we found the property. Not too shabby, eh?  We're on the second-to-top floor, far left. In case you're interested, here it is. 

The plus side is that the place is serene, directly on the beach, nearly vacant and with so many pools to pick from that this afternoon I just didn't know where to start. So I used them all and then read and napped in the little shady chair casitas.

I'd like to state for the record that we're not luxury resort kind of people. So this felt like we'd stepped into an episode of International House Hunters by accident. (Which, by the way, I can now watch from one of the condos two TVs with Direct TV. Will the wonders never cease?) 

We visited the town of Puerto Penasco twice: once for a quick look-around and grocery shopping and the second time for a sunset dinner on our last night. The malecon (downtown waterside walkway) was busy with bars, restaurants, souvenir vendors, and hawkers of all sorts. If that's the scene you want -  then stay in town. We enjoyed it for one dinner and quick look around; I loved seeing the pelicans perched atop each mast of the fishing fleet in the small harbor, but personally, the tranquility of being isolated was more our style. This is how we prefer to see a beach, and did, just by turning our heads to the right from the balcony:

While I was happy to indulge in some HGTV catching up, Tim got to see his alma mater play on Saturday college football. Can you guess who we were rooting for? He dared me to make this statement in the sand below our balcony. Let's just say that ain't no Tide gonna' Roll over this! (For at least 12 hours that is...)

But all vacations must come to an end, and so on Monday morning, we reluctantly packed up and pointed the car back towards the border. Sonoyta was bustling with business, loaded with roving vendors selling pottery, ice cream, carvings and baskets. We resisted, even the fusion US-Mexican Dia de los Muertos painted pottery skulls wearing NFL helmets and the life-sized iron T-Rex.

Man, I'm glad he's chained up!

We pulled into our rugged city and then our tidy neighborhood, to find that the kitties had been beautifully cared for and were happy to see us again. They all three slept on the bed with us and only got just a bit of revenge at 03:00 when they decided it was time to be let out of the bedroom. 

You know, Mexico is really an awesome place. You all should come see more of it.

C'mon back down an' see us again!

Los Animalitos

One of the things I find charming about the Spanish language is the tendency to call things in their diminutive form. When someone has to wait for you, it's only for a momentito; your friend quickly becomes Juancito; if he's short, he's a chaparrito; and even farmers in the interview window tell me they have animalitos on the ranch that turn out not to be herds of hamsters, but cattle, pigs or sheep. 

I'd like to dedicate this posting to our own animalitos, or as they're known now that we live in Mexico, Los Tigres del Norte. As you may already know, our own tigritos are senior kitties. Except for their time in our Bogota apartment (at 64 degrees and partly cloudy every day) and another year with all four seasons (hurricanes to snow to 97% humidity as appreciated from their small balcony in Virginia), the gatitos have lived in the mild and generally overcast Pacific Northwest all their life. So the past seven months in their little walled and lawned slice of the Chihuahua desert have been just what the veterinarian ordered for their furry selves. I'm fairly sure they think we've finally taken their suggestions and have retired to Arizona. After all, they can't see over the wall outside the neighborhood to the sandy, barren and tumbleweed-strewn lot across the street. They simply know the life of daily blue skies, a row of flowering bushes to lounge under, grass to chew on and then barf up on the rug, and two big umbrella trees for shade. They soak the sunny warmth deep into their bones and relish the cooler evenings when they can stay outside comfortably for more than ten minutes at a time. Even Toby, wearing what I think is a thick Norwegian Forest Cat coat, likes to stay out in the heat of the day until his black fur is hot to the touch. Too hot? Just come inside and stretch out on the cool, tile floors. Even Daphne's arthritic limp that has kept her off of a lot of furniture in recent years has seemed to have diminished.

Our garden also provides a steady stream of avian entertainment for them. In the mornings the ring-necked doves swoop down to peck at the lawn, and all day and evening at least four hummingbirds fight for dominance over our two feeders. They zip between our house and our neighbors' like Jedi fighters, squawking and buzzing, determined to keep each other away the sugar water feeders. They hover over the lounging cats, sometimes only feet from them, assessing the risk from all angles. There is no risk, trust me, and the little picaflores figure this out quickly and now pay them no mind. The cats were at first intrigued, no doubt driven by some long-lost hunting instinct, but promptly realized that there wasn't the slightest chance of catching one and now don't bother to even flick an ear their way. 

Hummingbird in action 

Having to stay off the table doesn't count when it's patio furniture

Daphne's evening lounge

Each morning after breakfast, they line up by the screen door asking to go out. (Side note: this whole screen door thing is a wonderful addition to our life that I'd like to share with my FS friends who live in places where screens aren't common, but bugs and iron-bar security doors are. Just buy a roll of screen fabric, you could probably order it online and have it sent to wherever you're posted. We just went to Lowe's - ah, border life. Then use your glue gun to attach it across the inside of your iron-bar security door. If the housing inspection folks don't like it when you move off to your next post, you can just peel it off. But really, who doesn't love a screen door? Let me answer this question: the cats don't like it. They loved the security gate because it was truly just one big built-in cat door they could pop through at will, and now they have to ask permission. And I should acknowledge the bumped noses and confused looks in the days after it was installed.) 

Yeah, they could hardly see the new screen either

Anyway, they go outside each morning to read the news of the neighborhood. Walking the perimeter, they each sniff out exactly which neighborhood cat had visited THEIR yard overnight. These interlopers skinny down the trees from the cats-only interstate system that is the grid of stone walls between each house. Unfortunately, there is an orange tabby male who brazenly sprayed directly onto our french doors, probably in full view of the Tabbies, one night. Daphne chased him up the tree once, so this was surely retaliation. One such visitor is not so unwelcome, however. There is a female fluffy tabby, we call her Stray Cat (imaginations are wonderful things), who Toby took a shine to. For a week after he first saw her, he waited under the tree each evening for her hopeful reappearance. Like a pre-teen with his first crush, he sat for hours with his neck craned to the top of the stone wall, head flicking left then right. "Did you hear that? I think someone's coming! Was that shadow moving? Is it her?" It was embarrassing. But like most crushes, it faded after a few weeks and now I think he's just not that into her. 

Nearly seven months into our life here and we still haven't seen a scorpion in the yard or the house (sound of knocking wood in background). The neighbors have seen them; our friends in neighborhoods nearby have had lots of them, but so far, we've been spared. I have a suspicion that Cats On Patrol have been keeping these arachnids from being attracted to our yard, but that notion in still just a theory. After all, if the scorpions saw how the Tabbies have treated the dozen or so large roaches that have meandered through the kitchen, they wouldn't be afraid to come on in either. The cats have taken a very diplomatic, UN-like posture towards the roaches: We are here merely to observe and report. We will simply follow you, observing your advancements, but we will neither harm nor hinder your existence in our house. Thanks guys; way to earn your kibble, eh?

So that's life as they know it for Los Tigritos. I'm sure they like it here (except for the thunder, that still sucks), and I'm also sure they Never Want Another Five Day Roadtrip Again. Flurries of activity in the morning, like when we're running behind and have to get ready for work quickly, or when I pulled out the suitcase last month, still cause instant hiding under the bed. Perhaps in 17 months they will have forgiven and forgotten when we have to pack up again and hit the road. (Yeah, I doubt it too.) But they love and trust us, and eventually they'll settle into their new tiny Roman apartment, or high-ceiling'ed Parisian pied-a-terre, if the assignment gods should bless us in such a way. 

Meanwhile, there is lawn to lounge in and a selection of couches to cover in fur. What more could an animalito want? 

Dodger enjoying desert retirement living

Guilty Pleasure

My husband and I have done something I never thought I'd be admitting. After proudly resisting this for one year in Bogota, and even scoffing secretly at those who have done this, we finally gave in. In fact, it's been about three months now.

We hired help.

Yes, we must now admit that we have a once-per-week housekeeper. And worse, I must admit that I'm loving it. 

Now, let me dispel a few misconceptions first: She doesn't do our dishes, nor our laundry, nor does she cook for us. But we have a lot of tile floors, or wood floors, and three fluffy shedding cats. I was spending most of one weekend day sweeping, mopping, scrubbing tubs etc... and now I'm paying a nice lady to do it all. 

At first it was a bit of an uncomfortable mismatch when she (her name is "Cuca" which is a common nickname for those named Maria del Refugio) wanted to scrub the front sidewalk, wash the floor mats and bleach everything else. But now she understands that we're water-misers and washing the sidewalk and garage floor really isn't a priority and that floor mats disintegrate in the washing machine and really, I just want the cat fur off the sofas and the tub to be shiny. So now we're on the same page. 

It's a long-standing cliche that people assigned to posts in Latin America are always fortunate to "get good help," and it's true. I come home on Tuesday afternoons to the house already clean, smelling good and I don't have to either feel guilty for not getting the cleaning done myself, nor ticked off that I'm having to do it. Now I'm helping a woman put her twin kids through college, right? She is a busy lady, with 4-5 other Consulate clients. We often find things knocked off the wall, or cleaning products left in weird places as she rushes through our house to get on to the next. We get frustrated sometimes, but more often joke about it as just another "Cuca-ism" as we pull the dust pan out of the trash or re-hang the picture that she knocked off the wall while dusting. 

So there you have it - our guilty pleasure. But I our defense, I must say that at least we're not as indulged as some people we know who have full-time help (like every day!) to include all shopping, cooking and cleaning. The type of folks who have a dinner party and then say, "Oh don't worry about the plates - it's the maid's day tomorrow!"

Now THAT'S going too far.