Riding in Ajijic

We've had a long, wonderful day, and I don't have the energy to write much, so this post will be mostly pictures. Our friends Blair and Barb from church here invited our gang along with some other friends from church to their home in Ajijic (pronounced Ah'-hee-heek) for a day of hanging out. Ajijic is an old town crowded against the edge of Lake Chapala, a large lake about an hour south of Guadalajara. We've been able to visit once already, and love the beauty and charm of the place.

The special event that kicked off today's adventure was an hour-long horseback ride down through the town and along the lakeshore. So today, enjoy the pictures of that; yes, probably too many, and it's too late for me to write captions tonight. Tomorrow I'll write some more about our day. And maybe come back and put captions here.

Making Tortillas

About a month after we came here, I wanted to make something for dinner that used tortillas. I realized I hadn't bought any at the store so I decided to take the plunge and see if I could make them. Pinterest to the rescue! My results were tasty, though warped. I used a glass as my rolling pin, and my shapes were not perfect circles. The kids weren't so sure about them; they were used to the ones I always bought back in Michigan--the standard packaged kind. We could get them here, too, and did, because that was the only way I could find flour tortillas. Guadalajara is known for its corn tortillas, and if you go to any shop you'll find bags of fresh ones, not to mention shops that are devoted to making them. We don't mind the corn ones, but we're still partial to the wheat. While the kids were leery of these homemade ones, Kraig delved in with gusto and declared they were the best ones he'd had and we should always make them that way. I had cooked myself into a corner.

There was still the problem of the rolling and shaping. But a few weeks ago a local acquaintance mentioned that I could buy a tortilla press at most of the local groceries. With one of these, I could throw my disc of dough down, squeeze the lever, and have lovely round tortillas, all set to toss on the griddle. I found one, and have used it a couple times now, and it makes life much easier. The kids love to help out with the dough, which is one of those frustrating processes that I allow because I know it will help them down the road. But today I wanted to make them without interruption, and I needed to pay attention to the process for a writing assignment, so I worked on them while the kids were at school.

I have to admit, when one has the time, it's worth making tortillas. Mine aren't perfect by any stretch, and I don't know if this is my own ignorance or the fault of the recipe. For one thing, mine don't stay as flexible as I'd like them. If they have a touch of moisture, they're okay. I'm wondering if they need more oil. Despite the flaws, though, the process is therapeutic.

First I mix the flour, salt, and baking powder. Today I experimented by using one cup of whole wheat flour with two cups white. We'll see if that works. After this, I add oil and warm water and mix it up. I've made this as a double-batch as well, but that takes forever, so I've stuck with the single batch. It's more than enough for a meal. Once the mixture is a doughy ball, I start to separate it till I have sixteen balls approximately the same size. I scatter flour over the granite countertop, and lay out the balls, pressing them down with the palm of my hand so they become thick disks. The whole wheat added flecks of darker brown to tan. I lay a kitchen towel over these discs and let them sit for about fifteen minutes. Meanwhile the griddle heats up.

The press eases the process of flattening the disks, and I can have two prepared and on the griddle within half a minute. The griddle isn't greased, but the tortillas land on it with a hiss and sizzle and immediately start to bulge here and there as if the heat were blowing hills into them. The raw dough smell transforms into the aroma of roasted wheat and within a moment I need to flip them or the scent sharpens to burned toast. On the cooked underside, the cinnamon-colored flecks are interspersed with coffee-colored blotches. Soon it's time to flip them off the griddle and into a container which I can quickly seal, and so keep them soft for eating. 

There is something beautiful in the texture of the dough. I love the separation process as I ball the dough and weigh each section in my hands, compare and contrast, estimate. A soft thump as each lands on the counter and the give of raw dough under my palm as I press it down. I love the smooth white flour I pinch and scatter so the dough won't stick, and the clank and squeeze of the press as I shove the lever down as far as it will go. The sizzle on the griddle and the steady heady scent of baking create magic. This is a task worth doing.

Classroom Observation

It's been a busy week, busier than normal, and we've had a few curve balls. On Monday when I went to pick up Evie for our outing I was talking with Ms. Mariana the English Coordinator for a bit. This has become a regular check-in; I've really appreciated Ms. Mariana and her help for our family as we learn to navigate this new school and system. I've asked about ways I can help at school. Most of the schools here (from what I've observed and heard) don't make much use of the parents, and the parents don't try to help. Part of this, I think, comes from many of the schools being tuition-based. There's a perception that since payment has exchanged hands, responsibility has as well. One of the things we liked about the school we chose for the kids is that the philosophy is more open to parents. The reality, though, is farther behind. I've been able to go in a few times to read to classes, but for the most part there's little request for my help. There is a chance that I'll be able to work in the library, so I've been pursuing that.

However on Monday my question as to whether Ms. Mariana knew more about the library possibility took a sudden shift. Suddenly we weren't talking about the library need; we were talking about a new need--an English teacher for Evie's class. Apparently that day was her English teacher's last day. My heart dropped, because I liked Ev's English teacher. Ms. Mariana assured me, though, that this was a good thing. Apparently things have been difficult with this teacher from day one. I knew Ev had really easy assignments for this class, but I assumed it was because it was lower level English. It seems that more of the problem was that the material wasn't being covered.

"If you have any connections," Ms. Mariana said, "Anyone who could teach, please send them our way!" Now, technically I'm qualified. I have a graduate degree in teaching English to speakers of other languages. For an instant my heart leapt and I thought, "What a chance!" But then sense took hold. I can barely stay on top of things as it is, much less work a full-time teaching job. Yikes! However I could offer help now and then, and I could pass the word along to one of the teachers in our apartment building who has TEFL certification.

My offer to help ended up with my going in this morning to hang out with Ms. Mariana as she taught Ev's class. It turned out that my primary job was to sit against the wall and look pretty, but I also got to help with one of the exercises and read a couple books to the kids.

It was an interesting experience; I'm not sure how much I can put into words yet. The classrooms are small, and while the class size is also small, the room is cramped. Each room opens onto an outside corridor and students are constantly coming and going along it.

The walls and floor are concrete and tile, so every sound bounces...and there is a lot of sound. My kids have mentioned a number of times that the students here are *loud* and don't respond to teacher requests for quiet. It's true. They're cute kids, bubbling with energy and inquisitiveness, but they haven't learned or been taught the art of attending.

I felt like I was back in college when I had to do classroom observations. My brain whirled with opinions, ideas, comparisons and contrasts. I've seen a lot of my kids' classes back in the States, but usually on party days, so I didn't have a good frame of reference for how the lesson was taught today. It did seem to be a question/answer style. I had to remind myself, too, that this wasn't just an English class; this was English as a foreign language. Some of these kids are still struggling with the basics of English, and Spanish flowed alongside the English. Would I have run things differently? That's the question I can't answer right now. I knew some things could be done more effectively, but I didn't have enough of a framework to be able to say how.

We wrapped up the morning with a visit with the class to the school library. I was so thankful when we looked at schools back in June that this school had a library. Some of them don't, and it seems more important at the kids' school than it does at other schools. It is very small, though. They're in the process of building it up, and I'm hoping that I can be a part of that. I'll take on that job before I take on a classroom of squirrelly second-graders.

And that is all I've got at the moment. I had the roots of some deep pedagogical observations that I was going to make here, but I think I'll end as is. For now, I'll keep observing.

Exercise Routine

Before we came down to Guadalajara, we had a whirlwind of final check-ups with various doctors. I dreaded my doctor asking the inevitable question, "So, how often do you exercise?" Actually, though, I don't think she asked me that question back in June. Instead she looked at the question and said, "You know, don't worry about this one right now. Once you get to Guadalajara and get settled, then you can figure out an exercise routine." I'd never heard such freeing words. Of course, an "exercise routine" has never been an established phrase for me. My sister Jessie loves to exercise; for her it is stress relief. My idea of stress relief is time to sit down with a good book; exercise has always been a necessary evil unless somehow it is part of my daily life.

So I was looking forward to living on an upper floor of an apartment building and what that would require in terms of stairs. But when we arrived here, we found that we'd been put in the first apartment on the first level. Also, we had use of a car, so we didn't need to walk many places. Kraig got the most exercise because he trotted across to the campus every day. I felt that my plan for exertion had been thwarted.

But one month after arriving, extenuating circumstances necessitated that we move to the third floor and my desire was fulfilled. Now I get to climb two flights of stairs each day, sometimes multiple times. On laundry days, it's down three flights of stairs to get to the laundry room in the basement. And on Wednesdays when I usually do my big shopping trip for the week, I can add even more trips up and down, with weights! (Big shopping days are the only days I regret our move to the third floor....)

For the past couple months we've had our Spanish class on Tuesdays and Fridays, so on those mornings I walk across to

the campus with Kraig. It's a fair distance, plus the classroom is on the third floor (seems to be our favorite floor), so there's more leg-work. After class, I have to leave by the visitor entrance rather than the one Kraig can get us through with his ID, the one that's directly across from out apartments. This means I have a longer walk back to the apartment than to class.

Now, in the past week I've added a new part to my exercise regime: daily walks across the entire camps and up two flights of stairs to get to the purchasing department to check on the status of our shipment. I sometimes have a kid or two in tow for this, so that's bonus points. I can't walk as fast, but my arms get a better workout as they're yanked here and there by kids' explorations. The nice thing about these walks is that the campus really is lovely, and often we're shaded by large trees. It almost makes up for the weariness and repetitiveness of the purpose.

So, all in all, I think I've set up a pretty good exercise routine. It would be nice to know if I've actually lost some weight or trimmed up a bit--I have no idea. I'll just pretend it's working. Not only that, we're running around at about 5,000 feet above sea level, so my lungs have gotten a better workout, too. Just wait, Michigan friends. When I come at Christmas, I will run around you in circles.

Yep, so all around I'm happy with my new exercise plan.

Do you think it counts?