tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30995859875762978142024-03-13T09:06:31.277-07:00Chichimeca ForeverRead the continuing adventures of one woman who decided that her next step would be a big one. Relocating from the US to Mexico to France. And taking on motherhood along the way. New life, new country. Let's see how this goes...Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-78439789837989659022010-07-06T03:11:00.000-07:002016-04-04T14:20:09.522-07:00How are we caring for the whole child?A friend posted <a href="http://roomfordebate.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/07/04/the-pitfalls-in-identifying-a-gifted-child/">this article</a> to Facebook. It concerns how New York City is trying to deal with the challenge of identifying and educating "gifted" students.<br />
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Since Santi isn't ready for school yet, my musings are merely hypothetical. If I've learned one thing in parenting, it's that your opinions and beliefs change constantly, and you never know how you're going to feel until you're actually in those moccassins. But here goes.<br />
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I suppose that in an ideal world there would be the means to tailor each student's curriculum individually to build on their strengths and help them to develop in areas where they are weaker. So I guess everyone would be going to Montessori schools, and those would continue through university.<br />
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I have to admit that I fall on the side that is a little skeptical that there are truly so many "gifted" (I read that to mean "above average") children out there. By simple definition, the majority of the population can't be above average. And even if we could provide advanced reading and math classes for all children who excel above their peers in those subjects, I worry they may be left lacking in other important social skills which are just as vital for successfully navigating a world where not everyone is like you in every way. I had to roll my eyes at some of the comments after the article where the "gifted" were disparaging those who are are not as "smart" as them, and then wondering why they feel isolated. "Gifted" in that case could just as easily read "Socially and Emotionally Challenged". Why are the abilities to excel in other areas (for example, socially, athletically) automatically undervalued? Children don't go to school, grow up, and then graduate to another classroom environment. They get thrown out into the big wide world where anything goes. Are we preparing them for that?<br />
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No matter how smart you are, there is always something that you can learn from others, whether didactically or through simple observation. I know that the poor and "uneducated" Mexican farmers who assist in our excavations live the ecology of their surroundings and have developed a better understanding of the functioning of those ecosystems through their daily interactions with it than I have managed to do as a full-time archaeobotanist with a doctorate and 17 years of study. I depend on their instruction and assistance. Many of them have also learned to listen and take direction, and apply what they learn to the extent that we entrust with highly specialized and delicate tasks, sometimes prefering these individuals to trained undergraduates with prior excavation experience. They just do it better. And I am also impressed by the degree to which they simply learn to relate to us, and put up with the bizarre minutiae of our work demands. We are so different in our social upbringing, level of education, world views, and experiences, but they succeed in keeping their patience with us and keeping the lines of communication open to figure out what is expected of them, even when it takes several tries. That's true problem solving in action.<br />
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I lean toward the perspective that all children will benefit by learning to work hard, to be patient and innovative, to think for themselves, and above all, not fear failure. I think that comes from so many years in academia where everyone is smart, but the ones who succeed are either indisputably geniuses (a very small minority) or are simply people who hang in there and keep trying and innovating, sucking up their "failures" till they get that job or that grant (ok, there are also some douchebags who sleaze and ass-kiss their way to the top, but you just try and stay away from them!). I don't have experience in teaching children as small as those described in the NYT article, but I do have experience as a university instructor. Those students who are the greatest pleasure to teach often don't always the best grades. What they do have is a genuine curiosity about the world around them, the drive to try even when they don't succeed, and the humility to learn at least one useful thing from those experiences of "failure". Those are the ones in which I truly invest my effort because I know that with help and encouragement, they are the people who will do something (even many things) with their lives that is meaningful, both for themselves and for others around them. And in the end, isn't that all that matters?Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-24394547538485052172010-06-24T03:07:00.000-07:002010-06-24T03:22:28.831-07:00The new chez nous!We have been experiencing the agonizing drudgery of the Parisian house hunt. Or, more accurately, apartment hunt. It's on my list of depressing ways to spend your time. We have to find a place in our neighborhood because otherwise we lose Santi's place in the municipal daycare. Luckily, our neighborhood is one of the cheaper in Paris. Of course, that also means that LOTS of other people are looking here too.<br />
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Our biggest stumbling block has been that on one income, we just don't make three times the amount of the rents charged around here. And if you don't, you can forget any property that's being rented through an realtor (which is 95% of them). It's crazy. Greg is a government functionary (guaranteed employment), owns an apartment outright, already has a renter lined up, and has no debt. With his salary and rental income he makes ALMOST the three times the rent.<br />
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But no dice! They are tough here! At every apartment we went to visit there was at least one other set of potential renters already there (or more often, 5 sets, or even 20. One realtor told us he had an open house later on that day for a one-bedroom where he was expecting 65 people, minimum.). And you better have your application and supporting documents ready to turn in on the spot, or you can forget it (most of these rented within 24-48 hours of being shown). We had to submit not only pay stubs and ID's, but also our income tax and property tax returns, and provide a co-signer. At first we tried to just use a special bank account made just for this purpose. It has the equivalent of a year's rent in it and no withdrawals are permitted during the term of the lease. Not good enough (are you kidding?)! In addition, we had to ask another property owner to co-sign.<br />
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It is extremely frustrating to see the ideal apartment, turn in all the paperwork, and know you're never going to get a call back because there's always some other applicant who makes more money than you. I kept thinking sarcastically, well, I suppose it's not SO bad being a family of three in a one-bedroom apartment. At least we'll get our roomback when Santi turns 18 and moves out. Ha. And of course, type A me gets even more angst ridden about not having nailed down steady employment yet.<br />
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But then finally we came across a place that is a little smaller than we were hoping for, and a bit farther away than we'd like, but nevertheless a nice 2 bedroom place on the 4th floor (with an elevator!). And, more importantly, a miracle, it was being rented directly by a very nice elderly couple who told us "Oh, we don't care about whether you make exactly three times the rent. We care more about why you want to rent it. We want to help out responsible people who need help. You know, students and families." (luckily for us, the wife told Greg confidentially that she actually was pretty fed up with students and really was just was looking for a family). Seriously! Our faith a bit restored in Parisian humanity, we will soon be the happy renters of a apartment that is reasonable for a family of three!<br />
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Now, if I can just get that elusive job and then we can join the quest for an apartment to buy. I'm sure that search is going to be even MORE fun! Not.Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-87025953556628362162010-06-16T02:48:00.000-07:002010-06-16T02:50:52.566-07:00Les Free Range KidsIf you're reading this blog, I'm betting there's a strong chance you've run across this blog, or at least some discussion of it: <br />
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<a href="http://freerangekids.wordpress.com/">http://freerangekids.wordpress.com/</a><br />
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It's written by that mom who let her 9 year-old ride the New York subway and bus home from Bloomingdale's by himself on a Sunday afternoon. I think she's become known as the "World's worst mom". It's actually not as crazy as it sounds, and although you may disagree with some of the specifics of what she advocates, I think she raises a couple important points for discussion: What have you done for your children today that they were capable of doing for themselves? How would allowing them some age-appropriate independence affect their self-confidence and self-esteem in the long run?<br />
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I don't know if I would let Santi ride the Paris metro by himself as a 4th grader. I don't worry about him getting kidnapped. It's more about him potentially getting lost. I guess I'd have to see when he's older how his responsibility and maturity level is, and how well he observes and remembers what happens around him.<br />
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I think Parisians are equally concerned about the welfare of their children, but in my experience it gets balanced with slightly different realities of daily life. For instance, Parents walk their children to and from school, but often the parents from the same neighborhood organize themselves so that they all take turns with just 2 to 4 parents taking charge of the group each day. This is, of course, trickier to implement in the US suburbs where you need a car to get around. Hence the school bus. And, actually, in the small French town where our nephews go to school, this walking train of kids lead by a couple of parents is actually called "The Foot Bus". So it's similar concept for getting the kids to school, but if you're a self-organized walking group, you have to get to know each other to some extent more so than if you're just driving your kids to school, I suppose.<br />
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Browsing through the Free-range blog and the other like-minded blogs it links to, I was also taken aback to learn that "playing outside" and walking to your neighborhood friends' houses is apparently a thing of the past in the US. I'm not sure I believe that to be true. There were kids in the local playground when we were visitng my folks in California, and a few walking in the street. Although now that I think of it, they were all teenagers, occasionally accompanied by a younger brother or sister. When I was little in this same neighborhood, I remember that on our block we'd all run up and down the street with no adults present, or pop into one another's houses without having our parents bring us over. My mom and dad say they wouldn't recommend this for Santi when he'll be older, because there are teenagers on our street know who drive much too fast and don't look out for pedestrians. I'm sad to hear that times have changed and families are now more isolated.<br />
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In Paris, I've found that even the dinkiest neighborhood has some kind of park with at least basic playground facilities. And they get used every day. The ones near our home are just mobbed with kids. And adults. To be clear, I don't think anyone sends younger children there alone. But the need for children to be outside, playing and getting exercise is considered essential. So much so that parents will allow their children to go without them if there is a babysitter present. In fact, if you send your child to a home daycare provider or hire a nanny, they will expect that part of their responsibilities include taking your child to the park every day. And, in fact, if you send your child to a certified home daycare, you will also be expected to sign a release allowing the caregiver to take your child (and the other children in her care) on public transportation so that she can do her daily shopping and errands (remember, this is largely a car-free city). This is supported by the city government, which explains that it's vital for these women to be able to move around the city, because they have to be available to watch these children for up to 10 hours a day and still need to care for their own families. And it's also considered important socialization for the children. My mom was horrified the first time I told her that our nanny took Santi for walks in the park without me. But from the Parisian perspective, the horror would be always keeping your child inside the house if you're not there to be with them.<br />
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I don't think it's fair to compare the two different systems directly, because they don't operate under the same parameters. Even within each country it's a totally different scenario when you contrast rural and urban, and different regions too. I do think that no matter where we live, it's important in this confusing and sometimes frightening day and age for us to keep our heads, and more importantly keep our connections to one another to foster a sense of community. Fear breeds best in the unknown. And when we're isolated from one another, from our communities, the unknown can take control.Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-38263794523102552142010-05-21T13:52:00.000-07:002016-04-04T13:54:03.888-07:00Stranger in a stange landIt's been two years since my last visit to the US, and four years since I've lived here. They say reverse culture-shock is the worst kind. I don't if it's the worst, but it's certainly very disconcerting to feel adrift in a place that you used to call home. I've experienced this strange feeling both when I lived in Mexico and now in France. I was feeling relieved and excited to visit the US after a long, grey, damp Parisian winter. Finally a place where I understand why people act the way they do, where I don't need to think about what I am going to say before I say it, and where the supermarket is open 7 days a week, 24 hours a day. But on arriving, I find that while it's great to see my family and introduce Santi to familiar sights, it just isn't the same. Or, it's probably more accurate to say, I'm not the same anymore.<br />
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I'm sure one of the biggest reasons is that I really am not the same. Not only am I two years older, done with school, and living in a(nother) foreign country now, but I'm a parent now. And that's a big adjustment in and of itself, let alone adding in the cultural differences that have shaped that process for me. In France I'm always mentally thinking that "this (whatever) would be SO much easier if we just lived in the US". But now that I'm here, I realize everything is much more complicated than that. I guess it's just expat momma neurosis.<br />
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I find myself trying to adjust to all the different attitudes about the right way to raise a child. When Santi was born, even though I hadn't set foot in the US during the entire pregnancy, I was reading parenting books by American pediatricians and religiously following American parenting forums online. I found that while there is a good bit of overlap, parenting styles between "Anglo-Saxon" and Latin American culture can also have very important differences. For example, in Mexico, people are very tolerant of children and caring for them is a group sport. Complete strangers may offer to hold and soothe your crying baby, something that I know would horrify many of the moms who posted on the forums I read. However, as a first-time mom far from family, it was actually a godsend for me to have other helping hands. Other things I didn't find so wonderful. Such as the Latin American obsession with keeping babies bundled up, even when it's hot degrees.Our housekeeper nagged me daily that dressing Santi in a onesie and wrapping him in a blanket while napped in our sunny apartment was going to give him pneumonia. She finally brought me her grandson (three weeks older than Santi) dressed in footed pajamas, a fleece cap, mittens, swaddled in a blanket, and then wrapped in another bulky fleece blanket to show me the proper technique (it was about 80 degrees that day). I've even see other mothers bundle their babies the same way, and then drape an additional blanket directly over the child's face. In literally 90 degree weather. I don't understand how those kids don't suffocate!<br />
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After moving to France, the rules changed once again. Gone was the Latin American tolerance and patience with babies. I was pressured to "cry it out", stop breast feeding at 3 months because it was "inconvenient" for others, and my mother-in-law was utterly horrified that we swaddled Santi to help him sleep. However, I was really pleased that we were lucky enough to get selected for the incredibly inexpensive and excellent quality municipal daycare center and that doctors are reluctant to medicate children if it's not necessary, particularly with antibiotics. I also found that food in France is just as good for babies as it is for adults. If I don't have time to whip up a home-cooked meal, there is a really wide range of healthy, prepared foods for toddlers that I haven't seen in either Mexico or the US. You can get dishes prepared with beef, veal, lamb, chicken, duck, turkey, salmon, trout, couscous, pasta, and just about every kind of vegetable under the sun.<br />
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My two week sojourn in the US has thrown yet another curve ball to my momma skills. In a lot of ways, I've come full-circle. All of the advice on food <br />
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How does a first-time mom not get overwhelmed by her insecurities when everyone has a different opinion and is absolutely convinced he or she (mostly she) is right?<br />
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The biggest advantage to parenting in France, in my opinion, is (as you might have guessed already) the food. I always thought the moms on the US-based parenting forums were going overboard when they discussed all of the organic foods and supplements they searched out for their children. I do buy some products and produce in organic form in France, but not many and I don't sweat it if only the conventional version is available. I've noticed some really uncharacteristic, hyperactive behavior in Santi that started a few days a few days after arriving in California and that has gotten progressively worse. While it might be just normal toddler wiggles or the asthma meds he's had to start taking, I also wonder if it's not the additives in the food. Food is pretty heavily regulated in Europe and I really don't see many additives or preservatives on the labels, particularly for baby food. In addition, And that comes in very handy for a working mom who doesn't always have time to cook. In Mexico, there were only two kinds of beef dishes, two kinds of chicken, and one turkey. And I got lots of disapproving looks for feeding him those jarred foods. Even the crazy pediatrician chided me for not preparing him fresh, from scratch dishes. I would have loved to, but the crazy schedule we were on and the lack of a kitchen in our lodgings made that impossible. Here in the US there are lots of variation on chicken and beef for toddlers, but unfortunately Santi doesn't seem to like any of them. Some times he'll eat a couple of bites, sometimes he'll just eat the vegetables that come with them. The only things that he seems to like are adult canned soups that are really high in sodium. So I'm always searching for something he'll eat and also doing as much scratch cooking for him as possible. <br />
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Despite these complaints, there is a lot to like in the land of parenting milk and honey. For better or for worse, the US is a consumer's paradise and there is a great niche that has been prepared for parents who may be busy but still want to do everything to give their children the very best.Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-4784848381977015012010-05-20T09:18:00.000-07:002010-05-20T09:18:38.915-07:00When health care systems clash...So on to California! We've been here for 11 days now and a lot has been happening. For the good times, see <a href="http://santi-jacobi.blogspot.com/2010/05/north-american-tour-continues.html">Santi's blog</a>. He's been having a great time enjoying all sorts of new sights and places with Grandma and Grandpa. I've been having a bit of momma culture shock. I realize that as a mom, I'm actually a lot more French than I am American. More on that later.<br />
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In bad news, Santi has had to be hospitalized for a severe asthma attack. It came on very suddenly a few days ago and we are still trying to get it under control. He started gasping for breath, panting, and screaming in the middle of the night and we had to bring him to the emergency room. He was hospitalized for a day and then released. He was still not doing very well (the doctor who released him should not have, according to the new pediatrician we immediately found), but is now on several new medication with his new doctor (who is awesome). He goes to follow-ups with her about every day and we're waiting to see when he will be able to fly home to France. <br />
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It was very scary having to rush him to the hospital. I felt even worse when he didn't respond to the breathing treatments and the doctor said he had to be admitted. He was placed in the observation wing, which is not a specifically pediatric ward. He looked so tiny in his adult sized hospital bed, hooked up to an oxygen monitor and mask. He did get a child-sized robe with lions and tigers and bears (oh my!). But I did start to feel less sorry for him as the day went by because he was actually very happy. And he had the nurses wrapped around his finger because every time they came in to check on him, he gave them his whole-face million dollar grin, waved, and blew them kisses. So, pretty soon those visits became more and more frequent (and were accompanied by graham crackers, cheerios, apple juice, toys, etc.).<br />
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The real difficult part was that we were stupid and didn't buy traveler's insurance before we left France. We thought the worst that would happen is that he could get an ear infection and we might need a doctor to prescribe an antibiotic. So we're paying out of pocket for the hospital (they haven't been able to calculate his bill yet, but it will be in the thousands). And I've had to be explaining all of this to Greg who was first in Mexico and now back in France. He has never lived in the United States and does not understand the health care system we have at all. He was shocked and worried to hear about Santi and then furious to hear that anyone would be expected to pay that much for a medical emergency ("Tell that doctor he's a thief and that he should stop exploiting the misery of others!" were his exact words. Well, there were actually some other words, but I won't repeat them here). I explained actually, that's not so expensive in comparison with other people I know who've been hospitalized without insurance, and also, it's the hospital's policy is to make money (with a lot of influence from the insurance companies to be able max out their billing, I'm sure). In France, this would have been covered by our health care, and even if we didn't have health care, it would have been covered somehow. I know I'm going to get an earful from the whole family about how screwed up the US is when we get back. And I tend to agree (but I also realize it was especially dumb for me to not have bought traveler's insurance, knowing what we're dealing with over here. Expensive lesson learned). While it's true that we pay more taxes in France, we get a lot back for them. And those social services our taxes fund allow us to live much better as a one income family of three even in an expensive city like Paris compared to what how we'd be doing in the US on that same income at a lower tax rate. To each his own, but I'll take what we have.<br />
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Ok, stepping down off the soap box. For now, I'm just hoping Santi gets better and we can get home to his affordable doctor and hospital (but let's hope he doesn't need it).Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-74726614777269129442010-05-18T22:15:00.000-07:002010-05-19T20:54:56.664-07:00Finishing up the excavationI can't believe we're already done with the season and that Santi and I have already been in California for over a week!<br />
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Lots has been going on. Where to start?<br />
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The dig ended well. It was hectic, but we got a lot done. We were even filmed for a television documentary on the archaeology of Mexico (it'll air on a French TV station next year). That was very funny because they only had one camera man, so to get all the angles they needed, we had to "recreate" (i.e., fake) a lot of the stuff we were doing. Like pretend to discover the same pot four times. Or spend all morning driving randomly around town with the camera man hanging out the tailgate of their station wagon in front of us, filming us supposedly leaving to go to the site. They were incredibly nice and friendly though, and we enjoyed having them around.<br />
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Being a parent changes your perspective on all sorts of things, I have found. We discovered a number of burials at the site, the last of which was incredibly well preserved. I have always had mixed feelings about excavating those who were laid to rest by their families. We learn a great deal about past civilizations in this way, but it is still exhuming a grave. And in this case, it was even more poignant. The burial was a child who had been carefully placed inside a large ceramic urn, with an offering of perfectly made miniature bowls and jars on his/her lap and some kind of organic cover. Then the opening to the urn was plugged with a bowl and sealed with a precise layer of mud. We found such child burials in every house we excavated (it seems to be a pattern that these people buried their children in their houses and adults outside in cemeteries), but these had all been disturbed at some point after the houses were abandoned and they were really just a mixture of badly eroded bone fragments and dirt, plant roots that had invaded the broken urns, etc. But this last burial was so well preserved we could see precisely how the child had been placed in a seated fetal position, with his little head resting against the side of the urn. He was probably Santi's age (between one and two years-old). I couldn't help but imagine the parents of this child preparing his little body and then tenderly arranging his pots for the next world on his lap before they sealed his small tomb. And I got a bit teary eyed thinking that this little boy or girl had spent the last probably 1,000 years all alone under the floor of that abandoned house. I hope that the physical anthropologists in charge of analyzing the burials take good care of him/her from here on out.<br />
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California deserves its own entry, both for the good and the bad. Be back soon!Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-87812835740335816942010-04-22T17:20:00.000-07:002010-04-22T17:20:37.903-07:00Miraculous Super Cream!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Things have been advancing well with the dig. It’s very hot but we’re all in good spirits and working hard. I also am realizing how exhausting it is having a toddler with you when you’re in the field, even if you have a full-time nanny. <br />
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We get up at 7:00am, have breakfast quickly, say “good-bye” to Santi and are on the road with the four other members of the team by 7:45. We stop on the way to pick up some of the local farmers who are hired to help with the excavation. The site we’re working at is located on a series of basalt lava flows called a malpais (badlands), so it’s a jagged, rocky surface that extends for miles in each direction. <br />
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We get to the site at 8:00am, and after a steep and rocky 10 minute hike up to the top of the malpais (carrying all of the food, water, and equipment we need for the day), we’re at the site. We work till noon, break for lunch, then work until 3:30pm. After we hide the shovels and buckets and tool boxes (so none of the people who hunt or graze livestock on the malpais decide to help themselves while we’re gone), we hike back down the slope carrying out our samples collected that day. Then we drop off the workers, head back to town and the restaurant that we’ve contracted to feed the crew dinner each day at 4:30pm with just a brief stop to wash our filthy hands and faces (by the way, if you’re ever in Zacapu, Michoacan, eat at the “Deutsch Haus/Casa Alemana. It’s some of the best Mexican-German food you’ll ever taste. Ask for the owner, Martin, and tell him Michelle sent you). After dinner (around 5:30pm), Santi and his nanny usually show up, after a stroll around downtown Zacapu. Greg needs to keep working with the crew processing and cataloging samples at night. I work as much as a I can, but also need to look after Santi, so I’m not around much in the downstairs “laboratory” apartment where the rest of the crew is staying.<br />
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Yesterday was an awful day though because I got back from dinner to find Santi crying and his nanny a little worried because he had just vomited up everything he’d eaten that day. At first we thought it was just the heat (it’s in the high 80’s right now) and so I gave him a little water and he seemed find. But then he began heaving and vomiting up water and mucus every 30 minutes. After the second time I ran to the pharmacy and bought some electrolyte solution, which he drank happily from a spoon. But then he kept vomiting it all back up. Greg was back by now and we were getting pretty worried about dehydration since it’s so hot here. Greg ended up running back to Martin’s restaurant to ask him to recommend a pediatrician. Luckily there is a private urgent care clinic on the edge of town open 24 hours. After more vomiting, including the parking lot of the clinic, we were able to see a doctor.<br />
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Enter Dr. Quack, every parent’s nightmare! He seemed like a nice guy at first, but it quickly became apparent his medical degree came from the back of a cereal box. On hearing that we were foreigners only hear temporarily (in other words, we already have a regular doctor back in France) and about the vomiting he insisted on knowing if I was giving him the electrolytes from a bottle or a syringe. I told that I was using a spoon. Then he launched into a long speech about how Santi should never use a bottle now that he’s a year old and we needed to immediately go home, sit Santi down and have him watch us cut off all the nipples on his bottles with scissors and throw them in the trash. then explain to Santi (at 15 months) how he is too old for bottles. I was thinking, who cares??? And did you notice that we’re here because we’re worried about keeping him hydrated? <br />
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Next he told us it was probably a virus, which seemed reasonable. So he examined him, asking Greg to hola his arms and me his feet like some kind of medieval torture. He said his left ear was slightly inflamed but needed no antibiotics (after I told him he had been taking antibiotics just a week prior for a double ear infection that was still affecting his left ear when the doctor in France had checked him the day before we flew to Mexico). Then he suddenly opened up Santi’s diaper and began retracting the foreskin on his uncircumcised penis! If your son is circumcised, you might not know this, but that’s complete no-no because it can cause tearing and exposure to infection, as well as being extremely painful! A boy should be left alone until he can do it himself, usually by the time he reaches 3 or 4 years-old. So this nutcase tells me “Wow! It’s stuck! You need to pull it back all the way and scrub him with soap every day!” I was thinking, you jackass! It’s “stuck” because that’s how it grows and you’re the one who’s going to give him an infection. I just gave him a tight-lipped smile and a non-commital nod since he hadn’t told us how to treat the vomiting yet.<br />
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Next he weighed Santi, who came out to be 9.5 kilos. This worried us because before coming to Mexico he was 10.2 kilos, so the illness and now the vomiting had caused him to lose a good bit of weight. But the doctor was concerned because according to his american infant growth chart Santi is supposed to be 11 kilos. Actually, what the chart says is that 50% of 15 month old toddlers weigh less than 11 kilos and the other 50% more than 11 kilos. 11 kilos is the average, not the ideal weight. And since Greg and I are both small, and Santi is being raised in France (where their growth charts based on French populations shows that French babies are smaller than American babies of the same age) this is all nonsense. He told us to immediately stop feeding him Frosted Flakes, Chips Ahoy, and sugary yogurt. I kept my self control and told him calmly that it would never occur to me to feed those kinds foods to a one year-old child. That seemed to take some of the wind out of his pompous sails. He grudingly agreed that maybe the weight wasn’t a prime issue for the moment as long as he was eating well.<br />
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Finally we got to point, what treatment? Basically it was to give him Pedialyte every 10 minutes, and give him a anti-inflammatory medication. He suggested we bring him back the next day for some kind of injection if the vomiting continued, but I had no intention of letting Dr. Jackass inject Santi with anything. We were also supposed to put “Supercrema Milagro” (The Miraculous Supercream of the title) all over his butt and chest. It appears to be an organic version of Vick’s Vapo Rub, but the label says it can be used to treat everything from herpes to athlete’s foot to hemerrhoids to sciatica (see, miraculous).<br />
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The final kicker was he then insisted that we make another appointment with him to finish retracting Santi’s foreskin! He said he prefers to spread it out over three appointments because otherwise the child tends to scream a lot and it disturbs the parents (maybe a clue that you shouldn’t be doin it Dr. Jackass?). When he asked if Friday worked for us, I just responded “no”. He sat there for a minute waiting for a clarification or alternate date from me that was never coming. Finally Greg said something about Monday afternoon, but that we’d need to call to confirm first (a call that we both knew was never going to happen). Finally we escaped, deciding that if Santi didn’t get better, we’d find a different doctor, even if we had to go to Morelia (a couple of hours away). <br />
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Luckily, once we got home, Santi gulped down some Pedialyte and passed a vomit free night. Thanks to some homemade chicken soup at Martin’s “Casa Alemana”, and a visit to see the birds at the laguna park, he’s doing great today. And I also ask my scientific self if the “limpia” that his nanny did on him before we left for the clinic (it’s a Latin American folk cure where you rub an egg over a child’s body who’s sick from the “evil eye” to absorb the eye’s bad vibes and then throw the egg away over your shoulder to send the bad on it’s way) didn’t do some good as well. Well, whatever it was, I’m relieved that he’s better.<br />
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Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-84250510044834039542010-04-17T21:21:00.000-07:002010-04-17T21:21:17.998-07:00More shameless promotion (but at least not really self-promotion this time)I realized that you may be interested in the actual field project that Greg is running and I'm consulting on. So, here is the project blog link. Most of it is in French, but some of it is translated into English and/or Spanish. And photos are always universal!<br />
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<a href="http://uacusecha.blogspot.com/">Project Uacusecha</a>Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-45765111141583190962010-04-17T20:07:00.000-07:002010-04-17T20:07:54.074-07:00Traveling with a toddler, no es lo mismo los tres mosqueteros que 20 años despuésWe arrived safe and sound in Mexico, but it wasn't the easy ride I was hoping for. Traveling with an active, "spirited" toddler is not the same as traveling with a 6 month old baby! First Santi barfed all over him, me, and the taxi that took us to the airport. Luckily the driver was very nice and patient (and I tipped him pretty well). Then I discovered that all Santi wanted to do at the airport was run all over the place. And he did NOT want to hold my hand. That just made him annoyed. I finally distracted him by carrying him around to see the display windows at the Cartier and Swarovski stores (shiny things, you know).<br />
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On the plane, luckily the flight attendants got the woman next to me to take a different seat so that I could have hers for Santi. We were the window and middle seat of the bulkhead row and that worked out pretty well. The man sitting on the aisle was a grandfather and very patient with Santi constantly going up to him and flashing his most charming smile while offering him one of his toys for the hundreth time. Santi was very antsy and we ended up doing laps of the the aisles on both sides of the plane. He had a hard time sleeping on my lap (he's too big now), so I laid him down on pillows on the floor of our bulkhead aisle. I'm not looking forward to our flight back, especially if we're in a full row next time.<br />
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Mexico is great. Except for today, it has been nice and sunny. Santi has been charming the pants off of all of the students of the friend we are staying with (she's an artist and her workshop for teaching is in her house). He's annoying the hell out of her cats though. I'm afraid his ear infection may be making a come back, so I'm keeping an eye on that.<br />
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We leave for the field site tomorrow. Well, we hope so. Our car's battery is dead, so we'll have to see what we can do in the morning.Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-88435189584443046342010-04-12T03:52:00.000-07:002010-04-12T03:52:15.101-07:00When will Wednesday get here?Wednesday Santi and I head off to Mexico City on a direct flight! Heaven! We finally will be back with Greg. The weather will be sunny and HOT! Lots of great food and country where almost everyone loves children! And is willing to lend a hand even to a complete stranger. I can't wait.<br />
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Greg has been making progress on the excavation and I'll be arriving (hopefully) just in time to swoop in and start collecting my botanical samples. I love having a job where I don't spend all my time to doing the same thing. The mix of office research and fieldwork is great.<br />
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In the meantime, after having a good weekend and a great night's sleep, Santi was very fussy and tearful this morning. He also lost his appetite again yesterday. I really hope the antibiotics are doing their thing and he's not suffering a relapse of his double ear infection right before we leave. I don't know what I'll do if the doctor says she doesn't want him flying.<br />
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I'm also just exhausted and ready to be done with living in a tiny space, having a super fussy toddler who won't let me do anything without holding him in my arms (partially from being sick, partically from missing his dad, and partially from not being happy that Greg's mom is trying to take care of him), and dealing with grumpy old parisians on a daily basis.Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-63665889243560265872010-04-10T06:48:00.000-07:002010-04-12T13:02:52.766-07:00Raising a child of the Fifth RepublicThe reactions I've gotten to the <a href="http://santi-jacobi.blogspot.com/2010/03/table.html">school lunch post</a> in Santi's blog have unanimously been "Wow! That's so great!. I wish it was like that here" (here being the US). I wondered why my gut reaction to that hasn't been, "Well of course! Come on over!". Instead I feel a bit of ambiguity about the insistent helpfulness of French government and society in the rearing of a French child.<br />
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One thing I have felt since moving to France is that Santi is my son, but he is also a son of this republic. In fact, my official status for all of my immigration proceedings is not only "Foreign spouse of French citizen" but also "Foreign parent of French Citizen". So I feel a double duty to learn my way around this country, not only for my sake, but for my son's. I don't want him to feel that he is an outsider in his own country because he wasn't offered the opportunities afforded to French children by their French parents.<br />
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This feeling is not just a philosophical stance, but has its practical side too. My progress towards permanent residency and eventually citizenship depends partially on my care of Santi. As an immigrant parent of a French citizen, I have to show that I am doing everything in my power to make sure he suffers no disadvantages by having a foreign mother. I was required to registered his French citizenship officially, to prove that he is being integrated in French society (at his age this means being in French daycare, later on it will mean he is in school), and also that I'm caring for his health (primarily that he is attending all of the national health plan's required check-ups and that he is being vaccinated for the more serious and highly contagious diseases. Not only for his own health, but also for the good of the population as a whole). It has become clear to me that I would have a very difficult time getting residency as a stay-at-home mom. But that also makes sense to me because I'm not French, have not lived here very long, and if Santi and I just stayed home the two of us all the time, neither of us would make much progress on learning the language, understanding the culture, the social services (which here are not stigmatized as only for poor people), local traditions, making friends and professional networking, etc.<br />
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All of that probably doesn't sound like much. And it isn't. I'm fine with doing all of those things and I would have done them even if they weren't required. I think what has been impressed on me more is the motivation behind it. Maybe natural-born French citizens don't feel this (or more likely don't notice it), but since I'm an immigrant and required to complete civic training, it gets drawn to my attention more explicitly. It's the sense of raising a child being a collective responsibility. It's not just about what his father and I want for him, but the larger goal of raising a French citizen who understands and respects his country. And it's not always an easy thing when I don't understand or necessarily agree with the beliefs and principles that are integral to the current French society.<br />
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It's hard to explain. An important difference between France and the US is that in the US the individual comes first, as long as they're not breaking the law. But in France, I find that the philosophy is the that good of society as a whole comes first, and then the rights of the individual (and I've been taught that explicitly in my civic training). That's one of the main reasons I think that the (partially) tax-funded national health care works here, and is so controversial in the US. Or why the French often think of Americans as overgrown children, who are always focused on testing the limits of individualism for its own sake, even when it becomes absurd or cruelly narcissistic, rather than using common sense and focusing on how their actions affect others around them. Whether you agree with that assessment or not, I think it's a pretty accurate portrayal of the perception of the differences. I find lots of points of French life and society that clash with my American ideals of the rights and responsibilities of the individual, and plenty of inconveniences that are very foreign to my personal experience and preferences. But I have to find a balance and present these to Santi in a way that allows him to form his own opinions and to like and dislike aspects his country and society for his own reasons, not mine. And I also find that many of my own ideas have changed since coming to France, and likely will continue to change and grow as I integrate (as best as I can) into this society.<br />
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Many times now since becoming a mom and moving to France, I think about my own mother, an immigrant to the US in her 20's. I think about my experience growing up and resenting some of the differences I saw in my upbringing versus that of my classmates with American-born parents. I now look back on that all in a new light and recognize the bittersweet charge of remaining who you are, while raising a child who will be something else. And I have an all new respect for the path that my own mother tread. I only hope I can do as well as she did.Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-87600808532526122272010-04-08T13:37:00.000-07:002010-04-10T14:24:37.980-07:00Countdown to Mexico!In six days Santi and I will be on a plane to Mexico! I am excited not only to have some sunny, warm weather, but also to get my husband back! Of course I miss him, but it's also to have someone share taking care of Santi with me. Greg's mom arrived yesterday afternoon to help with Santi, and she'll stay with us until we leave next Wednesday. I'm very grateful for that, but it's just not the same as having someone who knows the ins and outs of your routine without having to ask, and having that help come from someone your child knows and is used to. Santi is not comfortable being alone much with his grandmother because he doesn't see her on a regular basis. He clings to me while she is here and protests if she tries to help by holding him or playing with him. So I end up with a "velcro" baby as soon as I get home from work until he falls asleep. Which has been 9:30pm the last two days. Ugh! I really hope that stops tomorrow. <br />
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Of all of the big hurdles that lie between now and Wednesday's flight, the biggest is that Santi has a double ear infection and the doctor doesn't want him to fly if it's not cleared up by Tuesday afternoon. So I'm really hoping the antibiotics do their thing fast.<br />
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In more practical problems, I'm trying to sort out the mess of paperwork that arises when you are a tri-national family taking a trip that involves traveling between all three of those countries when momma and baby don't have the same last name, and papa isn't going to be on any of the flights. At this point, I don't think any of the countries any longer requires notarized permission from the absent parent for the child to travel with the other parent. And, in any case, Santi is a citizen of all three countries, so he can't be denied entry. I just need to bring proof of all of those nationalities and proof that I am his momma.Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-27063638632436267222010-03-31T11:56:00.000-07:002010-03-31T12:01:33.199-07:00What a difference three days make!So the trend of not wanting to sleep until after 9:00pm continued for two more nights. I'm hoping not to jinx myself here, but Santi actually went to bed tonight with no resistance at 7:15pm! The sleep fighting till 9:00pm (or later!) seems over. I'm knocking on wood that that means he's made the adjustment to daylight saving time. It's currently 8:45pm here and still twilight.<br />
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I don't know if it helped that I closed the shutters and curtains in his room before his bath, so that he didn't see anymore daylight while he was getting his pj's on. I usually close them after I put his pj's on, while he plays a little on the bed and looks at books. After reading some advice about how being "overtired" can actually make kids hyper and have more trouble sleeping, I also insisted on him going to bed as quickly as possible after dinner. I even rushed his bath. I usually ask him if he wants to get out and wait until he nods and raises his arms to be picked up. Today I pulled him out even though he turned away from me and wrapped his arms around himself, which is what he does to say "no! more bath!". But as soon as I wrapped him in a towel he collapsed with his head on my shoulder and arms around my neck, so I might try doing that more often. After that he played a little while putting on jammies, but quickly started pointing to his sleep sack and crawling into my arms.<br />
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Momma is MUCH happier tonight than she was yesterday. I just hope he doesn't decide to get up 45 minutes earlier tomorrow morning...Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-8777284419156329822010-03-28T13:08:00.000-07:002010-03-28T13:08:27.331-07:00Thank you Picard!I had plans to write a great post exploring the cultural differences between the French and Americans, inspired by the reactions to the new health care legislation in the United States. It would be profound and insightful. Then I spent a weekend taking care of an energetic 14 month-old and my brain turned to applesauce (or <i>compote </i>as they call it here).<br />
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The longest I've cared for Santi on my own before was 6 days. This time it'll be 14 days. All I can say is that I'm really not cut out for single parenthood. I know I'm really lucky to have a full-time daycare center. I planned on working from home one day a week while on my own to be able to do things that require heavy lifting (like grocery shopping), since we live on the 6th floor and don't have an elevator. Carrying all 22+ lbs. of Santi, my laptop, my purse and grocery bags or trash bags up or down those stairs is no treat. But I already realize that I'm going to have to do more grocery shopping tomorrow morning, and it's only been 3 days since my last trip.<br />
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Yesterday and today were fine. We had a great long walk yesterday on our baguette (mis)adventure and today we stayed in due to the crappy weather and played with balloons, watched "Pinocchio" and drank hot chocolate (Santi was in heaven and was adorable with his chocolate moustache and beard). We even had fun while he ate his dinner (Couscous with lamb. Homemade? I wish. Nope, from a jar. Yes, rub in the guilt. But at least we're in France, and even the mass produced baby food is gourmet here). But then he didn't want to go to sleep at his normal bedtime. The worst part is that he was TIRED, actually fell asleep when I put him in his crib, but woke up a minute later and then couldn't fall asleep again until after 9pm.<br />
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ARGH! 7:30pm and beyond is supposed to be "me" time. That's when I finally have a chance to put away Santi's bathtub and toys, shower, clean up Santi's dinner mess and his toys, make and eat my own dinner, clean that up, do laundry, creatively find space to hang it all to dry in our ridiculously tiny apartment, think about how much work I'm behind on, and then relax for a bit before going to bed early (10pm, 10:30 at the LATEST), since Santi has a tendency lately to wake up around 5:30am.<br />
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To be fair, his late night is sort of my fault. I let him nap for 3 hours today (I guess that really was my "me" time for today) and we usually don't let him go that long for just this very reason. Oh well, lesson definitely learned.<br />
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Anyway, hats off to all you single parents, military "widows" whose husbands are currently deployed, and everyone else who cares for a young child on their own on a regular basis. I really don't know how you do this day in and day out. The only thing that's getting me throughis knowing that it will soon be over. That and the excellent pre-made frozen dinners and sides from Picard (sort of like "Trader Joe's" except it's all frozen foods). Hmmm, maybe they'll be willing to sponsor me.Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-3835277187008470162010-03-27T09:33:00.000-07:002010-03-27T09:35:55.135-07:00The best baguette in Paris<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/S64weIHTC6I/AAAAAAAAAK0/KlkhDPSsiM8/s1600/P1010532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/S64weIHTC6I/AAAAAAAAAK0/KlkhDPSsiM8/s200/P1010532.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>This, dear reader, is the best baguette in Paris. Literally. It won the 2010 annual competition and will be the baguette served exclusively at the palais de l'Elysée at the president's personal table for the next year.<br />
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I stood in line, had to elbow my way out, and got the chocolate Easter bunny that I had also bought for Santi smashed into lots of little pieces by the morons around me within 10 seconds of paying.<br />
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Is it good? Yes, very. Is it the best I've ever eaten? No, and I will not be making the trek to the other side of the Montmartre Butte to get it on a regular basis. But, on the occasions when I do find myself there, I'll probably pick one up. If we need some bread. <br />
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If you're in the area and would like to give it a try:<br />
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Le Grenier à pain, Michel GALLOYER and Anne-Marie GUILLARD<br />
38, rue des Abbesses<br />
Paris, 18th arrondissement<br />
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<div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><!--Session data--><input id="jsProxy" onclick="jsCall();" type="hidden" /><div id="refHTML"></div>Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-52317135575334940542010-03-27T03:29:00.000-07:002010-03-27T05:54:15.947-07:00The emmenthal that is my blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/S63dwQfuozI/AAAAAAAAAKE/VQN0Th_vSdI/s1600/emmenthal_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/S63dwQfuozI/AAAAAAAAAKE/VQN0Th_vSdI/s320/emmenthal_1.jpg" /></a></div>I'm well aware there's a two year hole in this blog (and to be fair, it was on the cryptic side even before that hiatus). So I'll be catching up and filling in the holes little by little as I blog. <br />
<input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><!--Session data--><input id="jsProxy" onclick="jsCall();" type="hidden" /><div id="refHTML"></div>Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-90725796811428871712010-03-27T03:20:00.000-07:002010-03-27T03:20:39.246-07:00Grey SaturdayWell, with Greg in Mexico, I'm taking on a single mom role until April 7, when Greg's mom will arrive to help out during the week before little Santi and I make the trip to Mexico and catch up with papa. It's not as scary as I'd imagined so far (she says 3 days in), but it is tiring. We are very lucky that we were awarded a place in the full-time municipal daycare center. It's top-notch and we pay according to our means. <br />
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But the weekend seems a bit long to me. Santi is a little under the weather, which means clingy and easily tired. But it's so much easier now than it was before to take care of him on my own. Now that he can walk, communicate (even if not exactly talking), and play on his own for a few minutes here and there, I don't feel so overwhelmed. He's currently obsessed with a picture book I got him from the library called "Le Petit Pouët" that is about a tiny guy, his trumpet, and a lot of existential angst (so very French).<br />
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I need to finish at least the English version of the final report before I leave for Mexico to complete my postdoc grant in good standing. That's the tricky part with no one here. I really have to learn to get everything done at the office (or at night when Santi is asleep, although I'm pretty pooped them too). I realize I have some pretty crappy work habits from grad school, or maybe it's just that I don't have the luxury of working when I want as long as I want. Oh well. C'est la nouvelle vie!Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-28411618270595689632010-03-26T14:05:00.000-07:002010-03-26T14:39:55.182-07:00A Chichimec a long, long way from home...For those who remember me, a lot has happened in the past two years. I'm now on the other side of an even wider sea than the Gran Chichimeca. I'm now a PhD, married, mom to a one-year old son, and I've finally settled down (well, for the moment) in Paris, France. Go figure. Anyway, here's to new adventures!Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-49808858540124118892007-03-09T17:06:00.000-08:002010-03-26T15:02:13.406-07:00What is a Chichimeca?Some of you have been wondering what exactly is a Chichimeca, other than one of those strange, long Mesoamerican words that pop out every now and then. Those of you who aren't interested in my archaeologist/professorial side may want to skip this entry...<br />
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Chichimec is a word used by Mesoamerican people to describe the foreigners who lived to the north of their civilization. Some archaeologists have named the general region that these peoples came from the "Gran Chichimeca". In modern geographical terms this area begins roughly around Jalisco, Guanajuato, San Luis Potosi, and continues north through Zacatecas, Durango, Chihuahua and Sonora. It then jumps the modern political border, running through Arizona and New Mexico and ending somewhere in southern Colorado. The puebloan people of of the US Southwest, such as the Anasazi would have been considered "Chichimecs" by the Aztecs, Toltecs, Tarascans and Maya. In northern and northwest Mexico, the many historic groups encountered by European explorers (Guachichiles, Tarahumara, Huichol, Zacatecos, Opata, Pames, Seris, Yaquis, etc) would have been considered Chichimecs too.<br />
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What you have to bear in mind is that while these groups had contact with Mesoamerican cultures, through trade and probably some exploration on both sides, shared a similar diet, and had certain ideas and religious principles in common, they weren't Mesoamerican. According to 16th century Spanish accounts that record the views of indigenous people from the highlands of Central Mexico, these groups were considered mostly uncultured foreigners who could often be violent and dangerous. They had a reputation for being nomads who roamed a barren desert that only the truly tough of spirit could survive. Interestingly, despite this view that almost borders on contempt, the historical chronicles of the Aztec and Tarascan cultures (the two great empires that had held power in Mesoamerica for about 200 years when the Spanish arrived in 1519) insist that their kingdoms were founded by members of these groups who arrived in Central Mexico after a long and mythic pilgrimage/migration from the northern deserts. The rulers of both groups were descended from these Chichimecs. Basically, the uncouth country bumpkins made good in the big city, write very large.<br />
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I'm not going to get into all of the particulars that this idea entails, but suffice it to say that the word "Chichimec" was an over generalization by Mesoamericans to refer to all of the diverse groups that lived throughout northern Mexico and the southwestern US. It's sort of like saying "Mexican" to refer to all Latin American people from Mexico down to Chile and Argetina. Some "Chichimecs" lived in small groups that hunted and gathered and moved around quite a bit. Some did this but also raised some crops on the side. Others settled down for years at a time in adobe houses and farmed for a living. Some archaeologists further complicate this picture by pointing out evidence that some of the people being called Chichimecs may have actually been Mesoamericans who reasons that are not completely understood moved north and mingled with the foreign population. This point is that these groups covered an enormous range of territory, were culturally and linguistically diverse, and shouldn't be considered a single culture.<br />
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All this being said, there's something about the iconic image from the Mesoamerican perspective of the Chichimec as an uncouth, uncultured foreigner from the north with a bit of a temper that speaks to the imagination. Outsiders that are rough around the edges, yet who made their way south to the "civilized" world, threw themselves into learning the ins and outs of the political and economic systems, and eventually successfully worked their way from the bottom (mercenaries for hire that were forced to live on the worst land) to the top (emperors) based on their unflagging ambition. Kind of a Machiavellian spin on the "American Dream". And being that I myself am an (occasionally) uncouth foreigner from the north who has chosen to "invade" a new country, studying the archaeology of the Gran Chichimeca based out of a university located IN the Gran Chichimeca, I do fit the profile of a Chichimec pretty well. So why not go with the flow and use the screen name? Who knows, maybe a little of the Chichimec good fortune will rub off on me too...Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-45387744030403599972007-03-07T15:44:00.000-08:002007-03-07T15:47:58.474-08:00Countdown!I just turned in a draft of my dissertation to my committee of professors who must approve it prior to being able to graduate. It's a big step and means I'm almost done with my PhD!<br /><br />Now I have to wait for probably a month for their comments. I'm hoping they'll say it's ready to defend, but it's pretty uncommon to have that happen the first draft out. I'll most likely have to do a set of revisions first. So that adds another month of waiting. Well, at least it's almost over!Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-16611030640069777982007-03-04T11:00:00.000-08:002007-03-04T11:13:27.315-08:00Weekend HappeningsWe spent most of the weekend just wandering around the neighborhood and visiting with some friends, but here's a picture from one of the many temporary art installations that are strewn around the neighborhood for the next week or so. This exhibition is called "Habitantes Incomodos" (Uncomfortable Inhabitants) and involves many different artists. It seems like some are trying a little too hard to be clever, but the idea is nice.<br /><div></div><br /><div>This one is called something like "No todo lo que es verde brilla" (Not everything green shines). The artist put the tops of the ubiquitous VW Bug taxis in the fountain in the Plaza Citlatepetl and filled the rest of the fountain with iris plants. Both are apparently green plagues in the city (the "Bochos" taxis are always green and the aquatic plants are invading the waterways of many historic neighborhoods that maintain portions of the original Aztec canal/chinampa agriculture systems. I guess now they'll be a problem in the Condesa too?).</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Anyway, for your consideration:</div><div> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038149277110704242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ResaEwOTGHI/AAAAAAAAACc/XqxVJ27zoB4/s320/P3040769.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div></div>Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-22034845018762370852007-03-04T10:34:00.000-08:002007-03-04T11:00:27.642-08:00Contact SportsSo how does one spend the weekend in Mexico City? Well, at least for me, Friday begins with a visit to the weekly street market on Campeche street. Early in the morning a cluster of stalls pop up that sell everything from fruits and vegetables, meats, cheeses, toys, underwear, kitchen utensils, hair accessories, clothes, plants, potting soil, CDs and DVDs, fresh squeezed fruit juice, soups, tacos, huaraches. The vendors stick around till about 1 or 2 in the afternoon, depending on business.<br /><br />Of course, those of you who have been to Mexico before or who have seen the glossy magazine photos or travel documentaries on PBS are expecting that I am now going to append a series of beautiful colorful photos of this very traditional part of Mexican daily life. Well, I am going to have to disappoint you. The answer is no. Why you ask? Well, I'll let you in on a secret: marketing is a contact sport and you need both hands free to stand the faintest chance of getting everything on your list. A big shoulder-slung marketing bag that can handle a lot of weight helps too. Luckily M. X was willing to go with me and help show me the ropes.<br /><br />Although there is a grocery store one block from the apartment, the Friday market is our one chance in this neighborhood to get our hands on the best and freshest fruits, vegetables, and cheeses to be gotten. The hard part is that the rest of the neighborhood is also in on this vital piece of information and are there to compete! The toughest cookies are the 4 foot tall, elderly women who let no one and nothing stand in their way of getting the ripest, biggest avocados and the juiciest papayas. Throwing a few bony elbow jabs is part of the game as they scoop their booty into plastic bags. Mere seconds after handing their bag over to be weighed and the price tallied they are already halfway done with their next bag. The stall owners have to be sharp as they are often attending 3 or 4 of these tough customers at once, keeping track of everyone's tab on pieces of notebook paper. The other stalls tend to be a bit more relaxed, which makes for a nice break.<br /><br />After dodging the abuelitas and the odd fully coiffed giant poodle (our neighborhood is overrun by yuppies with pure bred dogs, but that's for another entry) we secured our mangos, papaya, squash, tomatoes, oranges, eggplant, Oaxaca cheese, live basil, parsley, and cilantro, potting soil (of course), a cutting board, vegetable peeler, and squeegee (M. X is a demon for window washing) We then rewarded ourselves by stopping by one of the market's numerous taco stands for a big bowl of consome and tacos de barbacoa (both made with mutton). We next washed down our late breakfast with a giant, fresh-squeezed orange juice purchased from another stand that would later be selling Oaxaca-style homemade ice creams. Can't wait for next week!Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-530364575011439772007-02-28T07:09:00.000-08:002007-02-28T09:11:46.261-08:00How the heck did I get here?Ok, so I realize to date the blog has not been very informative about the whole expat experience. I could go on with pretty pictures and informational tidbits that you could get on your own by thumbing through a Lonely Planet guide. But some of you having been bugging me to know how am American living in the States managed to meet up with a French guy living in Paris, and THEN how the two of them decided not only to move in together, but in MEXICO???<br /><br />Not at all planned and completely outside of all expectations for both of us.<br /><br />Not a satisfying answer, eh? Especially for those of you who may be in a similar situation, but still trying to decided whether to take the plunge or not. Sorry, you'll have to bear with me.<br /><br />The meeting up isn't so odd. We both work in the same field and a colleague introduced us several years ago. We hit it off, but only in the professional sense and never did any socializing apart from a couple of conferences and some research based email exchanges. However, I had an extended stay in Mexico for a dissertation writing grant, where we both do our archaeological research, and we had time to get to know each other outside of the professional setting. It was one of those things where we just knew right away. We ended up dating in Mexico until my grant was up and then I spent some time in France (thanks to another writing grant). I returned to my university in the US after for a semester, but by then we had decided that M. X would request to be transferred to Mexico for a couple of years so that we could live together. I don't speak much French and don't really have many contacts over there yet. He doesn't speak a lot of English and has a mortgage that he is still paying in France so him quitting his (dream) job in Paris with the hope that I might find a job in the US that could support the both of us seemed equally ridiculous (in my field the average minimum length for job searches is 3 years). So, Mexico seemed like a good option for us both. He would have a job that pays enough for us to live, and I would at least have opportunities to find work after finishing my PhD (and this will hopefully happen in a couple of months). The only big hanging question is what happens in two years when his job will require him to back to Paris. Do we stay here, meaning he would have to change jobs? Do we go to France, meaning I would have to start all over again professionally (assuming I find something here to begin with)?<br /><br />This wasn't an easy decision to make and that's no thanks to a lot of naysayers who either fall into the camp of 1) why would you want to live in the "Wasteland" (i.e., outside of the United States)? or 2) So, you've given up on having a career then, eh?<br /><br />The first group is sort of easy to ignore, I just tell them: get out a bit more! The US has its good and bad points, but so does everywhere else. It's just matter of personal choice. If living abroad isn't for you, cool. But don't assume that that holds for everyone (and I can always come back to visit).<br /><br />The second group is a little trickier to deal with. I think in part its because, in my case, this perspective subtly incorporates a bit of the first group's philosophy, albeit sometimes at a level that is subconscious even to that person themself. I say this because it is only Americans who have mentioned this concern to me (and let me be clear that not all of the Americans I have talked to about this feel this way). People in Mexico (Mexicans and French expats) and France (French and Latin American expats) have been either enthusiastically supportive or at minimum at least didn't do a double take when I mentioned the plan. Probably because many of them have made similar choices in their lives. I should also mention the Latin American and European expats I've talked to in the States have also been encouraging. So maybe one's position on the "the giving up of the career" argument is in part influenced by personal experience.<br /><br />This is not to say that it is not an issue I think about/worry about. I had to weigh my options carefully when I decided whether to make the move to Mexico and to be with M. X . But the fact is I am very happy with him, we want to be together, and each of us has decided to do whatever is within their ability that will help us as a couple. For the moment our best options are Mexico and then France. I agree to move. He agrees to help me make contacts and be supportive of the fact it is not an easy process for me. We both agree to remember why we are making this choice.<br /><br />To me the real issue here is deciding on the balance I want between my personal and professional lives, and the issue of changing countries is really secondary. Of course this dilemma is a common one today, it is a highly personal, and I don't think anyone should feel pressured by the choices others have made. I think both are important to my happiness. However, I also personally do not believe that I can "have it all". I can't be a perfect researcher, perfect wife, perfect mother, perfect fulfilled individual wholeheartedly pursuing my personal interests. I can do some of these things, maybe a bit of each them, but not all. That would require me to be at least 400% of a person. And I can't be with M. X if we each live on separate continents.<br /><br />I am a sharp person, and enjoy my research, but do not want my career to be the main driver of my life. Not everyone will feel the same way. That's ok, I don't live their life and they don't live mine. Also, the reality of the academic job search is hard. There are a lot of us who want to get paid for doing interesting but, in a practical sense, not highly useful research that is not in demand. I also want to have a family with M. X, but also don't want my life to revolve around him and our children. I want to pursue interests like photography and writing that don't earn me a dime, but simply make me happy. Yet I want the comfort of loving family and know that to get that I have to give as well. So it's really more like juggling aspects of your persona. At times, some will be more important than others. And at times some will require more of your time and effort than others. And I think that's ok. That's reality. I should admit I am a person who has always preferred that the future be open and (at least a little bit murky). I like change and I believe people have facets, not all of which are visible at the same time.<br /><br />To conclude, someone once told me to think of your life as a sailboat crossing the sea. You can't control the currents or winds. What you can do is change your tack to navigate those obstacles as best you can in more or less the direction you want to go. You can only travel in a straight line that way, so to get long-distance from point A to point B you may have to change your tack, zigging and zagging back and forth many times depending on those outside forces. This means there are an infinite number of possible courses to reach the same destination. Each time you change, you're headed in a slightly different direction with new choices that may not have been apparent or available before. These may lead you to new discoveries on the way. However, if you truly know where you ultimately want to end up, and are willing to be flexible and patient, you'll get there one day. Or maybe not, but at least you'll have an interesting (and hopefully enjoyable) voyage.<br /><br />(If you've made it this far, thanks for bearing with me. I realize this rant was pretty abstract. I'll try to keep things more focused in the future, but I had a few things to get off my chest)Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-11736066638882141172007-02-27T09:02:00.000-08:002007-02-27T11:01:12.124-08:00TepoztlanWhile we were waiting for the apartment to be ready, one of M. X's friends very kindly offered to lend us the keys to her family's vacation house in Tepoztlan for the weekend. Many families have a house in one of the small towns outside of Mexico City to escape to on the weekends (the city is exciting but can be draining and it's nice to be able to get away to recharge your batteries). Tepoztlan is about 50 miles south of the city, in the state of Morelos. The town is inhabited by about 15,000 people and is set in a valley ringed by beautiful, high cliffs. On one of these cliffs the Aztec built a temple called the Tepozteco. It was apparently a monument to commemorate the death of the ruler, Ahuizotl, in 1502. Let me warn you that the hike up there is very steep, the path crowded, and not for the faint of heart (literally. Although a little lower than Mexico City, the elevation is still over 5,500 feet above sea level). But the view is definitely worth it. And be sure to look for the very cute troupe of coatimundis (sort of like a Latin American raccoons) that live at the top and pester the tourists for potato chips. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring my camera, so you'll either have to take my word for it, or make the trek yourself.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReRnyWKAWCI/AAAAAAAAABs/quxDaf0kWOk/s1600-h/1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReRnyWKAWCI/AAAAAAAAABs/quxDaf0kWOk/s320/1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036264397945722914" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReRn6mKAWDI/AAAAAAAAAB0/fbTv27abs5E/s1600-h/2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReRn6mKAWDI/AAAAAAAAAB0/fbTv27abs5E/s320/2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036264539679643698" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReRoDmKAWEI/AAAAAAAAAB8/hmCUK_GGo9U/s1600-h/3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReRoDmKAWEI/AAAAAAAAAB8/hmCUK_GGo9U/s320/3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036264694298466370" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReRoUGKAWFI/AAAAAAAAACE/lGMKOghHzRs/s1600-h/perros.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReRoUGKAWFI/AAAAAAAAACE/lGMKOghHzRs/s320/perros.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036264977766307922" border="0" /></a>(These are the very sweet dogs who "took care" of us while we stayed at their house)Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3099585987576297814.post-16352990048687656222007-02-27T06:02:00.000-08:002007-02-27T06:33:18.822-08:00Ya Estamos Aqui!!!!So it's been awhile and a lot has happened. The highlights are that M. X and I now have an apartment as of exactly a week ago. We were worried because after signing the contract and paying the deposit we were told that there were still renovations to do and we had to wait a few more days before moving in. The renovations included installing everything in the kitchen. This was to take place over a weekend and we were doubtful this would happen. But we had a kind invitation from a friend to stay in her family's vacation home in Tepotzlan (a very pretty small town to the south of the city that is famous for an Aztec temple. Pictures to be posted soon) over that weekend so we resolved not to worry about it. The weekend was great, and lo and behold, the apartment was ready when we got back!<br /><br />The last week has been a blur of borrowing trucks, running back and forth across the city moving and buying furniture, major appliances, and plants, and (most importantly) getting our wireless internet set up. We're still going <span style="font-style: italic;">poco a poco </span>but it's now starting to feel and look like home.<br /><br />As I write this entry from the eighth floor of our building, I can see the peak of the volcano <span style="font-style: italic;">Popocatepetl</span> silhouetted on the horizon, with a tiny plume of smoke. It will be gone with the smog once the sun fully rises, but is a nice accompaniment to breakfast.<br /><br />The apartment and view from our balcony (I know, the curtains HAVE to go!):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReQ-gGKAV6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/pcqvcSVI4Ao/s1600-h/cocina.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReQ-gGKAV6I/AAAAAAAAAAM/pcqvcSVI4Ao/s320/cocina.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036219004436371362" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReQ-22KAV7I/AAAAAAAAAAU/IXmO793YVNE/s1600-h/salon.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReQ-22KAV7I/AAAAAAAAAAU/IXmO793YVNE/s320/salon.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036219395278395314" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReQ_L2KAV8I/AAAAAAAAAAc/OsfJ8d_TxnY/s1600-h/balcon.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReQ_L2KAV8I/AAAAAAAAAAc/OsfJ8d_TxnY/s320/balcon.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036219756055648194" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReQ_bmKAV9I/AAAAAAAAAAk/acxkBt9iByQ/s1600-h/violeta.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReQ_bmKAV9I/AAAAAAAAAAk/acxkBt9iByQ/s320/violeta.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036220026638587858" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReQ_rGKAV-I/AAAAAAAAAAs/-rI_-LXZDLw/s1600-h/roja.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReQ_rGKAV-I/AAAAAAAAAAs/-rI_-LXZDLw/s320/roja.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036220292926560226" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReQ_9mKAV_I/AAAAAAAAAA0/H-8_HcT5RYM/s1600-h/vista+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReQ_9mKAV_I/AAAAAAAAAA0/H-8_HcT5RYM/s320/vista+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036220610754140146" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReRANWKAWAI/AAAAAAAAAA8/sBa4bnPNMSE/s1600-h/vista+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReRANWKAWAI/AAAAAAAAAA8/sBa4bnPNMSE/s320/vista+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036220881337079810" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReRAh2KAWBI/AAAAAAAAABE/6xZVO7XBe3w/s1600-h/vista+3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-pd3nEWZMfI/ReRAh2KAWBI/AAAAAAAAABE/6xZVO7XBe3w/s320/vista+3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036221233524398098" border="0" /></a>Chichimecahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925310168691129259noreply@blogger.com1