We've done what we needed to do to make the apartment comfortable. We are content. We have all the space we need but not an inch more, which is—we're discovering with each passing year—a value not to be underestimated.
As foreigners, we find that our access to broader Mexican society is limited. Most of the Mexicans we meet are taxi drivers, shopkeepers and tradespeople. In Pátzcuaro, making friends at this level was remarkably easy. Although in 1533 the Spanish king designated Pátzcuaro a city, culturally it is a pueblo, a small town, with small-town values of 'neighborliness'.
One of the reasons we enjoy Coyoacán is because it resembles a pueblo in many ways. So we weren't surprised by the friendliness of Araceli, the young woman who works in the lavandería around the block that does our laundry. She and I became fast friends when first she, then three months later I, had our respective gall bladders removed.
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| Don Rigoberto is in the center; his nephew, Leonardo, is on the right; and the math teacher from the school next door completes the group. Tintorería is Dry Cleaning. |
It took a little longer for Reed, who usually delivers and picks up the laundry, to become acquainted with the owner, Don Rigoberto, and his middle-school nephew, Leonardo, who is learning the business. But the guys have now become amigos and chat regularly. When I delivered the laundry the other day, el Señor immediately asked about Reed. Clearly, they've got a guy thing going!
Language Challenges
How Reed and I speak the language makes it difficult for some Mexicans to relate to us because we don't speak colloquial Spanish. I once asked Francisco, my Spanish teacher at CELEP in Pátzcuaro, why Mexicans get a 'funny' look on their faces when they speak with me. It was my perception that they don't look 'relaxed' the way they do when speaking among themselves.
He thought for a moment, then replied perceptively, "Even though you usually use correct grammar, you don't speak the way we do. They're trying to figure out what you're saying."
I chuckled. It wasn't the first time I've heard that comment. Twenty years ago I did a two-year project with Pemex, the Mexican oil company. I had two translators: Carlos, in his late 40's, was well versed in business; Yuri, in her early 20's at the time (we are still friends!), translated my written reports.
My work involved week-long workshops in Spanish with engineers in the oil company's various departments. After an introduction that I delivered in Spanish, I would work with them to diagram their work flows. Carlos's main job was to make sure the engineers understood me, and that I understood them.
One day after a session, Carlos approached me to explain: "I'm not interrupting you, because the engineers are paying very close attention to you. They're asking themselves, 'What is she saying?' Since you've got their attention, I'm staying quiet."
In the same vein, I've discovered that some people seem to have an aptitude for understanding my Spanish. Others don't. This is true of our building staff. Doña Carlota, the building administrator, seemed to understand us easily from the beginning. Our two guards, Victor and Ángel, have had to work to understand us. A few months back, I was pleased to notice that their faces have become more relaxed when we exchange pleasantries.
Toñia keeps the building spic'n span. Each Saturday, she scrubs the white stairs that rise from the sidewalk to our lobby. My Dutch mother would be impressed! At first, I could see reflected on Toñia's face her struggle to understand me, but we're making progress. Last weekend she was sitting at the desk when I came downstairs to go out. She greeted me with a big smile and said, "I was just thinking I haven't seen mi amiga all week!"
Cultural Challenges: Small Town in Mexico City
Coyoacán appears to be a small town, but it is urban nonetheless. As twenty-year veteran residents of New York City, we're accustomed to urban life and urban ways—and that's a good thing, because it's taken nearly a year for many people to become comfortable enough with us to 'drop their masks' and relate to us one-as-one as human beings. Don Eberardo is a great example.
Don Eberardo, Marcos el Convento (Don Eberhard, Convent Frames)
About six months ago, seeking to frame two beautiful bordados, embroidery pieces, we paid a visit to a frame shop in the neighborhood. I'd noted their sign, "Marcos Medidos" (Custom Frames) down the sidewalk as we walked by on our way to somewhere else.
Language Challenges
How Reed and I speak the language makes it difficult for some Mexicans to relate to us because we don't speak colloquial Spanish. I once asked Francisco, my Spanish teacher at CELEP in Pátzcuaro, why Mexicans get a 'funny' look on their faces when they speak with me. It was my perception that they don't look 'relaxed' the way they do when speaking among themselves.
He thought for a moment, then replied perceptively, "Even though you usually use correct grammar, you don't speak the way we do. They're trying to figure out what you're saying."
I chuckled. It wasn't the first time I've heard that comment. Twenty years ago I did a two-year project with Pemex, the Mexican oil company. I had two translators: Carlos, in his late 40's, was well versed in business; Yuri, in her early 20's at the time (we are still friends!), translated my written reports.
My work involved week-long workshops in Spanish with engineers in the oil company's various departments. After an introduction that I delivered in Spanish, I would work with them to diagram their work flows. Carlos's main job was to make sure the engineers understood me, and that I understood them.
One day after a session, Carlos approached me to explain: "I'm not interrupting you, because the engineers are paying very close attention to you. They're asking themselves, 'What is she saying?' Since you've got their attention, I'm staying quiet."
In the same vein, I've discovered that some people seem to have an aptitude for understanding my Spanish. Others don't. This is true of our building staff. Doña Carlota, the building administrator, seemed to understand us easily from the beginning. Our two guards, Victor and Ángel, have had to work to understand us. A few months back, I was pleased to notice that their faces have become more relaxed when we exchange pleasantries.
Toñia keeps the building spic'n span. Each Saturday, she scrubs the white stairs that rise from the sidewalk to our lobby. My Dutch mother would be impressed! At first, I could see reflected on Toñia's face her struggle to understand me, but we're making progress. Last weekend she was sitting at the desk when I came downstairs to go out. She greeted me with a big smile and said, "I was just thinking I haven't seen mi amiga all week!"
Cultural Challenges: Small Town in Mexico City
Coyoacán appears to be a small town, but it is urban nonetheless. As twenty-year veteran residents of New York City, we're accustomed to urban life and urban ways—and that's a good thing, because it's taken nearly a year for many people to become comfortable enough with us to 'drop their masks' and relate to us one-as-one as human beings. Don Eberardo is a great example.
Don Eberardo, Marcos el Convento (Don Eberhard, Convent Frames)
About six months ago, seeking to frame two beautiful bordados, embroidery pieces, we paid a visit to a frame shop in the neighborhood. I'd noted their sign, "Marcos Medidos" (Custom Frames) down the sidewalk as we walked by on our way to somewhere else.
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The sign reads, Marcos el Convento (Convent Frames—sorry, the 'M' got cut off ). Don Eberardo stands to the left; his son José stands at the counter. Left Click to enlarge, which makes it easier to see the facial 'mask' that Mexicans seem to prefer for photos and the shop's interior. |
The shop is small, unassuming. The counter is almost flush with the sidewalk. Most of the shop is behind the counter. But I figured it was worth a try. Since moving to Mexico I've learned that appearances can be deceiving. One of my best 'finds' in Pátzcuaro was a run-down shack that called itself an electrical repair shop—and it really was! The owner's ingenuity in repairing electrical appliances was nothing short of genius.
But let's face it, I'm Dutch. I'm fussy. Our friend Debby had emailed photos that showed how our bordados were to be framed. Not only is Debby an artist in crewel embroidery, but she was a professional framer at the Houston Art Museum, so she knows the best way to frame embroidery for maximum effect. She even sent photos so I could show the framer exactly what I wanted.
Armed with Debby's photos on my iPad, I introduced myself to don Eberardo. I wish I had a photo. Not one facial muscle moved in his expressionless face. It was, in fact, mournful in the inimitable manner of a Basset hound. With the subtlest of expression, he managed to convey a mix of deep skepticism and mild disapproval.
But let's face it, I'm Dutch. I'm fussy. Our friend Debby had emailed photos that showed how our bordados were to be framed. Not only is Debby an artist in crewel embroidery, but she was a professional framer at the Houston Art Museum, so she knows the best way to frame embroidery for maximum effect. She even sent photos so I could show the framer exactly what I wanted.
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Debby's photo of a bordado tacked on, using tiny stitches, at perhaps three or four points along each side of the heavy manta (Mexican muslin) board on which it is mounted. The use of a spacer allows the glass to 'float' an eighth to quarter of an inch above the bordado. In the photo, the spacer is the lighter wood between frame and the manta backing. For a better view, Left Click to enlarge. The spacer allows the bordado to look like fabric rather than, say, paper, which would be framed flush against the glass. The shadow under the fringed edge shows the piece 'floating'. The space between bordado and glass also allows the bordado to breathe, which prevents moisture buildup and mold. |
Armed with Debby's photos on my iPad, I introduced myself to don Eberardo. I wish I had a photo. Not one facial muscle moved in his expressionless face. It was, in fact, mournful in the inimitable manner of a Basset hound. With the subtlest of expression, he managed to convey a mix of deep skepticism and mild disapproval.
The 'Mask'
In his seminal work, The Labyrinth of Solitude, Octavio Paz writes about the 'mask' that Mexicans can wear to protect themselves from those in authority — first, of course, against the threats implied by Spanish authority. Yet even today, Mexicans can pull up masks to protect themselves against strangers, foreigners, who pose a potential threat to one's dignity.
Their fear, I have come to realize, is of being unable to provide what is needed or wanted. The roots of this fear lie in a vulnerability to displeasure or criticism — itself, a serious affront to dignidad, dignity, in Mexican culture.
I would never have recognized the 'mask' as such, except that I happened to share with my Spanish teacher a remarkable event. Late one afternoon I was walking back to our house along the via, dirt lane, that runs in front of the house we rented in Pátzcuaro. Leaning against a neighbor's gate was a young campesino whose face was absolutely expressionless, even slightly hostile.
I hesitated as I approached, unsure, but I decided to greet him with a friendly "Buenas tardes" and an innocuous comment about the likelihood of rain.
At my smile and words, his face opened into the most beautiful, engaging smile. If I hadn't seen the transformation with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it possible. When I described the incident to Francisco, he smiled knowingly and replied, "Sí, se cayó la máscara", "Yes, the mask dropped".
So I've become a student of the Mexican 'mask' which, to tell the truth, can be a bit daunting, even intimidating. I'm a California girl. My personal style is informal, friendly. I've taken up the challenge of finding ways to help Mexican acquaintances feel comfortable enough with me to drop their masks.
But I thought I'd found my match with don Eberardo. For starters, he's well into his eighties, which means he's pretty much seen it all. Next, my very explicit requirements clearly challenged, if not threatened, him. Fortunately, I had Debby's photo to show him exactly what I wanted. Later, he told me that the photo was invaluable in showing him how to frame the piece.
Here's the end result:
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| Tree of Life bordado from Tzintzúntzan, Michoacán. Framed in Coyacán, Mexico City |
When we came to pick up the finished pieces, I thought our pleasure would melt don Eberardo's distrust, but it wasn't to be. "Well," I reasoned philosophically, "you can't win them all."
Repeat Customers
Over the next couple of months, we sought don Eberardo's assistance with various other objects. We asked if they could varnish a wooden toy truck for our grandson, a small, carved wooden statue from Michoacán, and from our friend, Enedina, a string of four carved fish that, according to Purhépecha beliefs, protect the household. Each time, don Eberardo agreed to take on the project and the result was excellent. But the 'mask' remained firmly in place.
A Bordado From Zirahuén
Recently, I was fortunate to acquire a bordado stitched by one of the women in the Zirahuén Ladies Sewing Circle. So I made another trip to the frame shop. As before, don Eberardo's mask was firmly in place while we discussed details and chose a frame.
The day after I dropped off the bordado, I called to confirm that he would use a spacer—a detail I'd neglected to mention. He assured me that they would use a spacer, then adding confidently, "We will frame this piece precisely the way we framed the other."
I told him we'd be away for a few days, visiting our grandson in Chicago. He said he'd telephone when the piece was ready. As I was hanging up, I realized how reassuringly professional his voice had been. Was the 'mask' slipping even a tad?
When we got back, I called to see about the bordado. Don Eberardo's son, José, answered the phone and told me that they'd had to order the wood, but it had arrived so they'd make the frame and call when the piece was done. A few days later, I got the call: it's ready.
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| Claudia's Bordado, Ladies Sewing Circle of Zirahuén. Left click to see detail, including the Sun's down-turned mouth, which is traditional throughout Mesoamerica. Note also how Claudia used just a few stitches to depict the smallest bird. |
Don Eberardo kept his word. The framing is beautiful...exactly like the other two pieces. As we finished up, I chatted away...mentioning that before moving to Coyoacán we had lived in Pátzcuaro for three years. In response, cautiously, don Eberardo began to tell me that he was familiar with Michoacán and with Pátzcuaro. As he described places he had visited, I responded appreciatively.
My curiosity rose. Why was don Eberardo so familiar with the area? Before I could ask, out of the blue, he told me that his daughter had married a man from Michoacán and lived in a pueblo outside Morelia. Suddenly, unexpectedly..."se cayó la máscara", the mask dropped.
Don Eberardo's smile is gentle, his manner kind, even fatherly. We leaned against the counter, chatting and sharing experiences of our visits to Michoacán. He told me about the tiendita (neighborhood grocery store) his daughter runs in Michoacán, adding that he is nonplussed to understand why so many people come to shop at her store, which is in a tiny hamlet of three houses. But he answered his own question by adding that her customers tell his daughter that the employees in the large box stores aren't always nice, and the stores sometimes cheat. We commiserated along the lines of 'what has the world come to'.
Then he told me that from his tiny shop, they fill framing orders from areas around all around Mexico City—Puebla and Cuernavaca, each about an hour outside Mexico City in opposite directions—and the state of Mexico, which surrounds Mexico city like a horseshoe. Don Eberardo even joked with me of a mighty injustice: "the people come to my daughter's tiendita in the middle of nowhere, but no one comes to my tienda in Coyoacán!" Laughing at the irony, I replied, "Well, I come!"
As I write these words recalling a moment of unexpected pleasure derived from connecting with Mexico at such a human level, a gentle smile plays around my eyes and mouth. The words of our housekeeper in Pátzcuaro, Evangelina, come to mind, "Todos somos seres humanos", we are all human beings.
Yet Another Visit
Today Reed and I walked over to the framing shop to get pictures that I could use for this post. We're also discussing with don Eberardo how we might acquire an architectural piece—a hand-carved frame to hang picture-less above a credenza in the dining area.
As we walked up, don Eberardo was wearing his mask, but it fell quickly as we exchanged greetings. I explained that we wanted to take their photo to include in this post. At that point, he and the assistant became very busy getting out and dusting off a large oval frame, which they brought over to the counter for us to look at. The carving is done by machine, which leaves machine grooves. We like the style, but not the machine grooves.
To my astonishment, don Eberardo lifted the frame for the photo—all the while wisecracking that when we bring him a print of the photograph, we'll have to pay to have it framed! Who would believe it?
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| Don Eberardo hamming it up for the camera when we asked him to smile. Six months ago ...who would ever have guessed! |
And so to those who ask, "But what do you do in Mexico?" — we reply, "Oh, we just walk out the front door and see what happens."
Still Curious?
Jenny's posts titled Art and Friendship in Zirahuén, Michoacán, and The Art of the Zirahuén Ladies Sewing Circle in Michoacán, México, describe the crewel embroidery art of Debby Breckeen and the Ladies Sewing Circle she stitches with.
A number of Jenny's posts discuss the 'mask' in a variety of bureaucratic settings:
- Bureaucracy: Power of the Written Word;
- Bureaucracy: Encountering Labyrinths of Power;
- Bureaucracy: Tips for Succeeding with Mexican Bureaucracy.
Several of Jenny's Posts describe our neighborhood in Coyoacán's Colonia Parque San Andrés:
- A Walk Around Jenny's Neighborhood: Parque San Andrés, Coyoacán (Federal District, or Mexico City);
- Mexico Traditions: Discovering Pueblo in Coyoacán;
- Chilly Day in Mexico City gives way to Cultural, Culinary and Human Warmth relates our explorations of nearby Colonia San Ángel;
- Mexico Culture: Sunday in Mexico City describes our promenade up Reforma Boulevard, which is closed to traffic on Sundays, and visit to the Rufino Tamayo Museum in Chapultepec Park.
In a similar vein but having absolutely nothing to do with 'masks', are two of my favorite posts of taxi drivers we met in Pátzcuaro:
- Afternoon in Pátzcuaro describes the delightful exchange with a taxi driver when I couldn't get home because of a citizen protest blocking the road;
- Humble Man, Big Soul describes an unanticipated early-morning spiritual gift from a taxi driver.
Received via email: I just read your newest post and cannot express how much I appreciate this story of connections....how we are all truly human......and sometimes we connect if we have patience with and respect for one another.
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