Vamoos a Mexico

I wasn’t even planning to go to the University of Guadalajara. I was actually trying to think of the name University of Guanajuato because it’s a sister institution to Southern Oregon University, where I took my nine-week intensive course in Spanish last summer. But I couldn’t think of Guanajuato and I was mostly persuaded it must be Guadalajara I wanted since both start with G and have too many u’s a’s, and j’s. It’s easy to see how I got the two confused.

It seems to be a happy confusion, though, because when I got to the Guadawada home page I found out they have a five-week Spanish for foreigners program that runs throughout the year. Guanawana only offers a regular sixteen-week semester, which I couldn’t afford in terms of either money or time away from home and Mary. Or money.

So after a few minutes’ thought, I took the online placement test to see which of ten levels I would be put in. I haven’t heard any results yet, but I didn’t feel like I did too well.

Then went to the registration page and filled that out. I wonder what they’ll think of me since I had to click on a year of birth and their earliest choice was 1950. I was born in 1948, so I lied about my age. Then I had to click on my year in college, which didn’t offer a post-doc option, so I clicked on senior. Then I had to pick a school where I am a student, but this one offered a write-in choice, so I said non-admit. Chances are good they’ll have no idea what non-admit means.

I had, however, no trouble entering my credit card information to pay the non-refundable $150 registration fee, so in the end I think I’ll be accepted and they’ll find a place for me.

I’m excited about the trip. I haven’t studied a lot in the year since I finished the program at SOU. It’s hard to study in a vacuum but that’s mostly what I’ve done in the four years since I first started at the local community college with a “conversational Spanish” course, which in no way led to any conversational skills beyond maybe ordering a chimmichonga at Taco Bell.

So after the four years since I began, I’m really only at a college two-year level, which is to say not much. Right now, though, I’m meeting with two native-speaker tutors who I contacted through an ad, so I’m trying to cram and be as well-prepared as I can be when I get there. I have to keep reminding myself that one goes into a program like this to learn Spanish, not because one already speaks Spanish.

And I’m also a little nervous, though not much. I worry that there will be a fuss at the border since I’ll carry in a two-months’ supply of my prescriptions, of which there are five, plus a dozen of so boxes of OTC medicines that I think I need to survive. Just because I’m something of a hypochondriac doesn’t mean I won’t get diarrhea. I worry I’ll miss the first day or five because I have diarrhea.

I’ll have to take a cab to the home of my home-stay Mexican family, which shouldn’t be a problem, but then I wonder what my family will be like. Then I’ll have to find the university and the right room in time for a Monday morning orientation, then I worry I might have some lazy and ill-tempered instructors, which is probably my most legitimate concern based on past experience with faculty in general.

According to the school’s website, Guadalabamba is “the cradle of Mexican folklore and the traditional culture that is most representative of the nation: mariachi music, charrería and Tequila.”

Great. I absolutely hate mariachi music, I don’t drink, and I can’t find charrería in any of my Spanish dictionaries. It might share the same root with “charrasquear,” which means either to strum a guitar or to stab a person. (I did not make that up.)

I did find a blog of one former student, though, and it seems the tequila was the source of most of her entries, with only a few brief comments about the actual school. She said that to really keep up, she’d like have to study like four hours a day or whatever, so that’s a good sign for me. I don’t see myself going out a lot with all my twenty-something fellow classmates drinking Diet Cokes while they get shitfaced on the local distilled spirits and dirty dance to the primitive polka rhythms of the native mariachi music

Speaking of getting stabbed, though, I take the U. at its website-word when it says it is located in a safe, charming neighborhood where I will enjoy the many restaurants, shops Starbucks and a Wal-Mart as long as I take cabs at night and don’t stray too far during the day. Do not approach large groups of idle young men with tattoos on their necks. Do not make eye contact with their women.

I’m actually not at all worried about security, despite Mexico’s well-deserved reputation for violence which in places like Ciudad Juarez can make Baghdad feel like Colonial Williamsburg. What can go wrong?

So, it’s “¡Arriba, arriba!” or “Up there, up there!” to Mexico, and I have to call the consulate in Portland to see if I need a visa and call my doctor since I’m sure I’ll need lots of shots. If you don’t need some shots to go there, it’s not an adventure.

I have lots of other things to do, and I leave in a month. I could probably be ready to go tomorrow, but a month will give me extra time to worry about details.