mexico reloaded

The funny thing about going back is how different everything isn’t. The things that surprised you the first time around, you expect them to be at least a little novel or disconcerting upon reentry, but they aren’t, you just kind of assume them again very quickly. I guess I thought I’d hear music I’d forgotten, taste flavors I’d left behind, and visit places I had neglected to miss and feel nostalgic, but really, being here hasn’t jogged my memory about much. This time around my recollections seem to have been remarkably faithful. Maybe I just haven’t stayed away long enough.

This is probably tied in with why I don’t have any over-arching, grandiose observations about Mexican culture or people for the time being. There are definitely some differences since last time I was here, but mostly in me: this time around I’m much less interested in meeting people I don’t know. I’m much more protective of my time, where and how I spend it and with whom. I’m less into playing paddleball with my heart and more invested in my job and my friendships. I’m more critical of what takes place in my environment. All this in some ways makes me more Mexican, more like the people who live out their lives here without assigning any special significance to living out their lives here.

On the other hand my current existence in Queretaro is much more provisional than before. Last time it seemed important to unpack, decorate, make a home for myself. I have yet to unpack. Although I’m staying the same amount of time at China’s this year as I did last, I don’t feel uncomfortable with the notion of living out of my suitcase for another month.

I don’t feel the urge to travel. In fact I’d love an excuse to stay home for a weekend. I’m traveling anyway, because it’s free and I’d be sorry later if I didn’t, but somewhere along the way my fever for the open road seems to have broken.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m very happy here. Despite missing my dog and my neighbor there’s no place I’d rather be, at least for a little while. At times I feel disappointed with myself for feeling so complacent, for not taking advantage of every single moment to pack them with unforgettable adventures. Given the life I’ve chosen to lead for the last ten years or so I would consider the loss of my sense of adventure as a sort of death.

But then I take such pleasure from the most mundane occurrences. La China lends me the car. I find my favorite shampoo on sale. I get paid in pesos. All of this is also an adventure of sorts, being a normal person in normal circumstances in a place that’s very much not normal for me. I start feeling like I could do it forever if I had to, although unlike last time I’m now fairly certain I don’t want to. I tell all this to China, my fellow Globe-Trotting International Person of Talent and Intrigue. She shrugs and says, yeah, because it’s your second home.
Congratulations. You’ve finally made it. You’re culturally integrated. You can tell because you feel so damn prosaic. That’s the irony I guess…home is where you hang your wonder.