Okay I’m about to say something controversial…

Please don’t come for me Internet.

My love of Halloween has kinda been replaced…

*wait for screams of surprise to die down*

I have always been a huge fan of Halloween, even though I have (for years) committed the faux pas of wearing the same costume year after year after year. You know what? Creativity is hard ya’ll okay? Please don’t judge.

Anyway, as any sugar-loving human I have always appreciated the literal mountains of candy that are omnipresent during Halloween. I am also a huge, and only slightly ashamed, lover of Candy Corn. However, seeing the Día de los Muertos celebrations in Mérida and San Cristóbal de las Casas gave me such a huge respect and adoration for the traditions.

While I’m sure I will never fully understand the significance of the day for those who truly celebrate it and/or truly believe, it’s still lovely to witness. It was such an honor to be invited to the celebrations and seeing cemeteries full of joy, music, food, and laughter was such a startling but beautiful moment.** In every community there is death and there is always sadness and mourning. And yet, here the atmosphere is more of a celebration of those who have passed rather than misery that they are gone. I think that’s a truly impressive way to look at not only death but also the whole world. To focus on what we have and to be thankful for what we had rather than angry or hurt that it is now gone.

Also, in the Yucatán the day (in actuality it usually spans several days) is referred to as Hanal Pixan. The celebrations, altars, makeup, and food differ greatly from the image that most Americans have of the holiday, re: Coco (whose aesthetic is more reminiscent of the day in the center or the north of Mexico). Hanal Pixan is a beautiful demonstration of the continued Maya influence in the area. I am no expert but the altars of Hanal Pixan tend to use more banana leaves and other natural elements. Additionally, the Yucatán has a special food that they eat during this time called Pib.

Here’s the altar that my wonderful psychology class came together to create:

Also here is a lovely video that shows a little more about the preparation of Pib and the traditions and beliefs which surround it. Warning, only watch if you are prepared to cry buckets:

^the video is in mayan with subtitles in Spanish and English

**I dearly want to post pictures of the many cemeteries that we visited but I honestly don’t think that it’s my place. While we asked permission to take photos it feels different to put them on the internet. I would really encourage you to look up pictures online of Hanal Pixan and the cemeteries, especially in Zinacantan and San Juan Chamula. The traditions and clothing in Zinacantan are especially gorgeous and unique and feature beautiful floral patterns and decorations:

P.S. Many in Mérida and in San Cristobal de las Casa (in Chiapas) celebrated a modified version of Halloween as well. In San Cristobal kids dressed up (mostly as skeletons) and sang a special song to get candy. I heard the song like 30 times but the only part I understood was something about not wanting beer. I was rather confused but also it was adorable so it’s all good. In Mérida especially among the teen/young adult population Halloween was celebrated in rather the same way we do: people dressed up as sexy versions of things that maybe should never have been made sexy and use it as an excuse to drink.

The other day I went out with some friends from la UADY and other students from my study abroad program. We all waited for several minutes with a large group of people until the bouncers finally started to let people in. They slowly let in small groups of people, seemingly arbitrarily. As we waited I started to talk more with the other UADY students while many of the other Americans stayed together in a group. We waited, getting more and more impatient, until finally the other American students were let in but not the group I was standing with. After that I started paying more attention to the people who were being let in. Some of them clearly knew the bouncers, others were dressed up more than the rest of us, and the others who were let in were usually groups of attractive women. But what they all had in common? They were mostly white, and many seemed to be extranjeros (foreigners).

Soon it became clear that I wasn’t the only one who noticed this. One of the women, urged me to go stand at the front of the group and speak English. Within a few moments of doing so the majority of our group was let in. After a few moments, another woman told me that if I went back to the bouncer and spoke in broken Spanish I could probably get him to let in the rest of our group. And sure enough, that’s exactly what happened.

Obviously, who gets let into a club first is a fairly small issue, but it’s emblematic of a bigger problem. Events like these remind me of the immense amount of unearned and undeserved privilege that I have as a white person and as an American. Especially when I compare my experience living in Mexico as an American with the experience of many Mexicans living in America right now. Not once have I been berated for speaking English with my friends. In fact, people’s reactions are usually extremely positive and friendly. People are curious about what part of the United States I’m from, they compliment me for being able to speak basic Spanish and ask if they can practice their English with me. I have been treated with nothing but respect and kindness. My classmates offer to help with my Spanish, my teachers check in with me to make sure I’m understanding everything in class, strangers on the street offer to help me when I look confused. I am so truly in awe of how warm and open everyone has been. This only makes it harder to see the way that Americans treat the people who come to our country. I honestly don’t have the words to express the sadness and shame that I feel over the recent and not so recent acts of discrimination and hate that run rampant in the United States.

In just a few days I will have officially been here for two months. I honestly can’t believe it. I know how cliché this is but I’m going to say it because it’s extremely true: the time has truly flown by. I wanted to take a second to talk a little more about what my typical day looks like and how everything has been going.

First of all, It feels weird to be writing in English, like really weird. It almost feels too easy and too simple. I’ve only been in Mérida a short time and yet I’ve already gotten used to speaking Spanish. I don’t mean that in a “I’m so amazing at Spanish and my grammar is perfect” kind of way. It’s more that I’ve grown accustomed to the struggle of it. I’ve gotten used to how my tongue feels awkward in my mouth and has to fight my muscle memory to make the syllables. I’ve gotten used to my incorrect conjugations, how my brain gets lost in every sentence, and how I can never remember that it’s “el problema” not “la problema.”

I also apparently have a truly inexplicable accent. I’m quickly identified as an extranjera which makes sense because I’m white, I can’t conjugate verbs, and I say “like” at least 3 times per sentence. However, I’ve been asked if I’ve spent time in Spain? And several people have asked me if I learned Spanish from someone from Puerto Rico or Venezuela. Because I apparently “eat my letters, especially “s,” instead of fully saying them.” I don’t know how this happened because I have never been or met anyone from any of those places. In conclusion, I have no idea how I sound to native Spanish speakers but it seems like it must be fairly strange?

Additionally, my classes have definitely taken over my life in many ways. The workload is manageable but the fact that everything is in Spanish makes the work more time consuming and mentally draining. Things that used to come easily and/or require minimal effort now require the entirety of my attention and motivation. Luckily, I absolutely adore my classes. I’m taking an Introductory Anthropology class and an Educational Psychology class at la UADY (Universidad Autónoma de Yucatán) and an Epidemiology class at the Universidad Modelo (the private university). I’m also taking the two courses that my program offers: Advanced Spanish and Community and Culture of the Yucatán.

I’ve been extremely lucky because I only have classes Monday through Thursday. On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday I often have the chance to travel. My first few weekends I went to Chichén Itza:

and Uxmal:

2 gorgeous and impressive ruins near Mérida. I later visited the seaside towns of Progreso, Celestún, and Sisal:

And last but not least, spent the weekend in a gorgeous* hostel in Play del Carmen:

It was strange to be in such a touristy area after so many weeks in the casual and less- opulent Mérida. While Mérida is filled with locals going about their day, Playa is lleno de rich tourists. I met people from Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Puerto Rico, and Colombia. Most of whom lived nomadically and had thousands of inspiring stories about their travels.

Those conversations truly made me want to take advantage of my time here and continue to see all that I can. To live my life like this:

and not like this:

<3 Anne Elise

*If it seems like I’m using the word gorgeous a lot it’s because I am. The entire Yucatán peninsula is so truly stunning. Every time I travel I’m honestly floored by how gorgeous everything is.

I lost my Whitman water bottle.

You know the blue water bottle covered with whitman/pnw stickers that literally every whitman student has?

Yeah, I lost that one.

I am now using a water bottle from one of new universities. Luckily, it is also blue with white lettering, it is also a water bottle, and also has a screw on cap. An observer might not notice the difference. Or if they do notice the difference, they’ll be impressed by how well I’ve adapted to the new water bottle. But I know the truth of it. I know just how different this water bottle is from my old one. It lacks all the personal touches that I had grown accustomed to. The stickers, worn smooth by my habits and patterns, are gone. It’s shiny and pretty and quite functional but it feels awkward, different, and just somehow… off.

Sometimes I forget that I left my old one behind me somewhere until I reach for something familiar and find that things don’t work quite the same as they used too, and that the water leaves a slightly different taste in my mouth. It’s taller than my old one, and thinner too, and sometimes even when I think I’ve learned how tightly I need to grab it, it slips though my fingers. But most importantly, the cap on my new water bottle doesn’t screw on as tightly as my old one. And so, every once in a while, one small error, one thoughtless moment, or one incorrect assumption lets loose a flood of embarrassment, self-doubt, and wet notebooks.

When I left Seattle the blood-red sun glared down at me* and the sky was heavy with smoke from the fires. It wasn’t exactly the auspicious beginning that I had envisioned the million and a half times I had pictured that moment. After a less-than-stoic goodbye I got on the plane and spent the next four hours with “Point of No Return” stuck in my head. Yep, of all the songs in the world, it was that one.

After two flights that were simultaneously too long and too short, I landed in Mérida where customs stole all my fruit. I mean it makes sense that that happened and I get that they’re doing their job and protecting Mexico from my scary US grapes. But still! Anyway, after an exhausting day of sitting and stressing I finally met my lovely host mom Suraya. We ate Japanese food and I spent 10 minutes trying (and failing) to describe “lightning” using my jumbled Spanish and fairly nonsensical hand gestures.

I’ve now been here for a few days and I kind of don’t know what to say. It has been such an amazing, scary, and exhausting experience.There are so many differences big and small between Seattle and Mérida but for now I want to talk about an overarching theme that I’ve noticed in the short time I’ve been here:

I appreciate everything so much more here.

Seriously, I know it sounds a little ridiculous but give me a second to explain. There are so many things that I take for granted when I’m home, but when I’m here I have rediscovered how truly fantastic things are. Like showers! Seriously, showers! Can we please talk about this? After spending a day covered in sunscreen, bug spray, and sweat (so much sweat) a shower is just the most divine experience ever. Potable water is also really high up there on the list of things that I now cherish above everything else. Finally, and most importantly: the ability to communicate. This is my first time living outside the United States and it is hard, really hard. I knew it was going to be a challenge but I don’t think anything could have prepared me for how much mental energy it takes to exist in Spanish. The upside? There is no better feeling than having a real conversation with someone in another language and being able to say “woah I understood like 87% of what just happened!”

Anyway, I’m going to sign off now because I have homework to do. Take a hot shower and drink some tap water for me!

Anne Elise <3

*Doesn’t this sound like the beginning of a dystopian fiction novel? Watch out Suzanne Collins, my blog might be the next big thing in teen lit.