The beginning

It is beautiful. Mountains seem to be in every direction; large fields of wheat and maize are green but promise to turn brown; and most importantly, it is a welcomed change in humidity, as I no longer feel that I can swim through the air. Granted, Texcoco de Mora is not the cultural capital of the world but it has its own crappy charm. Plus, my house in the mountains has squirrel-shaped bushes and apple trees.

And there are loads of international folk. Soon-to-be-roomies are from Germany and Belgium and the Czech Republic (with my boss sharing the latter nationality). The head of my department is Australian, and he was the first person in Mexico with whom I had a real conversation. Like one I would have had with my professors. Oh, the thrill of throwing around environmental concepts and jargon until all the morning quesadillas are gone and you realize you must go back to work with a half-empty cup of coffee but a new stack of publications.

Later that day I met El Rincon, the bar of the community-college-like work grounds. I learned it is hard to say no when asked to dance. I stepped on many short men's feet that night while spinning and offering smiles in response to rapidly spoken Spanish

.

I did not work this week: it was, instead, filled with unexpected travel and lectures intended for and with agriculture students from Wisconsin. I did not understand everything told to me in broken English (plant pathology, breeding, and such are, admittedly, not my forte), and I spent time in open, sunny fields.

Aside I climbed pyramids, ranging from large and bulky to small and intricate, explored Mexico City a couple times, and ate local cuisine; it was a good week. Now all I need is my melodica.