Father's Day in Amecameca, Mexico

Oh, Mexico. You never know what you'll find. We had rabbit tacos at a roadside restaurant, and outside this car was sprouting... something.

I had had a PERFECTLY AWFUL experience at a conference in a nearby city, and returned to the capital with my mood gloomy and my ego fair bruised. Luckily, a Mexican friend had invited me to spend the day with her family to celebrate Father's Day in Amecameca - familiar to one and all as the starting-off point for my brother's long-past ascent of Iztaccihuatl and Popocatepetl. These are two mountains, volcanoes really, that sit next to each other south of Mexico City. There is a legend about them, with Izta the sleeping woman awaiting awakening by Popo, the warrior. Something like that. Anyway, Kyle climbed them back in 1987 or so, and set a record for speed (probably because he then skiied back down.) He was with his friend Larry, and once they got back to Amecameca, a party with homemade ("bathtub") tequila was waiting for them. I hear that was the last time Kyle had tequila.

And this is Popocatepetl. Iztaccihuatl hid behind the clouds this Father's Day.


Anyway, on with the 2011 story! Gaby and her daughter and husband picked me up, dusted me off, and took me out of the city. We had another soul in the car: Gaby's father-in-law, Delfino.

Me and Delfino.

He is a retired barman from one of the old Cabaret clubs in Mexico City. He knew we'd want margaritas at the parrilla (barbecue) so he made sure we had all the ingredients. We also picked up some fruit - like these crazy red rambutan.

We stopped for a quick look at the church in Amecameca, and Jorge, Gaby's husband, explained the different motifs. He's a serious history buff, and loves to share his love of Mexico. That's not uncommon, I think, in Mexico: there's something that's like patriotism but resonates more with culture and the milennia this country has weathered.

 There's so much still here to see, from those early cultures. It seems to me that Mexicans have a lot to be proud of. Mexicans, also, are survivors. They take the good and the bad and they don't differentiate - both are valuable, both give us something.

So, enough philosophizing and waxing poetic about Mexico. It's time to eat. I am drinking the best margarita I've ever had, made by the master (Delfino) himself. The cooking bit is just for the camera.

 Tacos. Tacos!!!! This was the best lunch ever.

 A passel of adorable little ones regaled us with a talent show. Here they are rehearsing:

And in full voice:

Guess who didn't think about work, or stupid politics, or anything but sunshine, hammocks, tacos, kids and margaritas? Best antidote ever.

Pristina Kosovo

I spent all day in the hotel yesterday, Sunday, working like a madwoman.  Today is Memorial Day and I'll also work all day. Poor me! It's not the most exciting work, either - the skill sets one uses to create a Performance Monitoring and Evaluation Plan hover at the lower levels of intellectual development, like counting and pleasing clients. Hopefully someday soon I'll get to head into the more advanced activities at work - planning a real evaluation, training data collectors, getting into the field, cleaning data, analyzing, writing. I'm bored!

Kosovo is not as I expected - it's very modern, very European, and has advanced from the days of war (at least in the limited parts of Pristina I've seen so far.) The hotel, food, coffee, services, beer, that sort of thing - all very nice. They're big fans of America here, and especially of Bill Clinton:

The weather has been absolutely ideal - sunny with cool breezes, maybe 75 degrees - and people flood the streets to sit in cafes and have coffee. "Macchiato" is the very common coffee drink, kind of a mellow cappuccino (without the foam and nutmeg and attitude.)

The other drink is raki. I scared the bejeezus out of this guy when I sat down and asked if I could take a picture with him and his drink:

As I've come at the beginning of a project here, I'm watching my colleagues set up an office.  They know what they're doing, but it's a million-and-one small decisions (what color and when to paint the walls of the office, how much phone credit to give staff, how to hide the computer cables so the place looks nice...)  I opened a project office in Zambia last year for three people, though, and it nearly killed me - so many details.  It was my first time, so there are lots of mistakes I wouldn't make again (like trying to do everything myself, and relying on bankers).  Still, I have a ton of respect for the chief of party here, who will have a staff of a dozen and all the attendant office-related challenges and headaches. Here's the team, looking busy:

As many good things as there are in such a position (I'm sure the perks are nice, plus Kosovo seems a lovely place to live), they will pay for it with hours and hours of work outside of a 9-5 schedule.

I'm learning more about The Law than I ever knew existed.  It takes so much work to bring a case to trial, and so many people.  Another thing about the U.S. that I have always taken for granted - if I needed a court, a lawyer, and a judge to hear me, it's all going to be provided. (Yeah, I know nothing's perfect.) But here, and in many places, it's a luxury they don't afford.

This was my parting meal in Pristina. It's a hard boiled egg, wrapped in chicken, rolled in corn flakes, and deep fried. You don't get something like this just anywhere. I think it's called a Chicken Egg Roll.