Not for the faint-hearted: los dumplings de carne con gordito, las diez horas de encierro y otras frustraciones

4/8/2018. ULN-PEK vuelo no. OM224. 

No, no todo lo que brilla es oro. Mongolia te abraza el alma con atardeceres multicolores, con nubes danzantes, con dunas, acantilados, montañas, ríos y lagos que te estrujan sabroso de pies a cabeza. Los mongoles te reciben no solo con bizcochitos y terroncitos de azúcar y té de leche, sino también con sonrisas francas, risas contagiosas y una curiosidad desinteresada. Sin embargo, como bien dijo algún economista famoso, there is no such thing as a free lunch.

De la persistencia como requisito indispensable para obtener una visa mongola

La misma planeación del viaje fue tan accidentada como las rutas que fuimos trazando  a doble tracción por la estepa y el barro del Gobi. Para un mexicano no es fácil averiguar cómo hacerse de una visa, posiblemente porque desde 2017, parece, ya no hay Embajada de Mongolia en México. Lo que sí hay es un sitio de internet obsoleto, que no sabes que es obsoleto sino hasta que, después de varios intentos infructuosos de hacer contacto con un humano, terminas por hablar con el antiguo cónsul, quien amablemente te informa que "aquí ya no es". En la Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores dijeron que la Embajada de Corea tenía un anexo consular que procesaba visas para Mongolia, pero dado que nadie contestaba el teléfono en dicha embajada, terminé por mandar un Rappi (servicio de mensajería que se contrata a través de una app de teléfono) para pedir informes. Que ahí no había nada de eso, dijeron. Al presentar queja a la SRE por los malos informes, corrigieron, que ah no, perdón, no es ahí, es en la Embajada de Estados Unidos donde se procesan las visas para Mongolia. Patrañas (aunque todo esto habla más de la calidad de las instituciones en México que de otra cosa). Una agencia de viajes local que encontré al azar en internet prometía gestionar los trámites para visas a cualquier país del mundo, pero cuando los contacté dijeron que a Mongolia ya no tramitaban visas porque, efectivamente, ya no hay embajada y entonces no sabían cuál era el proceso.

Escribí entonces a una agencia de viajes que encontré en Trip Advisor con la que terminé planeando mi itinerario y quienes me ayudaron a hacer el trámite para recoger una visa en el aeropuerto al llegar a Ulaanbaatar, pero ello implicó una incertidumbre tremenda: primero, porque quién sabe si la agencia fuera real; segundo, porque ese trámite solo era válido si y solo si no podías obtener una visa en tu país de origen, y nada me ASEGURABA que efectivamente no era posible obtener la visa en México de algún modo aún desconocido), y por último porque el trámite implicaba presentar boletos de avión y confirmaciones de hoteles aun cuando nadie garantiza que la visa efectivamente se otorgue o que el trámite se apruebe a tiempo. Además, a pesar de que el sitio web del Aeropuerto Internacional Chinggis Khan de Ulaanbaatar parece tener información sobre visas para turistas internacionales, ¡la información está en mongol! Absurdamente, en su página hay un botoncito, tan prometedor como inútil, que dice "English" y lleva a un menú principal en ese idioma, como es de esperarse... pero cualquiera de los submenús, incluidos los que claramente contienen información para turistas internacionales, están en mongol.

De los copiosos dumplings de carne con gordito

Cualquier viaje a una región remota del mundo requiere realizar una serie de peripecias, digamos, normales: obtener el visado, tomar múltiples y largos vuelos con conexiones comúnmente complicadas, enfrentar problemas de comunicación en un idioma que por lo general no es el tuyo o que, aunque sea el tuyo, las cosas pueden interpretarse de manera distinta, entre otros. Mongolia en lo particular me parece que puede complicar adicionalmente las cosas. Digamos que no es para los débiles de espíritu, por llamar de algún modo a las personas poco proclives a salir de su zona de confort.

Primero, la comida en general no tiene gran variedad, además de que es sustantivamente distinta de lo que están acostumbrados nuestros paladares occidentales (que es una forma elegante y políticamente correcta de decir que está bastante pinchita). Desde luego, en la capital no faltan los restaurantes que hallarías en algún barrio posh de cualquier urbe relativamente cosmopolita. Pero en lo que llamo la Mongolia rural, que es lo que realmente vale la pena visitar de ese país, no hay nada de eso. Los desayunos, típicamente entre 8 y 9 de la mañana, eran por mucho la comida del día que más temía. La mayoría de las veces incluyó un surtido de panes de bolsita: un hojaldre, que dudo que alguna vez haya sido crujiente, con un relleno dulce artificial; una pieza de pan Wonder, siempre sin tostar, con algún tipo de mermelada (que, a pesar de venir de un bote claramente comprado en el súper, parecía tener fruta de verdad); una galleta que quiso ser polvorón pero terminó siendo bísquete, harto insípida (parecida a los bizcochitos que nos daban de bienvenida cada que llegamos a un ger). En un mismo plato, podían venir dos o tres de los anteriores, un huevo frito, tres rebanadas de pepino, dos tomatitos cherry y 3 rebanadas de manzana. Sustituye un gajo de naranja por las rebanadas de manzana de cuando en vez. Otras veces había desayuno local, que típicamente consistía en carne de res o cordero con arroz o en un caldo de harina. En ocasiones a todo esto se añadía un yogurt casero, bastante agrio, o uno de cajita que llevaba días en el carro viajando con nosotros sin refrigeración. En suma, el desayuno era casi siempre bastante improvisado, tantito de esto, tantito de aquello, pon todo revuelto en un mismo plato, y voilà. Le pregunte a Gaana qué era lo que desayunaban en su casa, y dijo que típicamente era algo así, o sobras de la cena del día anterior. 

El almuerzo, que normalmente hacíamos por ahí de la 1, aunque a veces bastante más tarde si demorábamos en llegar a nuestro destino, típicamente lo cocinaba Gaana en el ger principal de la familia que nos hospedaba, o bien on-the-road, en la estufa portátil que traíamos en la van. Consistía en algún tipo de carbohidrato con verduras y soya: fideos salteados con verduras y soya, arroz con pollo y verduras y soya, pasta con res y verduras y soya. Muchos de los platillos que preparan, incluso para el desayuno, tienen carne de res, y nunca es carne magra. Viene con grasita y tendón. Cuando comíamos de paso en algún restaurante local, nos daban algún caldito de res con fideos o arroz y verduras (con soya, desde luego), o unos pedazos de carne amalgamados con harina en forma de tortilla y fritos--platillo muy típico de nombre impronunciable--. Estas tortillas no eran malas, el problema era que te servían cinco y eso conformaba toda tu comida. Algún día almorzamos dumplings rellenos de res y cordero y verduras. Estaban buenos, all things considered, pero al igual que las tortillas de carne, hallaba difícil deglutir cuatro o cinco de esos dumplings sin otro acompañamiento. 

La cena era regularmente más variada y abundante. Incluía muchas de las combinaciones del almuerzo más otras recetas especiales, aunque siempre con res o cordero, y alguna combinación de arroz o fideos, y de papa, zanahoria, repollo, tomate. Después de la primera noche, que por alguna razón comenté que me gusta el picante, compramos una salsa picante-no picante, dulce y malona, como Tabasco-meets-ketchup. Otro día me compró Gaana unos fideos instantáneos que, junto con el cocido de harina y cordero, aparentan ser los mejores remedios contra la resaca, según dicen. Otro día en el que coincidimos con unas coreanas en uno de los campamentos me tocó kimchi y piececitas de sushi con nada más que arroz y alga. En mi última noche la familia anfitriona cocinó un cordero muy rico, el famoso Mongolian barbecue, con papas y zanahorias y arroz. Y grasita y tendón.

Les gustan mucho las salsas y aditamentos artificiales, como la soya y los polvitos que vienen en los fideos instantáneos. Y la catsup. Les encaaaanta la catsup. Para mí que, muy profundamente, saben que su comida no es buena y por eso tienen que añadirle todas esas cosas. A esta hipótesis también abona una conversación que tuve con Gaana, en la que le pregunté que qué era lo que más extrañaría si fuera a vivirse a otro país. En contraste con mi respuesta, mencionó explícitamente que la comida definitivamente no.

En suma, un día me dieron arroz con carne de res de snack. Con eso creo que resumo todo.

Disclaimer: acá vale la pena decir que desde un principio me preguntaron que qué comía y qué no. Yo dije que como de todo, que me sirvieran lo que come todo el mundo acá. Quería la real experiencia mongola. Sí vi que un día que a mí me servían un caldito de arroz con res y leche de té para cenar, a unos franceses les llevaban una pasta que se veía rica. Creo que con todo y todo, sin embargo, no escogería otra respuesta. En la vida, siempre habrá pasta con verduras.

De caminos accidentados y las diez horas de encierro

Llegar a prácticamente cualquier cosa fuera de UB implica horas de andanzas en terrenos rugosos, caminos empedrados y, en nuestro caso, ríos impredecibles de lodo y ramas por las fuertes lluvias que nos tocaron durante varios días. Yo opté por ahorrarme una jornada así de 12 horas al volar de UB a Dalanzadgad en mi primer día de ruta. Aun así, todos los días eran rutas de entre 3 y hasta 6 horas, que la verdad disfruté enormemente porque los indescriptibles paisajes no daban para menos. Desde un principio, cuando la agencia de viajes me mandó el itinerario propuesto, pregunté cuánto tiempo pasaríamos manejando de un lugar a otro, y me dijo que entre 3 y 4 horas, a veces 5. Pero no, la realidad fue más cercana a entre 5 y 6, a veces 3-4. Y un día fueron diez. En la séptima hora, cuando me dijeron que faltaban todavía 100 kilómetros, y yo me daba cuenta de que íbamos a unos 30-35 kilómetros por hora en promedio, me quería echar al precipicio. Escribí a la agente enojado para decirle que "no viene hasta acá para pasar todo el día en una van". Mi comentario era válido, sobre todo considerando que ni la agente ni mi guía manejaron bien las expectativas (distinto habría sido si me hubieran dicho desde un inicio que los trayectos serían de 7 horas diarias, cuando al final eran de 5 en promedio). Mi comentario era también injusto porque las demoras se debieron en gran medida a las lluvias, y honestamente el chofer fue increíblemente hábil al llevarnos de un lado a otro de forma segura y sin mayores contratiempos. 

Pero sí hay que saber que en la Mongolia rural estás lejos de todo. Si te da un infarto, ahí quedas.

De las otras aventuras inherentes a los viajes locales

1. Letrinas rule. Everywhere.
2. Acostúmbrate a no bañarte por al menos tres días seguidos. Las toallitas húmedas y un buen desodorante son tus amigos.
3. Más vale que no seas especialit@ o asquerosit@. Acá se comparten las sábanas y las cobijas. Los trastes y cubiertos se "lavan" con un wipie. La gente entra a tu ger como Otgonbayar por su casa (después de todo sí es su casa). Lo mismo con las ranas.
4. Si mides más de 1.65-1.70m, está consciente de que te vas a pegar en la cabeza *muchas* veces. Y que posiblemente no quepas en las camas.
5. No temas al aparentemente estado endeble de la infraestructura. Los puentes parece que se van a caer, pero no se caen.

La vida de los mongoles, en general, pero sobre todo la de aquellos que viven en las zonas rurales, me hicieron identificar más claramente los hábitos obsesivos-compulsivos de la cultura occidental. Me empujaron a buscar vivir de forma más sencilla, más social. Está por verse cuánto dura ese empuje pero el concepto, en principio, me gusta.

No todo lo que brilla es oro

31/Jul/2018. No todo lo que brilla es oro.

Tsenkher.

Las lluvias borraron las huellas que típicamente seguimos para encontrar el camino hacia el siguiente destino. En los tramos en donde había algo más parecido a un camino de tierra, el zoquete hacía imposible el paso, por lo que había que hacer camino por donde se pudiera. A decir verdad, en la mayoría de los lugares por donde hemos andado, en el sur y suroeste del país al menos, el terreno es poco accidentado así que es relativamente fácil meterse con una 4x4 por donde sea. El problema después de las lluvias evidentemente era el lodazal. Por lo mismo nos perdimos varias veces pero Bataa es una bestia, en el mejor sentido de la palabra, y avanza por donde crees que no se podría avanzar, se baja de la van para ver cómo está el terreno, y siempre encuentra una manera de llegar. Más allá de los lodazales, la lluvia hace que la arena mojada brille intensamente, aun sin sol.

Llegamos a un pueblo a buscar un restaurante donde comer. En el primer restaurante nos dijeron que regresáramos en 20 minutos porque el dueño tenía que ir a hacer una vuelta, así que buscamos otras opciones. Encontramos otro lugar cerrado y un tercero que tenía a un grupo de unos 10-12 turistas, y en el lugar no había cupo para más comensales. Por lo mismo decidimos entonces ir primero a uno de los ubicuos minimarkets a comprar snacks y otras chunches, y regresar después al primer restaurante. Le dije a Gaana que en lo que ordenaban y estaba lista la comida, saldría a caminar y tomar fotos. En los pueblos adonde he llegado, como en este, no hay mucha vida. Imagino que tendrá que ver con la muy baja densidad poblacional en el país pero luego pienso que localmente los pueblos tendrían de alguna forma que adaptarse a tener un tamaño acorde a las necesidades de sus habitantes y que, por lo mismo, localmente sí se vería más actividad. Pero no. Lo cierto es que Mongolia es un país en el que la mitad de sus poco más de 3 millones de habitantes vive en la capital, y la segunda ciudad más poblada no tiene más de 100,000 habitantes, por lo que los pueblos están poblados verdaderamente con muy poca gente, un banco, una escuela, algunos restaurantes, una cancha de basquetbol (raro) y, eso sí, muchos minimarkets, uno al lado del otro y todos con los mismos productos (Hotelling estaría orgulloso). Las casitas de la mayoría de los pueblos que hemos visitado son muy pintorescas, con paredes y techos de muchos colores, en gran contraste con los mojones de concreto gris que son los altos edificios de la capital. Regresé al restaurante y, mientras comía una sopa de fideos con carne de res y verduras, Gaana me enseñó a jugar un juego de cartas, huzur. Muy a su pesar, le gané las 2 o 3 veces que jugamos, y me decía en su inglés mocho, "beginners have luck".

Acá cabe hacer un paréntesis para decir que Gaana es jugadora profesional de ajedrez y, no sé si los ha gaanado (see what I did there? Jaja), pero al menos ha participado en campeonatos internacionales representando a Mongolia (y porta airosa su camisa amarilla de alguna competencia de los países ASEAN que tuvo lugar en Singapur hace un tiempo). Tiene 20 años y estudia relaciones internacionales, aunque dice que no le gusta mucho estudiar, pero que quisiera trabajar como diplomática. En su afán por impresionar, se jacta de ser buena en todo lo que hace, y me dice luego de que la felicito por la cena, "I am such good cooker", o cuando le pregunto qué hace los fines de semana y me dice que va al karaoke con sus amigos, "I am such good singer", o cuando vamos a la cascada y le pregunto que si sabe nadar, "Oh, I swim so good" (aunque cuando le pregunté que cuánto nada y en cuánto tiempo, ya nada más me dijo que nadó en la escuela pero que es principiante). Todo esto para decir que las derrotas contra un aprendiz amateur novato principiante en el huzur le calaron hondo.

Más tarde llegamos al campamento 3. Bienvenida en el ger de la familia nómada, té de leche, galletitas, terroncitos de azúcar. Quería comentarlo después, en algún post dedicado a la manera de ser de los mongoles, pero es relevante decir ahora cuánto me sorprenden las interacciones entre extraños. Después de los sain ban oo de cortesía, la plática fluye sin parar. No sé de qué tanto platican, que si el clima, que si el turista que llegó y el que se fue, que si la comida, que si la actividad vespertina, que si escasea el agua, que si el camello se torció la pata, pero hablan y hablan y, sobre todo, ríen. Ríen mucho. Se sirven té o leche de yegua y toman todos del mismo tazón. Bataa se acomoda en el piso del ger, semiacostado y sin pena, a tomarse su tecito de leche. Yo también me siento en el piso, recargado contra una de las camas en donde hay alguien dormido y cubierto con una cobija hasta la cabeza blanca, y después en esa cama se sienta la mamá de la familia, claramente la jefa de familia, que no deja de hablar, con firmeza. Mientras tanto, alguno de los otros choferes de turistas que están también de paso busca una taza en uno de los 2-3 muebles del ger, abriendo puertas y cajones hasta que la encuentra. Una de las otras guías, que no aparenta haber puesto un pie en ese ger antes, mira las fotos en otro de los muebles y hace preguntas, que quién es este, en dónde estaban aquí, cuántos hijos tiene este otro. Hay como 2 o 3 conversaciones sucediendo simultáneamente. En eso sale un gato de atrás del mueble nada más a curiosear y, después de algunos intercambios entre ellos, Gaana me dice que ahí detrás hay cuatro gatitos recién nacidos.

Y bueno, así son todos, pero esta familia era particularmente conversadora. Le preguntaban a Gaana que de dónde era yo, que qué hacía, que cuántos días estaba de viaje, y que por qué no tenía pelo, que si me gustaba rasurarme siempre la cabeza o qué. Les expliqué que sí, que me gusta rasurarme la cabeza, pero que además no tengo pelo en la parte de arriba, y querían saber por qué. Qué aquí no hay pelones, y me decían que no, que es muy raro. La mamá en eso me acarició la cabeza y hacía ooo, o algún ruido que me hizo pensar que le parecía suave, y le habló al hijo de unos 4-5 años para que me tocara también. Se despertó el abuelo. Solo se descubrió la cara y se puso a platicar con todos los presentes como si los conociera de toda la vida. Propusieron jugar huzur, que al cabo yo ya sabía, aunque ahora era en equipo, y Gaana y yo ganamos los primeros dos juegos y perdimos los siguientes cinco, aparentemente por culpa de Gaana porque no dejaba de pedir disculpas y hacer gestos de profunda vergüenza.

La lluvia seguía. Aun así había que ir a conocer los flaming cliffs, cañones de barro rojo que brilla intensamente, sobre todo en atardeceres soleados aparentemente. El área, famosa porque fue el primer lugar en donde se encontraron huevos de dinosaurio, entre otros fósiles, seguramente es el lugar más parecido a Marte aquí en la Tierra. El barro empapado lo hacía verse más flamante de lo que seguramente es cuando está seco, aunque quizás de un rojo menos intenso. El lodo dificultaba mucho el caminar sin resbalar, y por lo mismo más valía mantenerse lejos de la orilla. Vimos muchas cabras. La verdad no sé qué hacían ahí porque evidentemente no había gran cosa qué pastar, pero pues tampoco se les veía mucho problema en mantenerse trepadas en cualquier pendiente con todo y todo. Di gracias que fui en chanclas y no en tenis, porque terminé con barro entre los dedos, dentro de las uñas y en el pantalón hasta arriba del tobillo. Nada que una enjuagadita y unas toallitas húmedas no quitaran. De todos modos, después de tres días de agua apenas suficiente para beber y cocinar, otras partes requerían también de una enjuagadita, y nadie se quejaba.

Antes de que cayera la noche, dejó por fin de llover. Aun así, algunos contactos nos habían prevenido que saliéramos temprano porque había varias áreas con mucho lodo. Al día siguiente, alrededor de las 9am, salimos nosotros y otras cuatro vans en caravana por si alguien presentaba problemas. Apenas pasaron 15 minutos, nos topamos con un río de lodo de unos 100 metros de ancho que impedía el paso, y con otras 2-3 vans que habían llegado antes. La gente, la mayoría turistas con sus guías y choferes, tomaba fotos del rápido torrente de tierra, rocas y ramas que inundaban el valle por las lluvias. Unas coreanas se tomaban selfies haciendo la típica V asiática. Unos franceses hablaban de cómo esto seguramente agravaba la desertificación de la región. Los choferes, conscientes de su responsabilidad de llevar a los visitantes a su destino, discutían y exploraban las distintas alternativas para cruzar, o no. Una van salió en una dirección al margen del río y otra en el sentido opuesto, imagino que para ver si había alguna zona que permitiera el cruce. Otras 7-8 vans fueron llegando durante la siguiente hora. Dos personas entraron al lodazal cogidos de la mano. Los demás mirábamos, tensos, cómo atravesaban sin que el agua les llegara más arriba de las rodillas, alcanzando el otro lado en apenas unos cinco minutos, aunque después se adentraron de nuevo en el río para asegurarse de que la corriente y la profundidad del zoquete eran similares en distintos puntos del cruce. El consenso fue que sí podríamos cruzar, aunque los rostros de todos no reflejaban precisamente la mayor certidumbre.

El primer intento lo haría una Land Cruiser que parecía el vehículo más sólido. Trajeron un cable de acero, no sé de dónde, y la amarraron a una de las vans rusas, que la jalaría hacia afuera en caso de ser necesario. Silencio. Seguramente quienquiera de nosotros que estuviera pensando en comprar un vehículo todo terreno se convenció instantáneamente en darle su dinero a la Toyota por una de estas porque cruzó como hipopótamo o búfalo o cualquier bestia que cruce sin problema ríos caudalosos, rompiendo olas y nadando contra corriente. Júbilo. Enseguida se aventó la van rusa, y cruzó también sin problemas. Y así siguieron una segunda, una tercera, una Delica, todas a todas luces haciendo uso evidente de su doble tracción, pero sin mayor problema. La segunda Delica se atascó y la tuvieron que sacar a empujones entre varios. Después seguimos nosotros y llegamos al otro lado a volantazos pero sin grandes sacudidas. Esperamos una media hora más a que otros tres, más o menos, cruzaran, y a que los que faltaban se decidieran a no intentarlo. 

Desde luego lo que es más visible de esta anécdota es el resultado exitoso, que hayamos cruzado, con toda la tensión esperada en los momentos clave. Lo que quizás sea menos palpable del relato, pero que me marcó muy profundamente, fue el sentido de unidad de mongoles, coreanos, franceses, mexicanos; hombres, mujeres; niños, adultos. Aun cuando algunos terminaron por no cruzar por voluntad propia, había una fuerza colectiva muy poderosa, de que de aquí salimos todos o no salimos. Los campamentos nómadas no se prestan mucho a conocer a otros turistas porque cada quien va y viene a diferentes tiempos, y no hay un área común que se preste para sacarle plática a un extraño, compartir una comida, tomarte una cerveza en medio de una charla. Así, no deja de sorprender que ante la adversidad todos hayamos conocido al vecino y al vecino del vecino, al que es más como tú y al que es menos como tú, al que va hacia donde vas y al que no. Y no sé por qué nos esperamos a la adversidad para eso.

Seguimos en caravana en la medida que nuestros destinos coincidían. Nos detuvimos varias veces por el lodo, a ver a qué decisión conjunta se llegaba para proceder. Llegamos por fin unas 3-4 vans como a las 5pm al monasterio Ongi, en donde además de duchas, había áreas comunes, vino y cerveza. El Dorado. Particularmente ante las circunstancias del día, la celebración no era sino justa y necesaria. 

Hoy lloré en el desierto

29/Jul/2018. Hoy lloré en el desierto.

Ongi Monastery.

La vida me ha enseñado que cuando quieres algo chingón hay que talonearle. Las experiencias hasta el momento en Mongolia son muestras vivas de ello. Parece que cada obstáculo se ha visto recompensado por al menos un evento que me ha dejado boquiabierto. Simplemente llegar al desierto del Gobi fue toda una travesía, y vaya que ha valido la pena.

Salimos del campamento 1 alrededor de las 9am, sin jamás volver a ver una carretera construida por el hombre. Si para llegar al campamento 1 me cuestioné cómo hacía Bataa para saber hacia dónde iba, para llegar al campamento 2 me lo pregunté unas 10 veces (y para el campamento 3 y 4 fueron 100 y 1000 veces, respectivamente, aunque ya tengo algunas posibles hipótesis). Decir que íbamos por un *camino* de terracería sería una exageración y posiblemente un halago para la tierra que apenas mostraba algunas huellas de llanta aquí y allá. Claramente nos perdimos varias veces y, aunque no me lo decían abiertamente, las reversas y los más intensos intercambios de ideas entre Bataa y Gaana hacían evidente que no íbamos en la dirección correcta.

Después de unas tres horas, llegamos finalmente a lo que parecía una duna, la cual mantuvimos por otra hora y media a nuestro lado izquierdo. Más tarde me enteraría de que, sí, esa duna era el principio de un desierto blanco de arena y más arena que se extendía a cientos de kilómetros hacia el sur-suroeste. En el camino encontramos, como desde el día anterior, vacas y caballos y cabras pastando, pero ahora también camellos. Claramente pertenecían a alguien porque portaban unos moños distintivos de colores en las orejas. Quizás por eso me llamó la atención que todos estos animales pastaran libremente, sin que hubiera necesariamente algún vestigio de civilización humana cerca. En algún momento nos encontramos con una mezcla de burrito sabanero y cebra que pastaba solo. Nos acercamos para verlo mejor y se dio a la fuga, así que empezó la carrera entre predador y presa hasta que pudimos verlo mejor para luego dejarlo ir. Todo esto duró 3 minutos a lo mucho pero me pareció un episodio completo de algún programa del National Geographic. Nunca supimos bien a bien qué animal era.

Llegamos al campamento 2. Nos recibieron, como ya se va haciendo costumbre, con té de leche, galletitas y terrones de azúcar. Esta familia tiene un niño y una niña de unos 4 y 2 años, muy bonitos, además de simpáticos. No conocí a la mamá pero el papá, el abuelo y la tía eran todos guapos. A pesar de que saben que no hablo mongol, me hacían preguntas en su idioma, que supongo esperaban que de algún modo entendiera o que Gaana tradujera, y todo el tiempo me miraban fijamente a los ojos.

Fui a mi ger a dejar mis cosas. Lloviznaba y hacía mucho viento. En eso llegó una manada de camellos y se estacionaron justo afuera. Los miraba desde mi cama, y me acosté un rato a descansar mientras los veía hacer nada más que rumiar. La cama me quedaba chica, cosa que al día siguiente Gaana contaría al abuelo, por lo cual me pediría disculpas, "sorry, sorry", las únicas dos palabras en inglés que le oí decir. Me preparé para ir a hacer un paseo en camello, aprovechando que tenían que llevarlos a tomar agua. Alguna vez en el Thar había montado a camello, aunque creo que esos eran de una sola joroba, dromedarios, dirá algún necio. En todo caso, no recuerdo que tuvieran la joroba tan caída. Me enteré que en la medida que van consumiendo sus "reservas" de agua y comida, se les van cayendo. Y sí, en cuanto tomaron lo que parecieron 100 litros de agua de un riíto entre las dunas, que parecía apenas agua de lluvia, se endurecieron de nuevo. Hermosas bestias, se veían increíblemente mansas, pero parece que no lo son tanto, más en estos lares en donde el agua y la comida a veces escasea, y por lo mismo les ponen desde pequeños un ganchillo que les atraviesa la parte blanda de la nariz, como un arete, de donde amarran las riendas, lo que ayuda a los jinetes a controlarlos en caso de que se alebresten.

Regresamos al campamento y fui a caminar hacia las dunas escuchando a Ed Sheeran y The Fray y Coldplay y Jason Mraz (hey, andaba de romántico). Y lloré. Me sobrecogieron el viento, la arena en mis ojos, el atardecer, la llovizna. La vista de las dunas y los camellos y los gers, y los pensamientos sobre cómo es la vida del día a día en el desierto. Me sentí chiquitito en esa inmensidad, sobre todo recordando los días que tomó llegar hasta aquí. 

Y el cielo. 

En mis lecturas previas al viaje leí en algún lugar que Mongolia tiene los mejores cielos *del mundo*. Posiblemente no se equivoquen. Todos los días, sean soleados o nublados, de noche y de día, los cielos han sido un espectáculo. Por si fuera poco, regresé al campamento y me recibió un doble arcoiris completo. Qué más se le puede pedir al desierto. A un viaje. A la vida (habiendo cubierto al menos las necesidades básicas, claro está, y sobre esto reflexionaré más adelante).

Planeamos ir a las dunas después de la cena, que consistió en alguna cosa poco memorable, quizás unos fideos con soya y algo de carne de res. Nunca imaginé que “ir a las dunas” significara escalar un monstruo de arena de 300 metros de alto (eso dicen, aunque yo pienso que era un poco menos, no por eso menos imponente); de otro modo habría comido menos porque con el estómago lleno cada paso hacia arriba se dificultaba más. Subimos Gaana y yo el primer tercio con relativa facilidad. Dejamos los zapatos en la base y seguimos descalzos. Corrí. Le propuse jugar unas carreras pero no me hizo mucho caso, quizás porque sabía lo que venía. Fue al empezar el segundo tercio, ya con el pulso acelerado, que aprecié mejor la pendiente. He de confesar que, a partir de entonces, dudé más de una vez si podría llegar, aun cuando veía a otros aparentemente más viejos o en peor condición física que venían ya de regreso (luego pensé que quizás nunca llegaron). Para terminar ese segundo tercio tuve que idear distintas maneras de subir, agazapado y escalando con pies y manos, en zigzag, por las huellas que habían dejado otros, por un camino no transitado que parecía más largo pero menos empinado, solo para darme cuenta de que una vez que llegaba ahí, ahora era el lado de donde venía el que parecía menos empinado. Jadeando, me senté a tomar fotos y recuperar el aliento. Y si ya me regreso, pensé, y veía a un señor de unos 55-60 años que seguía intentando subir aunque tuviera que detenerse por unos segundos cada 3-4 pasos. No es la arena, es el viento, me dijo. Al comenzar el último tercio tuve que hacer eso de dar unos cuantos pasos, 8, 10, y parar. Servía para apreciar el panorama porque hacia dónde miraba habían decenas de posibilidades de fotografías de concurso. Un atardecer es un atardecer, aquí y en China, que está a la vuelta, aun cuando esté nublado, aun cuando la arena y el viento te cieguen parcialmente. Veía la cima tan cerca, y pensé otra vez si llegaría y me vino el recuerdo de aquella vez que Daniela y yo subimos el Nevado de Ruiz, pero nos quedamos a escasos 25-50 metros de alcanzar la punta porque, a más de 5,000 metros sobre el nivel del mar, Daniela sentía que le explotaban los ojos (de por sí) y tuvimos que regresar. Entiendo que todo esto suena a que estábamos escalando el Everest, y en retrospectiva no, no fue tan complicado, pero sí fue más pesado de lo que imaginé y posiblemente ese factor sorpresa (y la copiosa cena) jugaron en contra. Finalmente llegué a un sitio a quizás 10 metros de la cima. Aquí ya estaba seguro de que sí llegaría. Solo tenía que sentarme a descansar y agarrar aire, acomodarme el paliacate y la capucha del impermeable para cubrirme la cara y hacer un último esfuerzo. Fue así de una, dos, tres, y pensar en que no serían más de quince pasos, bueno quizás veinte, un gemido de esfuerzo, y llegué. La cima parecía la más alta de entre las cien mil dunas hacia delante. No podía ver bien porque la arena se me clavaba en los ojos y el viento me volaba los lentes si me los ponía, pero con todo y el viento tumbándome y la arena metiéndoseme en cuanto orificio se dejaba, quería sentarme a contemplar lo que pudiera de esas cien mil dunas y del sol que se ponía entre las nubes. Un atardecer es un atardecer.

El descenso fue muy divertido. Bajaba dando de brincos con un pie y con otro, volando, y la arena me abrazaba en cada brinco. Era como esquiar, pero más suave. No había esfuerzo. De todos modos quise parar varias veces porque la arena dorada y el ocaso me gritaban que los fotografiara, y porque no quería que todo acabara. Chistoso que en el descenso también, la última parte fue la más difícil. Primero, porque en lo planito ya no volaba. Y segundo, porque me daba nostalgia pensar que quizás no volvería a ver nunca más las dunas del Gobi, y menos en tal esplendor. 

Apenas llegamos al campamento empezó a llover durísimo. Llovió sin parar toda la noche, y sopló incesante también el viento. Tuve que levantarme de mi colchón, que puse en el piso para caber bien, cuatro o cinco veces en la madrugada a cerrar la puerta del ger, cada vez intentando, en la oscuridad, alguna manera más sofisticada de trabar la puerta para que no la abriera el aire. En la mañana explicó la familia la bendición que era la lluvia para ellos y su ganado y sus camellos. También explicó Bataa la maldición que podía ser para nosotros la combinación de lluvia y caminos de tierra. Habría que ver.

Chinggis Khan here, there and everywhere

26/Jul/2018. Chinggis Khan here, there and everywhere. 

Somewhere in Omnogovi province, about 60 km out of Dalanzadgad.

Mongolia has so far been way more than I expected. Not so much because of the things I've done and the places I've visited, but rather because of the people I've met and the way they live.

About the things I've done and the places I've visited (the people I've met and the way they live will have to wait):

We landed yesterday around noon. Ogi, the tour operator, picked me up, and she and Tamir, her husband, drove me up north to the relatively new and very impressive 40-meter Chinggis Khan statue. We stopped by some local shop to have some traditional milk tea and lunch, consisting of battered beef+vegetables patties and a dumpling soup (dumplings filled with dried goat meat), and then continued to Terelj National Park. The place was some sort of mountain resort, very green with some interesting rock formations, like some allegedly famous turtle rock, that looks like a turtle (after the hike in the Yol Valley, I realize that these Mongols love to find animal shapes in rocks... today we saw camel rocks, snake rocks, among others). We visited a Buddhist temple where the Dalai Lama has apparently been at least once, and I learned that the Mongols, being such devout Buddhists, are very proud that the DL has visited their country three times. 

We went back to Ulaanbaatar (also known as UB City in Mongolia). I have never been to Russia or any of the former Soviet republics (not sure if Estonia counts) but the city is undoubtedly very Soviet-looking: lots of very utilitarian, colorless multistory buildings. There clearly is a lot of space to build, not precisely in the form of parks or man-made green areas, but in the form of the natural landscape around some isolated 12-story building. This actually seems to be the only greenery around the city as the streets are also there just to serve their purpose, without any trees, flowers or ornaments of any kind decorating them. We finally reached my hotel, and I chose to do nothing but take a hot shower, have a beer, and lie down. I kind of regretted not walking around Chinggis Khan square, which is only about a street away. In these latitudes the sun sets kind of late, past 9pm, so in theory I did have plenty of time. But between the time it took me to answer a few messages, post some photos, and repack my suitcase in a more compact way, the clock chimed 12 times and I realized it was way past my bedtime, as I had to wake up at 4:45am to go to the airport and catch a 6:50am flight.

Chinggis Khan airport (by now it should be clear that everything that's somewhat important is called after the one and only great Mongol leader) looks like a Soviet-era bus station. There are four huge portraits hung in the main hall where you check in for your flight. Like in a bus terminal, there's lots of chairs in the main hall, which I think is unusual for an airport. The security line was relatively short, between 10-15 people, yet it took me about half an hour to get past it. The waiting hall is downstairs, and there's nothing but more chairs and a very western-looking coffee stand, which made great espressos out of this barista-style machine and had the best banana bread. We were only 9 people on the Hunnu Air flight to Dalanzadgad, so it literally took us about 5 minutes to board, and another 5 to take off. I initially thought it was going to take longer as I saw some guy manually turning the propeller helixes, which didn't look very promising, but somehow we did take off.

We reached Dalanzadgad about 1h30 later. My guide and driver for the next several days, Gaana and Bataa, were waiting for me when I landed. We drove through a very small town, which supposedly has about 20,000 people, but that number seems way too high given what I saw: a few houses and shops randomly put together amidst crooked streets and a few lampposts. We drove on a concrete road for about 20-30 minutes, and then at some point Bataa simply veered off road and drove for about another 30 minutes on dirt. Most of the time there were no tracks on the dirt to follow. Sometimes there were tracks together with other 3 sets of tracks that crossed over and intertwined. I couldn't understand how Bataa knew where we were going because for the most part there were no reference points in the horizon, no mountains to follow, no rivers, and no buildings of course. It was only us, a flat landscape, and probably the sun as our only guide... but since it was close to midday, even the sun couldn't be completely trusted. Or so I thought. 

We arrived in our first base camp around 2pm. The camp is nothing but a collection of gers and a few randomly placed items (a latrine and a bunch of loose bricks laid on top of each other where they keep tools and other things. A ger (pronounced "gyr") is the typical Mongolian tent where nomadic families live, round in shape, usually white, with a pointy roof, no windows and just a tiny door. The family welcomed us in their ger, we sat around, and they gave us some milk tea and a bowl of biscuits and sugar cubes. I had asked Ogi the day before how to say a few random things in Mongolian, such as hello (sain ban oo), thank you (bayarlaa), good bye (bayarltee), and you're welcome (zugeree), and I got many brownie points for displaying my basic Mongolian skills. Gaana took me to my ger and I took a nap. 

When I woke up, I inspected the ger. I am so impressed with this mobile construction. Gaana says it takes families about 1 hour to put up a ger, which seems to me like an impressive feat. The construction itself is nothing but two pillars (they call it the mother and the father, since they both hold the whole dwelling together, and apparently every detail of the construction has some symbolic meaning like that) that hold a ring, some curved wooden walls that surround the pillars (Gaana says gers come mainly in 3 different sizes: 3, 4, and 5 walls), and then dozens of cylindrical sticks that link the ring atop the pillars with the walls. Then, on the outside, they put tons of animal fur all around the walls, and on top of the sticks that form the ceiling they put some sort of round-shaped blanket and more fur. Then they put yet more blankets or plastic on top of everything and all around, and they tie everything around the ger with three strings that symbolize the three generations that typically live inside a ger: the grandparents, the parents, and the children. The covers on the rooftop are folded so that they don't cover the ring, and so the inside of the ger is incredibly airy and cool even though it's about 30 Celsius outside. But what's most impressive is the inside: this is no Soviet-looking utilitarian building. Each of the wooden sticks between the top ring and the walls is decorated with some beautiful shapes that seemed to have been burnt on the wood in some way. There are some blankets with some flowery design that cover the wooden walls, so the actual structure that holds the ger standing doesn't show. There's a sink and a metal stove with a metal tube that serves as chimney. There's an empty basket next to the stove that's used to hold whatever they use to light their fire (from what I saw in the main ger, it's manure). There's a little table in the middle of the two pillars and four small chairs. But most impressive to me was the floor: a round-shaped, perfectly-cut-to-fit-the-whole-surface-of-the-ger piece of plastic, whose design mimics wooden planks. All very cute and useful and cozy and practical (to clean for example) at the same time.

We then drove for about 20-30 minutes to the Yol (Vulture) Valley. The place was beautiful, both very green and rocky. Before our hike, we picnicked. Gaana made some pasta with potatoes, carrots, and beef. Everything with soy sauce, of course. Then we started walking. After about 25 minutes, we reached a place that Gaana calls "the no-corner place", and which has some massive pieces of ice on the ground, even in the 30-plus-degree weather. This place gets so cold in the winter and so much snow that the ice never completely melts, even in the middle of the summer. Back at camp, I couldn't help but think about how beautifully simple this life must be (not necessarily here in rural Mongolia, but in this country in general... and this is something that I'll definitely write about later). For example, some Mongolian tourists are staying in one of the other 5 gers here, and their kids--probably 4 and 6--were playing outside by themselves for at least an hour, and I think their mom must have come out to check on them only about once. They fell and stood up by themselves. They didn't throw tantrums. They had no phones or iPads. They were just running and jumping and throwing rocks and playing in the dirt. I watched all that while I washed some clothes by hand in a metal bucket, sitting on a small bench that was definitely not the most comfortable for my back, but I can say I never enjoyed washing clothes more than today.

After dinner, Gaana and I had a couple of beers, and then I went for a walk. Night had fallen but there was so much light outside thanks to the full moon that lights up the sky  tonight. I honestly don't remember ever seeing such a bright moon--probably because of the full moon and because of how isolated this place is. I went up a nearby hill and there were two girls at the top, Emily and Lynn (US-Australia, I think), who invited me to sit down with them. They're now living in Korea and Thailand as teachers in international schools, living as expats, roaming around Asia, living the life. Whenever I meet these kinds of people, I get so jealous and can't help but think of the what-ifs. But as a friend said, they probably don't have stable friendships or a pension plan. Neither did Chinggis Khan and look how well he did. Ha.

On the joys and woes of globalization

25/Jul/2018. On the joys and woes of globalization.

PEK-ULN flight no. OM224. 

55 hours. Four separate flights, an overnight stay in one of those utilitarian airport hotels and several overly-salted, extra-saucy airplane/airport meals later, I'm finally about to arrive in Ulaanbaatar. I feel as though I've been traveling for over a week already, which has made me feel at the same time both very tired and disconnected from work and my Mexico City rut.

14 years. Last time I was in Shanghai, in 2004, the city was a mix of colonialist glamour--most represented by the buildings on the Bund and the expats wandering around the French quarter--, hopes of a prosperous tomorrow brought about by the new money--reflected in the Pearl Tower and the new constructions of the Putong area--, and hoards of people not partaking in and probably not caring about the business/policy decisions being made to ensure that such prosperous tomorrow ever took place. All those things have now changed. The city has gone full-fledged shine and spark and glitz. Nanjing road, the most famous street in Shanghai, has replaced its street vendors and food stalls with massive shopping malls full of Omega and Bottega Veneta signs. The expats have left the French concession and now roam around the plethora of Starbucks and Haagen Dazs around town. The many locals that loitered on People's Square and in the many city parks now greet you from the other other side of the counter in all those foreign-named businesses, even if they still can't pronounce them.

China, and particularly a place like Shanghai, is in many ways your typical globalization story. New businesses seem to have thrived and are a reflection of the world-famous double-digit economic growth rates the country has enjoyed over the last 15 years. China's insertion into the global economy has nourished its citizens, enlarged its middle class, and made the locals take the Maglev (express train that connects downtown Shanghai with the airport in about 8 minutes, reaching a speed of 431 kph) instead of the metro, even if it's 7-8 times more expensive. 

But at what cost? One cannot help but wonder how many McDonald's, Pizza Huts and KFCs are acceptable in the name of economic improvement before they begin to erase a country's cultural identity. As a Mexican, how comfortable am I as a local having yet another 7-eleven around the corner while Dona Juquilita's street stand disappears into oblivion together with its tlayudas and its soft-drinks-in-plastic-bags-with-a-straw. As a tourist, how many Starbucks stores would it take for me to feel comfortable enough that I can drink a frappuccino in the Shanghai summer heat any time I want instead of a cup of green tea?

Of course, Shanghai men still walk around with their shirts half up, their bellies balking in the burning sun. The women still carry their umbrellas everywhere and wear separate flowery, lace sleeves along their t-shirts to protect their arms. People spit here and there and cut the line. The smell of fried noodles and steamed dumpling are ubiquitous. I wonder if such things ever change.

Happy new year!!

Dear all:

In spite of the ongoing crisis, 2008 has been a great year. Yeah, I know I have lost 40% of my little savings that I decided to put in a mutual fund last May--which perhaps tells you, you should never come to me for financial advice--but that didn't deter me from accomplishing some of my personal goals and, of course, setting new ones. I want to take this opportunity to wish you all a happy new year and use this holiday as an excuse to share with all of you some of my most memorable experiences and the objectives I have fulfilled this year. I once had a discussion with a very dear old friend of mine about how random it is to celebrate the arrival of the new year and to make all these promises that, most often than not, are not kept. This is very true but I still think that it is great to have at least one opportunity every year to collectively cheer, scream, weep, and attempt to improve our lives and become better people through resolutions, however ephemeral or unfulfilled. In this virtual letter, I'll tell you about the major stories that filled my year and made me a better person. May this be my attempt to keep in touch with you, the people I love, and remind you how special you are. I will first give you a somewhat detailed synopsis of the most important events of the year and then at the very very end I will give you a brief recap in a TOP TEN EVENTS OF THE YEAR type of list (all the way at the bottom). So here we go...

For the last 10-12 years of my life, some of the biggest stories of the year for me have had to do with traveling. 2008 was of course no exception. I visited two of the countries in my top-5-countries-I'd-like-to-visit list, starting with India, the motherland of that little Desi in me. Pipi and I took a Finn Air flight to Delhi with a 5-day stopover in Helsinki. We had a fun week around the area, although we figured Finland is likely to never top anyone's top-5-countries-I'd like-to-visit list... OK, we are aware that perhaps winter is not the best time to stop by, but the place is way too expensive and there's not *that* much to do. If we had a bit more money (and time), we would've ventured north to see the aurora borealis and stay at Santa Claus's town but the 300-euro round-trip train ticket from Helsinki and the impossibly expensive lodging were a bit of an impediment. In any case, it was a fun trip, and if you ever go do not miss the town of Porvoo, about 50 kilometers north, and at least a one- or two-day trip to Tallinn, Estonia.

After Finland, we flew to Delhi, where we stayed with Rahul and his family and met my sister Daniela and my brother-in-law. The trip around the subcontinent for was absolutely fantastic. From the welcoming chaos and amazing food in Delhi's Muslim quarter to the cows, camels, pigs, sheep, dogs, elephants... crossing the roads (yes, the highways too!) at unwanted times to the camel rides across the Thar desert to the magic nights we spent at different palaces in Rajasthan to the superb hospitality of the people in Kerala to the beauty of the Mahabalipuram ruins near Chennai, right by the sea... India was truly inspiring. Yes, I did feel like going back home *immediately* a couple of times, like that time when we realized our hotel room in Madurai was infested with cockroaches and we found them all over our luggage and toiletteries! But it is especially those experiences that make for good stories...!

After this trip, the semester started. It was an intense semester because there were too many things going on in my life at the same time. During my trip to Delhi, I tried to talk to this person who's somehow linked with the Yale Center for the Study of Globalization to work in a research project that studies migration patterns, remittances, and the impact of remittances on labor markets in local communities in Mexico and some other 10 countries. Unfortunately, I was unable to meet with that person in India and it became difficult to coordinate all the details of the project over e-mail, so that fell through. In retrospect, that was probably a good thing because I had already too much on my plate. I made some progress on my thesis on the determinants of emerging market bond spreads... there's still much work to be done but at least during the spring semester I almost finished cleaning my database and got a much clearer idea of what I want to do with it. I also did some minor work on my paper on how cities with more educated residents grow faster and submitted it to some national research contest in Mexico. Fortunately, I was awarded first place and the article is now going to be published soon.

Then for spring break, Mytili, Pipi, Mayito, Yinna and I went to Chiapas for about 10 days. I had never been to Chiapas before and I fell in love with the place. The Indian villages, the colonial towns, the waterfalls, the pyramids in the middle of the Lacandon jungle, the lakes... everything is absolutely stunning! One down side to our trip was that both Mayito and I got *very* sick the very last day... but, overall, it was an incredible experience!

Another negative side to that trip was that Pane, my grandfather on my dad's side, passed away while I was in Chiapas. My sister called me on my cell when I was at the Sumidero canyon to deliver the bad news and it was a very frustrating experience. I was on a boat in the middle of the canyon and I felt like the kilometer-high sides of the mountain were going to fall on top of me and eat me alive. I wanted to be with my family, with my dad. We all knew that my grandpa had been sick for a while, so this didn't come exactly as a surprise... but I still felt that I failed to understand the sadness of losing a parent, so not being there with my dad and my other relatives made me feel miserable and helpless. In spite of all this, the boat ride ended up having a soothing effect in me. I somehow felt that my grandpa was in a better place and, when I talked to my dad a couple hours later, his calm voice revealed to me he felt this too. Still, this is one of those experiences that marked my year and made me question why I chose to study abroad and live far away from my family and my childhood friends. After much thought, I still don't have a definite answer.

Then, the summer came. My 2008 summer was one of the most exciting summers I've ever had. I had a 6-week appointment in Tokyo to teach a masters-level international monetary theory and policy course at the National Graduate Institute for Policy Studies. It was my first time teaching at the masters level and as an instructor (as opposed to as a teaching assistant) and my students were great. They were from Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Vietnam, Zimbabwe, Eritrea, Japan... truly from all over the place, and all very eager to learn. I had my own office where I worked on my thesis most of the time, and gave a seminar at Kobe University. I met my friend Katsu a few times and stayed at his house in Nara. He and his parents were amazing hosts and they taught me a lot about Japanese culture. Since I was working most of the time, I couldn't travel as extensively as I would have liked, but I still did some short trips here and there and it was fantastic. Japan was the other one of the two countries in my top-5-countries-that-I'd-like-to-visit list that I visited this year, and now I know why -- it's a beautiful country and with a mentality that's so much different from what I'm accustomed to. Definitely, a country I'd like to return to one day!!

After my 6-week stay in Tokyo, I traveled to Mexico City. I had another 6-week appointment to work in the Research Department at the Bank of Mexico. Here, I also worked mostly on my thesis, although I also helped a few of the economists there with small programming and data issues. It was a great experience because working for Mexico's central bank has been my life-long dream since I started studying economics about 13 years ago. I presented some of the work I've done for my thesis at their workshop and it was amazing, especially because for the first time I felt that almost everyone in the audience had a very good idea of what I was talking about... and because I delivered my presentation in Spanish. Also, I met very interesting people there and I got to hang out with Noel and Ivan, two of my best friends and with whom I hadn't hung out in a long time.

September came and, after three months working and traveling abroad, I was ready to go back to New Haven, see my friends, work in my office, sleep in my bed. Classes started and my academic life got a bit out of hand unexpectedly. I soon realized that the theoretical model I had been working all throughout the summer for my thesis -- and of which I was very proud -- would not be very useful. This made me very sad and it became a bit difficult to move on and either start all over again or focus on something else. Then, I started teaching this intermediate macroeconomics class with Prof. Bill Nordhaus, who is truly inspiring, both as a teacher and as a human being. It is one of the best classes I have ever taught and I really loved the professor and my students, most of which were very hardworking and eager to learn. However, I soon realized that my teaching duties were way more demanding than ever before -- in fact, I still don't know why this was so, as I felt I knew the material very well, which meant I didn't need that much time to prepare for class. I think most of my students liked my job and they sent me too many e-mails and I spent way too much time answering all of them and meeting with the students. In general, I like teaching very much but one thing I have learned this past year is that my main task as a PhD student is to write a thesis in order to graduate... which means I need to devote less time to my teaching and more time to my own research. One thing I know, though: it is much easier said than done, unfortunately... so that remains one of my goals for 2009.

Then in October, my uncle Beto died. This was a very hard blow, mainly because this was the second time in the same year when I felt that I should have been with my family and I wasn't. The calm I felt after my grandfather's death, I never felt after my uncle's passing... after all, he was relatively young (58, I believe?) and his death was most unexpected. In general, all these big family/friend events make me want to go back to Mexico very badly: weddings, newborn babies, big birthday celebrations and, especially, deaths... They make me wonder how much it is worth to leave it all behind in order to get what you believe is a better education... a better future. Is it really? Of course I am aware of the wonderful things I have done and seen and lived in the last 10 years I've been abroad... but one recurring question that pops up in my head is, what would I have done, seen, and lived had I stayed home? And even if these things weren't "better" than what I've done, seen, and lived while I've been away... has it all been worth it?

November was a big month: on the 1st, I turned 30. Unlike most of my friends, I didn't feel old or sad or depressed: I felt great. I really think 30 is a wonderful age. I feel both young and wise, a combination you could simply not have when you turn 20. I feel I've done, seen, and lived so many things in my life, and I'm thankful for all of that. Anyway, my birthday celebration was awesome. Unlike other years when I've had big surprise parties or piñata parties or big dinners or trips, this year it was nothing big. The day before my birthday, I went with a *very select* group of friends to see Cafe Tacuba, one of my favorite rock bands, live in New York. We had an absolutely fantastic night out and came back to New Haven as late as we could. Then on my birthday, I just went out to dinner with Tatiana, another very good friend of mine, whose birthday is also on the 1st. Neither of us felt like having a big birthday party, so we chilled and had a yummy dinner out just the two of us -- although my great friend Paul crashed the party in the middle of dinner, a very nice surprise, I must say.

Then, for Thanksgiving, I went to San Francisco. As is now an old tradition, my friend Agus and I spent the Thanksgiving holidays together. It was great because, even if I had to alienate myself from the group during the day to work, I got to see and hang out with some of my closest friends. We made this one-day road trip to Napa and had some great wine and food. If I ever had all the freedom in the world to choose where I'd like to retire, it *has to* be in a place like this, with this awesome scenery, wine, food, weather... maybe somewhere in the Toscana?

Upon my return to New Haven, things went by very fast and the year came to an abrupt end. I realized there were still too many things I wanted to finish at work but I realized it would be very hard to finish them all on time. The arrival of December implied classes were over and students would be frantically looking for me to ask questions before their final exam. I also had problem sets, papers, and exams to grade... plus all the other administrative duties for the class. Christmas shopping, planning the new year's eve celebrations, buying tickets to go back home... In the twinkling of an eye, I was on the plane back to Mexico. I made a quick weekend stopover in Mexico City to go to my friend Andrea's wedding, where I got to see most of my college friends from Penn... then I came back to Monterrey. A week later, I was already back in Mexico City celebrating the arrival of the new year with my girlfriend, my sister, my brother-in-law, my uncle Eduardo, my aunt Margarita, my cousins, and friends.

And where am I now? I am in Monterrey, still home. It had been a long time since I visited and stayed for more than just a weekend, so it's been great to see my parents, my siblings, my grandma... and hang out with my old friends.

And what's in store for the new year? Lots of exciting things, I'm sure... and I'm not telling you my resolutions -- I'll keep those to myself! But one thing I can tell you is that I'll do my best to finish my thesis before the year is over!! And I hope I write a similar e-mail next year to give you the good news.

In the meantime, I want to wish you all a very very happy new year full of blessings.

Sincerely,
Adrian

p.s. And now, the TOP-TEN-THAT-IS-NOT-EXACTLY-TEN-EVENTS-OF-THE-YEAR list. Note that these events relate more to random things I did or felt while at random places rather than to personal/intimate events that have to do with my friends and relatives. Anyway, for whatever's worth, here is my list in chronological order (I really tried but was unable to rank these according to their importance or significance in my life... sorry!):

1. CAMEL RIDE IN THE THAR DESERT
Pipi, Daniela, Rafa and I joined this camel caravan across the Thar desert and rode our camels to these amazing sand dunes, only 40 kilometers away from the India-Pakistan border. It is hard to describe the beauty of the landscape and the feeling of being there, amidst the dunes, under the stars, by the fire...

2. VISITING THE TAJ LAKE PALACE IN UDAIPUR
This is a hotel that is built on a fake island in the middle of a lake in Udaipur, India. I believe it is not possible to visit this hotel unless you have a reservation -- but it's quite expensive and exclusive (Madonna stayed there only 3-4 days before we went!!) BUT thanks to our good Indian connections, we were able to make a lunch reservation there to celebrate Pipi's and Daniela's birthday. The food was SUPERB and the service was UNPARALLELLED!! And the view from the boat as we approached the hotel was fantastic... we really felt like we were in a movie or something (not a Bollywood one, though!! :)

3. RIDING ELEPHANT AT MEENAKSHI TEMPLE IN MADURAI
Since I started planning my trip to India, one of my dreams was to be blessed by Ganesha, the elephant-god. In Madurai, not only did I get my blessing... I also got to ride the elephant, and it was so exciting... and scary!!

4. SWIMMING IN CHERAI BEACH IN COCHIN
I swam in the Arabian Sea!! The beach was not particularly beautiful... but my interaction with some of the local bathers was awesome! There was this group of college students who greeted me and they all wanted to by my friends, take pictures with me, and invited me to come to their town with them on their bus. I really loved the sense of genuine hospitality of these people... and I was fascinated by the local food shops and ice cream parlors along the shore... no big resorts!! It was fantastic!

5. SKIING DOWN BEAR MOUNTAIN IN KILLINGTON, VT
Every year, my friends and I go skiing to Killington, Vermont... but this year it was particularly special because (1) a lot of my friends were able to make it; (2) it was Efrén's last trip with us as he would then graduate from Yale that May; and (3) a BIG snowstorm hit the slopes the night we got there, so the next day the view of the snowcapped mountain was absolutely stunning!! And the feeling I got while coming down Bear Mountain by myself, with no one else in the tracks, and with that amazing landscape in front of me was simply priceless!

6. DISCOVERING THE LOST TEMPLE IN THE LACANDON JUNGLE AND WALKING THROUGH THE YAXCHILAN RUINS IN CHIAPAS
I have been to many ruins and archaeological sites before, but the ones in Chiapas were special. I felt this magic feeling that's hard to explain. Isidro, our 14-year old local guide, gave us a *special* tour through the Lacandon jungle, away from the main site... and after a 30-minute hike we discovered the so-called Lost Temple amidst the thick tree branches. A few days later we took this 40-minute boat ride to Yaxchilan, a site you can only access by boat or by helicopter, since it is right in the middle of the jungle and it's simply inaccessible by road. The views are splendid!! And I still wonder where the Mayans got all these stones from to build all those pyramids and temples!! It's amazing!

7. FEDERER VS. NADAL WIMBLEDON FINAL
Early in March I went to Madison Square Garden and watched the Federer-Sampras exhibition live!! Then later in September, I went to the U.S. Open and saw Federer win his 13th Slam... again live! But between these two events, something unforgettable happened: the Federer vs. Nadal final at Wimbledon. If you are not a tennis fan, it may be hard to understand how special this was... but the significance of the venue, the records that would be broken by either player who won that match, the drama of Federer coming back to *almost* win the match after having lost the first two sets, the incredible 4th-set tiebreak where Federer saved the first of 4 match points, the fading lights and the feeling that the umpire may have called it quits and postponed the match until the next day because it was way too dark to play... all of these things blended to make for the best tennis match in history. Add to that the fact that I was alone in my room in Tokyo, watching the match online throughout the night and until 7am, while my internet connection was failing... Aaaaah!! It was sublime!!

8. PEOPLE-WATCHING AT SHIBUYA CROSSING
If you ever go to Tokyo, you *have to* go to Shibuya. It's like being at Times Square, with all the tourists, with all the neon lights, with all the excitement... except 100 times better. Go to the second floor of the Starbucks right by the crossing and you will get a wonderful view of what happens when the traffic lights change colors: all cars stop and the pedestrians start crossing the streets from all directions... and after 60 seconds, the people stop crossing and the cars start moving again. It's a beautiful sight and it symbolizes the "orderly chaos" that describes most of Japan. I saw this repeatedly for over 2 hours while sipping a mochaccino and writing on my journal and taking pictures. What better way to spend a Sunday afternoon in Tokyo?

9. RUN FROM THE IMPERIAL PALACE GARDENS TO TOKYO TOWER TO MY GUESTHOUSE IN TOKYO
I love running when I travel abroad -- it's a great place to see the city. The best run of my life was the one I did in Tokyo this summer from the gardens of the Imperial Palace to Tokyo Tower and then to my guesthouse. I just ran freely without a map and I just kept going. I ran at twilight and passed by so many landmarks and parks and beautiful buildings. At some point, I was lost but I didn't care. Nobody knew where I was, not even I. I felt free. I was ecstatic.

10. LUNCH WITH MY STUDENTS IN TOKYO
After the 6-week course I taught in Tokyo this summer ended, my students invited me out for lunch. We went to this cheap Chinese restaurant behind Roppongi Hills and it was definitely not a special place but it was decidedly a very special occasion. Never have I felt my students to express their gratitude so genuinely and sincerely for my teachings. It was a wonderful gift of camaraderie, respect, generosity and so many other good feelings represented as a seemingly simple lunch. I am very thankful for that.

11. WALKING DOWNTOWN MEXICO CITY WHILE LOOKING FOR A PLACE FOR LUNCH
The offices of the Bank of Mexico are right downtown Mexico City and, as an intern I had no access to the Bank's cafeteria, every day I went out for lunch by myself. At lunchtime, the whole place is so animated and picturesque... kids running around playing, guys selling all sorts of weird useful and useless artifacts, men playing those pipe-jukeboxes, and every corner and every place bustling with people. If you are bored in the office, a walk outside WILL invariably do you good! Promise!

12. CELEBRATING THE BIG 3-0 IN NEW YORK
Celebrating my *big* birthday in New York was quite special for all the reasons I described above: going to the Cafe Tacuba concert with my friends and then finding the perfect place for drinks and sublime desserts. It was pure simple fun and I can't ask for anything else for my birthday!

13. BILLY ELLIOT PREMIERE ON BROADWAY
I went to the Billy Elliot premiere on Broadway and it was one of the most special evenings out of my life! Nothing in particular... just everything, from the show to the weather to the drinks to the food to the ride there... everything was just too perfect...

And that's it!! Of course there are others... but I think 13 is a good number! Of course I'm not supersticious!

Again, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

Love you all,
Adrian

The End of an Era

Monday, 21 July 2008

10h55

My last week was brutal. After my presentation, I was ready to unwind. In less than a week, I was in Kobe, Nara, Osaka, Kyoto, Tokyo and Nikko. Nikko was a lot of walking in the drizzling rain, but it was worth it. The whole area is packed with temples all built in the middle of lakes and 40- and 50-meter tall trees, which makes for a very impressive landscape. Seems like this place is where that typical image of the three see-no-evil, hear-no-evil, speak-no-evil monkeys was made famous. There’s also a lot of hiking trails that lead to more lakes and outstanding waterfalls, but this I didn’t do… first, because it was raining; second, because my crazy schedule and little sleep finally caught up with me and I started to get cramps in my calves just from walking; third, because when I got to the first waterfalls, the 100-m high Kegan falls, it was a bit late; and finally, because the map I had was all in Japanese and I really didn’t feel like getting lost.

In any case, I went back to Tokyo that evening and I got lost there for the first time. I first make a quick stop at Akihabara since I had heard so much about it and still hadn’t been. This place is also called “Electric Town,” so whose who know me can only imagine how much in heaven I felt. Every single electric and electronic gadget is found in one of those stores. Each building had storeys and storeys of anything from cell phones to electric screwdrivers to videocameras to kitchen appliances and video consoles. Inexplicably – maybe because I was so tired –, I felt overwhelmed after a couple hours, then headed back home.

I was too exhausted to cook anything at home, so I looked for a recommended place for dinner in my guidebook. I saw that this place, only about 3-4 metro stops before my destination sold the best codfish dinner in town (and Robert de Niro’s favorite), so I got off the train and started walking there. To make a long story short, I never found the place and started to feel very anxious because I had no idea where to go. I was lost and I couldn’t make any sense of any of the maps that are scattered all around Tokyo. When I thought I had finally found my way, a couple blocks later I realized that there was some train station or embassy or some massive structure that prevented me from following my desired path. It is true that it’s hard to get lost in Tokyo – after all, I could always hop on any train and get back home – but I knew I was not far from my neighborhood, so I kept walking, my feet now throbbing with pain at this point. Then after over an hour of wandering around aimlessly, I saw the Wendy’s by my metro stop and felt relieved.

The next day I wanted to go to Tsukiji, the fish market. I went there once but it was closed and my friends told me it is truly an amazing experience… but to get the most out of it you need to get to the tuna auction by 5 a.m. – which meant I only had 4 hours left for sleeping… so in the end I decided that that would be yet another thing I’ll have to do on my next trip to Tokyo, and slept in.

In the afternoon, I went to Ueno, another area that I hadn’t visited. This is where a lot of the major museums are. There’s also a very nice park, and a huge – huge – shopping area, more like a humongous flea market. I came here because this was my last full day in Tokyo and I had a lot of last-minute shopping to do (souvenirs and the like). Unfortunately, this wasn’t the place for that… lots of clothes, jewelry, beauty products, watches, and electric appliances… but no souvenirs.

Amazingly, I randomly met a colleague from work there, and I was surprised that even though I know less than 30 people in a city of 30 million, I still manage to randomly meet people on the street. Anyway, he suggested I go to Asakusa (where the Senso-ji temple and la Flamme d’Or building are), and so I went. Bought a few things, then had my last sushi dinner, and headed back home, where I was supposed to meet my friends for a last farewell hangout.

It was fun. We talked over drinks for hours then around 2 a.m. headed to Roppongi for some club. We had some kebabs, managed to avoid all the African pimps on the street, went into some place, had a drink, went to some other place, had another drink, then ended up dancing to some Latin beats with some Japanese girls, who then agreed to come with us to some other salsa club. My new friend, Hiromi, turned out to be a very good follower, so we danced the rest of the night. Around 6 a.m., I thought it would be wise to head back home, given that I hadn’t packed or cleaned my room, and the room inspector would come around 10 a.m. to check out my room and give me back my security deposit.

I had about 1 hour of sleep and, needless to say, things got crazier by the minute. Finally, at around 12.30 p.m., I left my house, got a taxi and went to my school. Even though I had no idea how long it’d take me to go to the airport and my flight left at 3.30 p.m., I still had to return a book to the library and pick up some books and my gym clothes from the school. I have always been a last-minute packer. Luckily, I’ve never missed a flight or faced any bad consequences from this indisputably bad habit. But this time, I was certain I was finally going to pay for my unpreparedness and lack of foresight. And as if I needed things to get worse, my taxi driver clearly wanted to “see me the face”, that is, cheat me and take advantage of my ignorance. After he took me to my school, I told him I had to take the Narita Express train to the airport, but I didn’t know what station I had to go to. And I clearly had a lot of trouble explaining myself because he look completely clueless. Then I think he understood but also realized I was a bit desperate. I asked him to take me to Tokyo station but he insisted that Shinagawa station was a better option. I said no because I knew Shinagawa was further, and I really didn’t feel like paying over 5,000 yen or 50 dollars for my cab ride (driving to the airport was not an option… this would’ve cost me about 20,000 yen)… and I also knew that from the Imperial Palace, Tokyo station is only a few blocks away; yet this asshole drove me for antoher 10 minutes until I finally yelled at him and he pretended he had no idea what I was barking about. Anyway, as soon as we got there, I ran with all and my 2 rolling suitcases and 2 backpacks… a true India María... and I just made it to the 1.33 p.m. train that took an hour to Narita… and, again, I just made it to the plane, about 5 minutes before they closed the gate.

And after this wild end to my stay in Tokyo, I still had to deal with incompetent Japanese Continental employees who told me that I couldn’t go back to the U.S. with my F-1 visa because “studying” wasn’t the purpose of my less-than-2-hour stay in Houston (I was only in transit to go to Mexico City)… I had to deal with Japanese kids playing videogames very excitedly during the whole flight, kicking the seat while I was trying to sleep… and when they finally stopped playing, they got sick and started throwing up all over the place… I had to deal with bad airplane food and a bad stomachache and a missing suitcase… but am now sitting at a cozy restaurant in Condesa in Mexico City, enjoying my huevitos with chile guajillo sauce and Mexican seasonal fruit juice. I am sad for having left Tokyo so soon, but it’s easy to erase this sadness with a sniff at the fresh tortillas on my table.

OK, I am transcribing this blog entry from my journal while having lunch at Primos, a restaurant in the Condesa neighborhood in Mexico City, and they are playing a very strange song on the radio.

Desde el cielo una hermosa mañana
Desde el cielo una hermosa mañana
La Guadalupana… La Guadalupana…
La Guadalupana bajó al Tepeyac.

Which is a religious song we sang in children’s mass when I was a kid… except this one is sung as a rap. My country is definitely a strange place.