La Presa, Michoacán, México
When I was in high school, someone came to our Spanish class and told us about an opportunity to be a health volunteer in Mexico. I immediately dismissed the presentation, almost out of habit. Then, suddenly, I said to myself, "What if I did go? What if I did this?" and I couldn't talk myself out of it after that.
So I signed up with the Amigos de las Americas program. Following was a semester of fund raising and training. I carpooled with another girl from my high school to the training, which consisted of regular meetings where we mostly talked about Culture Shock. The fund raising involved spending Saturday mornings running bingo in Denver (which was its own kind of culture shock, but pretty fun, too) and selling scratch lottery tickets there (inexplicably called "pickles" which confused me at first - I pictured bingo-goers buying a dill with a toothpick in it). Toward the end of the training, there was a retreat at a beautiful mountain location. Although I enjoyed the retreat, I got the distinct feeling that the people who ran it were doing so somewhat reluctantly. They did their job, but not very enthusiastically and I think the volunteers-to-be caught that (I remember well the evening that no one except me went down to our 7pm gathering. Either I missed the 'cool kids' memo or no one really cared, but everyone eventually showed.)
We had a little say in where we were going, but not a lot. The programs ranged from 6-8 weeks, and they included several countries in Central and South America. I forgot now what I put down as my preferences but I'll never forget sitting in the auditorium as they announced everyone's destinations. I was going to Michoacan, Mexico for 7 weeks.
I said goodbye to my brave parents and flew Denver-Dallas-Mexico City, wearing a blue Amigos shirt that would identify me. I remember flying quite a long time over the city before finally landing in it and smelling pollution immediately upon exiting. But I was very excited as all the volunteers gathered and the fifty-sixty of us (and all our luggage for seven weeks) were squeezed onto a giant bus that was so crowded, some people had to sit on the luggage piled along the center row. Even though the bus ride to Patzcuaro was over 6 hours, I enjoyed it a lot. First, Mexico City with its plethora of Volkswagen bugs (I had a bug myself, so always noticed them. The punch-bug game in Mexico City in the early 90s could have been injury inducing...), then outside the city with the beautiful green, hilly, foggy scenery. Silliness on the bus abounded - the front (and me) singing farmer songs and the back singing cool Beatles songs.
Some people were waiting to greet us at the other end of the ride. But I was unprepared for them...
"Pink, ugh!" Don't judge me, I was in high school. :) Point is, this embarrassing memory still sticks out, even though it was half my life ago, because no one told us what to expect. I started the trip completely confused (and, well, those college girls were pretty short). To this day, I don't know if no one ever mentioned the concept of Route Leaders, which would not be a surprise, or if I just forgot or misunderstood them when they did tell me, but apparently, when you get to your volunteer destination, a group of older "Route Leaders", who are your experienced support network while you are there, will be waiting for you. (This was before I'd ever even heard of the internet, folks, so it wasn't like I didn't read the FAQ or something.)
Patzcuaro is a nice-sized town of over 3000 people. The sixty or so of us slept, ate, learned, and played in a two-storey school (assumedly out for the summer) for four days as we prepared for our extended stay in Mexico. Our cots were set up randomly in a large classroom or auditorium. Our backpacks were everywhere. One guy had his stolen and some others chipped in so he had some clothes to wear. The toilets did not have any toilet paper. And you weren't supposed to put the paper you brought with you in the toilet (instead using a bin in the front - very inconvenient.) We had culture lectures, did silly get-to-know-you games (like "Elves, Wizards, & Giants"), played soccer with some local kids, but most importantly had "interviews" to determine which Route we would be in. There were 7 Route Leaders all together. I had a feeling I should have signed up for my interview in Room 1... but I was already in line and ended up signing up for the interviewers in Room 2. I always wonder if that made a difference...
We got split into our Routes. (And got our Malaria pills.) I wasn't with my favorite or least favorite Route Leader. But I liked my Route. There were 9 of us (8 girls and 1 guy), to be later split into groups of 2 and 3 for our towns. Each route did a skit in the evening. At the time, I felt like I was always in the group with the lame skit, but this time I wasn't! (Partially because the guy in our group was really creative.) We did a Family Feud skit that went over well: the "culturally sensitive" team vs. the "culture shock" team. The below pic was another route doing a silly song (they had drawn eyes and noses on their chin so looked like funny little singers.)
The next day we took a field trip (our only one I think) and left the school for a "latrine" workshop. That was the first bit of actual culture shock.
There was a lot of waiting, driving, and more waiting, but reality hit for the first time when our route was sitting in the back of a pick-up truck on a dirt road in rural Mexico and we dropped of the first two girls in the route. I could see the fear in their faces. We were just leaving them next to this tiny house with this Mexican dude in the middle of freaking nowhere. The nerves hit pretty hard and I was scared as the road got bumpier. Then there we were at our town. My partner and I were dropped off next. But it wasn't so bad...