Random Musings – Page 5 – GringoPotpourri

My (World) Cup Runneth Over

This is Maracanã Stadium, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The picture was taken by yours truly in March 2011, on a rather hazy day from atop Corcovado Mountain. At that time, the stadium was closed for a three-year renovation in preparation for the mother lode of summertime sporting events: the 2016 Olympic Games and the 2014 FIFA World Cup.

Those of you who know me well will agree that I’m not a big sports fan. About soccer – “football” or “fútbol” as it’s called everywhere else around the world except in the U.S. – I am particularly uninformed. I have attended just four professional soccer games in my life, and two of those were played when I was barely ten by the no-longer-in-existence Chicago Sting – one at the no-longer-in-existence Old Comiskey Park and the other at the no-longer-in-existence Chicago Stadium – and they hardly qualify as a result.

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Olympic Fever?

Every two years, in February or August, I get caught up in what’s called “Olympic fever.” This is an exciting two weeks during which 100+ countries from six continents compete in a two-week spread of friendly athletic competition. From audience favorites like figure skating and gymnastics to more obscure events such as skeleton and dressage, dozens of sporting events each get their moment in the international spotlight. Many of these events aren’t regularly televised, so for the athletes (and their sponsors), the Olympics are, literally, a high stakes, once-every-four-years event.

This year is different. The XXII Winter Olympiad is winding down as I write this, and yet I could hardly care one way or the other. When you consider that, as recently as 18 months ago, I was determined to travel to Sochi, Russia to witness – firsthand – the opening ceremonies, the ski jump finals, the bobsled run, and other events, it seems strange for me to suddenly be so disinterested. What happened?

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New Year, New Blog Post

Happy New Year, Loyal Reader! I can hardly believe it’s 2014 already – truly, where does the time go?! I stayed away from my blog for awhile, partly due to slow internet at my parents’ house, where I have spent the last three weeks; and partly due to a simple promise to give myself some R&R. Mission accomplished, I’m back in Mexico City and ready to make this a productive year.

So what have I been up to? In addition to spending quality time with the ‘rents, I visited Chicago for five wonderful days and nights. I hadn’t been there since the July 2011 wedding of my friend Miles, and it seemed a good place to lay over en route to Tennessee.

It is no secret that Chicago is a cold place to be most Decembers. In this context, “cold” is a word to be used loosely. Some years, December is a brisk – but bearable – 35 degrees. Every so many years, you can get away with a light jacket and scarf. Then there are years like 2013, when December temperatures hover in the single digits, sometimes with a negative sign before the number. As it happens, my visit to Chicago took place during one such year.

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Remembering Nelson Mandela

It’s been an interesting couple of months. My October and November were particularly fraught with hassles, some of which were side effects of living in a big city while others were simply bad luck. December, so far, has been looking brighter. The weather has been fabulous, I’m going stateside next week for an entire month, and my end-of-year class schedule has been simultaneously relaxed and productive. This afternoon, however, threw me for a loop. I returned from running some errands, turned on my computer, and learned that one of my personal heroes, Nelson Mandela, had died.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see it coming. Mr. Mandela was plagued with recurring health problems for much of the year. Still, he looked great, and life in post-Apartheid South Africa was good to him. He was 95.

I had the privilege of touring his former home with a friend of mine when we visited South Africa in 2009. Two of his former homes, actually – although only one was resided in by Mandela out of choice. For the former, I’m talking about his house-turned-museum in Soweto, near Johannesburg. For the latter, I’m talking about his tiny prison cell on Robben Island, near Cape Town.

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25 Things about Me that You Might Not Know

A fun game has been going around Facebook. Someone will post several factoids about themselves, ideally tidbits that most of their FB friends don’t know. Anyone who “likes” the post will then be given a number, for example “7,” and that person in turn is supposed to list seven factoids about themselves. At first I just read, but when I, without thinking, clicked “like” on a couple of lists, I was given the numbers “13” and “8.” I slept on it, and the next day posted a list of 13 factoids about myself (I went with the larger of the two numbers).

At first it was hard – as a blogger I automatically lose some degree of privacy – but it ultimately was a fun exercise. I thought I’d re-post my 13 factoids below, plus another 12, to come up with a better-sounding “25.” And don’t worry – if you “like” this blog posting on FB I won’t give you a number. I do, however, hope you’ll comment about any particular factoids that surprise you. My hobbies are as diverse as my friends, so if it all sounds like a bunch of random potpourri, well…that’s kinda the point. 🙂

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What Constitutes a Country?

Last week, I posted a bit of fun nostalgia about My Crazy Traveling Friends…Whom I Love. In the opening paragraph, I suggested that I have had to slow down my travel pace so that, for the foreseeable future, my country count will only slowly climb from its current number, 70.

I originally put an asterisk next to that 70, but promptly removed it as I knew the explanation for said asterisk was too lengthy for an already-wordy blog. In other words, I’ve been to 70* countries at last count…but for the sake of travel, just what constitutes a “country,” anyway?

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My Crazy Traveling Friends…Whom I Love

A few years ago I came up with this random travel goal: for my country count to always be at least twice the number as I am years old. I am now 38, and have set foot in 70 countries at last count. I have hardly traveled at all this year, and most of my 2012 travel was to Mexico, so I’m six countries behind my goal as a result.

But it doesn’t matter so much anymore. I don’t feel the hurry-up-and-travel clock ticking the way I once did, and frankly, the exhaustive travel pace that allowed me to visit so many places – most of them over a single eleven-year span – was starting to wear me down. I won’t make it to anymore new countries for the remainder of 2013…and I doubt I’ll hit up any new countries in 2014, either. (The money has finally run out, Loyal Reader, the money has finally run out.) If this makes me sad, I at least take some degree of comfort knowing that I’ve seen more corners of the world than perhaps any of my crazy traveling friends…the majority of whom are no travel slouches themselves.

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A Syrious Problem – Thoughts on Syria

So at the time of writing it’s been over two-and-a-half years since the Arab Spring – supposedly started via Facebook and supposedly ignited to change the region for the better – went viral and spread across North Africa and the Middle East like wildfire. A Tunisian man by the name of Mohamad Bouazizi set himself on fire out of frustration. Libyan colonel Muammar Gaddafi was killed (no loss there), and Egypt’s Hosni Mubarak was ousted. Oh, and Syria went to hell in a handbasket.

Ah, revolution in the Middle East. A real clusterfuck.

Flashback to 2007

I had the opportunity to visit Syria in 2007. That year was a good one for yours truly, Loyal Reader. I “celebrated” seven years as an Angeleno and seven years in my job as a media researcher. The job had begun to wear on me, but I was making a good wage and had somehow turned three weeks of paid vacation into double that. (It was the only benefit that was worth a toss, and it would be taken from me the following year.) Travel for the year had already taken me to Cancun; Barrow, Alaska (!); China, Norway, Iceland, and Seattle. Thanksgiving was coming up and I knew I had to outdo myself. A college friend and long-time travel buddy mentioned that he had a friend from Germany who had recently been posted to the German Embassy in Damascus of all places.

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What the Fourth of July Means to Me, the Expat and Traveler

Happy Fourth of July everyone! I am writing this from Mexico City, which most definitely does not celebrate the USA’s independence from Great Britain. Even if it did, it is pouring miserably at the moment. When it rains like this in Mexico City it just gets cold, and the damp chill might deter me from heading to the nearest bar serving red, white, and blue-dyed cerveza.

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At a Crossroads

It has been an interesting couple of weeks. As I “celebrate” eight months as a Mexican resident and six months as an English teacher, I also ponder a darker reality – I don’t know if I’m gonna make it down here.

I was mugged on Friday. At gunpoint, and literally just steps from my front door. It was a long day – three classes spread throughout the morning and afternoon, a trip to the mall to buy myself a new suit – much-needed, as six months of commuting by Mexico City public transport can really put your wardrobe through the ringer – and an early evening showing of “The Hangover Part 3.” I was in the mood for a laugh and the movie mostly fit the bill – especially the mid-credits “coda.”

It was 9:30 pm when it happened. There were still a good number of people out-and-about in my middle-class neighborhood of Letran Valle. The neighborhood Oxxo (mini-mart) had its usual long line of TGIF celebrants buying beer; the nearby taquería was bustling. My street, lined with trees and a mix of single-family and apartment-style dwellings, is just four blocks down from the Oxxo, and it was perfectly quiet that night. Too quiet, as it turned out.

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