Poblano [puh-blah-noh]: Originating from, or residing in the city of Puebla, Mexico.
A few months ago I posted about the ‘culture shock’ that I had experienced last semester in adjusting to Mexican life. Such glorious subjects as neck braces, toilet paper, making out and dirty water were all explored in great detail, and I suppose that this blog post is simply a refined continuation of the same topic. Even though I have experienced many strange and wonderful things in this beautiful country, none of it compares to the daily insanity that I observe living here in Puebla. These things don’t necessarily ‘shock’ me anymore, but I guess I’m just more resigned to fact.
To help explain this insanity, I think it helps to tell you that Puebla itself has taken a decidedly different course in Mexican history and society, producing a few little quirks along the way I guess. Even though the Mexican battle of independence and the Mexican Revolution both started here, as did the Battle of 5 de Mayo, Puebla remains a very conservative and largely exclusive region. Poblanos are very proud of their Spanish and French heritage, and the city itself is one of the most homogeneous places in Mexico, meaning a lot of people have blond hair and blue eyes. That’s really good for white people like me, but really bad for the darker-skinned Moreno and Mestizo people here, so discrimination is kind of a problem. With that said, Puebla is quite possibly one of the strangest places on planet Earth and I will now present to you a few of the daily oddities that surround my Mexican life, oddities that I believe are wholly a Poblano occurrence:
POBLANA DRAMA
I decided to title this phenomenon as ‘Poblana Drama’ because it is just that, drama. What I happen to be talking about is one of the strange and tragic things that I noticed here first; the act of the boyfriend carrying his girlfriend’s bag. Now don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with treating a woman like a queen and going out of your way to show her that you care, but this is just too much. Sometimes I observe that the male unit will not only carry the handbag, but also the backpack of his significant other. I believe in the United States we call this being ‘whipped’, but here it’s considered more along the lines of ‘normal’ conduct. Even though this phenomenon is generally confined to the younger groups of Poblano society, I have seen young men well into their twenties carrying their girlfriend’s bag. My heart dies a little bit each day I see a big, strapping man carrying his girlfriend’s pink Hello Kitty handbag complete with floral ruffles. If you think that Mexican women in general are drama, wait until you meet a female from Puebla!
THE POBLANO SHUFFLE
Riding the bus here has been a life changer. The buses are superfast and throw caution at the wind (and then stomp on it) in order to deliver their not-so-prized occupants to their desired location. To me, it’s a lot to take in just to get on and off the bus without losing a limb or getting mauled, oh but it doesn’t stop there. One of the strangest things I’ve seen here is something I like to call the Poblano Shuffle. This special event occurs in the seats of the speeding hell rockets. For reasons unknown, Poblanos LOVE the outside seat of the two seat rows, and they will go extremely out of their way to ensure that they maintain this coveted spot. Some say that the source of this adoration for the outside seat is to avoid bus-side robberies, while others say that they do so in order to get off the bus faster. So let me give you a scenario to better explain this; say you enter the bus and the bus is completely full, well, except for one window seat three rows back, now say that you try to sit down in it. The person in the outside seat (depending on how big you are or how much you’re carrying) will either slide their legs into the aisle to let you enter, or they’ll go as far as stand up, move over, and do a little dance, while you struggle to fit into the window seat, and then they return to their outside seat. They are indiscriminate in who they allocate in this shuffling madness; the elderly, women carrying babies and even the obese are all forced to climb over their bus neighbor in order to secure a seat and give rest to their weary feet. Poblanos adore the Poblano Shuffle, and in fact, you can usually tell a Poblano from a non-Poblano by this strange bus-behavior. It is extremely annoying and completely unappreciated. Just slide yourself into the window seat; it makes the world better for everyone!
THE POBLANO NOD
Now this next one caught me completely off guard, and it is something that has left me completely unnerved not only because it is indeed very strange, but because subconsciously I have started to do it as well. I don’t know if it was born out of the fact that it is impossible for people to nod when they are wearing neck braces or just pure insanity, but in casual conversation, when someone is in accordance with another, instead of nodding with their head, they nod with their FINGER. What the effin’ what? At first I thought that they were pointing at my face, and sometimes it even appeared as if they were clawing at my face. I just can’t handle it when we’re talking about the weather and a finger starts wriggling in agreement, it just makes me feel really uncomfortable. What’s more, I have started to adapt this strange nonverbal communication habit. Physiologically, it makes sense. It’s more comfortable, and if all the parties involved are at least acquainted with it, it’s not that strange. I don’t know if I do it more out of parody or habit, but it is definitely a strange integration of Mexican culture into my life. My good friend Lily has newly realized that perhaps the Poblano nob may just be a backwards ode to one of her favorite horror flicks: The Shining. Tommy is definitely a Poblano.
IT’S MY WAY OR THE POBLANO WAY
Walking, it’s something we don’t really think about, but rather do. When I walk in Las Vegas (which I do a lot) I am usually not thinking about the walk itself, but a multitude of other things. Maybe something strange or beautiful will catch my attention once in a while, but I am usually thinking about my end point; my destination, whether it be my house, my job or the store. Here in Mexico, my mental processing during walking has drastically changed; walking here is mentally taxing. Not only do we have to worry about the various chunks of cement missing from the sidewalk, and unevenness of it, but we also have to worry about the other people who walk on it as well. I don’t know if this is a Puebla-only thing, or nationwide, but people do not know how to walk! Maybe it is the slower pace of life that prevails here, or perhaps the peril that accompanies walking on the Mexican sidewalk for the aforementioned reasons, but Poblanos walk so slowly. I am not exaggerating, though I wish I was. They seriously walk aimlessly, as if they have no purpose or direction. Time-wise it doesn’t make any sense, especially in journeys of longer distances. I literally can WALK (not run) two to three times faster than the average Poblano. Just yesterday I decided to take my time and walk slowly, and I was still passing tons of people on the sidewalk, which actually brings me to my next point; passing people on the sidewalk – it’s nearly impossible. Not only do Poblanos walk slowly, but they like to take up was much room as possible in the process. The sidewalks here are of average size, but you’d never know that by how the people walk here. The difficulty level of walking steadily increases with the amount of people involved. Women are definitely the worst, especially bands of them. Whereas men tend to usually walk in a group, girls like to walk in lines! So sometimes in order to pass them, I have to risk my life by darting into the street. What makes it worst is when they are coming towards you, and they see that you don’t have room and still refuse to move even an inch to let you pass. One day I was running late for my internship and was not having any of it, so I decided to see what would happen if I decided to return the favor to someone when all of the sudden, a middle-aged woman came towards me while walking her dog and in the process taking up the ENTIRE sidewalk. As we approached, I suddenly got nostalgia for the childhood game of chicken, which was usually played with bikes. We were both dead set in our courses, and I slightly pulled out last second as to avoid a full body tackle. I ended up elbowing her in the side, but I didn’t even look back. I just continued on my way with a sick satisfaction. Mexico is ruining me, I tell you.
MIRAME BIEN (O NO)
Lastly another strange occurrence that I’ve noticed is the level of eye contact here. This one was a little bit harder to recognize just because it varies so much; you’re either being glared at in such a way you feel as if your biological structure is disintegrating, or they avoid eye contact all together. Let’s face it, I am not Mexican, nor do I look Mexican. It is fairly easy for most people here to detect that I am from a distant land, though a few people in Acapulco did think that my friend and I were from Spain. So at first I didn’t know if maybe the reason why people stared at me so much was because I was güero (blond hair, blue eyes), or if they just had a staring problem. The longer I’ve been here, the more I am led to believe that it is indeed the latter; a staring problem. I’ve been told by some Mexicans that the reason why Poblanos stare is because they like to measure people up, and to decide whether or not you are a wealthy or a strong person. With that said, I have thus decided to not, under any circumstances, break eye contact with someone once they decide to lock their eyeballs on and grill me. It’s scary sometimes for how long these staring matches will go on for, and sometimes I’ll even retreat for a second or two, only to reengage eye contact to see that their eyeballs are still raging a campaign of terror and destruction on me! Some people say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and if that is true, I surely do not want anyone messing with my soul with their cold, hard stares. It’s really rude, and I hope that by staring back or making faces they will decide to stop eye-bombing others! On the other side of the spectrum, we have those few select that decide to not look at you at all. Maybe they’ve had a bad staring experience in the past, and now they’ve elected to never look at anyone again, or maybe they’re just frigid people. Many a times I will feel jolly and good-spirited and want to ‘thank you’ or ‘hello, good day’ to someone, many a times I will pass someone on the street and it is complete lock down, no glance, no recognition. Perhaps I am just accustomed to how things are done in the US, but I believe that we have a healthy medium between soul-melting glares and complete denial.
I love the Poblanos, I do, but they’re just so strange, which perhaps makes them all the more endearing? Only time will tell.
