Feeling OK, Feeling Alright -- Taylor Erwin

I've always held a fondness for the expression "fly by the seat of your pants" (in this apparel based analogy of aeronautics in which one's hindquarters are jettisoned into the wild blue yonder I imagine the wallet, sitting in the cockpit of my back pocket, to be the pilot - a fitting comparison, indeed - my legs the wings propelling me forward; would this make my zipper the navigation, compassing me into a wondrous journey--or oblivion?). Regardless of the airline implications I do believe that most of my experiences thus far have been off the cuff, if we're continuing with our clothing line of expressions. Not infrequently I find myself hopping onto a bus, throwing down my $6 peso fee, and finding a seat by the window, and keeping my fingers crossed that I'll know where I am when I get off.

If Mérida is anything, it's a city that breathes. I feel the pulse of activity every

step I take along the streets, smelling not only the curbside vendors and noxious fumes of countless buses, but the passion and vitality - the vivacity - that keep the blood flowing through this city. Although I spend little of my free time in El Centro, the entirety of pedagogical attention we receive takes place downtown, providing near daily exposure to the heart of Mérida. Likewise, the necessity of public transportation opens a window - albeit with translucent curtains still drawn - into the lives of those living here. I imagine where these people are going (in jeans, no less; for god's sake, it's an average of 95º F everyday!) and what they must be thinking of this six foot plus gringo in aviator sunglasses and Chaco sandals riding the bus by himself, reading a Tom Robbins novel (I've found that the bus, not quite a hub of conversation even for the locals, is a great place to read since I can't communicate verbally with it's patrons). Then I wonder if they're even thinking about me at all.

Whenever I receive an e-mail from home or Skype with loved ones and they ask how is Mexico I almost consistently respond, "Well, it's hot." While I try to avoid complaining about the weather I think it would be absolutely absurd to try and act as if it did not shape daily life and our perception of the place we inhabit. Plus, it really is very hot.

One thing that I can say about Mérida, and all the locations we've visited thus far, is that it doesn't get boring. On one street alone (Avenida Montejo, if you're wondering) there are several discotecas, watering holes, and karaoke bars. These establishments have been oft

frequented by our group, both as

a whole and in smaller sects. While much dancing has indeed occurred, I find an evening spent in the boîte known as Palacio del Billar to be worthy of recantation. Jose Ordonez, John Clark and myself noticed a special for Tuesday nights and decided to try it out; we also thought we'd pull our singing voices out of the attics and see if they still fit after all these years. After a few locals strutted their stuff, I thought perhaps I should give it a go. So I did. As did Jose. And we sang. We sang until our vocal chords switched to reserve power. Feeling quite courageous - perhaps it's just that Mexican air - we serenaded the crowd, their hearts melting butter over the flapjack's of our songs (to which I am now liberally applying a hefty helping of maple syrup sarcasm). In addition to several Spanish songs from Jose (which I did not know) I added to the mix The Doors, a dash of Eminem, and 1 part Backstreet Boys, a la "I Want It That Way." I don't want to say it was spiritual, but it's the first thing that comes to mind.

Mexico is fun. It is a gift basket of experiences, a taste of everything (what's with these food metaphors?). However, one thing I've tried to not overlook while I'm here are the differences from America. I do not want to become disillusioned by the nightclubs and beach trips - but, oh sweet Jesus, those beach trips are nice; it's hard not to think about all the people changing class in Grace-Doherty Library on a Friday afternoon as I lay on the white sand beach of the Yucatan Peninsula - but I always try to keep in my mind the disadvantages so many of the citizens of this country have. I believe that maintaining a viewpoint that doesn't forget that I am fortunate enough to live in the country I do allows me to truly experience everything Mexico is, and helps me to avoid becoming the obnoxious, self-righteous ass that much of the world views Americans to be already.

This trip, without a doubt, is the trip of a lifetime.