I'm sitting on a very bumpy plane, on the way back to DF with a very sore arm. It hurts because I've had a lump removed from it, and three stitches put in. Shaddy's dad is a surgeon, and he gouged it out yesterday. During the night, I predictably bled all through my bandage, and subsequently, their exquisite needlepoint duvet. I wasn't entirely clear on how to confess to it in Spanish, so asked Shaddy to do it for me. Inevitably he will forget, and so, soon, they will think I'm a complete minger as well as a chancer (always on the look out for discounted/free medical attention on THIS trip). The Dad said the lump was probably a cyst, but I believe it was a calcified mosquito bite from my time in Australia. I also tried to poke it out with scissors circa 2010, so that may have explained the thick scar tissue. In a lovely coincidence, Shaddy was able to have a corresponding operation; a cyst removed from his testicle. I am not over-sharing this information without regard for his privacy or feelings; he had a picture of his pants around his ankles on Facebook, detailing the event. He eagerly watched my procedure (strangely not offering that I watch reciprocally during his), but though he started off mildly interested in my discomfort, he looked less chipper towards the end, as his dad pulverised and kneaded something the size of a raisin out of my arm. I was in the joyful clasp of my old pal General Anaesthetic, and felt nothing bar a strange tugging which was not pleasant but not even in the same league as The Root Canal Episode. Shaddy kindly filmed the first part (till he got too self reflective about what was to come), but all I could focus on when I saw it, was how fat my arm looked under the glare of the operating light.
What a nice family. Juarez itself is a total dump, but as is so often the case- it's the people that colour your perception, and once again I've been thoroughly spoiled. They were kind, warm and generous; despite my dullard Spanglish ways, the fact I slept for about 75% of my visit, and the terror I had of their dogs (more to this later). It was interesting to visit somewhere utterly uninterested (or rather ill equipped!) in courting tourists, and I was genuinely interested by its location and relationship to the USA, it's history, and its current political climate.
It's was a lovely few days despite a few things, alluded to above. The immigration stuff I already mentioned earlier. I don't really do political analytical prose very well, but I was really horrified by it. I was especially shocked by the way the border control worked in such a one way manner. Juarez is famous to most people, for not only being one of the most dangerous cities in the world (sorry mam) but also for the disappearance of literally hundreds of young girls. Maybe it's one of the bloody Americans who can just swan through without any kind of notification, or record of their entry?!
The reputation of the city itself presented me with a sense of foreboding - not to mention discomfort regarding my own dishonesty in not telling anyone back home that I was going. Matt and Angela asked me not to, students warned me against it, and I knew everyone at home wouldn't like it one bit if they knew.... All on all it was very sleekit of me to go, and it put a damper on the trip itself. Despite the fact I can be a little lying cat at times, I never really manage to ignore my badness, and I felt horribly guilty and desperate "to 'fess to marmee" as Jo March would say. I had awful anxiety dreams, and generally peed myself every time a car so much as backfired. The city has been on the news all over the world this week again, because of a female murderer; they are calling her a vigilante killer, a crazed blonde, who is seeking vengeance for the lost women of Juarez by killing bus drivers (unsure of what links them).
Despite all this, it was of course all fine; the family lived in a safe house, with locked gates and a massive Alsatian- who was somewhat ironically the main source of my only injury and terror. What a nasty dog. Shaddy, if you ever read this, I'm very sorry for badmouthing any part of your lovely domestic situation, but that dog is a horror story of the highest degree. When I first arrived, he allowed me an initial degree of complacency- even presenting a favourable comparison to the 4 yappy little dogs who were scampering about manically. He let me stroke him, throw a rubber chicken about... All the classic dog bonding stuff. Day two however, saw me modelling a new dress (from Texas no less), the orange tones of which must have enraged him, as he went for me on the way out the door, tearing my dress, breeks and the skin off my leg in the process. I am NOT scared of dogs (perhaps that should be WASN'T), nor was I petting him or "annoying him" as one or two unsympathetic friends have suggested. He just went for me for no reason, and had to be forcibly restrained. Over the course of the next few days, he alternated between wary acceptance, and outright hostility. This morning he nipped my arse, and chased me up the stairs, which genuinely made me almost faint- the only reason this (albeit common) embarrassment was averted, was because I went into the toilet and lay on the cool tiles. It wasn't playing, it was aggression, and it was focused. In fact, all the dogs hated me. It made me feel a bit serial killer-esque, as they seemed to sense some kind of evil in their midst. The more they barked/growled/bit the more I sweated and fidgeted. Shaddy helpfully told me that even he could smell my fear, but it's all very well to know that this is a stupid way to be with dogs, quite another to be able to suddenly not be scared. I have a sad track record with dogs abroad. I had to fly home emergency (with corresponding costs) when I was in Ghana, when a kid threw a puppy at me. My own rarely dormant hypochondria, added to that of my mother and aunt, saw me having post exposure rabies treatment at the Centre for Infectious Diseases in London, 24 hours later. ( I was also bitten in India, but chose to risk death by rabies rather than the resulting teasing I knew would ensue if I let my neurosis take over again). Anyway, this time it WASN'T anything to do with me petting or poking or any cute stuff with these dogs. I was blameless.
The demise of the dress was the reason we went to Texas for the second time. It's my first experience of America, and it was largely what I expected. El Paso itself, is only marginally less ugly than Juarez. We went to a mall, and the shop assistants were lovely, if terrifying in their focused pursuit of a sale. We went into the most ghastly shop imaginable (it was "totally me" apparently...) full of cardigans that looked like they were made by the blind, and skirts that the Amish would reject for being too dour. I was thrilled by the idea of being personified by this particular store, and even more so by the honey eyed gal, who came over to force me into a changing room with loads of monstrosities that were just "so me". For some reason, only known to my deep subconscious, I felt obliged to not only go into the changing room, but to actually try the garments on. The fact they suited me was the most crushing part of all. I then felt I had to go and explain to her that I didn't have time to try them on properly (lies), but thanks for her kindness. She looked saddened by my rejection, but said "have a good day y'all" which thrilled me. I ended up buying the ill fated orange dress again, which was from the Jessica Simpson range (who knew?!) and clearly aimed at lithe teenagers. It has gold cut outs on it. Hmmm.
Everyone in Texas was petty fat. I know the people of Scotland aren't exactly svelte, and that the "Americans are a little chubby" shtick is a bit old, but I was kind of taken aback despite the forewarning. We went to Starbucks and I had a Reece's peanut chocolate chip cookie. Perhaps we should say there but for the grace of god go I. It was divine beyond description.
The USA has never interested me as a destination; it's too similar culturally to home, and I do have a bad attitude towards it, largely due to information from South Park. It was a nice day, and a total pleasure to be able to FREELY COMMUNICATE, but I am in no great rush to return. Somewhat ironically I kept talking Spanish to people. I imagine a few months of looking like a pretentious twerp will follow my return home, as I answer gracias to everyone, and shriek que bueno! At the slightest encouragement.
The plane has just landed. It's pouring with rain, apparently the metro is flooded, and I don't know how to get home. On that upbeat note I best skedaddle.
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