Guadalajara Airport, it looks a lot nicer during the day, I arrived about 9pmTalking about the time I went to Mexico to learn Spanish in the summer of 1992. I was still playing lacrosse, but I went there to take a Spanish immersion course which I needed for the doctoral program in history I would be starting at the Maxwell School at Syracuse University (see earlier post in the blog archive. This was the time in my life when I started the transition into academia. Foolishly I wore a suit on the plane to Guadalajara and it was hot, and the taxi (most taxis back then) did not have air conditioning. Plus I had to use the bathroom pronto (came to Guadalajara knowing that word)! I gave the driver the address and he first took me to one neighborhood that looked straight up ghetto. Again the wrong choice message played in head. Thank God he had the wrong place and we moved on a much nicer neighborhood that I would call home for the next three months and several summers thereafter. The house was located in a lower middle class neighborhood. My host was a single parent named Maria De Jesus who went by the name Chuy and lived with her twelve year old daughter Andrea. More tomorrow.
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