some sounds i collected:

emily — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 12:32:00 GMT

every afternoon at two o'clock a man cycles down our street with lime sorbet, yelling "nieeeeeeeve!" in the most mournful voice possible. and i take my six pesos and buy a cup-full, straw and all, and stare at the two mangy dogs who live in the doorway opposite.

the clickaclickclackaclick of the tortilla machine in the ubiquitous tienditas (little shops) in San Andreas, churning out warm tortillas. and i ask the man for half a kilo and watch as they're weighed on the old machine and carefully wrapped in brown paper, curled neatly at the edges. and by the time i cycle home the freshness has made a damp imprint on the paper.

"nopaaaales por cin-co pe-soooos" the cactus-leaf lady wails, cycling somewhere in our vicinity as her voice floats through cholula streets.

fireworks, gunshots and general mayhem, courtesy of the church behind my room, where something is always being celebrated. there are a lot of saints in this country. one particularly memorable/surreal night there were fireworks every hour on the hour; i kept waking up to see blurred colours at the window, then bewilder-dly passing out again to be woken 59 minutes later.

the creaks of an old unkept house struggling to continue existing. the doors heavy and swinging in the wind, the dog attempting to sneak in but foolishly stepping on the third floorboard - and don't step too heavily on my balcony, your perspective may changes slightly and suddenly.

the tingling of bells around ankles. dan (flatmate) and i both have one, courtesy of my india stop-over, and consequently we are easy to track down.

peacocks meowing drunkenly and startlingly on the university grounds. puffed, elevated and brilliantly dressed, they are hilariously similar to the student demographic. there's one in particular who lurks above the bookstore, screaming randomly at passersby.

cat empire in the morning, guitar voices on the roof at midnight, and reggae at all other times. delicious, delicious music and wonderfully excessive numbers of musos (last weekend a 10-piece band camped out in our two-room apartment. free tickets, anyone?)

arghh! at ridiculous times of the night, an atole (corn) stand sets up shop and begins to blare insanely irritating and repetitive music and slogans until they sod off. if i ever hear anyone buying any i feel like an irish union worker on strike watching traitors, i mean fellow workers, heading into the factory. when mum and dad were staying the corn man helpfully arrived just when we all started vomiting (thankyou montezuma, I hope your revenge was sweet). worst. soundtrack. ever.

moon sky sleepout

emily — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 03:32:00 GMT

I’m lying in Danielle’s sleeping bag on our roof, looking at the stars of a different sky. A car advertisement is driving past, blaring music and incentives to buy. And a second later, yet another noise pollution extravaganza of a vehicle. Maybe they are competing for the town’s loyalty (which is being sorely tested by the loudspeakers). Overriding it all is the fervent jangling of the church bells and occasional gunshots celebrating yet another saint. If I wait long enough, there will almost certainly be fireworks. So many Mexicans, so many fiestas. When I turn my head to the left, the full moon stares back at me – to my right, the omnipresent pyramid. I can just see into my kitchen window, where two friends are talking about the politics of colour (I think – it’s in Spanish). Every now and then a round of communication is initiated by one of the hundreds of dogs that roam Cholula streets. The two mangy dogs that huddle in the doorstep opposite ours are probably among them. Mildew and Odious, they are the feral foaming rabies-infested version of the popular movie, and I like to imagine their skanky adventures around town. As if beckoned by my dog-scribblings, the communal dog Cocky (not frothing or twitching) has arrived on the scene, sitting nearby and staring intensely at the pyramid. And still the bells are ringing religiously. Sensory deprivation is definitely not an issue in this neighbourhood.

In a blatant aside, my Spanish is crazily incomprehensible to most (as is my English, perhaps) but slowly improving. Yesterday I told a friend, ‘It was very sausage!’(chorizo/sausage versus chistoso/amusing) in a very eloquent attempt to describe the lunar eclipse on Wednesday (okay, so I currently have approximately three adjectives to work with. Life’s tough in the far-from fluent-Spanish-speaking world). A group of us climbed to the top of the pyramid to watch the earth’s shadow creep over the moons surface – timidly at first, and then boldly, possessively.

Now I’m back inside (after a short nap during which time the moon crawled even higher and became even smaller, a reverse growth principle I find disconcerting) and propped up in my creaky bed staring out into the street. The gunshots are still inciting prayers, and I neglected to go to a concert at Pallawatch, the crazy fusion restaurant where Daniella (my flatmate) works. I volunteer in the German bakery next door (learning to bake is part of my insurance policy for graduating in a subject which, the more I learn about it, I’m not entirely sure I condone). I’m trying to be quiet because as usual we have people staying over, this time a school friend of Dan’s. I don’t think I’m being successful though because I’m working on the principle of playing music fairly loudly (I am getting my aussie-accent fix via Paul Kelly downloads) and assuming it cancels out all other noise. I am surprised to find that I am a slightly resentful host - a hangover of a childhood in the hospitality industry?! I enjoy having people over, I am just uncomfortable at the role of intermediary between house and guest. Still, I have plenty of opportunities to improve – our couch has been offered up to the gods of couchsurfing, an online community whereby people offer up their homes and lives to fellow travelers (why travel when the world will come to you?). So we have a - what would the collective term be, a backpack? - of travelers smiling through the house and revolutionizing our existence. Which is lovely.

Last weekend I voyaged to Mexico City with Nepalese couchsurfer and beautiful human being Japhy, where we stayed (surprise surprise) with other couchsurfers. They took us to a series of very Mexican pulqerias, where funnily enough you drink pulque - a fermented cactus plant with the consistency of snot, hopefully blended with a more delicious fruit…. mm guava-flavoured nostril fluid (porque pulque?!). It was hilarious because there’s not the same age-segration in these venues as there might be in Australia, and most people can afford to drink pulque, so the whole spectrum of Mexico were in there. So I danced with a legitimately old Mexican woman to some crazy reggae – very random and very fun, although there were definitely a variety of smells in there as well. They closed surprisingly early, so we went to a square where Mariachi bands play traditional love songs for couples. Groups roam about, very flash in white or black with brass buttons up the sides and sombreros, and approach likely-looking couples; ‘Love song for your beautiful lady?!’ The perfect people-watching point. And then we went to a club with live band and continued watching, this time the Mexican population salsa-ing very impressively. At least, I watched – most of the people I was with were also busting out their latino moves. Eventually I got brave enough to ask one of them for a how-to dance and then I was off, embarrassing myself with Mexican dancers everywhere. I think maybe I got a little bit better? But these guys were hardcore, they were still going at 4am (that’s many solid hours of intense dance workout) while Japhy and I were slumped outside with the Mariachis, giving out Cheetos and huddling over the warm (stale) air from the subway vents.

So, I’m back again after running out to Pallawatch because it was 2am, Dan wasn’t home, and so I thought maybe I’d get lucky and the band would still be playing. They weren’t, but they were all still lounging around in the tranquil atmosphere that is Pallawatch, along with the neighbours. Hurrah for happy late night / early morning vibes! In another aside (and there is a segue, you’ll see), I’m discovering that in some ways Spanish is a more poetic/romantic/days-of-yore take on English – for example, you say things like ´Me encantado!’ (I’m enchanted!), ‘tranquilidad’ (tranquil), and ‘ambienté’ (ambience). So now while writing in English I have strange urges to talk about ambience and use ‘enchantment’ in everyday contexts (how enchanting mother, you have a new pot plant! What a tranquil ambience you’re creating!). So: please consider this a warning! My language is in flux. And on that slightly random note, I shall go to bed.

DowntownTheWorld

some sounds i collected:

moon sky sleepout