More than guacamole

Before I meet my teacher, I am estranged from her Mexican culture. I eat incredible guacamole and climb historical ruins, but I can’t communicate. I arrive in Merida wanting help.
Chari’s smiling face and lineless Latina skin make her look too young to be a Spanish teacher, but she’s actually older than I am. I tell her my Spanish is basic; I want to improve my conversation skills. She starts speaking to me in Spanish, and I immediately ask her to slow down in English.
At first I use Chari's body language to understand her, but the Spanish gets easier with time. We both have cheap cell phones and a gay friend in Paris! We both studied abroad, UK for me, Iowa for her.
Chari says studying in the US was like a vacation. In Mexico gregarious student lifestyles with parties and lavish dorms are not common. She went to Iowa on a scholarship. Now she is finishing her degree while living with her parents outside Merida. She takes one of the many Meridian buses to town for class and work. She sleeps in a hammock every night. (Many Mexicans do.)
“If I could get rid of one thing in the world it would be money,” Chari is able to explain to me in Spanish. I understand; I hate money too. “I hope money is not important,” I say back in bad Spanish.
We discuss this in English.
“It’s funny how I don’t make much money in the US, but because of the strong dollar, I can still afford travel,” I say without thinking.
“Yes, funny for you!” She sharply replies.
She shows me more than how to speak.
We don’t discuss money after this, but I do buy her mojitos when we go see the city before Dia de los Muertos. We walk and talk in English, and she shows me her Merida. She tells stories of her youth and explains the holiday which remembers the lives of deceased loved ones. A man in a white sombrero serenades an elderly crowd, and we stop to listen. It’s a slow ballad she knows from her childhood.
I listen to his song intently. I know only some words, but now I am beginning to understand.