Un Dia en Roma

With pesos in our pockets we head out to explore our neighborhood for the week: Roma Norte. Specific destination: Panaderia Rosetta of Rosetta fame. But first, just on the corner, we find an Argentinian restaurant that will be showing a Gold Cup match later. Watching soccer matches has become a tradition when we travel. We're already starting to feel at home.

Calle Durango is meant for strolling, tree lined with flower beds and wrought iron. The air is sweet and the sky is clear. I continue to feel relieved after our rough arrival yesterday and humbled by how much traveling teaches me about the world. But before I can contemplate this further I need breakfast! Panaderia here we come.



 


Our mission today is to acclimate to the altitude and the culture, namely, the language. As this blog is titled "Una Chicana's First Time to Mexico City" there are a few things I should share, otherwise known as the ABC's of Marvilyn's cultural identity:
A. I'm Mexican (a surprise for some, "duh" for others)
B. "Mexican-American" is not a hyphenation I grew up with, we were all just Mexican
C. I don't speak Spanish

Let me expand on letra C. I don't speak Spanish well. I grew up around it. I took classes in high school(if you know me well you know how that was) and college. Being a non-Spanish speaking Chicanx is enough to make anyone need lifetime Cultural Identity Therapy (CIT for short with the "C" pronounced as "S," kidding, it's not really a thing) especially in the U.S. where we're not Mexican enough to be truly Mexican or white enough to be All American. "Ni de aqui, ni de alla" as they say. So let's just say that going to Mexico for the first time means this Chicanita has much more baggage than her carry on.

There were enough people in line at the panaderia for me to think through said baggage: "What if they don't understanding me? What if they insist on speaking in English after hearing me butcher their language? What if they laugh and throw stale pan at me, driving me away in shame, panless and hungry?" I breathe and steele myself as the line grows shorter and shorter.

A "buenos dias," a smile, and "para dos, por favor" was all it took. I make a cringe worthy order of "un cafecito" and only a simple question, "Que tipo? Tenemos..." No eye roll, no frustration, no yelling louder for all to know that I did not indeed speak the language. A little small talk with the woman at the bar next to me and it was happening...I was speaking Spanish!

The rest of the day we wander La Roma practicando espanol. We shop at pop-up bazaars housed in old mansions with artisans selling their wares. I buy a beaded necklace from a woman from Guanajuato, "Donde aprendiste hacer eso?" I ask her.
"El internet" respondio and we both laugh. She tells me that Tulum, in Guanajuato, has many expatriates and that her son helps her translate. Not needed here. My Spanish is not the best, but this week I get to practice with the kindest people to make it better.