I see stars, and planets!

Hola!
This is the end of my first week at work and I am delighted with everything -- work environment, my projects, the people -- these two years are going to go fast. And I'm sleeping better, too. It's cooler here and there are no mosquitoes! And my bedroom has screens so I can sleep with the window open.

I heard that the nearby active volcano had a large plume the day I arrived. I don't know if it was acting up or just happy to see me.

I have changed my mind about living near the center. Yes, it is a sleepy little pueblo with a real "Mexico" feel. And yes, it is within walking distance to work. But there's absolutely nothing else here. There's no restaurant to go to after work for dinner; there's no cinema, no museums, no mercado, nada. I am expanding my housing search to the larger city nearby.

The 8th of June arrived with a clamor from the church bells and reports of fireworks, unlike anything I have experienced in Mexico so far. Even the neighborhood dogs and roosters got into the act. (This was at 6 a.m., by the way.) It turns out that the 8th of every month is special here. That's when the town celebrates the conception of Christ. Every single month.

The bells and fireworks went on throughout the day. Around 6 p.m. I was back in my room at home and heard what I thought was a small marching band pass the house. I looked down from my second-story window and saw a small procession of villagers walking down the street, led by a few musicians and someone scattering flower petals on the cobblestones to create a flower-strewn path for the "virgins" who followed. Eight adolescent girls dressed in white carried a small statue of the Virgin Mary in a glass case. A dozen or so others brought up the rear. It was such an unexpected sight I had to laugh out loud. (No one heard me, though). The procession passed, leaving a flower-strewn street in its wake. I can't wait for December!

A few minutes later I heard a bicycle horn on the street below. I went to the window again and saw a man riding a bicycle slowly over the cobblestones and through the flower petals. Mounted on the back of his bike were three huge baskets filled with bread. He honked his horn as he passed to alert the neighborhood that the bread man was there.

I had another "where-the-hell-am-I?" experience yesterday. I was in a small pueblo with my office mates to help with a traveling science fair. Our center and other institutions participate in a government-sponsored fair that brings science and culture to rural parts of Mexico. We provide a science trailer with hands-on demos, and offer handicrafts for children, including paper models of a telescope and a 20-sided model of the sky with all its constellations. My host sister/co-worker and I helped children construct models of Saturn using recycled CDs and styrofoam balls. In 2.5 hours we helped 150 children make little Saturns and had to turn kids away because we ran out of materials.

I added several Spanish words to my vocabulary yesterday: "Paciencia, por favor!" (Patience, please!), "Una a la vez!" (One at a time!), Resistol (a brand of glue), and "Dios mio, de donde todos estos ninos vienen?" (My god, where did all these kids come from?").

The surreal moment came when, through the din of the crowd, I heard a performer singing the Italian aria Nesun Dorma -- my all-time favorite piece. There I was, surrounded by Mexican children making little Saturns while listening to an Italian opera. It was a peak experience.

New-food report: Now I know why prickly pear is usually sold only as jelly in our stores. They're full of seeds, like little black BBs, and almost impossible to eat. But the Mexicans just chomp away, seeds and all. Same with guavas. I don't know how they do it. I am the proud owner of a quarter bushel of prickly pears, or "tunas," which we bought on the way home yesterday. I'm going to make agua fresca, which is fruit-flavored water. I can just strain out the seeds. That's if I can navigate past the hundreds of little thorns on the outside.

Hasta luego. I'm going to a barbacoa (barbeque) tomorrow, hosted by one of the counterparts to welcome the five of us to the center. Should be fun.

I love summer camp!