Excuse Me? Excuse Me? Do You Speak Spanish? Do you speak Spanish? (Part 1) (Part 1)

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“Wake up, baby.” "Wake up, bērnu."

I blink away a dream of hard blacks and whites, and the Pacific sun dances on my face and bells' bright noise bounce through the room. I mirgot prom sapnis cietās melnās un baltās, kā arī Klusā svētdiena dejas par manu sejas un zvani "spilgti troksni plātīties ar telpu.

“Listen, it's that church,” The Boy says. "Uzklausiet, tas, ka baznīca," The Boy saka. I look out the window, and over hotels crumbling into the blue air, I see a green hillside tiled with soft white homes, setting off the rusting iron crown of a church tower. I piesargies loga, un vairāk nekā viesnīcas crumbling uz zila gaisa, es redzu zaļā Hillside tiled ar mīksto balto māju, kurā pie rusting dzelzs kronis no baznīcas torņa.

“Very charming,” I say. "Ļoti burvīgs," I say. Then I sit up, listening more carefully. Tad es sēdēt uz augšu, klausīšanās rūpīgāk. “That's my iPhone's alarm.” I turn it off. "Tas ir mans IPHONE's signālu." Es to izslēgtu.

“Oh,” The Boy says, and his voice is an echo of mine from last night, when we taxied into seaside Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, and passed my personal North Star, Starbucks. "Ak," The Boy saka, un viņa balss ir atbalss raktuvju no pēdējā nakts, kad mēs taxied vērā piejūras Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, un nokārtojusi manu personas North Star, Starbucks. “La estrellas bucks!” I cooed. "La estrellas buki!" Es cooed. “So we're still in civilization.” ", Tāpēc mēs esam vēl civilizācija."

Then we drove away from the main drag, four lanes lined with hotel plazas, each their own whitewashed, resort village. Tad mēs aizbraucām prom no galvenā velciet, četras joslas izklāta ar viesnīcas plazas, katrai savas whitewashed, kūrorta ciemā. We jiggled gentle in the American car on Mexican cobbled streets, making soft turns until we stopped in an alley that ended facing a blur of ocean. Mēs jiggled Maiga, Amerikāņu auto par Meksikas cobbled ielām, padarot mīkstu pagriezienus, līdz mēs pārtraukts ar aleja kas beidzās jāatrisina aizmiglot okeāna. The Boy paid the cab driver in wrinkled dollars, and we stepped out in front of a condo building. The Boy samaksājis kabīnes dzinējspēku krunkains dolāru, un mēs izgāju priekšā a condo ēkā. “This is it,” he said. "Tas ir tas," viņš teica. “Right on the beach! "Tiesības uz pludmali! You planned well.” Jūs plānots labi. "

“If you had known this earlier, would you have laid me during our layover?” I asked. "Ja jums ir zināms šo agrāk, kas jums ir, kas mani laikā mūsu nolaišanās?" Es uzdoti. We elevatored to our top-floor rental, a comfortable cube of space shaped with plaster. Mēs elevatored mūsu augstākā grīdas noma, ērtu kuba kosmosa formas ar plaster. “This is smaller than your pool house,” I said. "Tas ir mazāks nekā jūsu baseins māja," es teicu. “But cozy.” A plastic parrot hanging from the ceiling watched us unpack and rush back out the door. "Bet mājīgs." A plastmasas papagailis nokarātos no griesti noskatījos mums izkravāt un skriešanās atpakaļ no durvīm. The Boy and I surveyed the scene outside our building. Zēnam, un es apsekots notikuma ārpus mūsu ēkā. “Cute, right?” I stared at a patio restaurant nestled into the structure's side. "Cute, tiesības?" Es stared pie terašu restorānu nestled vērā struktūru pusē. “And look, how exotic — there are so many white Americans!” The Boy took my hand and we walked on the sidewalk lining the shore. "Un skatīties, kā eksotisko - ir tik daudz balta amerikāņi!" The Boy pārņēma manu roku, un mēs walked par sidewalk uzliku krasta. The Pacific slushed against piles of pebbles, making mild music. The Pacific slushed pret pāļi no Oļi, padarot vieglu mūziku. We paused at carts dusted with trinkets that blinked in soft midnight lights. Mēs pauzētas pie mašīnas dusted ar piekariņi, ka blinked mīkstajās pusnakts gaismas. I fingered a silver ring. I neuzpērkams sudraba gredzenā.

“Authentic Mexico, made in China,” said The Boy. "Authentic Meksika, kas izgatavoti Ķīnā," teica zēnam.

The bells start clanging again, and shake me from my memory. The zvani sākt clanging vēlreiz un krata mani no manas atmiņas. “Are those real this time?” I stretch like a cat under the Mexican blanket, its pattern filtered through a clean American aesthetic. "Vai tās reālā šo laiku?" Es stiepuma kā kaķis ar Meksikas sega, tā modeļa izfiltrē caur tīru American estētisks. I slip on my vintage wooden wedges, and one of two dresses I brought. I kvīts par manu vintage koka ķīļi, un viens no diviem kleitas I ierosināta lieta. Three coats of mascara, two minutes of black eye shadow, a layer of SPF 45 lotion later and we're walking through a seaside town still gray with morning. Trīs mēteļi no Mascara, divas minūtes melno acu ēnu, slāni SPF 45 losjons vēlāk, un mēs esam iešana caur piejūras pilsētā joprojām pelēks ar rīta.

We stroll away from the beach through crooked streets, weaving in and out of slow-moving locals. Mēs pastaiga attālumā no pludmales ar šķību ielām, aušanai un no lēni pārvietojas vietējie. The Boy nudges me, and I turn to see Mexican men stare. The Boy nudges mani, un es savukārt redzēt Meksikas vīriešu skatiens. “You're making the city's productivity drop 10%,” The Boy says. "Tu esi pieņemšanas pilsētas produktivitātes kritums par 10%," The Boy saka. He pauses to let me pass first, as we hit a part of the sidewalk crowded with construction workers. Viņš pauzes, ļaujot man iet pirmkārt, mēs hit daļu no sidewalk pieblīvēts ar celtniecības darbiniekiem. “After you.” "Pēc tam, kad jums blakus."

“Always the gentleman,” I say. "Vienmēr ir džentlmenis," I say. I tug the high hem of my skirt, a drop-waist T-shirt tunic I decided was a dress. I dzeņaukste augsta noklepoties manas svārki, a drop-viduklis T-krekls tunika es nolēmu bija kleita. “I thought everyone would be sexy and half naked here,” I explain to no one. "Es domāju, ka visiem būtu sexy un pusi neapbruņotu šeit," es izskaidrot neviens. A little brown-skinned boy passes us, lifting his eyebrows at me in suggestion, smirking. Nedaudz brūnā āda zēns iet mums, celšanas viņa uzacis pie manis ieteikumam, smirking.

And then, despite years of globalization dancing 'round the world, spreading broken English and Western capitalism, despite growing up in an international beach town whose native tongue is Spanglish, I have a completely foreign experience: Un tad, neskatoties uz gadu globalizācijas dejas "ap Pasaule, izplatot šķelto angļu un Rietumu kapitālisms, neskatoties uz aug starptautiskā pludmales pilsēta, kuru dzimtā valoda ir Spanglish, man ir pilnīgi ārvalstu pieredze:

I wish I'd worn a bra and jeans, and maybe even a pair of flats. Es vēlos I'd valkātas a bra un džinsi, un varbūt pat pāri dzīvokļi.

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