A first month in Pachuca

After 32 days here, my chest feels heavy as I wander from the kitchen to the balcony for the final time. My luggage is stacked on the cement staircase. My final thermos of tea is sealed and snugged in my backpack pocket. What else? Oh, I should turn the fan off! It hasn't stopped buzzing for a full month (save a few power outages). This September has been perhaps the most stationary month of my adult life. For those who haven’t had the pleasure of my phone ramblings fueled by caffeine and isolation, here is a brief review.

My program placement is at UTVAM, a bilingual university in the small city of Tizayuca, which is the southernmost municipality in the state of Hidalgo. Due to quality of living and safety concerns, most faculty at the university choose to commute to work from the capital city, Pachuca de Soto (Pachuca for short) which is about an hour north of Tizayuca.

When I first connected with my boss Lulú early this summer, she recommended I find housing in Pachuca as well. I’d be closer to her and my other coworkers in case anything should come up.  She advised that the longer commute time from Pachuca would be made up for by the safety and comfort it would provide. In fact, she strongly dissuaded living in Tizayuca for these exact reasons (Funnily enough, living in CDMX didn’t even appear to be an option at first, even though its commute is only slightly longer than that from Pachuca. Most professors at UTVAM grew up in Pachuca or other parts of Hidalgo and seem quite psychologically distanced from Mexico City). So, I followed Lulú’s lead and found a 32-day air bnb in Pachuca, knowing virtually nothing about the city other than its 7,777ft of elevation.

It turns out Pachuca has about 1/2 million inhabitants, settled in the foothills of Chico national park. Economically, the city is a skeleton of what used to be a booming mining industry headed by British colonizers. The mines are no longer active, so the economics have shifted to a new wave of industrial production: in 2023 the highest level of international purchases in Pachuca were Bulldozers Graders, Scrapers, Mechanical Shovels, Excavators, Loaders, Tamping Machines, and “Apparatus for Filtering or Purifying Liquids or Gases” (oo la la!). Walking around, many of the inhabitants conduct their own shops out of the typical cinder block vernacular architectural style. These buildings are simultaneously places of business as well as living spaces. People sell cleaning supplies, second hand clothes, and almost always a few types of food- usually tacos, gorditas, or provincial pastes.

Navigating Pachuca was very hard for me at first. My local contacts consistently urged me to be vigilant, stick to main streets, not walk alone, and never trust anyone new. (I quote my mechanic: “In Mexico, you can trust people. But it’s better that you don’t”). That made for a confusing start to my nesting - on the one hand, I wanted to be cautious, but on the other, I wanted to get to know the city, its geography and many cultures, its ecosystems, its dead-ends and its secrets. And I had heard from past fellows that it is quite common for locals in our placement communities to overstress safety concerns. How do I piece apart genuine local insights from paternalistic overprotection?

This unrolled a carpet upon which I tossed and turned in internal conversation with myself. Wandering through Pachuca alone during the day, I almost exclusively observed interactions that were full of love and affection - two brothers wrestling playfully, tween couples kissing, old men bantering at the veggie market. Each taxi driver and shop owner I talked to showed me kindness and curiosity. And naturally, the more I explored, the more comfortable I became. I joined a trail running club and raced new friends up scree rocks. I went out for carnitas with Evelio, the man at the tech shop. I joined a gym and made my first friend: Mary the cleaning lady, with jaws that should be harnessed for renewable energy - she chews her pink chicle with hyperspeed. I texted my cute banker on WhatsApp like every day. But only about banking. Soon, I discovered which verdurería had the freshest spinach and bought a laundry card to get discounts at my closest laundromat.

And yet, there were moments that put me on edge. A few not-so-nice encounters, all with men, amplified the alert signals that were already always swirling in my head. How do I risk-assess with this many layers of contending input?

I spent the first few weeks with an elevated heartbeat. Those glowing purple mountains that I couldn’t explore dangled their carrot in front of me. My grounding connection to this ecosystem predominantly became the little black birds that shone blue in the sun. Oh, and the stray dogs that ruled the neighborhood, all crossing the block at the same time like youngsters biking around suburbia.

Despite these efforts at community-building, I spent the vast majority of my Pachuca time in my apartment. Since I only work Mon-Thurs, I would get home around 1:30 each day, which made for a lot of time alone. Every last flake of snow in my snow globe settled. I fell into conversation with myself in a novel way - asking my body and heart questions about what they needed, seeking realistic ways to nurture them.

I stared at myself in the mirror with nowhere for my eyes to divert. I listened to my thoughts, to my body’s aches for space. I had to find other ways to activate my body and spirit, other ways to feel free, to find some new trail, even if this time it couldn’t be physical.

Some meditating, daily journaling, lots of reading, job applications, FaceTime audios, some HIIT classes, LOTS of online yoga. A new pace. A transition from one activity to the next involved rolling my vertebra up one by one from the sunny spot on my astroturf balcony and meandering to the tea kettle to heat some water for my fifth cup of the hour. Time expanded profoundly. One day would yield 2,400 emotions, 8 epiphanies, two self-pitying caves, and approximately one job rejection from the many part-time remote side hustles I’ve been vying for (still no luck).

And now, here I am. Preparing for 11am checkout. Handyman Señor Raymundo will arrive any minute to help me store my luggage. I feel like a weightless particle, surrendering myself to be carried wherever comes next. And maybe that’s just it - maybe my growth this past month has been learning to surrender. To release, - release planning, release creating a plan before meeting a place, release the pride that comes with making assumptions about how something will be. Releasing certain desires, certain expectations that are born in my body and my head.

I am in the depths of process. I will spend October in Mexico City, commuting northward to Tizayuca. CDMX - the global hub of anthropology, metropolis full of art, tacos and chaos. Easier for visitors. More expensive. Longer drive to school. Full of Fulbrighters and other people my age. Safe places to run and be active. Research site for my to-be ethnographic project on the city’s water crisis. No more carpools with my beloved boss, Lulú.

No transition comes without some bittersweet uprooting. I really want to hold onto Pachuca. It has held me in its firm and confusing grasp of isolation and quietude.

But this next stage feels important and aligned. After a month of turning my energy and attention inward, I hope to extend outward once more, stretching my arms wide to absorb the burning sun of Chilangolandia.