Stages of Culture Shock: #2

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From what I've read there are four phases of culture shock when you move to a new place: excitement, frustration from differences, gradual adaptation, and acceptance. Let me spend two minutes here in Phase #2 whining about stuff.

  • GERMS: We haven't gotten as sick as I worried we would, but we have gotten a little sick, in spite of our best efforts to drink purified water, avoid ice cubes, wash hands, and eat carefully. Here's Joseph modeling his awesome soldado insurgente costume that I spent days tracking down for the Independence Day play at school. He had a line and everything ("¡No nos redimos!" We don't give up!) and then, the day before the play, the tummy troubled kicked in. Missed school. Missed play. Not a big deal in the long-run, but disappointing. 

  • BUREAUCRACY: Tom signed up James for soccer. I will no longer complain about the clunky BRYC website back home -- the requirements for joining the local rec team were insane. 

Translation:

- Two passport-size photos

 - 1 copy of their birth certificate

- 1 copy of your CURP (Copy & paste:  The CURP stands for Clave Única de Registro de Población, which translates to Unique Population Registry Code in English. It is a unique 18-character identification code assigned to all citizens and residents of Mexico. The CURP is essential for various purposes, including applying for citizenship, accessing healthcare, opening bank accounts, and renewing passports and, apparently, for playing on 11 year old kid soccer teams.

- 1 copy of the parent's INE (voting credential, which we don't have, so Tom brought their passports which are, generally, magical documents which seem to serve as official anythings for all bureaucratic purposes. It worked.)  

- 1 copy of proof of address. So, we have a mailbox, but the Mexican postal system just don't work. Period. In our two months here, we've gotten one piece of mail: an electric bill in our landlord's name. We don't even have the key for the mailbox, but luckily a corner of the bill was sticking out of the slot so we could slip it out. We've used that paper half a dozen times now! Tom just used it again to open a bank account. Nobody seems even slightly concerned that it has somebody else's name on it.

- Sports physical and a certificate of your blood type. Sports physical, I get. Blood type? This isn't rugby, people! I confess, we skipped the blood draw and just crossed our fingers and nobody said anything. It was a bit of a battle to get James to agree to play at all because he was nervous about not knowing anyone and not speaking the language. Drawing blood was just a bridge too far. 

I'm sure there will be more whining in the future, but I'm feeling better for getting that much off my chest. 

Comments

Maria said…
What?!? Lisa, that is crazy what you have to do to sign the boys up for soccer hopefully this isn't an every season hoop you have to jump through
11:07 PM
Lisa said…
No, I think once we're in the system it gets easier in the subsequent years.
11:41 PM
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