Mil Palabras: Guadalajaran Trees

August 30, 2029

GUADALAJARA, Mexico

In those days, I was finishing up a degree in the Spanish language in Guadalajara, Mexico, riding the wave of what was left of my mid-life postponement, wedged between two countries, two languages, girlfriends, professions, et al. I remember I turned 36 there, straddling the fence between youth and middle-age, having just moved from Madrid where I had lived for almost six years, and the six weeks in Mexico was an understated adjustment, preceded by the initial shock that Mexico was not even second but third world.

Thanks to a particularly media-hyped influenza virus outbreak called the H1, la gripe porcina or swine flu, it was the first time I noticed a budding prevalence of hand sanitizers located at the thresholds of buildings and doorways. These containers came in various sizes and modes of bringing you a smattering of transparent gel that -as advertised on the label- purported to kill 99.9% of all bacteria. As we now know the action of trying to kill off 99.9% of all the bacteria on our hands only resulted in some vicious mutations that, in turn, killed a healthy percentage of of our own. Even when the US government declared the official “War on Bacteria”, no one really believed it would work based on the other unending, unrealistic wars they had waged and lost at the end of the 20th and beginning of the 21st centuries. In fact, it’s obvious that the bacteria are winning the war because they’re so hard to see and, in comparison, we’re such big targets (which was basically the same problem we had with those pesky terrorists).

Coincidentally or not, these signs of those times occurred around the same rise in popularity as the current standard handshake alternative we now call the knuckle knock (a.k.a. fist bump). It was the obvious choice since no one bites their knuckles, picks their nose or rubs their eyes with their knuckles, allowing us to bump away at our leisure without worrying about any germ-addled palms or bacteria-infected fingernails.

That was, of course, after shaking hands became outlawed and heftily fined (except for political photo-ops), the inter-touching of citizens was largely avoided and fully a part of our national ethos. We became the paradox that we now are: self-isolated from each other, humans in need of touch, but unable to get it.

Guadalajara, the huge chunk of sprawling gaud that it was, shocked me awake every morning to the sounds outside my window: a broom sweeping long assiduous strokes starting at 6:30 am by calloused hands whose owner I never once saw; a particular bird that endlessly repeated two sounds similar to a doorbell during the day; and a train a few blocks from the house where I slept would lay on its horn as it entered the city for about 30 seconds. Every morning for six weeks I entered third world modernity with a brutal aural shock that, only near the end of my stay, became commonplace enough to be an afterthought, part of the background and, as I recall it now, something to which I yearn to return.

That, and the storms. The rainy season brought at least one storm a day that hinted Armageddon. About 30 minutes before, the wind would pick up, thunder echoed its cacophony throughout the city and finally the sky could come down in inexorable sheets of sopping anger. I sometimes found myself staring at the storms, into their chaotic spit, rooting for them.

Every morning I walked about 30 minutes to the school, which had a route of a massive L from my house to there linking two major streets. In the six weeks throughout the course of my commute, I learned to weave through the street grids in patterns that equated to many different smaller Ls, sometimes in order to find the most efficient path to the destination, sometimes with the route serving to just avoid large puddles.

Over the course of my six weeks there, I fell in love with the plentiful and varied trees that densely dotted every street, flanked buildings and shaded parks. But what most struck me about them was their open discontent they had with the city itself: All large trees grew quietly but never complacently. Many of the upper root systems were above ground, and many of those grew rampantly through the sidewalks, cracking the cement, sometimes shooting through it, sometimes even breaking the sidewalk into shards. Occasionally large slabs of concrete were upturned on their sides. These broken shards of cement and rippled slabs of concrete sometimes caused the sidewalkers to trip. After my first near fall, I walked with vigilance toward the ground, their anchorage, their veins exposed and ripping through dense human progress. Occasionally I glanced upward at them, a little fearful.

What was the government’s response? Apathy. The Department of Parks and Recreation seemed to be nonexistent. Only when a particularly harsh storm would knock down too many branches would they eventually –several days later– come around to pick them up.

But the roots, the trunks, the discontentment, was fully ignored.

The trees were constantly in their own process of becoming, an act that I never consciously witnessed yet knew was always happening right before my eyes.

Then, I wished I had been an arborist as I would’ve known what all the species were. As it was, I could barely distinguish the Ficus from the Laurel, nor did I know then what I know now: the thousands of Guadalajaran trees included many Orange, Ash, Poplars and Jacaranda trees, to name a few.

One day while I ambled my way through a series of Ls, I stumbled upon the following image, which inspired these words.

Elephantine fountains of air.

Green soldiers with gangly, tangled

anchors

surfacing, in protest of

civilization’s progress and Mexican

indifference, manifested in their belligerent machines

spewing soot and distorted ranchero brass.

Sidewalks cracking, separating

silently

like glaciers,

in distances too minute to be measured,

in time to slow to be counted,

by us: the ones who planted them,

who falter above their discontent,

who have no time to watch them grow,

who are outgrown by their patient, massive loom

and their inconspicuous revolution.

I stand here

awed,

dwarfed,

humbled,

rooting.

***********************************************

You can view some of these militant trees and their root uprisings here.

TAGS: arborist, discontent, Guadalajara: huge chunk of sprawling gaud, H1N1, hand sanitizers, knucke knock, la gripe porcina, Mexican summer storms, mid-life straddle, rooting, roots, swine flu, War on Bacteria

KIP TOBIN's real name is Stephen Christopher Tobin, but no one really calls him that, not even his mom. His favorite letter is "i", which is also one his least favorite words; his favorite words tend to include euphonious consonants like Ls and Rs and Ss, such as surly luscious allure. He relocated to middle America last year. He writes fiction and nonfiction but will not tweet. He's currently working on his doctorate in Latin American Literatures and Cultures, studying the intersection of the body, vision and media in contemporary Hispanic Science Fiction . If asked, he will tell you that S. Gautauma pretty much summed 'er all up when he said: All things are transient. Work out your own salvation. He's constantly in that latter process, all the while trying to become as present and aware as he possibly can in this world of simulacra and simulations. You can leave a message on the board here and he will try to get to back with you. His alter ego sometimes posts music mixes on Tip Robin's Mega Maxi Music Mix Mash (tiprobin.blogspot.com), which is unsearchable on the internet and something of a micro, gotta-be-in-the-know phenomenon. He's no longer a part of the social networking revolution. The revolution, it seems, will not be televised but rather streamed, and he hopes he's not watching it. He wishes everyone good luck whenever he can. Good luck.

2 responses to “Mil Palabras: Guadalajaran Trees”

Kip Tobin says:

January 15, 2010 at 11:33 pm

28 Comments »
Comment by josie
2009-08-30 18:57:48

…rooting.
Nice.

Multiple thoughts:
~ Been to the doctor’s a lot lately and people are using hand sanitizer like it was free candy. I think it’s a huge mistake. I never touch the stuff… but then, I’m pretty careful what I touch.
~ I have tender knuckles but I could really use a hug… just not from the hand sanitizer freaks. If they think they need it so bad I think I’ll keep my distance.
~ The bird, the train, the storm and trees – somehow you made it seem so familiar to me.
~ I’m quite certain I once saw a show where an innocent woman was walking past that very tree when she was swarmed by killer bees….. I’m like 83% sure it was that tree.
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Comment by Kip Tobin
2009-08-30 19:01:51

Thanks Josie.

I like your multiple thoughts.

I love that you treat hand sanitizer like it’s booze o heroin.

If I were there right now, I’d give you either a really soft knuckle bump, or a big ole hug.

Kip
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Comment by Zara Potts
2009-08-30 19:04:04

I love those trees. I love those words, Kip.
I hate that I am becoming addicted to hand sanitizer.
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Comment by tip robin
2009-08-31 05:58:41

Thanks Zara.

Careful with that sanitizer.
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Comment by Jennifer Duffield White
2009-08-30 19:21:19

Those trees–amazing. Loved the convergence of bacteria and phobias and amidst it, those roots silently breaking through concrete.
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Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-08-30 20:16:24

Well, in my comment in response to yours in the piece below this one, I called for a new post by Kip Tobin, and what do I now discover? I never knew I had such power to control minds.

I love the sly sci-fi angle, which reminds me a little (in the best of ways) of Michel Houellebecq’s The Elementary Particles. In general, it’s a terrific piece.

Now to test my powers again:

Another piece! Immediately! Clap, clap!
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Comment by tip robin
2009-08-31 10:00:48

Thanks for your kind words.

Yes you probably can control minds and levitate objects with your mind. If you unlock that secret, please tell me how. Then again (and unfortunately), I have no other piece to immediately post. So maybe it’s just coincidence.

I haven’t yet read anything by Houellebecq, but I have Atomised in a box that is in Madrid and is hopefully on its way to me right now. That book, along with yours, are two of my autumn reads.
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Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-09-01 22:15:06

Atomised is the same book as The Elementary Particles; for some reason it goes by two names.

I won’t render my opinion of it, because I wouldn’t want to in any influence yours.
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Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-09-01 22:15:37

*in any way

Reply here

Comment by Rich Ferguson
2009-08-30 20:22:33

Hey Kip:

I loved this, especially that one passage:

“The trees were constantly in their own process of becoming, an act that I never consciously witnessed yet knew was always happening right before my eyes…”

Hope all’s well, brother.
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Comment by Kip Tobin
2009-08-31 19:51:39

Thanks dog.

Hope all is well with you, too. I’ll be rockin’ out Texas here soon, and hope to hit LA for a visit sometime in 2010. Can’t wait to finally meet the mythic Rich Ferguson.

Cheers.
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Comment by Lenore Zion
2009-08-30 21:15:20

i love when the roots of a tree are above ground. it’s pretty. so is this. i’m so jealous of those storms. i miss rain storms. LA would be a thousand times better if it stormed here. but all we get is brutal heat.

i’ve never been one to get all paranoid about bacteria, but i really enjoy hand sanitizer. it dries so quickly. something about that is really satisfying to me.

this is a really random collection of comments. i liked this piece, though. i’m just bad at commenting.
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Comment by tip robin
2009-08-31 14:13:23

brutal heat and smog you get over there. i lived in diego for 4 years and there was enough LA-superficial overrun that i had to get as far away as possible for the next 6, which i did. although, it seems that there is quite a group of hipsters over there related to this TNB crew. i hope to get out there someday and visit (before 2012 of course, when much of CA is supposed to drop into the pacific and the world might end, maybe).

even though you’re bad at commenting, thanks for doing it. makes me feel kinda fuzzy when i read even poorly constructed comments.
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Comment by tip robin
2009-08-31 14:14:01

that last paragraph was sarcastic, just going along with what you said.
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Reply here

Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-08-30 22:45:16

Ah, we’ve got storms and winds bearing down on us right now. It’s wonderful, but I spend too much time at work to get out and appreciate the trees in the midst of it.
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Comment by Andy Johnson
2009-08-31 00:04:30

The knuckle-bump riff is sharp as hell, man – truly excellent stuff all round.
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Comment by tip robin
2009-08-31 17:37:19

Thanks Agent.

Coming from you, the ultimate critic, that means a lot.

I was actually going to try to go into hip hop culture and its origin, possibly try to work in a Wu-tang reference, but I thought it best to just leave it be.
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Comment by Megan
2009-08-31 05:23:20

Creative, Señor Tobin. Observant and writerly. I loved “a brutal aural shock”. Mine was some hoarse guy yelling, “Aguuuuaaaaaaa! Aguuuuuaaaa!”

Pretty fitting you were captivated by root systems just about the same time you committed to putting down your own.

In defense of the Mexicans upheaved sidewalks are the very least of their issues.
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Comment by Kip Tobin
2009-08-31 05:50:31

I know that “¡Aguaaaaa!” guy, but he never really passed my window.

Interesting observation, that I was captivated by that which I was in the process of trying to realize.

And yes, Mexicans have a lot more to worry about than their roots, no doubt. In fact, if they hadn’t, I wouldn’t have noticed them, as they just would’ve been many lovely trees lining the roads and nothing else.
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Comment by Kip Tobin
2009-08-31 19:50:25

Also, for some reason, writerly doesn’t really seem like a compliment to me, which is fine because I don’t think any and all comments should be compliments, far from it, but it almost makes it seem like a synonym for “distant” or “not very accessible” or “complex” or “wordy” or “esoteric”.

Of course I’m certain that you didn’t mean it that way, I just thought I’d point out the mind-blowing paradox I’m experiencing right now as I step back from it and think about how a writer isn’t sure that the comment that his writing is writerly somehow isn’t positive.

Yes, I overthink things sometimes.
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Comment by Doug Mulliken
2009-08-31 08:16:18

i’m only going to quote what a wise man once told me –

“nice one. woof. keep up the good work!”

i owe you an email.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Doug Mulliken
2009-08-31 08:19:42

and i know, i just did what you hate. but you know what grad school’s like, man.
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Comment by Kip Tobin
2009-08-31 19:39:37

hey brother mulliken, i most certainly understand your position, and i thank you for your brief, kind words. grad school is definitely a time vacuum.

i am considering getting my PHD, so i can only keenly imagine what you are going through.

email when you can.

i’ll be here (which is everywhere), or austin.
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Comment by Kip Tobin
2009-08-31 19:39:53

woof!

Reply here

Comment by jmb
2009-08-31 19:57:13

I just thought about this yesterday in the ER how convenient it was to fist bump and not have to shake anyone’s hand.
I think in the future everything will be virtual and we wont ever have to actually
touch or see another living person, only their avatar.
Some people are practicing for this studiously.

Always good to see you here old chum.
Love the new picture up top.

Kip Tobin: The Southern Dandy!
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Comment by Kip Tobin
2009-08-31 20:03:46

Yeah, my mom loves that Deal or No Deal show and apparently Howie Mandel is a germaphobe and will only knuckle bump the contestants. It really does make a lot of sense.

Thanks for the comment there 59. Always appreciate you’re reading and typing up a few words.

Cheers.

T.S.D.
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Comment by Inés Pérez
2009-09-03 05:23:24

Love your pictures!!! What a great stuff you posted, as usual. I love that part when you say “self-isolated from each other, humans in need of touch, but unable to get it”. Really think that this happens more and more, and we see that in front of us but we just let it go because we are adults and we are not supposed to demand and/or to get this kind of things. What a shame…
Here in Madrid, with 30ºC at 2am, I really miss the storms too… I need some raaaaaaaaain!!!

Take care Kip!!
Besos,
Inés
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Comment by silverio
2009-09-16 06:16:48

“What was the government’s response? Apathy. The Department of Parks and Recreation seemed to be nonexistent. Only when a particularly harsh storm would knock down too many branches would they eventually –several days later– come around to pick them up.”

welcome to the “third world”…

nice to see you around brother…

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Carl D'Agostino says:

May 17, 2010 at 3:15 pm

“inconspicuous revolution” Neat. Many postulate that the whales are telling us about sea pollution and over fishing because when the bring themselves to die on the shore they are getting us to realize itself sacrificing themselves like the Buddhist priests during Vietnam. What would be a good adjective for that kind of revolution?

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Mil Palabras: Guadalajaran Trees

2 responses to “Mil Palabras: Guadalajaran Trees”

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