The Guadalajara Rxxxxxxx I Am

Today I met my Lois Lane, a strikingly beautiful Bulgarian-Canadian transplant named BH, who is one of three full time reporters at my paper -yes I`m claiming (partial) ownership after one day. She greeted me with a re-assuring "You must be the new intern!", although I soon found out that this fact had escaped the paper`s fearless editor NG. He arrived an hour later, the personification of the flighty Englishman, stuttering haphazardly to introduce himself. A few minutes later we set out for Starbucks in el Centro Magno, a mall of magnificent proportions, where the "fresas" (literally strawberries, but in this case upwardly-mobile yuppies) and the "juniors"(sons of GDL`s elite) congregate. Monday morning, as BH explained, consists of perusing the local press for story ideas ("It`s not stealing since everyone does it"), and we got to talking about the election, my background, and world politics. Soon we were joined by the two remaining staff, a scraggly but intensely smart Canadian named EB and a hippie graduate of Columbia J-School named NN.

They discussed what stories to pursue for the paper this coming week, and I tried to add what I could, knowing little about the election and even less of local news. By the end it was decided that I would go with BH to investigate the opening of an underground market in GDL center, and also to interview people about the inconclusive election results. I was issued my lined reporter`s notebook, and we set out on our mission, though I insisted that we stop at the hostel so i could change clothes (as usual I was embarrasingly overdressed for my first day of work, in a bright blue longsleeve shirt and blindingly white pants a perfect impression of a Panista --the political party of the business elite-- according to BH).

We discussed the issue of the new underground market as we walked, and with each successive interview we gained a new, more complicated perspective on the situation. Then we split up to question different vendors, both below the plaza and above, until finally we exhausted our energy. On the walk back to the hostel, my mind swimming with numbers, facts, and doubts that I could ever make it as a reporter, BH reminded me to re-type my notes within the next 48 hours, and to remember to conduct the interviews about the election results sometime before coming into the office tomorrow. After a bizarre handshake-turned-hug-and-kiss-on-the-cheek (instigated by me) we said goodbye until tomorrow; she just had to make it to the gym.

Now, a few hours later, I sit here pondering whether the pages of copious notes that I took will amount to any serviceable information, and writing so much in this damn blog that I feel too exhausted to revisit them right now. Besides, it`ll be dark soon and I`ve earned a break.