By Amy Kirkcaldy de Gattás

Can Love of Spanish, of Mexico, of Love itself Really Change Us?

I remember my introduction to the theory of Chaos in the movie Jurassic Park. Mathematician Ian Malcolm (Jeff Goldblum) takes the top of Dr. Sattler's hand (Laura Dern) and drops a tiny drop of water on it. They watch together as the water runs off. He repeats the procedure, dropping the water in the same exact spot. Sattler is surprised as the drop rolls off her hand in an entirely different direction than before. Malcolm attributes the variation in result to the tiny imperfections in the skin of her hands; the minutest of details can have enormous effects and cause completely unpredictable outcomes. This is my understanding of Chaos theory—it may or may not be completely accurate—but this simplified Jurassic Park definition seems to be at work in my own life.

I’ve only recently really realized how much contingency has created unexpected chains of events in my life. Is it destiny, pure coincidence, or Providence? I do not even pretend to know, but the point is, here I am in Mexico,.

an American from Boston, head over heels in love with a Mexican man who I met while studying in Spain. I never would have dreamed the turn of events that brought me here; it was beyond my wildest vision of the future, and yet I can follow the sequence of events in a logical fashion.

My love for Spanish and Spanish-speaking cultures was an accident, or better said, the result of junior high immaturity. I chose Spanish classes over French simply because I had heard rumors that the French teacher was weird. No one seemed to be whispering about the Spanish teacher, so I signed up. This decision went against all logic, given the fact that my mother’s side of the family immigrated to the United States from Quebec. My great grandmother, whom I never met, never even learned to speak English, and my mother grew up surrounded by French relatives.

So silly or as immature as it sounds, so began my love affair with Spanish, and indirectly, with Carlos, from Monterrey, Mexico. I can trace it back to that one, seemingly insignificant decision. It’s scary to think that a decision I made at only 12 years old has affected my entire life.

Things took off from the very first day of Spanish class in seventh grade. There was something about it that I really loved. Perhaps it was the new challenge for me of learning a foreign language for the first time, or perhaps it was the language itself. I suspect the latter because I have tried learning German as well, and the language has never had either the romance or the appeal to me that Spanish has. The German language simply does not move me, while even studying Spanish irregular verb forms fascinated me.

After I had been studying Spanish for 2 years, I made some French friends at a summer camp. I had my first summer romance - with a Frenchman. I had never met a Spaniard or a Mexican at that point, and yet I was still mesmerized with Spanish. I begged and pleaded with my mother to host a Spanish exchange student one summer. She wanted a French student, if anyone at all. Then, by chance, a woman arrived at the high school where my mom taught with news that she was coordinating home stays for a Spanish exchange program.

David, from Leon, Spain, arrived that summer, and it was instant chemistry. We all loved him, and we got along so well that his parents flew over at the end of his stay to meet us. David's visit was a turning point. I envied his experience and his courage. I made up my mind to spend all of my junior year of college studying in Spain, and I never doubted or looked back on that decision.

My first semester in Spain, was both a success and a disaster at the same time. I made a ton of new friends and had a great time experiencing Madrid night life. But at the same time, all of my new friends were American, and I didn’t practice my Spanish except in classes. I was living with a Spanish señora, but it wasn't the family experience I was hoping for. After my first semester, I made the decision to move to a university dormitory.

Colegio Mayor Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe was a mixed dorm, special in the sense that half was Spanish and the other half Latin American. Mexicans made up the majority of the Latin American half. I was happy right from the start, and I quickly got in with a group of Mexicans. They were kind, caring, open, and in general, wonderful.

My favorite person in all of Spain after a just a few weeks was a Mexican from Monterrey named Carlos. Although there was nothing romantic between us at first, I had never laughed so hard with anyone in my life.

Then one day, everything changed. I needed to iron some shirts, and the only person with an iron that I knew was Carlos. He, of course, lent it to me, and while I was ironing away, nothing awry, suddenly the handle fell off. I was left with the broken plastic iron in one hand and the hot iron on the shirt….Darn! I tried to fix it, but the plastic piece that held the handle to the iron was totally broken. Ni modo, I would have to buy him a new iron.

The next day I woke up early to buy the new iron before I saw Carlos. Unfortunately for me and fortunately for Carlos, the department store did not have the same model, so I had to buy a more expensive model. I took the bag back to the dorm. That night after dinner I saw Carlos, and I explained what had happened to his iron. He started to laugh….and laugh…and laugh. I was startled by his reaction-what had I done? Then the truth came out. Another friend of ours from Nicaragua had borrowed the iron before me, and HE was the one who had broken the iron. Carlos had forgotten to mention to me that the handle was attached to the body by a thread. I finally saw what was so funny! Carlos told me to return the new iron; the broken iron wasn’t my fault.

A week later about 30 of us from the dorm went out to dinner at a special Mexican restaurant in Madrid. After numerous shots of tequila (my first experience with the substance) everyone was happy, and Carlos started to sing to me. He got daring, and began to explain that he had had his eye on me (How could I have been so oblivious?) and that the iron incident was what cinched it for him. He said it showed that I was responsible and caring. I thought about what he had said overnight; I was afraid to ruin a good friendship, but I decided it was worth the risk because no one had ever made me feel so special before.

It's hard even for me to believe, but after one week I was absolutely in love with Carlos. Something in my gut told me to relax and go with it, so I did. The only problem was that Carlos had made it clear from the beginning that if the relationship were to continue, we would have to take it to Mexico; he had no intention of living anywhere else. I understood and respected that, so the future of the relationship depended on me - could I live in Monterrey? My first step, of course, was to visit. Well, I was completely enthralled. I loved the lifestyle, the culture, the city, and most of all I loved the people. It helped that Carlos's family was loving and extremely accepting of the new "gringa" in the picture!

So, after three visits, I arrived in Monterrey in August 2002 with the intention of starting a more permanent life there. The strange part is that when I arrived in Monterrey, Carlos was still in Spain finishing up his degree. He did not arrive until the middle of October! Those 2.5 months in Monterrey with his family, but without him, were extremely important to me. I knew that if I could survive and adjust successfully without his help, things would be even better and easier with him around to help me. My sense of relief was amazing as I found a job, started to make my own friends, drove around the city alone, and in general, began to understand and adapt to the way of life in Monterrey.

That said, moving to a foreign country with the intention of staying forever is downright intimidating, and it is a serious adjustment for anyone. As good as I thought I was at adapting to different cultures, I have discovered you cannot compare living and working abroad temporarily to settling permanently outside your own culture.

I did a lot of research before leaving the United States, but since I had no idea what problems I might run into, I haven’t been prepared for everything; there are still many missing pieces in my knowledge of how things work in Mexico. I am slowly finding out about the nuances of Mexican culture and society, and every day brings something entirely unexpected. Inevitably, whether the unexpected is positive or negative, funny or serious, I thrive under the challenge of each new day in Monterrey.

So while this column is a heartfelt attempt at saving you from the "mortificaciones" that I experience every day in my new home, it is also an attempt to make you laugh and open your eyes to the many differences - large and small - between the two cultures. The best thing you can do here in Mexico is learn to take everything in stride. You will not succeed in changing Mexico, but Mexico will change you.

Amy Kirkcaldy de Gattás is a native of Bridgewater, Massachusetts. She loves to write and to travel and has combined these two passions by writing for the travel guides Let´s Go and Fodor’s. She is currently a high school English teacher in Monterrey, Mexico. You can reach her at This email address is being protected from spam bots, you need Javascript enabled to view it .

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