El Sierra Norte

It is already Wednesday, and I feel quite tardy in reporting on my weekend trip to the Sierra Norte. If you can't manage to read through all this, you can scroll down to the bottom of the post to look at the pics. But of course I think it'll make for entertaining reading, at least for some of you.

My visit was amazing, even though I only got as far as Cuajimaloyas, and then back-tracked (on foot) to Benito Juarez, when I had been hoping to continue on at least to Llano Grande or Latuvi.

Adventure begins on the bus ride, which was sold out when arrived at the 2nd class bus station at about 7:40 on Saturday morning. I was invited to stand or sit on the floor, which seemed manageable for a mere two hour ride (I've stood for longer on the NYC subway, after all). As it turned out, the sold out bus wasn't really all that sold out, and I was able to sit, so I was glad I didn't decide to wait in the bus station for the next bus, which some reported would be at noon, and others reported would be at 3:00. I am sure if I asked more people I could have gotten a dozen other proposed next-bus times.

In any case... the first half of the ride was familiar to me, following the same highway east toward Teotitlan and Tlacolula. About at Tlacolula, the old converted American school bus turns north and proceeds to climb 1500 meters in 15 kilometers, which took a full hour, including a 7 minute stop while the driver got out and seemed to pour cold water on the engine. I met a Dutch woman and a guy from New Zealand on the bus. The Dutch lady had booked a guide for a 3 hour hike in Cuajimaloyas, and invited us to split the cost (which therefore came to roughly $3.90 per person). Upon arrival, breakfast was delicious and cheap (I won the bet about what it would cost, but, not knowing them at all, couldn't bring myself to make them pay for me, even though it was under 3 bucks apiece for more than we could eat). The tortillas in Cuajimaloyas were so so so delicious, way better than in the city. When asked, locals say it is because everything is made by hand rather than machine, and that they use 100% corn. I think they were telling me that there is some other additive or filler used in Oaxaca, but I didn't fully understand.

The hike was supremely fun. I am not a big fan of hiking, as to me it closely resembles work. But this hike included lots of opportunities to climb on rocks and through holes and such, and to me this much more closely resembles play. I loved it. My breathing, I think, was slightly labored at over 10,000 feet. My breathing was definitely labored on the 2nd day's hike, which was quite a bit more work with less play to distract me. I could try to blame it on the altitude, but the two 20 year old French kids I was with that day didn't seem the least bit out of breath.

Saturday night I went for a temazcal, which was quite certainly one of the odder experience of my life to date. Temazcal is an ancient purifying ritual, variations of which were used by the Aztecs, the Maya, and other Mesoamerican groups. When I heard that there was an opportunity to get purified, I figured how could I but jump at the chance. I went into it with various fantasies from eternal salvation to curing my cold sore, which by this time was beginning to scab over. $10 seemed a small price to pay. Based on a poster I saw somewhere in Oaxaca, I was expecting some sort of bath and a massage. It turned out, however, to be more like a sauna, and a beating.

I was told to show up at a certain turquoise house and see the 700 year old woman who lived there (estimate my own) at 7pm, and to bring one of the woolen blankets from my cabana. I arrive promptly, wary of taking my clothes off at this hour as the temperature is beginning to drop and is expected to reach nearly freezing overnight (typical for the area and the time of year). The ancient woman invites me in and leads me down a short dirt path and into a room with two bed platforms, sin mattresses. I am told to wait a few minutes, because "it's not quite ready." A younger woman comes into the room, and the two of them bustle about preparing things and bickering over who took the batteries out of the flashlight and where they are, and whether or not other bathers are coming. Eventually, I am handed a sheet and instructed to take off all my clothes. I ask if I might be able to use a bathroom before we start, and am invited to exit the room and squat just outside in the dirt. Which, of course, I do, because really, what choice did I have? But I did feel an awful lot like I was pissing on their house. When I return, the younger of the women then takes off her clothes and crawls into a hole in the wall that had heretofore appeared to be a fireplace. The opening is about 2' x 3'. I am encouraged to follow her in. With considerable trepidation, I crawl through the hole into a space that feels inordinately like a coffin, and which was later quite aptly described by my Oaxaca housemate as an oven. The space is about 6' x 6' (I can barely lie flat at 5'10"), and no more than 3' high. It is also at least about 4000 degrees. I am instructed to lie on my stomach, as the opening is covered from the outside with my woolen blanket. It is pitch black, and so hot I can barely breathe. In response to my vaguely claustrophobic reaction, they agree to leave a ray of dim light wafting in for the first few minutes, and the naked Mexican lady next to me proceeds to beat me with a fistful of branches. They are small branches, and I can't say it exactly hurt, but... The scent of the leaves smells like something I was introduced to earlier on my hike, the name of which escapes me now, a leaf used in teas to treat stomach problems and hangovers. After the leaves, she swaps them for what feels like some sort of woven, reedy fan, and swats at me with this for a while. Images of every imaginable sort of foul play fill my head, along with images of the trillion degree bricks three feet above me collapsing and killing us both. After she is through with my back, we repeat the procedure on my front and then each of my sides, and at some point I can't help but laugh that I am paying to be naked, trapped, and beaten with leaves. This would almost certainly be illegal in the US.

Afterwards, we crawl out of the hole and lie wrapped in blankets in the outer room. I am surprisingly relaxed and sweaty, and although she is on the other side of the room, it feels creepily post-coital. We lie like that for about 20 minutes, with her ancient mother talking to me periodically. When I leave, the cost turns out to be twice what I was told at the office that arranged the purification, and I laugh at myself, feeling completely had. Sure we've all had some at least vaguely masochistic tendencies, but this must be a joke. The old lady instructs me to drape my woolen blanket over my head while I walk home. I wander out into the black Cuajimaloyan night, and nearly fall over a half dozen times trying to find my way back to the cabana. There are 1,000 stars out, and the air is thick with the scent of the fires heating every shack in the town. I don't feel cold until much later.

For other, in some cases quite different, versions of temazcal, I invite you to cut and paste any of the following links.

http://www.tlahui.com/temaz1.html
http://www.oaxacainfo.com/oaxaca/temazcal.htm
http://www.aztecgardens.com/temazcal.html