Back in Brooklyn

Well, I've been back for almost two weeks now, working and thinking about what's next. Here's one final round of pictures. This likely means the end of this blog. But one never knows...

I miss Oaxaca.

Mi última noche

Entonces, mi última noche aquí en Oaxaca ha llegado, y no estoy lista para salir. I haven´t been able to get my laptop to any wi-fi to upload new pictures, so I´ll have to do that from home. César left this morning, and I spent the day walking around town picking up last minute bits and pieces of things, and spending as much time in the sun as possible. I sat for a while with a retired Canadian couple at my hotel discussing, among other things, the state of the American presidential race. This is a subject that seems to inspire considerable interest in everyone I´ve met, Mexicans, Canadians, and Europeans alike (though noticeably less in Europeans). On the whole everyone seems very excited about Barack, and wants to know if I think he will win and if I will vote for him. People keep saying that with Obama we have an opportunity to show the rest of the world that progress can be had in our nation, that we are ready for a black president, and that we are willing to turn over a new leaf in terms of international relations. I am struck by the fact that no one seems to think it would be particularly significant if we elected a woman, and I´m not sure if this is because she is a Clinton and thus old guard, or if the rest of the world is so far beyond the question of female heads of state that they forget that this would be new for us. Perhaps they feel, like many of us, that the problem of race in our nation is more fundamental than the problem of gender.

Everything I do today stands out as my last something in Oaxaca. My last elote, my last payasos, my last chat with a retired Canadian couple, my last time on this street or in that park... It is sad, and I´ve felt kind of like crying all day...

I´m not sure what else to say. Except I´ll see you soon.

I have absconded...

for the coast, where I find that internet access is both scarcer and more expensive. Sand and salt, however, are plentiful, as are mojarras, surfers (at Puerto Escondido), Mexican families (at the western edge of Huatulco, where there are not actually huge resorts, contrary to my imaginings, but are lovely bays with calm water for swimming), and annoying tourist merchandise (everywhere). I´ll be here for another day or so before I head back to Oaxaca to finish out my trip. I am pretending that is not happening. I would rather stay, for now. I am considering going skydiving tomorrow, but I think I will probably not... It is expensive enough that I can tell myself it´s about the money without having to really reflect on whether I want to go (much to my father´s relief, I´m sure)...

If you want anything from Mexico, now´s the time to ask... Post it as a comment and I´ll do my best. Mezcal? Chocolate? Mole? Very cute clothes for people under about 7 years old? Anything else...?

I will update at least once more when I get back to the city, and alas, before I know it I´ll be back in frigid New York...

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

Area map

See map below for general orientation regarding pueblos. Ignore annoying icons referring to quien sabe.

The roads immediately east of town are very different from those north of town -- for instance, it is about 30 minutes to Tlacolula by bus, but 2 hours to Cuajimaloyas (where I think I will go tomorrow)...

El Otro Lado

I am having a lousy day, which is probably proof that it can happen anywhere. Hay un lado oscuro, siempre.

I am tired of getting up at 7:00 every day and being tired all the time.

I have not had a shower in over two days because the water is all screwed up in my house. (Actually, the water is all screwed up all over Oaxaca. There is only public water available two days a week, and if you don´t have your own private cistern and/or a neighborhood well, that´s all you get. Which makes my two days without a shower seem like hardly anything to complain about, but nevertheless, it´s making me cranky.)

I have an enourmous, disgusting cold sore covering half my face, which is something I´m pretty sure I´ve only had once in my life before. It is hurting me quite a lot, and presumably is why I´ve been waking up in the middle of the night with low-grade fevers. Oh, unless those are caused by what I imagine is a spider that is cohabitating with me, who bites me to pieces while I sleep, and who is also making me very cranky.

Today, someone in a store gave me a bill that has a tiny tear in the center of it, the kind of thing that in the States we wouldn´t think twice about. But apparently here they ¨don´t like¨ their bills to have tears. This is the phrase I have heard, ¨We don´t like them like that;¨ hence no one will accept the bill, and how exactly do I argue with them about it? In New York I would just say ¨C´mon, it´s money, you have to take it,¨ but even in New York... if they really didn´t want to take it, what could you do? I am told that I can go to a bank and trade it in for a more aesthetically-pleasing, and hence acceptable bill. (In fairness to the small businessmen and women who have refused it already, I am also told that this ability to exchange torn bills is new. Until very recently, any torn bill was simply the possessor´s loss.)

Today I am a little lonely also, and feeling guilty about being away from work, and childishly resenting some of the representations made to me by my Spanish school prior to my arrival. My ¨friends¨ have all left town in the last couple of days, and the student population of my school has dwindled to 2. The city still seems crowded with tourists to me, but they say it´s nothing compared to what it was 2 years ago, before the uprising, and I guess perhaps my school is struggling a bit, at least this week.

On the other hand, in general, when I talk to strangers, they seem to understand me much better, which I suppose is ultimately why I am here. We´ve come back around to the subjunctive again, and this time I kind of get it.

I just realized that I never followed up about the saintly priest. Suffice it to say that I didn´t end up meeting him. I did have one brief adventure at an orphanage for girls, but more on that some other time. In the meantime, tomorrow afternoon I´m going to visit a preschool to see what it´s like.

I wonder what it would take to get the kids in Hierve El Agua back to school, and whether or not that is a feasible task...

Google News Links

If you haven't already looked, the Google News links along the right side of this page are particularly interesting right now.