Highlights: Writing on the Wall

It's been a week since I've returned and I suppose we can say that I am now fully reacclimated to life in the north. I've ridden the underground, the bus, driven the car, gone to Ho-foo (very expensive, obnoxious grocery chain) for last minute supplies, walked Fozzi, visited with friends, etc. I'm as used to being back at home as I  ever will be.

To say that I miss Mexico would be a grave understatement. Last week I was waiting in a long line to buy masa at a Mexican deli in the Mission and it was all I could do not to maneuver myself into stranger's conversations. So desperate I was to practice my Spanish and prove that I too am one of them - not just some pocha interloper trying to seem legit. Maybe I responded a little enthusiastically when asked some basic questions about the kind of masa I would be ordering, but I didn't spaz out too horribly... for a pocha interloper.

Back to Oaxaca!

I'm sure there are probably entire fields of study and hundreds of coffee table books on the subject of Oaxacan street art. I could return to do nothing but capture and examine graffiti and then publish my own book, as Oaxaqueños are notoriously expressive in their political and artistic points of view. 

I certainly didn't do any studies, but I did my best to use my little cell phone camera to capture images that I found compelling, which were numerous. There were even times I would be silly enough to leave the house without my phone and, without fail, there would be a moment (or several) of regret that I'd left the phone behind. There simply wasn't enough time to go back and find everything I'd missed or search for that which had eluded me. But here is some of what I did get.

Political

As you all likely know, Mexico has a long and very deep history of political corruption which, again, is another field of study altogether. As it happened, I arrived in Mexico shortly after the tragic kidnapping/mass murder of 43 students from a rural teaching college in Ayotzinapa, Guerrero, one state over from Oaxaca. I don't think there was a news outlet anywhere in the world that his particular event didn't get reported. The depth and tragedy of the incident struck the last nerve of the Mexican people, as was reflected in the daily street marches, posters calling for action and graffiti on the street. Even public schools had signage posted calling for the government to take responsibility. 

It was months before the city removed the message painted on the front of the Iglesia Santo Domingo, the most tourist-visited cathedral in the center of the city:

Missing 43 / It was the State

There was lots of messaging with the names and images of the murdered students:

We are all Ayotzinapa

Justice

They were taken alive, we want them alive

Missing 43

It's not a dream, it's reality, missing 43

Many have asked for Mexican president Peña Nieto to resign.

(President) Peña Nieto Assassin, Missing 43

The drug gangs are the government

Art

On a lighter, but no less profound note was street art and poetry. Again, I can't really begin to touch the subject of art in Oaxaca because I don't think it's too much to say that Oaxaca is art. From it's crumbling buildings painted boldly, to the endless galleries and workshops, to the daily local craft expos. One cannot go to Oaxaca and not be inspired by both the natural and man-made landscape. These are just a few of the pieces that I found interesting.

Christ Saves

I want to read your body in braille

In the common place for words, no longer put your poems

Graffiti Space

You're not off the hook yet! Stay tuned for continued postings of my adventures in the Madreland.

Return to the Madreland

I arrived back to Oaxaca, my home away from home, very late in the evening and totally relieved to land in more familiar surroundings. There was a little studio apartment waiting for me with plenty of drinking water, a clean and comfortable bed, and an actual hot shower. Heaven!

If it isn't obvious already, I've fallen in love with the city of Oaxaca de Juarez. As my time here comes to an end (for now), I'm thinking of the best way to accurately describe my visit... hmf.

Highlights?

Teotitlan del Valle:

Located about forty minutes outside of Oaxaca de Juarez, this small Zapotec town is near Mitla, home to some of the most important archaeological sites in Mexico. More importantly, it's home to some of the most interesting food and beautiful displays of weaving and rug-making artistry I've seen.

I was lucky enough to visit the restaurant Tlamanalli, run by a family of sisters who specialize in pre-Columbian cuisine. It's not cheap by Mexican standards, but well worth the extra expense.

Open kitchen...

A chicken dish consisting of ingredients local to the region - varietal corn, chiles, local herbs, bugs, etc... excellent.

When you go to Teotitlan you will be tempted to visit every rug maker in the village. You only need to visit one, the Perez factory and showroom. Designer/Owner Nelson Perez Mendoza gives a detailed explanation of his dying process using all natural and sustainable materials, as well as the story behind his unique designs which have now been copied by just about every rug maker in the region. In addition, his prices for the quality of his wares can't be beat. Sadly, I have neither the space in my luggage nor the room in my home to justify a purchase. I wish I wasn't so practical sometimes.

All the ingredients needed to produce every imaginable color

Dyed-in-the-wool Yarn

Nelson Perez Mendoza discussing his designs

It's also worth noting that the indigenous Zapotec and Mixtec people in Oaxaca must be some of the most resilient and hardest working people in Mexico. Families involve all members in the learning of and assisting in their ancestral trades. Even children are expected to take on a role, and not just because it's necessary but because they believe there is tremendous value in contributing starting from the earliest age. Most people speak both their native language (there are 16 official) and Spanish fluently, and many are equally fluent in English. It's refreshing and impressive compared to how we do in the U.S.

Mercados/Markets:

I'm very blessed to live in California, a part of the world abundant in natural food resources as well as a city that offers a wonderful selection of fresh and local foods by way of farmer's markets. In the state of Oaxaca farmers markets are, despite the creeping-in of big box outlets (there are Sams Clubs and Walmarts now), still the main source of food supply for the average person.

Some shots from the Sunday market in the town of Tlacolula about half way between Mitla and the city...

Beep-beep!

Go early, beat the crowd

Meat market

You buy it, they'll cook it

Chicken scratchers

El Mercado Central, Oaxaca de Juarez...

Fish Fry

Tlayudas, Oaxacan Pizza

Chorizo: Why I could never be a vegetarian

Huitlacoche - Mexican Truffle, corn fungus

Ayocotl - Edible bean flower

==

Oh geez, it's time to go. Like, really go. I have to pack for my very early morning flight. I'm all teary so I'm going to leave the post here for now. There will be many more posts highlighting my trip, I promise. For now, I need to gather all my crap and my senses.

Stay tuned! 

The Havana Chronicles, Maravillosa y Absurdo

Day 7:

My last full day in Havana. What to do?

I have to be honest regarding my inner dialogue on day 7: get me the hell out of Cuba! Not because I wasn't interested in exploring, it's just that I'd reached my adventure threshold. As I noted in an earlier post, travelling on one's own can be challenging. Havana has an added layer of challenge and complication - lack of access to basic conveniences, encounters with sometimes apathetic/resistant "service" personnel, a very expensive tourist economy and some additional language barrier. Add to that the fatigue from two back-to-back illnesses and the longing for anything familiar. Cuba is a lot of things. Familiar is not one of them. Which is why I agreed to return to tia Marcolfa's for an early dinner.

First, I wanted to make my way towards el capitolio to convert the loads of Cuban pesos I had leftover back to Mexican pesos. My limited experience with the Cubans up to that point is that anything that can go wrong probably will and there's not a whole lot you'll be able to do about it. I knew that if I waited to change my money back at the airport it would be a shitshow so I decided to change it all save about $120 worth of Cuban convertible pesos. Good thing, as I was correct that all three of the airport casas de cambio either refused the exchange or told me they'd run out of Mexican pesos. Same thing at the airport in Mexico City. The exchange desk in my terminal didn't deal in Cuban money. Ack! So I now have a somewhat sizable amount of cash that is not only incredibly inconvenient to change but totally against U.S. law for me to have in my possession. Uh oh! I heard rumor there's a desk in a different terminal in Mexico City that will do it. I have enough time between layovers on my way home that I can give it a go. Otherwise, any of you nice readers want to make a fee-free exchange of dollars/euros/Mexican pesos/rubles/shekels for 115 Cuban convertibles? Sigh.

Onward.

There is a promenade near the central park lined with local artists selling their wares which I wanted to check out. So glad I did that as I picked up three lovely pieces for an embarrassingly small amount of money. Art in Cuba is a really big deal. The people take tremendous pride in their work, and for good reason as there is a lot of talent in a very small space. Clearly the state has supported and encouraged the pursuit of art in a way that is so refreshingly different than how we approach art in the north. Many of the artist were also offering art classes for a small contribution or for free. In addition there were groups of children being mentored and taught to sketch and paint next to many of the artist stalls. Lovely.

While I was on my art stroll I came across a small gathering celebrating some event involving children doing a choreographed historical reenactment of what appeared to be a slavery-to-freedom scenario. Note that the two kids in the center of the photo are wearing paper chains on their wrists and ankles [click on photo to see full size]:

Just before I got close enough to snap the photo, all the kids in the back row also wore the same paper chains, but had broken them off as part of the dance. The cutie at the front was playing a Master and had earlier been wielding a whip - if you look closely you can see he's holding on to it draped around his neck. I know, it's rather startling. As I watched, I was also conducting an internal scan of my feelings in reaction to what I was witnessing. Big stuff came up. A dance like this involving children in the U.S. would be panned, strung up and probably taken to court for millions of dollars in damages for emotional distress.

We have gotten to the point in our culture where we now believe we are, at all times, entitled to live discomfort free lives. We don't talk about death, racism, politics or the brutality of our nation's history unless we're in a feverishly vitriolic state and that's usually veiled behind the anonymity afforded by the internet. This condition has no boundaries as it exists across the entire political spectrum, especially at either extreme. Is it any wonder we are circling back to rashes of violent rioting across the nation? It's happening as I type out this post - right now, go open any gringo newspaper. It is on. And don't even get me started regarding the veal-like manner in which the middle/upper-middle class are raising their spawn. Sparing your precious little one's any ounce of unease borders on cruel. I've never seen such a miserably neurotic lot of children as that of the privileged class. Slavery happened (is happening), people, and your children should be granted an unadulterated education on that and equally distressing subjects.

Phew! Sorry, I've been wanting to get that out of my system since I left the so-called 1st world. Thank you for indulging me.

I took the few hours I had left in the district to snap some more photos...

Spending supper at Marcolfa's that last evening in Havana was a perfect way to cap off my trip. She is truly a kindred spirit. I hope that with some strategizing, me and my family at home can figure out a way to bring her to San Francisco for a visit soon. She is getting up in years and I would love nothing more than to return the hospitality she showed me before it's too late for her to travel in comfort.

I got back to my hotel early enough that I had time for one last stroll before I called it a night. I even toyed with the idea of attempting another entry into one of the screenings at the International Latin American Filmfest. Over the course of my stay I tried no fewer than five times to get in with no luck whatsoever. I have major regrets about not being able to make that rare opportunity a reality. Sigh.

Sort-of side note: As I was scanning the long line outside the theater I encountered my young admirer from the first night. She called out and waved frantically at me as she was walking across the plaza with her friends, she yelled something like, "You and me, we're getting together. Believe it." I just waved, smiled and shook my head. Hilarious.

Day 8:

I packed very quickly that morning and waited eagerly in the lobby for my bus back to the airport. Very happy to be first on the route as they were a little bit late, which set them back enough for them to lose some of the subsequent passengers who were not able to wait. Such are things in Cuba.

Summary: Havana is a city of incredible contrast. Despite its state of utter decay, there is an inimitable beauty in the soul and pride of the amazing people who live there. They can be at one turn terribly unhelpful and then so generous of spirit that it boggles the mind. Marvelous and absurd. It is not a travel destination for the faint of heart or luxury seeking set. You should have a fairly decent grasp of Spanish as it will come in beyond handy. And, ladies especially, be prepared for public and bold advances in the form of cat calls and  being followed by men (and sometimes women). I was asked for my hand in marriage by Alex Rodriguez (every other man looks like A-rod) at least once a day. So weird. That said, it's worth noting that Cuba is incredibly safe and free of drug addicts and other socially unsettling issues we encounter daily in the U.S. Yes, I very much want to return to Cuba but with a companion, a solid plan for travel beyond Havana and a box of antibiotics at the ready.

Adios Cuba!