Bienvenidos a la Casa

Non-ironic Mexican home decor

As part of my plan I'd arranged a family homestay for the first few weeks of my studies. Good thing cause I was hit with terrible altitude sickness upon arrival and needed some extra care while I got my bearings and settled in. As it happens I've got a pretty cozy situation with a small rooftop bedroom which includes a private washroom (score) and a beautiful view of the mountain range just to the north of the city. It's so cozy, in fact, that I've asked to stay on for some additional time because it's very close to the school and we all like each other. About my new adopted family...

Leti & Manuel* are probably in their early sixties, middle-class with one grown & married daughter also named Leti, a granddaughter who is (surprise) called Leti and a brand new baby granddaughter who was born just hours before poor Manuel was charged with picking me up at the airport. As well I've met abuela, Leti's mother whose name may or may not also be Leti, but she was introduced as "mi mama" so I've referred to her only as señora the every other day that she comes for lunch. La señora abuela gives me a mean side-eye when I walk into the room, without fail as if I wouldn't notice - more likely she doesn't care. I assume she finds me and my kind unacceptable. I'd cut my hair very short, for practical reasons just before I left SF, so I expected at least a few odd looks here and there. In any case I'm not offended, probably because la señora abuela is nearing ancient, kind of reminds me of my own salty old abuela and she dotes on me over lunch while simultaneously throwing me shade. I think I'm growning on her.

Leti la mom is total Almodovar fabulous. I'm sure she uses rollers to achieve her perfectly coiffed up-do, probably goes to the salon on the regular because her frosted tips need to be maintained, and her powder blue eye make-up application is something of high hipster envy. In her former working life she was a local lunchtime caterer. Apparently she would whip together something like fifty meals a day and fit them all into their VW Bug with some kind of tetris-like expertise. And like all the moms I've encountered in el Mundo Latino, she preoccupies herself with fussing over everyone else and what they will want to eat for the next three days. At some point I had to warn my significant other that I would be leaving behind my regular person clothes and bringing home a lot of stretchy soft pants and tent shirts. Looking at Leti she could be from just about anywhere in Latin America or maybe even someplace else as she's of the lighter-skinded (yes, it's a word) variety of Mexicans who probably doesn't have much, or any, indigenous ancestry. By Oaxacan standards, she's a giant at a little over 5 feet. How she stays svelt, I have no idea.

Manuel is Leti's perfect counterpart. An adorable little dark brown man with a friendly manner and a serious stutter that doesn't slow his roll in the least. He's an accountant for the state of Oaxaca, is obviously intelligent and loves to dance and listen to live music. Last Sunday morning he pumped up the volume on three alternating discs of Joao Gilberto and samba-shuffled around the dining table by himself while I pretended to read the news on my computing machine. I've also taken notice of the fact that he puts actual thought into what he wears instead of dressing like he fell drunk on meds into the clothing drive bin in the retirement village reception lobby. This morning I clocked his suede ankle boots, Levis not of the mom variety, and a tucked in collared cotton shirt. Leti says he's fussy but I find him quite charming. Manuel's dream is to retire soon and open up a cafe where he will sell three specialty coffees he designed himself: an espresso with a twist of lime rind, a Turkish coffee mixed with unsweetened Oaxacan chocolate syrup and a super-dark roast poured over almond ice cream. He will sell exactly four pastries " estilo Estados Unidos:"  brownies, (e)scones, biscotti and cinnamon rolls. Brilliant, count me in!

My homestay is in the Noe Valley of Oaxaca City (read: hushed residential) and kind of removed from the soul of the city so this Saturday I'm leaving for a hostel in the center of town. Although I'm sad to go and a little scared to be pushed out of my new nest, I'm no longer dizzy, I need to lose the rolls of quesillo oaxaqueño I put on at Leti's table and circulate with the cool kids in el centro... they have nothing on my adopted family.

Old Zapatista hipster living

*names have been changed to protect the nice people who are feeding/watering me