Sabor a Mi

Graffiti Oaxaqueña

Some travel blogger I am. In case you're wondering why I'm not posting more entries, I've been at a loss for words ... quite literally. I've gotten to the point in my immersion where I'm often forgetting words in English but haven't yet replaced them in Spanish. So here I am, inarticulate in two languages. 

Also, learning a language uses up a lot of hard drive space. And for reasons that are simply too boring to detail, I've been chronically under-slept since the day I got here so just about everything is burning up too many of my few remaining brain cells. I'm thinking about posting mostly photos with captions from here on out because that's about as much as I can be bothered to blog. Yes, I am the portrait of the lazy Mexican. That's me, asleep under a cactus with my sarape, sombrero gigante and empty bottle of mezcal. Metaphorically speaking, of course. 

The last thing I'll say for now is that I'm not the least bit homesick. It was kind of hard for me to tell my spouse this, but I think she understands. As much I've accepted and even kind of relished my status as an 'other' in the U.S., there's a tremendous sense of relief that comes with blending in. I'm not moving through this streets of Oaxaca presenting as the nanny, the maid, the illiterate or the illegal because I'm simply not presenting at all. I'm on no one's radar, just a regular Jose like any other local. Twice I've been asked for directions, by Mexicans, while walking down the street. Twice! And for probably the first time in my life I've been told that I'm mellow or "tranquila," comparatively speaking. You know, Mexicans are hella dramatic and loud. Maybe not as loud as Arabs or black people, but louder than say, Japanese people or the white North American privileged class. It's really nice to not worry about whether I might be offending someone's sensibilities with my aggressive Mexican-ness. Turns out I'm neither reserved nor pugnacious. Turns out I'm just me.