Last week we went on an excursion to San Antonio Cuajimoloyas, a small Zapotec town in the mountains near Oaxaca de Juarez, knowing nothing about the excursion plans other than that it would take about an hour to get there via windy, mostly unpaved roads through the mountains. Bonine saved me from puking my guts out in the back of a 15 person conversion van. And the views were amazing.
When we got there, we learned that we would be spending the morning talking to the students, ages 13-15, of the local preparatory school. As we stood uncertainly in a clump in the middle of the giant cement basketball/volleyball court, the students timidly came out of their classrooms and formed a line behind their English teacher. After some insistent prodding by professors on both sides, we formed little groups with the students and started talking to them about their lives, answering questions about Chicago, the US, and exchanging jokes. At one point M and I sang our national anthem at the request of some Mexican students and in exchange for them singing theirs to us. M also jokingly introduced a female Mexican student to all 3 boys in our program after learning that she wanted to move to LA and was in search of an American boyfriend.
After a lunch break, we broke into informal games of soccer and volleyball, and then basketball. It was really fun playing against the students, even though they seriously kicked our butts. Height apparently does not make up for practice, age, and being used to the high altitude.
After the sports matches, we took a guided hike through the mountains. The town, which is still governed collectively according to Zapotec custom, had built cabins using citizens' collective labor and materials, in order to build up an ecotourism industry. So we hiked up to the cabins and then through the mountain pastures, meanwhile learning about a tree worm problem that was decimating the forest, local plants and animals, etc. Of course, we had no idea we would be enduring a vigorous hike, so many students were wearing extremely inappropriate outfits (flip-flops, shorts, etc.). But luckily no one broke an ankle.
At the end of the hike we were treated to a talk by Omar, a guy who runs an NGO called Ollin Tlahtoalli (Zapotec term for oral stories). He has been collecting and videotaping village elders from around Oaxaca, recording their oral histories. But his organization also offers courses on English, sports, literacy, etc. to help improve village life. It was a really inspiring presentation (even if his video editing skills needed serious work).
Sunday, March 8
Thursday, February 26
Regaderas and plomeros
The problem with my bathroom in Oaxaca is that the shower head (regadera) is so corroded that the water goes almost everywhere but straight down. This causes several difficulties, the two main ones being that I get shampoo in my eyes a lot because I try to suds up outside the water stream, but there's no such thing in my shower stall, so the little spritzes make the suds run into my eyes; and that the water escapes the shower walls and soaks the entire bathroom floor, door, and wall next to my towel. If I'm not careful to push my towel to one side, I will in fact be forced to dry off with a soaking towel.
But I had discovered that if I aimed the shower head just right and only turned the water on just a little, the bathroom wouldn't get wet. I briefly considered asking the 2 women (both named Rosa) who take care of the building if I could get a new shower head. But I figured that since they clean my place twice a week, they were fully aware of the issue and chose not to deal with it.
However, once my parents came to visit, my dad decided that something HAD to be done. It was such an easy problem, he had changed shower heads many times. So he talked to the Rosas in his broken Spanish and managed to communicate his idea to them and ask for directions to the nearest hardware store. They were fully willing to let him go ahead with the project as long as he was paying for it.
Before leaving for the hardware store, my dad told me his plan. I begged him not to do it because I thought something was bound to go wrong, but he insisted that it was a simple process. I couldn't stop him, so I went off to meet a friend. While I was gone, he hit up 3 hardware stores, bought a shower head and pipe, and a wrench. But while trying to unscrew the extremely corroded shower head, he accidentally also turned the pipe coming out of the wall. And when he turned on the water, it came out of the new shower head, but also straight out of the wall.
So he decided to try to unscrew the pipe from the wall and change it out for the new pipe that came with the shower head. Of course the pipe broke off and left a chunk inside the wall. At this point he realized he was screwed, and went and talked to the Rosas, who decided to call a plumber (plomero. There's a lot of English influence on Mexican Spanish). Luckily, the plumber arrived on his bicycle in less than 15 minutes on a Saturday, and was able to get the remainder of the pipe out of the wall and install the new pipe and shower head. All for the ridiculously low price of 200 pesos (about $18).
I came home when the plumber was leaving the building on his bike and Rosa was collecting the 200 pesos from my dad in the door of my apartment. She immediately recounted the whole history to me, and my reaction was, of course, "Que sorpresa!". As soon as the door closed, I let out quite satisfying and emphatic, "I TOLD YOU SO" to my dad, and then thanked God that I hadn't been here for the whole process.
I admit the new shower works quite well, and it was cheap. But if the plumber hadn't been able to extract the broken pipe segment, they would have had to take apart the entire tiled wall of the shower stall and redone it with new tile, since they no longer sell the tile it's made with. And this would have cost much more and probably left us without a shower or possibly running water for several days.
Since then, my dad has defered to my judgment on (ridiculous) ideas or projects that he has come up with while in Mexico. Much to my relief.
But I had discovered that if I aimed the shower head just right and only turned the water on just a little, the bathroom wouldn't get wet. I briefly considered asking the 2 women (both named Rosa) who take care of the building if I could get a new shower head. But I figured that since they clean my place twice a week, they were fully aware of the issue and chose not to deal with it.
However, once my parents came to visit, my dad decided that something HAD to be done. It was such an easy problem, he had changed shower heads many times. So he talked to the Rosas in his broken Spanish and managed to communicate his idea to them and ask for directions to the nearest hardware store. They were fully willing to let him go ahead with the project as long as he was paying for it.
Before leaving for the hardware store, my dad told me his plan. I begged him not to do it because I thought something was bound to go wrong, but he insisted that it was a simple process. I couldn't stop him, so I went off to meet a friend. While I was gone, he hit up 3 hardware stores, bought a shower head and pipe, and a wrench. But while trying to unscrew the extremely corroded shower head, he accidentally also turned the pipe coming out of the wall. And when he turned on the water, it came out of the new shower head, but also straight out of the wall.
So he decided to try to unscrew the pipe from the wall and change it out for the new pipe that came with the shower head. Of course the pipe broke off and left a chunk inside the wall. At this point he realized he was screwed, and went and talked to the Rosas, who decided to call a plumber (plomero. There's a lot of English influence on Mexican Spanish). Luckily, the plumber arrived on his bicycle in less than 15 minutes on a Saturday, and was able to get the remainder of the pipe out of the wall and install the new pipe and shower head. All for the ridiculously low price of 200 pesos (about $18).
I came home when the plumber was leaving the building on his bike and Rosa was collecting the 200 pesos from my dad in the door of my apartment. She immediately recounted the whole history to me, and my reaction was, of course, "Que sorpresa!". As soon as the door closed, I let out quite satisfying and emphatic, "I TOLD YOU SO" to my dad, and then thanked God that I hadn't been here for the whole process.
I admit the new shower works quite well, and it was cheap. But if the plumber hadn't been able to extract the broken pipe segment, they would have had to take apart the entire tiled wall of the shower stall and redone it with new tile, since they no longer sell the tile it's made with. And this would have cost much more and probably left us without a shower or possibly running water for several days.
Since then, my dad has defered to my judgment on (ridiculous) ideas or projects that he has come up with while in Mexico. Much to my relief.
CaSa in San Agustín Etla
On Tuesday my parents and I went to San Agustín Etla, a small mountain town to the northeast of Oaxaca where CaSa makes its home. CaSa (Centro de las Artes de San Agustín) is a paper-making collective started by a group of Finnish paper makers (and yes, they even have a Facebook group). Its goal is to create an artistic center that not only foments artistic innovation, but also creates many layers of permanent jobs in the region, including artists in residence, farmers who cultivate the fibers used to make paper, paper makers who can sell their professional-quality products in mass quantities, professors and instructors, etc. Their entire operation is designed to have as little impact as possible on the environment; in fact, their paper-making process does not pollute the water in any way, and they are able to recycle the water directly into the municipal system.
CaSa is located in an old electricity plant and textile mill, La Soledad, that was donated to the organization by CFE (the Mexican energy company), and the Mexican government. In addition to the classrooms and exhibit space in La Soledad, there is a shop down the hill where they sell books, paper, jewelry, boxes and other paper art made from the paper made on site; the paper workshop itself; and a bookbinding studio.
The entire campus is truly gorgeous. It's large, clean, rustic, industrial and modern all at the same time. It's located on the side of a mountain with a great panoramic view of the surrounding mountains, with pools, fountains and waterfalls tucked in among buildings. Enjoy the pictures, although they don't do full justice to the place.
Saturday, February 14
The Streets (it was supposed to be so eaaaaasy)
A couple people have asked me what it's like to walk around the city, and what the landscape is like, so I'll try to describe it and post some links to pictures.
The landscape isn't quite desert, but it's very arid. Oaxaca de Juarez is located in a large valley, surrounded on all sides by mountains. The soil is a dusty brown color and very rocky, and the greenery is mostly a dusty green, with scrub brush, small, often flowering trees, and cacti. When there's grass, it's usually because someone is cultivating it, like in parks or small private yards. It's thicker and stiffer than grass in the US. I'm assuming the color of the greenery deepens during the wet season.
The center of the city has a very colonial feel. Buildings are mostly only one or two stories, with the occasional 3 story. They are painted very bright colors, yellow, turquoise, pink, etc., or made from a greenish volcanic stone. And almost always covered with graffiti. The streets are paved to look like cobblestones, with squares in diagonal and perpendicular patterns. Some streets are paved with asphalt, and some are actually paved in real cobblestones (really hard to walk on in flip flops), but these are usually pedestrian only streets. Sidewalks are often extremely narrow and have huge holes and cracks in them, so it's best to look where you're going and not up at the buildings. You might fall into an open drain filled with garbage like empty pop bottles, candy wrappers, and rubble, and break your ankle.
The streets are also narrow, since the city was built before cars. This usually means that the streets are one way. Kind of like Chicago in that way. Stoplights are few and far between, only on the busiest of streets, and often they are attached to building corners rather than suspended on metal arms across the intersection. This means that they're pretty hard to spot unless you're looking for them. If there's no stoplights, then usually there's no traffic signs at all. Cars head full speed toward intersections and honk the horn when they cross through it to warn any cars coming from the right or left that they are crossing the intersection first.
Pedestrians do NOT have the right of way. If you don't pay attention you'll probably get plastered by a car. There's no such thing as jaywalking; you cross the street anywhere and any time you want. But you better be careful not to get run over. Once in a blue moon, a car will stop and motion you across the street, but this is very rare and usually only happens for old women and mothers with young children.
The landscape isn't quite desert, but it's very arid. Oaxaca de Juarez is located in a large valley, surrounded on all sides by mountains. The soil is a dusty brown color and very rocky, and the greenery is mostly a dusty green, with scrub brush, small, often flowering trees, and cacti. When there's grass, it's usually because someone is cultivating it, like in parks or small private yards. It's thicker and stiffer than grass in the US. I'm assuming the color of the greenery deepens during the wet season.
The center of the city has a very colonial feel. Buildings are mostly only one or two stories, with the occasional 3 story. They are painted very bright colors, yellow, turquoise, pink, etc., or made from a greenish volcanic stone. And almost always covered with graffiti. The streets are paved to look like cobblestones, with squares in diagonal and perpendicular patterns. Some streets are paved with asphalt, and some are actually paved in real cobblestones (really hard to walk on in flip flops), but these are usually pedestrian only streets. Sidewalks are often extremely narrow and have huge holes and cracks in them, so it's best to look where you're going and not up at the buildings. You might fall into an open drain filled with garbage like empty pop bottles, candy wrappers, and rubble, and break your ankle.
The streets are also narrow, since the city was built before cars. This usually means that the streets are one way. Kind of like Chicago in that way. Stoplights are few and far between, only on the busiest of streets, and often they are attached to building corners rather than suspended on metal arms across the intersection. This means that they're pretty hard to spot unless you're looking for them. If there's no stoplights, then usually there's no traffic signs at all. Cars head full speed toward intersections and honk the horn when they cross through it to warn any cars coming from the right or left that they are crossing the intersection first.
Pedestrians do NOT have the right of way. If you don't pay attention you'll probably get plastered by a car. There's no such thing as jaywalking; you cross the street anywhere and any time you want. But you better be careful not to get run over. Once in a blue moon, a car will stop and motion you across the street, but this is very rare and usually only happens for old women and mothers with young children.
Agua
Water is scarce in Oaxaca, especially now since it's the dry season. From what I can tell not every building is on the plumbing grid, which means that these places have water delivered in giant tank trucks that say "Agua para uso humano" on the side. These trucks pump water through a hose and into a tank buried in the ground. So sometimes houses run out of water. I'm not sure if this is because they literally run out, or if the government rations consumption, because I hear the water usually comes back on within half a day. While I've never run out, I have some friends and students have stories about running out in the middle of a shower, with soap all over and shampoo running into their eyes. Also, homestay families often limit their guest students to 1 shower per day, and many even limit the amount of time spent in the shower, turning off the water after 5 minutes.
Nobody in Oaxaca drinks the tap water, only bottled water. Most families buy purified drinking/cooking water in big blue 5 gallon (or whatever liter equivalent) jugs. These jugs are available at your local convenience store, or you can buy a full jug and then every time it's empty, you can exchange it for a full one from street vendors. These street vendors drive around the neighborhood in trucks filled with jugs, or ride large tricycles (2 wheels in front, one in back, a huge platform/basket in front for the bottles) and shout, "Aguaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa". And anyone who needs a refill goes running to the door for a full jug. Most mornings I wake up to the sound of a vendor who has a particularly deep voice and distinctive call. This morning I actually met him because I was here when they brought in the new jug. He was deceptively small for such a loud yell.
Nobody in Oaxaca drinks the tap water, only bottled water. Most families buy purified drinking/cooking water in big blue 5 gallon (or whatever liter equivalent) jugs. These jugs are available at your local convenience store, or you can buy a full jug and then every time it's empty, you can exchange it for a full one from street vendors. These street vendors drive around the neighborhood in trucks filled with jugs, or ride large tricycles (2 wheels in front, one in back, a huge platform/basket in front for the bottles) and shout, "Aguaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa". And anyone who needs a refill goes running to the door for a full jug. Most mornings I wake up to the sound of a vendor who has a particularly deep voice and distinctive call. This morning I actually met him because I was here when they brought in the new jug. He was deceptively small for such a loud yell.
Wednesday, February 11
Taxi colectivo
One of the major forms of transportation around here are collective taxis. To and from the airport, they are usually large white vans. But around town and to and from Oaxaca de Juarez and the tiny surrounding pueblos, they are early 90s-era 4 door economy sedans with manual transmissions, a la Toyota Corollas or equivalent Nissans. The cars are pretty old and feel a bit rickety, with springs poking through worn-out seats and spent shocks doing little to soften the huge speed bumps and potholes common on Mexican roads. Taxis are red and white, and usually have large lettering on the top of the windshield with their destination: Atzompa, San Agustín, etc. A ride costs 10 pesos (about 60 cents). But the real kicker with these taxis is that they cram them to the gills: 4 people in back and 2 people in the one front seat.
On my first ride, I was lucky enough to get the front seat, since the back was crammed with 4 males. But after we had gone about 400 feet, the taxi driver suddenly pulled over for a stout woman standing at the side of the road. I could hardly believe it when she opened the front door and climbed in beside me. I scooted over as far as I could until I was sitting on the emergency brake, with my left leg resting against the stick shift and my left shoulder against the driver's seat. I had to concentrate on keeping my left leg pushed as far to the right as possible so the driver had room to shift gears. Luckily it was only a 10 minute ride and the woman was the first person to get out (you tell the driver where you want to be dropped off).
It was a weirdly awesome experience. I'll definitely be doing it again, since you really can't beat the price, and the discomfort only lasts a short time.
On my first ride, I was lucky enough to get the front seat, since the back was crammed with 4 males. But after we had gone about 400 feet, the taxi driver suddenly pulled over for a stout woman standing at the side of the road. I could hardly believe it when she opened the front door and climbed in beside me. I scooted over as far as I could until I was sitting on the emergency brake, with my left leg resting against the stick shift and my left shoulder against the driver's seat. I had to concentrate on keeping my left leg pushed as far to the right as possible so the driver had room to shift gears. Luckily it was only a 10 minute ride and the woman was the first person to get out (you tell the driver where you want to be dropped off).
It was a weirdly awesome experience. I'll definitely be doing it again, since you really can't beat the price, and the discomfort only lasts a short time.
Nueva Babel
Last Tues night, a couple of my students invited me out to a poetry slam at a small bar called Nueva Babel, located near the Zócalo. Nueva Babel is a small two-room bar. The first room has the bar and 5-6 small tables. The second room, reached through a door to the left of the bar at the back of the room, has a flight of stairs going up to the left, a tiny stage in one corner, and tables and benches around the edges of the room, leaving space for a very small dance area.
By the time I arrived at 10:30, my students, along with Professor K and his wife, had staked out a table in the corner of the second room under the stairs. At first I couldn't see them because the stairs blocked the way, but they quickly found me, got me a chair, a paloma (tequila and Squirt, delicous), and settled me in.
Apparently there had been some major drama before I arrived. When L got there and more of her friends started arriving, a 40-something American woman offered to give up her large table and sit on a bench so L and company could have the table. L accepted thankfully, and the table began to fill up with a chatty U of C crowd. I guess it got so chatty that the American woman leaned over and said to L that she regretted giving up the table because L and co. were so obnoxious. At this point Professor K stepped in and went crazy on her, saying things like, this is a bar and we can talk; he bet she didn't even speak Spanish, but that he was from Peru, so don't fuck with him! L said that everyone's jaw dropped, and the woman shut up and left them alone for the rest of the night. I wish I hadn't missed the drama.
I also must have missed the poetry slam, because when I got there it was just music. Great, incredible music consisting of a guy playing the box (a wooden box about the size of a stool, he sits on it and drums on it), a guy wearing awesome 70s glasses with the bar across the top playing acoustic guitar and singing, and a few other musicians playing anything from electric guitar to accordion. The music was a combination of folk rock in Spanish and traditional songs. I believe they even did a Manu Chao cover at one point.
Everyone was talking, clapping, singing along, even dancing at some point. Different singers and musicians took turns on stage, including an American woman who sang amazing French songs, and two American girls who did a duet of what I think was a Janis Joplin song. Space was tight but it didn't matter with everyone singing and dancing along to the music.
We finally left at around 1 am, and even then the party was still going on. I'll definitely be back to Nueva Babel.
By the time I arrived at 10:30, my students, along with Professor K and his wife, had staked out a table in the corner of the second room under the stairs. At first I couldn't see them because the stairs blocked the way, but they quickly found me, got me a chair, a paloma (tequila and Squirt, delicous), and settled me in.
Apparently there had been some major drama before I arrived. When L got there and more of her friends started arriving, a 40-something American woman offered to give up her large table and sit on a bench so L and company could have the table. L accepted thankfully, and the table began to fill up with a chatty U of C crowd. I guess it got so chatty that the American woman leaned over and said to L that she regretted giving up the table because L and co. were so obnoxious. At this point Professor K stepped in and went crazy on her, saying things like, this is a bar and we can talk; he bet she didn't even speak Spanish, but that he was from Peru, so don't fuck with him! L said that everyone's jaw dropped, and the woman shut up and left them alone for the rest of the night. I wish I hadn't missed the drama.
I also must have missed the poetry slam, because when I got there it was just music. Great, incredible music consisting of a guy playing the box (a wooden box about the size of a stool, he sits on it and drums on it), a guy wearing awesome 70s glasses with the bar across the top playing acoustic guitar and singing, and a few other musicians playing anything from electric guitar to accordion. The music was a combination of folk rock in Spanish and traditional songs. I believe they even did a Manu Chao cover at one point.
Everyone was talking, clapping, singing along, even dancing at some point. Different singers and musicians took turns on stage, including an American woman who sang amazing French songs, and two American girls who did a duet of what I think was a Janis Joplin song. Space was tight but it didn't matter with everyone singing and dancing along to the music.
We finally left at around 1 am, and even then the party was still going on. I'll definitely be back to Nueva Babel.
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