Yesterday one of my female students (there are 19 females and 4 males in the program),we'll call her N, reported a disturbing but unfortunately somewhat common experience. She had been exploring her neighborhood in broad daylight when the man walking a few yards in front of her suddenly turned around and pulled down his pants. She continued walking by him, squishing herself as close to the wall of the house on the street, and as far away from him, as possible.
I saw her soon after the incident. I told her that she had reacted in an appropriate manner, since responding in any way (yelling, turning around and running away) would have given the man an opportunity to respond as well, and shown him that he had affected her in some way. Having had a similar experience myself last year, I had felt confused, shocked, and then just really angry afterward. I asked her how she felt about it, and she said she didn't know how she was supposed to feel. Another student, L, said her first reaction would have been to throw punches, but N and I sincerely doubt she would have actually done so, since in the moment you're just so surprised and taken aback.
Last year, another student had someone try to reach up her skirt, and others were groped in public places like subways and just walking down the street, or propositioned in a lewd and inappropriate manner. A friend studying in Italy also had similar experiences, so it seems that this isn't just an issue in Mexico. In most cases, the men did not seem crazy or emotionally disturbed. They just seem to think that they can get away with this behavior with foreign women. I doubt they would ever try it with someone from their own country.
As for preventing this kind of thing, it seems almost impossible, since the events happen during the day, when other people are around and in busy neighborhoods and public places, and they occur with almost no warning. I suggested that N not walk down that street again, but that's about as much advice as I can give her, aside from providing a sympathetic ear.
Showing posts with label people. Show all posts
Showing posts with label people. Show all posts
Sunday, January 10
Mayonesa con limón
Since the tianguis (market) in the llano (plaza) down the street has moved (apparently it was damaging the paving), I was directed to a local market on Murgia and calzada República for my fresh produce needs. I bought some avocados* and tomatoes from a mustachioed guy who called me "güerita," and some mandarin oranges and bananas from a nice older woman who actually accepted my 100 peso bill to pay for 15 pesos worth of fruit, without any comment. I definitely felt slightly out of place, since I was the only non-mexican there. But it's closer and cheaper than the market on 20 de noviembre. And the "güerita" comment is meant in a friendly way.
After my trip, I decided that I really needed some mayonnaise in order to make tortas de quesillo (cheese sandwiches). Ordinarily I despise the stuff: the taste, the slimy texture, and the fact that it's over-used. A sandwich that squirts mayonnaise when you bite into it is probably one of the most revolting food items I can think of. And don't even mention potato or tuna salad to me. One of my former students, in an essay about what the world will be like in 100 years, wrote that mayonnaise would not exist in the world of the future. I gave him an A.
That said, I was willing to make an exception in this case. I had once unwittingly ordered a torta de quesillo that came with mayo, and discovered that it actually adds something to the sandwich as long as it's used in moderation. (Also I have to admit that esquites are really lacking something without mayo.) Anyway, I stopped at the Piticó to buy a very small jar of mayo and discovered that it all comes with limón. You literally cannot buy a bottle of plain mayo. Which is fine with me; it's much tastier this way.
I also purchased a stick of unsalted butter for my morning toast. Any guesses on the ingredients in a stick of "mantequilla pura de vaca sin sal"? Salt. Yes, salt. My unsalted butter has salt in it. Also, water. In fact, water is the second ingredient after milk fat.
*Aguacate (avocado) means testicle in Nahuatl.
Sunday, March 8
Break Dancing
On Wed night I went to see a free break dancing show near Santo Domingo (apparently March is dance month in the state of Oaxaca, and there are free and paid shows all over the city). For the break dancing, an outdoor stage complete with colored lights and strobes had been set up on the cobblestones, with folding chairs on 3 sides filled with tourists and Mexicans alike, lots of young kids, and a few grandmothers.
The show was exactly what you'd expect from a break dancing show. There were two groups, one from Oaxaca and one from Mexico City. They each went on and did a choreographed group performance and then their own individual stunts. Some of them were quite good, doing one-armed handstands, hopping and balancing on one hand, head spins, the whole deal. Then, after both groups had performed, they had a dance-off, complete with taunts and joking imitations of their competitors. I went with my student, L, and we had a great time. Of course, the pictures don't really capture the dancers' movements.
San Antonio Cuajimoloyas
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).
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).
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.
Saturday, February 14
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 4
WTF, Mexico?
WTF, Mexico? is an on-going commentary on the weird things I see that make me think, "WTF?". Kind of like the odd dental work I described in the "Bush should go to jail" post.
This installment of WTF, Mexico? deals with the vacant lot across the street from my apartment. It's surrounded by a chain link fence on two sides and a corrugated metal fence on the third. 3 walls and the second floor of an old cinder block building stand on the south end against the corrugated metal fence, while the rest of the lot is filled with dry, dusty brown scrub and random pieces of garbage.
On Monday, I noticed a lone man with a machete chopping down the patchy knee-high brush. He's been working there for the past three days, clearing a rather pathetic patch in the brush near the decrepit building. He's not there today. I have no clue why anyone would bother to clear this lot except to begin a massive construction project that would require heavy machinery and certainly more than one person. It's prime real estate, so that wouldn't surprise me. But the one guy, apparently hacking away for no reason at all? WTF?
This installment of WTF, Mexico? deals with the vacant lot across the street from my apartment. It's surrounded by a chain link fence on two sides and a corrugated metal fence on the third. 3 walls and the second floor of an old cinder block building stand on the south end against the corrugated metal fence, while the rest of the lot is filled with dry, dusty brown scrub and random pieces of garbage.
On Monday, I noticed a lone man with a machete chopping down the patchy knee-high brush. He's been working there for the past three days, clearing a rather pathetic patch in the brush near the decrepit building. He's not there today. I have no clue why anyone would bother to clear this lot except to begin a massive construction project that would require heavy machinery and certainly more than one person. It's prime real estate, so that wouldn't surprise me. But the one guy, apparently hacking away for no reason at all? WTF?
Tuesday, February 3
Impressions of Mexico City
The idea of Mexico City scared me. I had heard so many things about how dangerous, large and polluted it was. Dragging 21 students from one historic site to another in a crowded city full of potential pickpockets sounded like an insane headache.
Much to my surprise, therefore, I LOVED the trip. Granted, we stayed mostly in the historic center, which felt relatively safe, colonial, and almost European. There was also much better shopping than in Oaxaca; a Zara and Pull & Bear right near our hotel, as well as an amazing ice cream place, and the main archeological sites. But I found the city to be relatively clean, the pollution didn't bother me, and I never felt threatened or unsafe, although I was very careful with my things.
While the U of C had very restrictive rules stating that students were not allowed to go outside the hotel without me or T to accompany them, in reality we were given a few hours of free time per day, which we used to shop, wander, sleep, and eat, all on our own or in small groups.
Trip highlights include seeing the Templo Mayor where Moctezuma lived and crazy sacrifices took place; Tlatelolco where Sahagun worked with his informants to write the Florentine Codex; and going out to a bar called Guadalajara de Noche to see a folkloric dance performance with the two professors who accompanied us on the trip. Professor K bought his table drinks and got talkative, while Professor W howled like a wolf several times in accompaniment to the mariachi music, and danced salsa with several students. M tried to get Professor K to dance with her and he kind of freaked out and ducked away into his wife's lap. Turns out he doesn't know how to dance and refuses to do so until M, A or V give him and his wife some lessons.
I also found 5 books I need for my thesis. They are all hard-cover editions from reputable editorials, and the best part is that I bought them for a total of for about 400 pesos, or about $35. In the US I would pay $35 for ONE book. The only drawback is that I ended up with volume II of several authors, but still lack volume I for the sets. My plan is to go to the educational bookstore here in Oaxaca and ask if they can order them for me.
Silly side note: There was a chicken restaurant, kind of like a Mexican KFC, kitty corner from our hotel, called Gili Pollos (explanation: in Spanish from Spain, a gilipollAs is someone who's a real jerk, basically the biggest jerk on the planet. Pollos means chicken. Get it?).
More Mexico City pics here: Teotihuacan, Anthropology Museum, Castillo de Chapultepec, Templo Mayor and Tlatelolco).
Much to my surprise, therefore, I LOVED the trip. Granted, we stayed mostly in the historic center, which felt relatively safe, colonial, and almost European. There was also much better shopping than in Oaxaca; a Zara and Pull & Bear right near our hotel, as well as an amazing ice cream place, and the main archeological sites. But I found the city to be relatively clean, the pollution didn't bother me, and I never felt threatened or unsafe, although I was very careful with my things.
While the U of C had very restrictive rules stating that students were not allowed to go outside the hotel without me or T to accompany them, in reality we were given a few hours of free time per day, which we used to shop, wander, sleep, and eat, all on our own or in small groups.
Trip highlights include seeing the Templo Mayor where Moctezuma lived and crazy sacrifices took place; Tlatelolco where Sahagun worked with his informants to write the Florentine Codex; and going out to a bar called Guadalajara de Noche to see a folkloric dance performance with the two professors who accompanied us on the trip. Professor K bought his table drinks and got talkative, while Professor W howled like a wolf several times in accompaniment to the mariachi music, and danced salsa with several students. M tried to get Professor K to dance with her and he kind of freaked out and ducked away into his wife's lap. Turns out he doesn't know how to dance and refuses to do so until M, A or V give him and his wife some lessons.
I also found 5 books I need for my thesis. They are all hard-cover editions from reputable editorials, and the best part is that I bought them for a total of for about 400 pesos, or about $35. In the US I would pay $35 for ONE book. The only drawback is that I ended up with volume II of several authors, but still lack volume I for the sets. My plan is to go to the educational bookstore here in Oaxaca and ask if they can order them for me.
Silly side note: There was a chicken restaurant, kind of like a Mexican KFC, kitty corner from our hotel, called Gili Pollos (explanation: in Spanish from Spain, a gilipollAs is someone who's a real jerk, basically the biggest jerk on the planet. Pollos means chicken. Get it?).
More Mexico City pics here: Teotihuacan, Anthropology Museum, Castillo de Chapultepec, Templo Mayor and Tlatelolco).
Ethnobotanical Gardens
Attached to the Ex-Convent of Santo Domingo is a large ethnobotanical garden. Spanish tours are 3 times daily and cost 50 pesos. English tours are 3 times a week and cost 100 pesos. Of course I took the Spanish tour, and it was one of my favorite sites in Oaxaca so far. Pictures here.
The gardens surround the convent and are blocked off from the street by a high, green-tinted volcanic stone wall. 11 years ago, the space that now contains the gardens was in danger of becoming a huge parking lot for downtown Oaxaca, but when they discovered some ruins underneath, the government stepped in and began to rehabilitate the gardens. The guide, a 20-something guy wearing pumas, an adidas hoodie, jeans, and an intensely gelled faux-hawk, was amazingly well-informed, and told us many interesting things about the garden. The zig-zag paths, made of crushed green volcanic rock, are modeled after the patterns carved into the Zapotec temple at Mitla. Part of the garden is used to grow edible and medicinal plants such as chiles, herbs, and maguey. The rest is used to help bring back endangered plant species from extinction. The most interesting plants included a 1000-year-old cactus, the tree from which amate (paper used to make indigenous codexes) is made, and the gringa quemada, a tree that sheds its bark much like a sun-burned gringo sheds his skin.
The guide also explained the irrigation system for the garden. Throughout the site are small channels and large pools used to aerate and collect water. Spouts coming from the roof shoot rainwater into rock filters and from there the water trickles down into cisterns.
Several fountains were commissioned for the gardens, both modeled again after the geometric patterns found at Mitla. The most striking fountain is made from mica chips, and the water running through it is died red with cochineal, an insect used from pre-columbian times onward to die cloth red. At one time an ounce of cochineal was worth more than an ounce of gold. The red water runs down the face of the fountain like blood; the blood of the many indigenous slaughtered during the Spanish conquest (according to the fountain's designer).
My tour companions were from all over the globe; none of them were native Spanish speakers. I overheard some of them saying they had understood about 40% of the tour. The fact that I had understood 100% made me very smugly satisfied.
The gardens surround the convent and are blocked off from the street by a high, green-tinted volcanic stone wall. 11 years ago, the space that now contains the gardens was in danger of becoming a huge parking lot for downtown Oaxaca, but when they discovered some ruins underneath, the government stepped in and began to rehabilitate the gardens. The guide, a 20-something guy wearing pumas, an adidas hoodie, jeans, and an intensely gelled faux-hawk, was amazingly well-informed, and told us many interesting things about the garden. The zig-zag paths, made of crushed green volcanic rock, are modeled after the patterns carved into the Zapotec temple at Mitla. Part of the garden is used to grow edible and medicinal plants such as chiles, herbs, and maguey. The rest is used to help bring back endangered plant species from extinction. The most interesting plants included a 1000-year-old cactus, the tree from which amate (paper used to make indigenous codexes) is made, and the gringa quemada, a tree that sheds its bark much like a sun-burned gringo sheds his skin.
The guide also explained the irrigation system for the garden. Throughout the site are small channels and large pools used to aerate and collect water. Spouts coming from the roof shoot rainwater into rock filters and from there the water trickles down into cisterns.
Several fountains were commissioned for the gardens, both modeled again after the geometric patterns found at Mitla. The most striking fountain is made from mica chips, and the water running through it is died red with cochineal, an insect used from pre-columbian times onward to die cloth red. At one time an ounce of cochineal was worth more than an ounce of gold. The red water runs down the face of the fountain like blood; the blood of the many indigenous slaughtered during the Spanish conquest (according to the fountain's designer).
My tour companions were from all over the globe; none of them were native Spanish speakers. I overheard some of them saying they had understood about 40% of the tour. The fact that I had understood 100% made me very smugly satisfied.
Café Los Cuiles
It's hard to find good coffee in Oaxaca. My first attempt was the chain "Italian Coffee," and it was a weak, lukewarm, expensive latte. My second attempt was an organic café con leche at the Pochote market, and it was better but still a bit on the weak side for me. My third attempt, on the recommendation of my students, was a cappuccino from "Capuchino's" near my apartment, and it was cheap, strong, and delicious.
At this point, my friend R and I went on a chai quest. R is from the US but has been in Oaxaca since June, and she really misses chai. Our quest brought us to Los Cuiles, a small cafe (maybe 10 tables) in the Plaza de los Virgenes just south of Santo Domingo. Of course, they were out of chai, but we discovered their amazing chocolate oaxaqueño and their lattes. Add that to the fact that they have free internet and a mix of tourist and local patrons, and I've been back multiple times. For the drinks and the people watching. The music is also a good mix of American and Mexican. I've heard some surprising bands, including She & Him (Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward), Dido, and Elvis.
Today I'm blogging from Los Cuiles, and it's been the best people watching so far. The young hippy lesbian couple in the window seat who obviously had no idea how cafes in Mexico work (they went to the kitchen to pay instead of asking for the check). The group of weathered-looking middle-aged American expat dudes, one with a large yellow lab at his feet. He's wearing the American uniform - crocs, cargo shorts, a flannel shirt and a horrible big ring. These guys remind me of the bums who hang around Fairfield and seemingly have no jobs, they just like to sit in cafes, talk, and ogle the young girls who come in. There's now an aging hipster couple in the window seat; the woman wearing high-top converse and wide-leg jeans that just seem a bit too young for her; the man wearing a hideous straw fedora, small hoop earrings, a gray blazer, white pants and off-white suede shoes with no socks. Several Mexican students typing away at their laptops, and a Mexican businessman who I've seen in here before, also working away at his computer.
The waitresses at the cafe are high school and college students. Under the glass on each table is a poster with a head shot and a bio (in English) of all the employees and owners of the bar. It's a cheesy, cute touch, and I think it helps them get better tips.
At this point, my friend R and I went on a chai quest. R is from the US but has been in Oaxaca since June, and she really misses chai. Our quest brought us to Los Cuiles, a small cafe (maybe 10 tables) in the Plaza de los Virgenes just south of Santo Domingo. Of course, they were out of chai, but we discovered their amazing chocolate oaxaqueño and their lattes. Add that to the fact that they have free internet and a mix of tourist and local patrons, and I've been back multiple times. For the drinks and the people watching. The music is also a good mix of American and Mexican. I've heard some surprising bands, including She & Him (Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward), Dido, and Elvis.
Today I'm blogging from Los Cuiles, and it's been the best people watching so far. The young hippy lesbian couple in the window seat who obviously had no idea how cafes in Mexico work (they went to the kitchen to pay instead of asking for the check). The group of weathered-looking middle-aged American expat dudes, one with a large yellow lab at his feet. He's wearing the American uniform - crocs, cargo shorts, a flannel shirt and a horrible big ring. These guys remind me of the bums who hang around Fairfield and seemingly have no jobs, they just like to sit in cafes, talk, and ogle the young girls who come in. There's now an aging hipster couple in the window seat; the woman wearing high-top converse and wide-leg jeans that just seem a bit too young for her; the man wearing a hideous straw fedora, small hoop earrings, a gray blazer, white pants and off-white suede shoes with no socks. Several Mexican students typing away at their laptops, and a Mexican businessman who I've seen in here before, also working away at his computer.
The waitresses at the cafe are high school and college students. Under the glass on each table is a poster with a head shot and a bio (in English) of all the employees and owners of the bar. It's a cheesy, cute touch, and I think it helps them get better tips.
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