Good Bye 2007

The Oaxacans know how to say good bye. In all things celebratory, they outstrip Americans by about 10 to 1...if you can measure such a thing as the spirit of celebration.

Here, you see an old stuffed man. He currently resides on our neighbor’s roof. This character symbolizes 2007 and tomorrow night he will be set aflame and destroyed…and if we know anything about Oaxacans, it’s that they love shooting off fireworks, so most likely a few firecrackers will be put in his beard…and a bottle rocket or two stuck in his pant legs.

Hello 2008 and a Prospero Año Nuevo to you all.

Warm Days and Lots of Play

Abraham's new chess set from Mitla artisan's market. Abby and Shaina getting some morning cuddle time and Joey exhausted after trying to keep up all day with the cousins. He fell asleep tonight on two beanbags.

The Christmas Parade

Roxy's birthday dinner and the Christmas parade we stumbled upon. Kids dressed up as the holy family and angels and shepherds, puppets twirling and countless Oaxacans celebrating on the square. Christmas is a wild affair in the centro. No snow, but plenty of joy.

Cousins Visit

Neuwirth cousins visit from Denver. First photo...kids are catching grasshoppers at Monte Alban...the beautiful Zapotec ruins above town. There is not limit to the kids' creativity and energy. They love being together, can you tell? Here they are on a bus to the centro. Nothing so exciting as a bus ride together. After the tour of the main plaza in town, we enjoyed an art class with Abby's art instructor. We've also been visiting Tulle, the village that brags the largest and oldest tree in the world, played soccer, baseball, gone to an art auction (bought nothing this time) and eaten some delicious Oaxacan food together. We miss you, Grandma and Grandpa, but we're having a lot of fun!

Folk Remedies and Advice From a Pilates Instructor

If you've spent time among the locals in Mexico and especially if you've become ill while here, you know how various folk remedies flow from a Mexican's lips in an attempt to help or cure you.


Recently, our good friend, Daniel told us the key to staying healthy in Oaxaca. It involves imbibing a blended drink of red onion, lemon and honey. Daniel's wife, Marisol is the one who had a baby in October (their 3rd). For the health of the baby and mother, she was to stay home for 40 days following the birth. Her mother came to assist her during that time and though she is a modern working woman, and had grown incredibly bored by 20th day or so, she stayed home all 40 days.

However, Jason and I were taken aback when our pilates instructor (by the way, we love our pilates class and our instructor, Judy--pronounced WHOODEE) lectured us on the dangers of bathing in hot water (warm water is acceptable, but not hot). Apparently, from what she told us, hot water turns your skin and muscles prematurely flabby. She went on for a while, even giving us the example that she had seen 18-year-olds with flabby legs and rear ends.

On each occasion, she had asked the young woman. “Do you bathe in extra hot water?” and each time, the woman had said, “Yes…I do."


What a relief. Flabbiness has nothing to do with aging, eating too much or living a sedentary life…but watch out for hot water! We thought you should be warned.


Photo: The kids had the day off school, so we did our own pilates class on the roof of our house. This was a couple of weeks ago...winter in Oaxaca.

Thursday Market

One of the fantastic pleasures of living in Oaxaca is descending on the markets that are held daily throughout the city and in the surrounding pueblos. While Bruce was visiting we went to the “famous” (because it will often be featured in travel books) Zaachila Thursday market. We rented a car, drove across town and down a winding road in a low-lying farm area. We emerged in Zaachila. At first, the town appeared empty, but we followed the red and white motorcycle taxis and found life in the centro. In front of the 300-year-old Catholic Cathedral, awnings and tables and blankets and booths spread out as far as the eye could see and everyone in town, it seems, was at the market. The market in Zaachila ought to be filmed…its colors strike you immediately as well as the smells. Meats, poultry, fruits, vegetables, grains, beans (including raw cacao…pictured here…mole paste is in the background in the stainless steal bowl, bought by the kilo, you add chicken broth and…Voila!..instant gourmet mole!) breads, flowers, cloth, wares of all types are sold at a price that would be hard for Super Walmart to beat. We bought 2 kilos of fresh strawberries (a luxury item for us) at 20 pesos (about 2 dollars) and five delicious avocados among a few other necessary items.

The most unexpected sight for me, was the presence of numerous elderly Zapotec ladies holding their live, fattened turkeys at key intersections within the market. The women had tied their birds' feet and were holding them upside-down. The turkeys stayed remarkably calm despite the crowds and looked around their surroundings with seeming disinterest. A friend said that roasted turkey is a common holiday meat. No frozen turkey here, just the one that you buy at market, keep in your yard until the morning of the big feast and then…well, the meat is fresh and you didn’t have to waste any freezer of refrigerator space.

Steroids and Baseball…

By the posting of this entry, even those of you who are not baseball fans have heard about or read something of George Mitchell’s report on steroid use in baseball. For me, the most startling find had to do with performance enhancing drug use among youth.

In the report, Mitchell cites surveys that show 3 to 6 percent of adolescents have used performance-enhancing drugs, which translates into hundreds of thousands of children.

"Every American, not just baseball fans, ought to be shocked into action by that disturbing truth," he said.

I would hope so!

And it’s not just a male issue. Recently Marion Jones’—also tied in with BALCO, Barry Bonds’ notorious supplier—pleaded guilty to lying to the feds, when she denied using performance-enhancing drugs. She made an apology outside the U.S. District Court.

“It’s with a great amount of shame that I stand before you and tell you that I have betrayed your trust. I have been dishonest and you have the right to be angry with me. I have let my family down. I have let my country down, and I have let myself down. I recognize that by saying I’m deeply sorry, it might not be enough and sufficient to address the pain and hurt that I’ve caused you.

Therefore, I want to ask for your forgiveness for my actions, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Throughout her comments, Marion was clearly emotional. Her mother stood behind her the entire time, a supportive hand on her shoulder. Marion Jones also returned her Olympic medals. Though lying to the feds might land her in jail, I appreciate her public comments. It took a lot of courage to say those words.

So now I try to imagine Bonds or Clemens making a Marion Jones style apology, their families gently urging them on in the truth-telling and then the topper...the giving up of their awards and lauds. For this fiction writer, that’s a scene I cannot imagine.

First Visitor From the North...Bruce Arrives

The season of visitors begins. Bruce Hansen, our colleague and friend from Berkeley arrived this afternoon. Abby and Gabe made the welcome sign. Hi...Stasia, Kayla! We wish you were here, but hope our postings will help you feel like you're participating somewhat in your dad's time in Oaxaca.

And Have You Gotten Sick on the Water or Food?

A friend recently asked me this...

It is an interesting question and I’m not sure every reader wants to know all the details, so skip over if you're grossed out by this kind of thing…but we've done a bit of research recently...and I won't say anything more about what we saw, where we saw it and why it prompted this research.

Suffice it to say that 100s of millions of people in the world live with and see few or no symptoms of round worm (just one example of what Oaxacans probably host in their digestive tracts). We assume, since we’ve lived sort of like the locals that we do have a variety of freakish microscopic and/or not so microscopic creatures living in us. We’ve eaten meat cooked in a street taqueria (except Abby who is a vegetarian)…we take showers without keeping our mouths taped shut. Moreover, we’ve had various digestive issues move through us (so to speak). Gabe threw up once. The rest of us, just the runs here and there…but overall we’ve been healthy and happy and maybe our intestines are perfect, clear of all alien life forms...but maybe not.

The adults in the family are thinner and the kids could use to be fattened up as well. We'll frequent the Cheese Board when we return to Berkeley and buy the bread we've been pining for all these months...The Bread Garden's sour dough loaf.

But back to worms. Our theory on the matter is this: we will go in for physicals when we return home and do the big kill there. Why bomb the creatures now when they’ll probably move back into the neighborhood, but with more friends and possibly more sinister ones at that?

I call this approach…Don't worry, be happy you're not having to count Weight Watcher points!

Art

Misael Mendez is a contemporary artist in Oaxaca. I love his work and if I had a couple of thousand dollars at my disposal, I'd come home with two of his paintings, at least.

Misael is also the novio of Abby's art teacher, Rosalba Gonzalez. They live and work in the same space. Today, when Abigail was at her art class, Misael passed through the room and saw a monotype that she had created. It's quite abstract, but right away he nailed the image...exactly what Abby had intended.

He said(in Spanish, of course), "That is a dog on a boat in the ocean and the dog is happy. I like that very much."

Is that what you see? If I hadn't told you what it is, would you guess and dog on a boat in the ocean...Go Dog Go!

So what is it with these artist types? What makes them think the way they do? I am reminded of the book, the Little Prince. I remember how the boy draws a picture of a snake after is has swallowed an elephant whole, but most everyone who looks at the drawing cannot see the true image. And actually, it does sort of look like a hat.

One Month and Counting

It is strange to write this, but we have a month left in Oaxaca. On the 9th of January, very early in the morning, we walk on a plane and will eventually step out of airport-land in Denver, onto fresh, cold dirt, or snow, or pavement. Well...you catch my drift.

Today, I post a photo that caught my eye early on. Rod iron fences abound in Oaxaca and many are coiled and bent into artistic forms...if not kitschy designs. This one surrounds a house that doubles as a preschool. If I hadn't seen the movie, Donnie Darko, I'd think it was kind of cute, but because there is a creepy man in a bunny suit in that film, I only think of him when I walk by, which I usually do two or three times per week. Maybe it is because the bunny wears a frown.

Note to grandparents...though I love the film Donnie Darko, for it's weird time-bending redemption, I don't recommend that you see it.

More Swim Photos

I thought I'd indulge the grandparents and include a few more Huatulco photos. Here is 3/4 of the family about to ride on what our kids called the "banana boat". This tube gets pulled around the bay for 5 minutes or so, then the driver of the boat races back toward shore and turns, leaving the occupants of the banana boat at the mercy of certain laws of physics...that is...Abby, Gabe and Jason get tipped into the bay at the end of the ride.

Two other photos...Abby at the start of her 100 meter backstroke and what you see above is Gabe watching her photo finish. She is in the center lane. Her arm is about to go over and touch the wall...barely clinching that gold medal. She won by a hairsbreadth...her only close race.

Huatulco

This past weekend, we traveled to Huatulco with Abby's swim team. Day 1, a 1K race on the beach, day 2, a swim meet at an aquatic center.

What an interesting experience! Absolutely, Huatulco is an amazing coastal area. Of the nine Bahia’s (or bays) in Huatulco, we visited two. It was a short trip (much of which was spent on a “first class” bus…I’ll write more about that below). The team, the coach, all the people with whom we traveled were wonderful. There were plenty of jovenes (teens) travelling without families, but a few like us, travelling as families. We were 40 people.

The first Bahia we saw was Santa Cruz, a marina area, plus beach. Abby and many others swam the 1 kilometer race here. The distance wasn’t awful, but standing from shore, it was very far out into the Bay, to the point that you could hardly see the swimmers at the halfway mark. Basically, they swam around an orange buoy and back to shore. Abby swam like a champ, despite the fact that her goggles broke right at the start and she had to borrow someone else’s, a lame start that put her in the back of the pack where everyone was kicking water into her face. Also, she is terrified of heights and deep water (she says they’re similar fears). She almost quit the race because of it, but didn’t and finished with an okay time. I was happy she overcame the fear, a bigger deal in my mind than placing in the top three. (Abby finished sixth...photos show after, before and during...I'm still terrible at arranging photos on this blog program...sorry!)

Later that day, we went to Bahia Maguay, a popular snorkeling destination. Snorkeling was good. Jason and I have seen better reefs in Cozumel and Akumal, but kids don’t remember those so well, so it was fun to witness them seeing that underwater world for the first time, making their own discoveries and feeling confident in the water.

The next day Abby won 4 of her 4 races, though I will say the competition wasn’t too stiff and Abby could have performed better had she felt other swimmers breathing down her back. Still, fun and such a unique experience. Similar and yet very different than how a meet would run in the states. The coaches here are fighting a lot of cultural barriers to get folks to sign their kids (especially daughters) up for a swim team and competing on a world stage becomes an almost staggering proposition.

I read an article about the young woman who trains at the pool where Abby swims…a triathlete named Ruth. She just won won her first world competition (she’s seventeen and she placed first in the junior world women’s triathalon…later competed with elite triathletes of all ages and came in 19th.) Her coach wrote a piece that I found online, on a website called Goswim, interesting rambling writing style…but very compelling story in terms of how everything from Oaxacan diets (kids here eat a lot of packaged junk food and candy) to a prejudice against walking or riding a bike (reveals poverty…so why ride to school or jog, when you have a car…no middle-class person in their right mind would choose that mode of transportation)…Her coach feels that training is more integrated in US, Canada, Europe…places where there is a culture of fitness.

I do know that about ½ of the best high school distance runners in Southern California were Mexicans(back in the 80s when I was running competitively)…they’re natural athletes, many of them, with amazing endurance. Eugenio Cruz was on our team, our fastest senior when I was a sophomore running cross country. He would always joke with us after winning a race, saying, “That was nothing. You should have clocked my time when I was crossing the border…” and then he’d laugh, but there was a glimmer of truth in his eyes. I’ll always remember that line.

As for the bus ride. I don’t know what to say, except that I’ll wake up in a cold sweat for the next four months, imagining I’m on that long and winding road utterly dependent on a bus driver who likes to stop at a fruit stand and buy fruit for his family back home…or stop for coffee…or stop to make a cell phone call…thus, turning an already grueling 7 hour trip into a 10 hour trip. The kids were awesome…did not complain at all. I was miserable…

I emailed these details in a letter to my parents yesterday and my mom wrote back, saying..."In 10 hours, I'm in Copenhagen..." She does that trip a lot, on the way to Sweden to visit my grandmother. Somehow, that comment put so many things in perspective. High-powered American lives compared to the simple lives of most Oaxaquenos. An alternate universe. A place where we have received rest for our souls.

The Christmas House From Hades

There is a lot of noise pollution in Oaxaca. Salespeople frequent our street selling various foods, wares and services. All of them have their particular call. We’ve gotten used to most. Ignacio our water guy brings us water bottles on his tricycle or triciculo(a large three-wheeled bike with a platform for carrying water in his case). He calls agua when he nears the house. Other water guys yell agua too, but their calls are not precisely the same in tone and pitch as Ignacio's. After a couple of months, I can distinguish his call from the other salesmen.


I’ve already written about the trash guys and their cow bell. We hear the bell first, around 5:45 in the morning, as it rounds the corner behind our house. This warns one of us that it’s time to get up and get ready for the truck. Ten minutes later, the bell tolls in the front of the house and we throw our bags of trash in with our other neighbors. Jason gets up Mon, Wed and Fri…I wake to the bell on Sun, Tue and Thu…we sleep in on Saturdays. That’s the cow bell. Our alarm clock.


The company that replaces gas canisters plays a recorded jingle…They announce themselves over a loud mic as the truck passes, Gas de Oaxaca, kilos exactos…Interesting how they advertise. The company wants you to know right off hand that they will not rip you off! They give you a tank with the exact number of kilos promised. We’ve gotten a few good laughs out of the Gas de Oaxaca diddy…you can imagine how we have used the material for jokes. These trucks are all over the place and mostly we’ve learned to tune them out, though recently, when Jason hiked to the top of one of Oaxaca’s surrounding hills, he looked over the city, nature surrounding him and he realized…he could still hear the Gas de Oaxaca truck, echoing up from the valley.


Not as frequent, but also loud and distinct is the tamales lady, the donut guy (he comes around 11 PM every night, his call is seductive…donuts, he says, you need donuts) and neighborhood religious processions, usually Catholic. Last week, our neighbor across the street hosted a statue of Mary at her house. This is a particularly popular relic…Mary wearing a sort of golden Christmas-tree like dress. The host family set up chairs and microphones and speakers. For about four hours, they blasted into the neighborhood religious music (from CDs) and the live mass associated with this representation of Mary that was being displayed in my neighbor’s yard. I think it was an attempt at evangelization. I may be going out on a limb with this statement, but I don’t think it would go over well in a typical US neighborhood.


So, why so much noise? Houses in Oaxaca are concrete construction and stucco. The streets are concrete. In our neighborhood, the houses are built right to the street’s edge. There are no front yards. Sounds reverberate, they echo, they travel, whether intentional or accidental, right through the window of la casa (which is always open in this climate) and into the occupant’s ears. Using proclamation to sell goods is smart, and aside from the donut guy and the trash bell, all this noise pollution takes place during the day.


That is, until our backyard neighbor (he lives on the same street behind our house where Ana Marie’s taqueria resides) decided to add music to his Christmas light display. About three nights ago, the lights went up on a variety of houses, some very elaborate. One particular household set up speakers in their yard and began blasting Christmas music at about 9 PM. It played all night. I thought that was a fluke, that someone had forgotten to turn off the music (and lights…they also blink all night…see photo), but I believe now that this celebrative act will take place from now until Navidad. I’m not sure how I will maintain my sanity.


This music is possibly the worst Christmas compilation I’ve ever heard. No lullaby-like Silent Night…the stuff is plinky and punchy, with a strong polka beat, electric keyboard fare. Each song lasts about 45 seconds and leads right into the next. It takes the entire program about ½ hour to cycle through. Do the math! I have done the calculation, late at night while staring up at the ceiling. I potentially listen to the same songs about 12-14 times every night….more math, if the music plays every night until the 24th, this will equal 400 torturous rounds.


While awake, in addition to doing math problems, I have plotted crazy things, like how to avenge my loss of sleep. I don’t know about you, but I get a little crazy in situations like this, so don’t be alarmed by these terrible midnight fantasies. One idea I had…disperse sugar around the house to attract colonies of ants into their yard. Or how about donning a black cape, sneaking over to cut the wires of the evil speakers. Other cheery options, hiding rotten eggs in the yard, stabbing a threatening note to the door with a bowie knife…I suppose I could walk over and ask them to please turn their music off by midnight, but what if the person at the door tilts his head, laughs and says, “You silly gringa, this is our country. We don’t live by your rules. We do what we want”? which is true. One of the charms of this place…less rigidity, fewer rules…Ah the dilemma.


In the end, this issue may break me. I have tried to adjust to all things Mexican, finding tranquility in learning and accepting differences. Last night, after lying awake in my room for about 2 hours, I slept the final hour of the morning in the front of the house on our sofa, until the cow bell roused me from my groggy state.


I have gotten used to most of the night noises around our house, cars and motorcycles without mufflers racing down the street, cracking concussions from fireworks, usually happening around holidays, and all manner of dog activities that reach our ears in the wee hours (except for one yappy dog who seems to be left outside only once a month…I can never sleep on those nights). I confess, I’m a bit of an insomniac (aren’t all writers?) in some seasons more than others and maybe, this will be one of those seasons.

End of the Season

Dragones before their final match-up.

I can hardly believe our little league experience in Oaxaca is over...not that we won't go to a few more practices (for old time's sake). The Dragones continue to practice because they will play again in the Spring, but without Gabe Jensen. In addition, 4 of our best players are moving into the next age bracket...13 to 14 year-olds, so the Dragones are starting over, with fresh players, many of whom are very green. I wonder what kind of season they'll have.

Our last game was a forfeit...the other team didn't show. Perhaps word got around that the Dragones are no longer to be toyed with! We spent the two hours in a parent/kid scrimmage. We all had fun and then enjoyed a taco potluck together.

It's difficult to fathom how different our Fall would have been without baseball. Many of our afternoons and most of our Saturday mornings have been spent on the ball field. Many of our Oaxacan acquaintances, our favorite cross-cultural moments and our best stories have come out of little league. So now what?

Gabe will play soccer with an afterschool club at school. He's been aching to play more soccer in recent weeks and he's starting with guitar lessons today. Abby has been swimming with a swim team in Oaxaca.

To give a word of credit to big sister...Abby was a completely dedicated fan throughout the season, never complaining and always enjoying her brother's sport. (She often contributes in our family in the areas of joy, good attitude and high spirits). She gets to receive in kind from younger brother this coming weekend as she participates in her first and only swim meet in Mexico. We're heading to the coast, to Huatulco for the event and bit of beach action.

Ah..La Liga Monte Alban. Thank you for welcoming us into your baseball community, and thank you, Dragones, for your patience with the foreigners in your midst. We'll miss you.

Tlayudas

This posting has to do with food, so prepare yourself. We have a taco stand in our back yard (almost literally) and the food is glorious. The stand is called Ana Marie’s.

Jason convinced me to try one of Ana Marie’s tacos after a couple of weeks of living in Oaxaca. You can’t get more convenient than a taco stand behind your house and the smells that waft up from the grill, that of bbqu’d steak and costilla (pork) are enough to get a person all riled up. I haven’t found cooking in Oaxaca to be the most rewarding experience. If I were going to be here for another year, I would work harder, but at this point, I cook and we eat about three or four of the same dishes every week. Needless to say, tacos, tortas (grilled sandwiches) and tlayudas, all served by Ana Marie, are welcome in our casa.

Many people who visit Oaxaca rave about the tacos al pastor (tacos with barbequed marinated pork and pineapple) or chicken mole. We have enjoyed some amazing plates of Oaxacan food since arriving in August, but probably my favorite is the tlayuda. What is a tlayuda you ask…I had never heard of a tlayuda before coming to Oaxaca and to be honest I was a bit scared to try one.

Ana Marie changed my mind. She’s the young-looking grandmother who runs the stand behind our house. She starts up the fire every night around dark. It takes about ½ hour to stoke the fire and prepare all the fresh ingredients which she brings with her each evening. Her taco stand is a metal box. It’s about 8’ by 12’ in floor size. She runs it with one of her 15 grandchildren (Ana Marie is 52 with 5 children and yes, 15 grandchildren). She’s great, always wearing a baseball cap while she cooks as she prepares her masterpieces. She’s a chef for the neighborhood and we all emerge to the scent of her grilled meat.

Ana Marie knows me as juera (blondie) and frankly, we’ve become close. After 3 months in Oaxaca, there is nothing that I crave like one of Ana Marie’s tlayudas. It all starts around 10 in the morning when I walk home from the gym, sore from my pilates work out. I usually have my cappuccino in hand, but it doesn’t matter. I pass that tlayuda stand and I start craving the product. From 10 AM on, I think about bbqed steak, cut up into small pieces, plopped on a large corn tortilla, folded in half…this is put on the bbq again to melt the quesillo (Oaxacan string cheese) to perfection over those chunks of steak, with a light smattering of refritos (beans) salsa, lettuce, hot sauce and avocado. At 6:30, when she is unlocking the metal booth, I am at her side, ordering my tlayuda for the night. I’ll have to wait until 7:00 to pick it up. By that time, I am starving, feeling very European as I bite down on my late-night cena, Ana Marie’s delectable tlayuda. Thank God for the metal taco stand in my backyard.

Tis the Season

I know a few of you don’t particularly like warm weather. You love cold, rain, wind, sleet, snow, wearing lumpy turtleneck sweaters and blasting heat through your floor vents in the wee hours of the morning, but for those of you who don’t, buy property in Oaxaca now! Today, the temperature peaked at 87 degrees and it isn’t showing any signs of letting up. White, puffy clouds, blossoming trees, and evenings that make me want to take up cigar smoking…just so I can have another excuse to sit up on our roof in the balmy evening air and take in the stars. This is Winter in Oaxaca.

And the tourist season is booming. The Canadians have put away their parkas, the Europeans have traded in their Euros for Pesos and many Americans, especially retirees are trekking down to Oaxaca to spend their holiday in paradise. Though I’m sad to say it, I predict that this city will triple in size in the next ten years. Property values will sky-rocket and more and more of us, North of the Border types will come here to live. It’s already happening on a small scale. Many of those who are tired of the rat race (especially artists) are seeing the light. They’re realizing that they can find community, live on less money, enjoy really good tacos and not worry about climbing any ladders because most Mexicans don’t climb the proverbial ladder…they hang out on one of the bottom or middle rungs and enjoy the company of those around them. I’m stretching that extended metaphor a bit far, but this is my blog… so I’m taking the liberty!

Tranquilo, tranquilo, tranquilo…These are the holidays in Oaxaca and tis the season to be reminding you all…Wish you were here…you’re still invited for a visit! (This offer expires on January 9th, 2008.)

Por Fin, Ganamos! (Finally, We Won!)

Well, at least the grandparents will cheer when they hear that on Saturday, our second to last game of the season, we won, 10 to 6. Gabe played the entire game, no bench warming involved and hit a triple a single and made an out while playing 2nd base. It’s enough to make a parent want to post a new blog entry…

The Team Clown

So, the Dragones, though improving at every practice, have not won a game yet. It can be demoralizing, but what can you do? It helps that we have Alejandro, the team clown.

Alejandro comes to practice every week on his inline skates. This is a respectable feat in and of itself, given the street and sidewalk hazards in Oaxaca (see September 9 post). Alejandro plays an important role for the Dragones…he is the by far the worst player and he knows it. For this reason, he never comes to games…or he comes and watches to support the team, but he must love baseball because he faithfully shows up to practices. He bats, throws and catches with the rest of the team. Last week, I realized how important he is to the Dragones. It’s not just that he jokes, teases and makes fun of himself continuously, causing everyone to laugh and lighten up. It’s also important for some of our new players who aren’t so good, to feel that they are not alone. They are not the worst player on the team because…hey…look, it’s Alejandro. He can barely play baseball, but wow, does he have a good time.

Every team needs an Alejandro and the coaches know it. They love him and they play easy on him when it’s his turn to bat or throw or field the ball. Take infield practice. Blancas gets the boys to line up at third, where there is the understanding that they will take turns fielding ground balls and throwing to first base…standard infield practice. When it is Gabe’s turn, Blancas hits a fast ground ball to him. If you’ve never played baseball before, this is a terrifying moment in a ball player’s life…not knowing if that ball is going to take a bad bounce and hit you in the groin, or the neck or the face. The command from the coach is “en frente”…or get in front of the ball. This is a basic baseball skill and the good players will almost always stop the ball from getting past them. The better a player gets, the less fear he feels. Gabe, for example, has become a confident infielder. After months of these drills, when the ball is hit, he gets himself in front of the ball, fields it and makes a straight hard throw to first base.

Alejandro steps up for his turn and it’s another matter. First, he will miss the hard grounder as it rolls under his legs, his mitt not quite low enough to stop the ball. You’ve see this sight on any number of baseball flicks…Bad News Bears, for one. The second grounder, Alejandro watches as it goes by to his left… the fear of that hard grounder keeping him from getting in front of the ball.

“Ay Ay Ay…” coach Blancas says and slaps his head, at which point Alejandro throws up his arms and cracks a joke. Blancas laughs and hits him a soft grounder. This one, Alejandro stops with his mitt, grabbing the ball with his throwing arm and releasing his high-arced rainbow to first base. All the other players pat him on the back and he goes to the end of the line to wait for his next turn.

I suppose it’s unfair to focus on Alejandro in this way, but Blancas told us a story last week that made me think it might be appropriate. Blancas coached Vinny Castilla Soria and his big brother when they were young. Big brother was always the promising player, strong, physically agile and quick. Vinny was scrawy and weak, but he loved to play ball. Vinny’s brother lost interest in baseball eventually and became a business man. Vinny stayed with baseball and went on to become one of the best Mexican players to get to the Majors. May it be so for Alejandro.

Dia de Los Muertos

Those of us living in California have become more and more familiar with Latin American and Mexican holidays, so Dia de Los Muertos, celebrated on November 1 and 2, might ring a bell. Day of the Dead is one of the most important holidays in Mexico. A Oaxacan mom friend, who works for the airline Mexicana, said all flights were over-booked on the Dia de Los Muertos weekend and into the week. Mexicans travel from all over to be with their loved ones as they honor their dead. She went as far to say that the celebration is even more important than Christmas for families. Jason and I contemplated how Thanksgiving for us in the US is a holiday that draws family members together. Muertos reminded us of our special November holiday, with two days off school and all the traditional foods taking their place on the table (During Dia de Los Muertos, special bread is eaten, chicken mole is served and lots of hot chocolate is drunk by the time November 3rd rolls around). One large difference between the holidays is that the focus of Muertos is less on food, more on remembrance.

On November 1st, Jason and I traveled to the cemetery to see the action and that night we brought the children back to see how the celebration was unfolding. Scores of families were cleaning and decorating grave sites. Hundreds of merchants had set up shop, selling flowers, food and drink, a few kiddie rides had been brought in to keep the little ones in celebration mode. This scene did not feel like a place of mourning. Though the Mexicans do grieve for their dead, they also live among them differently than what I am used to. They seem to exist in a state between natural and supernatural…there is not as strong a division between those two realities, so having a party at the gravesite of Tia Juanita, is like enjoying her company. Though she is dead, her presence is still among them.

Jorge Martinez Blancas...or Humbled in Oaxaca

Our new little league “trainer" has transformed our practices and his mantra is “Vamanos Alegres”…Let’s be happy. That’s what he wants. He wants to boys and girl to be happy when playing, to have fun, I suppose this would be an accurate translation. He’s also teaching them ball skills along the way…I’ve missed the last 4 practices, first we missed two because of being in PEscondido, then I missed because of my ear infection.

Being back on the field today, I saw the transformation. He has the kids “playing baseball” and not “thinking baseball”…if that makes sense. I’ll try to explain the distinction…it’s still a bit fuzzy to me. I suppose I noticed it because everyone was hitting, and I mean everyone, down to the last wimpy player. Gabe is hitting better than ever, but so are all the other players. Blancas moves batting practice very quickly…today starting everyone on bunts and his command was to make contact no matter what. Even if the pitch was high or in the dirt, he wanted them going for contact. They got as many pitches as they needed to get the bunt. Most made contact on that first pitch…especially by the third round. One batter was on deck, one bunting and the rest were in outfield, rotating from first to third. Playing the bunt wasn’t the issue and things moved fast. Next, he let them do one good hit, again going round the rotation, then two hits…(he was pitching).

After that, we played a scrimmage and he got a few of us parents involved. I was one of the fools, of course, because I always bring my mitt and wear the appropriate clothes in case they need my help. We were all players and all got to bat. My first at bat was a strong showing. Blancas seemed surprised. In the next inning, I played right field and had to sprint to catch a fly ball that Gabe hit and couldn’t get to it. I admit, I was feeling a bit of vertigo from my ear infection, but that’s not an excuse. I simply couldn’t get to that ball. It's harder than it looks!

Following that fiasco, we made our third out and I was first up. I felt winded from my run, but ready to whack the ball again in true Susi style, but Blancas was on to me and pitched outside. I did not catch on. He was toying with me and laughing the entire time. I did swing hard at that second pitch and lost my balance, twirled and landed on my butt in the dirt. The parents in the bleachers were roaring and so was Blancas. He had this gleam in his eye and got me swinging and missing on the next pitch as well. The subsequent batter was another parent and Blancas struck him out too, grinning like an evil trickster (okay, that may be too strong…not evil, but yes, he was throwing some funky stuff to us). Meanwhile, I am a bit embarrassed and covered in dirt, trying to avoid the glinting eyes of the parents who will, I’m sure, tell this tale to their great grandchildren, about the gringa who thought she was hot stuff, but fell in the dirt like a circus clown, all for their amusement.

I was redeemed at my next at bat. I took the advice I’m always giving to Gabe...to be patient…I was patient and got my hit. Blancas also may have felt a bit of remorse for getting me to go after that terrible curve ball.

Gabe was three for three in the scrimmage, hit a homerun over the left-fielder’s head and had a great practice. I was sore like heck and ready for bed!

Sure enough, the following day, Blancas laughed at me about the "curve ball" he had thrown, checking to see if I showed any signs of being angry. I wasn't angy, I told him, just humbled. He invited us to his house for pollo and mole. I think in his own way he was trying to make amends for causing a 40-year-old woman to fall in the dirt in front of spectators.

More Little League

The photo…I love this man. There are two Zapotec campesinos (farmers) at the baseball field where we sometimes play. Here he is making the lines for a Dragones game. He uses a coffee can, with a screen on the bottom. It is fastened to a stick and contains the “cal” or “lime”. He puts a string connected to a nail at home plate and stretches it all the way past first into right field to get a straight shot at the baseline. He does similarly for the third base line. Then he walks with his can on a stick and shakes out the lime all the way into the outfield. You see him here making the batter's box. When there is no game to be played, he and his buddy trim the grass, weed, sweep and pick up trash.

Some aspects of Mexican life are so precious to me, I have a difficulty expressing my feelings about them. The campesino, silently doing his job while the boys played catch (not pictured), and he walks around them, never saying a word…not even a “con permiso” (excuse me), that is precious. He symbolizes so much that is beautiful about Mexico, the ingenuity, the simplicity, the quiet and joyful work that the workers perform to keep this country (and ours, across the border) going. I hardly know how to write about it.

What I do know how to write about…little league drama. It’s been a while since I’ve posted about little league, but the drama continues. About 3 weeks ago, the multiple losses our team had experienced caused parental uproar. Mumblings from those in the bleachers, meetings in the dugout during practice…all this was happening under my nose and I was happily ignoring the tension, reading my novel, or putting on my mitt and practicing with the team. Our parents were fed up with the Dragones’ trainer, a 20-something-ball player named Marco.

Every little league team in Oaxaca has a trainer and a coach. Our coach is Gabriel. He has a son named (of course) Gabriel who plays on our team. As an aside, every father we have met here, who has a son, (the first born son) bears his father’s name. This makes life easier for us because we have to remember fewer names. No one seemed to be complaining about Gabriel. Maybe he isn't paid, though I'm not sure about that. For some reason, the blame fell on Marco.

Marco was our trainer and as I learned later, he was a paid employee of the parents. We pay a fee every two weeks for Gabe to play on the Dragones. (In US, though coaches are all volunteer, we do pay a fee, a one-time registration fee.) In Oaxaca, our little league money pays umpires, field usage and trainer. Our trainer Marco, whom we Jensens liked quite a bit, was not appreciated by the other parents. They felt he was not motivating the boys well enough, so they fired him.

We hired a new trainer, Jorge Martinez Blancas.

Blancas is an interesting old cat. He is about 65…came to Oaxaca in his 20s as a “draftee” of sorts. He was brought from his state of Jalisco to Oaxaca to play for the ball team. He never left. He did play baseball for a few years. Back then, the teams were like minor league or farm teams. Now they’re a bit closer to professional, though the money pros are paid in Mexico is still well below the US standard…

So…Jorge (everyone calls him Blancas) is one of these guys who always has his coaching voice switched on. So far we’ve seen him in three settings. Coaching, of course, then we get to ride with him in his car to games. He has generously offered this to us, since he lives across the street. When he drives us to a game, he talks/yells in that same pitch and voice in casual conversation as he uses when he’s encouraging the boys and girl on the field…(Did know we have a girl on our team? Her name is Adela. She’s a great player, our first baseperson.)

The third setting we’ve seen him in is in his house. We arrived at his doorstep (on time) to get a ride to the game one Saturday and he was still eating his breakfast. His wife was there, serving him, literally, serving him. He was ordering her around in the same coaching voice…generational and machismo all in the same moment. It made me a little crazy, but the wife seemed to take it all in stride. They have something like six kids and twenty grandkids together. So, Blancas is a character and he is our new trainer.

Marco is long gone. I’m still growing used to the idea that parents care fire a coach. In the end, I feel badly that they fired Marco, but it could be good for us to have Blancas kicking our collective butt.

More on Blancas in a later post…

Art Auction

I’ve never been to an art auction before last night. What an incredible experience. Maybe it’s because I’m a writer and think of myself as an artist…or maybe it’s because I’m a competitor and the scene was about competition. Gabe and Abby got into the bidding (the silent auction part)…patrolling the art pieces on which we had bid and telling us whenever someone had bid above us. In the last two minutes of the silent auction, potential buyers hovered like vultures around their chosen pieces, watching to see who would outbid them and ready to engage with their parties to see if offering a higher price was a wise decision. We won our painting of choice… a piece called Peces (fish), oil on canvas, by Esteban Urbieta, a young up-and-coming artist. The painting is wonderful. I hope you can see it sometime when you visit us in Berkeley.

We were invited to this auction because of our connection with Abby’s art teacher. She and her boyfriend, a contemporary artist here in Oaxaca, had two pieces for sale at this particular event.

The auction, put on by the expatriate community in Oaxaca (retired wealthy Americans and Canadians), turned out to be a fantastic night of art indulgence for the four of us. Oaxacan artists are gifted and wonderfully fresh. Moreover, their pieces are sold for little money in comparison to their American and European compatriots. We paid about $200 for Peces. We love it. We love it today. Will we love it tomorrow and for many months and years to come. Abby’s art teacher was thrilled we had gotten such a deal. It’s enough to make one addicted to art.

I wish I had Sharon with me or Rick Shaw…friends who are regularly looking at art and what is new and cutting edge. But alas…we were left with our own thoughts and feeling about the art pieces, which in the end is probably a good thing.

Surfing As Religion

Out of our experience in Puerto Escondido, I have been contemplating surfer culture. The town of PE is full of young people and not-so-young-people, all of whom have put their lives on hold to find the perfect wave. They come from all over the world.

We ate breakfast with an Irish bloke, Patrick (no joke…his name was Patrick) about 31-years-old, who had been surfing for over ten years. When he heard we were from California, he asked me if I knew about San Clemente Beach. I do. When I was a girl, my family spent a week camping at San Clemente every summer for years. He told us that he learned to surf at that beach and that the 5 weeks he spent there were the happiest of his life.

Since then, he has found odd jobs to sustain himself and dipped into his savings a little. He surfed for a year in Brazil, learned Portuguese, hung out with Argentine surfers who, when they got drunk, waxed on and on about Puerto Escondido and Zicatella Beach. Finally, he moved himself to surfer heaven and has been in PE for the past three years. Patrick is no bum...He has a college degree and a savings account and teaches English at the local college in Puerto Escondido. He has a family in Ireland that loves him and a new baby nephew of whom he is the proud godfather. Yet, here he is in Puerto Escondido, surfing.

I think I understand surfing as “religion” for the first time. There is a zen to the sport, being at one with nature, connecting with powerful forces, not conquering, but getting high from the experience, from the ride. Plenty of surfers also get hurt and die in the waters of Puerto Escondido. Patrick had experienced a bad wipe out three months earlier and was just coming around to feel comfortable again on the board.

It’s easy to be jealous or maybe critical of surfers, but I’ve given myself over to the metaphor. I do admire the devotion, the commitment, the costs that are joyfully incurred, the risks that are taken every day…all for the spiritual experience that is surfing. When I look at Patrick in that way, I am humbled in comparison, by my modest spiritual passion.

Puerto Escondido

(posted a bit late...written on Monday)

We survived the bus ride, despite the long and winding road that required an entire night. We all took Dramamine, which helped us sleep and not get too car sick, but it was still uncomfortable. We’re not yet Mexican enough to get a good night’s sleep on a bus.

I'm standing on the balcony of our room...see photo. Look left (behind me) and see the famous Zicatella Big Wave Beach (ask a surfer near you and he/she’ll tell you about Zicatella. We don't swim there). Look right (not pictured) and view Marineros Beach, where we like to swim, though we regularly receive a pounding from the very strong waves.

Three aspects of our Puerto Escondido stay feel ideal. One is the view from our room. The second is the fantastic and delicious breakfasts that we are served each morning and the other is the sounds of the surf that fill the space, every moment of every day. The pounding surf keeps us from turning on the air conditioning too often. The air unit is an antiquated swamp cooler that roars so loudly it obliterates the sounds of the surf, so we’ve chosen to “suffer”, sleep on top of our covers, wake up with that slightly salty, sticky feeling…all for the sensations that come with this place, the sounds, the ocean air that cools us by morning, the smell of the Pacific breeze. Over 90% humidity here on most days.

This B & B, called Tabachin, is interesting. It is run by an aging man, who I imagine has not been up the 3 flights of stairs to check out this room in months if not a year. Tabachin was probably running at its height about six years ago. The climate here is damp and the salt air, sun and wind, so destructive to property, upkeep has to be an ongoing task for any hotel owner. Our owner, for whatever reason, let this place go. Consequently, the price of $65 per night (he came down in price and gave us a bigger room) is buying us an incredible stay in a post-luxury hotel. To our family of 4, we feel the breakfast is worth at least this much and the beds are very good…plusses and minuses, not everyone would tolerate the minuses. The gorgeous Santa Fe hotel, which our owner used to manage, is a stones through away…in fact, our view looks over their roof. For twice as much per night, but a smaller room, no view, no breakfast, we could enjoy the comforts of 4-star.

Contemplating the pros and cons finds its way into my night thoughts. Last night, I lay awake as I often do in the middle of the night…my particular insomnia...The sounds were heavenly, worth the waking. So were the sights...The moon was shimmering on the water, the wind blowing through the palms. The beauty was breathtaking, even in the dark. This is good because earlier that day I was complaining of the ants in our room, about the fact that our bathroom was not cleaned adequately and the towels smelled of mildew. My midnight attitude adjustment was a helpful one.

That morning, we took an early morning boat ride into the open seas and saw sea turtles and dolphins that the Mexican’s call “Pintos” because they are black and have little white bean-shaped spots all over. We got close enough to see the spots. We also saw a sea snake (long and black with a yellow stripe down his back), schools of sardines and flying fish. The boat ride was beautiful and none of us felt sick at the end, despite the fact that the surf was already high at 8 in the morning.

As predicted, the kids are loving the beach, the water and all the trappings of Mexican Beach Resort.

Busing It

We don't drive in Oaxaca. Well...I take that back...we rented a car one day to visit two pueblos outside of town, but for the most part we bus, walk or taxi to wherever we need to go. Tonight, we embark on our biggest bus adventure yet! We hop on a 1st class bus and ride all night to our beach destination, Puerto Escondido. We priced airplane tickets and felt this bus ride might suit our pocket books better than the charter flights that run once per day.

Now...the test...can we get a somewhat decent night's sleep on this all night bus? I'll let you know in a future post, which will hopefully include a beautiful shot of us lounging on the beach.

In the meantime, I’m sitting at my desk, in the Oaxaca heat (which isn’t too oppressive today), writing at my computer, the fan blowing on me because it keeps the temperature perfect and I’m trying to imagine the cold, Bay Area rain, Winter weather, damp, chilly breezes…Even more difficult…I’m thinking about snow in the Sierras. It’s not so easy to fathom. Being here is like an extended summer vacation and since it may be the only time in my life I actually miss out on the cold winter, I’m relishing every moment!

Before you get too jealous, we have read on the weather reports that rain will fall in Puerto Escondido this week…rain of the tropical sort. We’ll see how miserable it is. Maybe we’ll extend our stay to catch some sun. We’re bunking at a bed and breakfast at one end of the big wave beach, though everyone tells us we shouldn’t swim there because of the rip tides. The total cost, including taxes and including a huge, homemade breakfast to order each morning is $75.00. This is their off season price, though I don’t think the price goes up that much in December. So cheap for 4 of us!

Jason did all the research and really liked this particular hotel. Loretta...it has a vegetarian restaurant on site...for which Abby is, and you would be, thankful. Jason has been emailing back and forth with the owner. Hospitality seems to be his selling point, given the B & B doesn’t offer a pool or some of the other luxuries that a large hotel would. Check out the website. http://www.tabachin.com.mx/

The kids are so excited, they got up this morning and started packing, even though we don’t leave until 10 PM tonight. Jason and I don’t need a vacation, but the kids do. They’re the ones working the hardest at language learning every day, cross cultural immersion, enduring structured time at school. They don’t complain about it, but I’m glad we can give them a break. Our kids love the beach probably more than any other place on earth. Abby, especially. She stays in the water for hours and the water temperature this far south should be amenable to her.

Puerto Escondido, here we come!

Interview with Andrew Peterson, New Owner of El Naranjo

Some of you may be asking...Jason is on sabbatical, but what is Susi doing besides keeping this blog going?

I am writing 12 to 18 hours per week, working on a science fiction novel for teens and recently, I had the opportunity to interview a restaurant owner in Oaxaca City for the the Oaxaca Times (expatriate newspaper). Here's the interview. I hope to write a restaurant review as well. I'll include that piece in a later post.



Susanne: How long have you owned El Naranjo?

Andrew: I purchased El Naranjo in February of this year.

Susanne: How did you come into ownership?

Andrew: I was intending on opening an authentic Mexican restaurant in Connecticut, when I spoke on the phone with my friend and mentor, Daniel Hoyer. He informed me that El Naranjo was for sale, so I went to the atlas to find out where Oaxaca was, googled the restaurant, and discovered that it had an international reputation.

Susanne: What’s it like, taking over the food business of someone with a reputation like Iliana de la Vega?

Andrew: It’s mostly positive. People come through the door with high expectations and we strive to meet or exceed those expectations every day.

Susanne: What have you wanted to keep the same?

Andrew: We kept only one recipe of Iliana’s…the gazpacho. It’s very popular and delicious. People come in and ask for it.

Susanne: Where have you injected your creative energy?

Andrew: In general, the restaurant is less about fusion now and it’s less expensive. We’re cooking more simply and we’re cooking our moles with a more authentic touch, by using lard. We’ve also added regional specialties to the menu, so that our Oaxacan customers can enjoy more variety in their dining experience. On our menu, you will find Cochinita Pibíl, a well known dish from the Yucatán using sour oranges and achiote seasoning, as well as Pescado Veracruzano, a Mediterranean style dish incorporating tomatoes, olives, capers and canela. These are dishes you might not find in a typical Oaxacan Restaurant.

Susanne: What can you tell us about your kitchen?

Andrew: All sauces and meats are prepared on the premises. We strive to present honest, straightforward and healthy Oaxacan dishes.

Susanne: What would you tell us about the bar?

Andrew: All our margaritas are made with hand-squeezed limes and a top shelf reposado tequila. You know you’re getting a great margarita at El Naranjo. Our signature margarita, called the smoky margarita, is a house margarita with mescal laced on top. The mescal changes the complexity of the drink and adds a smokiness which is inherent in the spirit.

Susanne: What are your plans for the future of El Naranjo?

Andrew: We’re hoping to offer cooking classes and upgrading our bar to be somewhat of a mescal lounge.

Susanne: Did you make any changes in the building when you took over?

Andrew: We brought in new art and plants, otherwise, it’s the same experience it was before, beautiful courtyard dining.

Susanne: On a more personal note, where are you from originally?

Andrew: New Haven, Connecticut.

Susanne: Where/under whom did you receive your training?

Andrew: I trained under Daniel Hoyer…the chef who ran the Coyote Café in Santa Fe, NM.

Susanne: Do you see yourself here long-term?

Andrew: Yes.

Susanne: Anything else you would like to say about El Naranjo, particularly to the readers of the Oaxaca Times?

Andrew: Yes. We offer a certified blank angus rib eye that is imported from Canada and served with garlic mashed potatoes . This is one of the better cuts in the city. The reason we have that on the menu is for the folks passing through who are possibly a little tired of eating moles and chiles and want a good old fashioned slab of beef.

Susanne: Andrew, thanks for your time and we wish you well in your endeavor.


El Naranjo is located on Trujano 203, two blocks west of the zócalo’s southwest corner. Open 1 P.M.to 10:00 P.M., Monday through Saturday. Closed Sundays. Tel. 951-514-1878




Susanne P. Jensen is a writer from Berkeley, California who is living in Oaxaca for 5 months while her husband enjoys a sabbatical from work. They have two children, Abby and Gabe, who are attending a Mexican school in Volcanes, learning Spanish, poco a poco.

Two Months In

We’re getting a taste of Oaxaca weather, cooled down. It almost felt like a Bay Area day yesterday…drizzled all day. We wore long sleeves. Baseball was canceled, which was fine since we squeezed a make-up game in on Tuesday night.

Also, elections have come and gone and there are no protests that we have seen. So…Oaxaca continues to be as traquilo as ever.

We’re passing the 2 month mark today. In the past when we’ve gone overseas in the summers this is as long as we’ve been gone, so I imagine a bit more homesickness will set in this month. The fact that we’re going to Puerto Escondido for a beach excursion on Wednesday will help ease any pain we might be feeling.

The other great occurrence…which is happening right before my eyes, almost like magic…the kids are absorbing Spanish at a much higher rate. For the last month and a half they have been trying to get their minds wrapped around the different structure of the language and now the immersion is paying off. They’re getting it because they keep hearing it again and again and again. It’s like an “on switch” has been pulled now that the framework has been laid. They’re eating up new vocabulary…new words, instead of going in and getting forgotten, fall into the framework, like a piece in a puzzle. Very cool to see. I imagined and hoped it would happen, but still it’s surprising to me, like watching a miracle take place. The brain is an amazing thing…the kid brain, even more wonderful.

Not that it’s been easy. They have had their difficult days and will continue to have them here and there. Tears and frustration (mostly Gabe’s) have marked this early season of their time in Oaxaca, but I hope they will gradually forget the difficult moments. Maybe by the time they’re back in Berkeley, they’ll remember the great things…like little league, their friends, Abby’s very sweet teacher who thinks she is the funniest kid ever (don’t ask me how, but Abby has developed a reputation as the class clown…maybe that’s how she coped with the language issue, pictured above) really delicious tacos, soccer at the neighborhood cement park…and I hope, I hope above all, they’ll remember a lot of Spanish.