Tuesday, October 30, 2007

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…

Sunday, October 28, 2007

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.

Saturday, October 27, 2007

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.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

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.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

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!

Monday, October 15, 2007

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.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

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.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Our struggle with World Views


This post was difficult for me to write and I'm still not sure if it's coming across correctly, but here it goes...

Justo Gonzalez is a Latin American theologian who has written extensively on the history of theological movements in Latin America. His book, Manana, Christian Theology from a Hispanic Perspective, draws a few distinctions between the West and the Hispanic world, which may in part add to the discussion in previous post.

One primary aspect of difference between the US and Hispanic culture is probably not so surprising to most of us, autonomous identity versus communal identity. Guess who is autonomous? Yes…wealthy Westerners…We do reflect the best hopes of our Founders who were all reading the same enlightenment philosophers way back when…Descarte, Locke and Hobbes.

Men like Jefferson and Madison believed that rights (personal and autonomous rights) to a large extent existed as a means of preserving a private sphere where men (and women…eventually) could enrich themselves and satisfy the desiring parts of their souls. Hegel, in response to this view of autonomy took that further in the next century. He saw rights as ends in themselves, because what truly satisfies human beings is not so much material prosperity as recognition of their status and dignity– the struggle for recognition.

Hispanic individuals, for the most part, do not think of themselves as autonomous beings. They’re not trying to preserve a “private sphere” where they can achieve “self actualization”. They are communal. Identity is defined within the community, the pueblo, the church, the family. Moreover, responsibility is to the community.

One reality that flows from autonomy is the ability for one person to distance himself from the sins of the fathers. What do I mean? Simply this: Does a Swede (Do I) feel shame and disgrace over the death and destruction wrecked in Europe by the Vikings? Many innocent victims came back into Scandinavia as slaves, those that weren’t murdered. Also, monetary wealth flowed into Norway, Sweden and Denmark as a result of Viking piracy and marauding. True, my recent ancestors were extremely poor, the underclass in a country that had little wealth during the 1700s and 1800s. So, why feel any guilt?

What about the more recent past? Do I feel shame over my country’s role in WWII? The Norweigians haven’t forgotten that their neighbor, in an attempt to save itself, cut a deal with Hitler that allowed him access to oil-rich Norway. Sweden stayed neutral in the war and true, many Jews were funneled into Sweden and saved by compassionate individuals in that country, but it is also true that oil from Norway prolonged the war and cost many many lives. Some historians say Sweden had no choice, but it's messy, isn't it? It's not a clean history. You can look past the feo to the bonito, but to deny that ugliness exists is dishonest.


We Americans have our own mess to contend with...Slavery, displacement of the native people's, injustice, broken treaties...


In Mexico, Mestizo identity does not allow for denial. Mexicans are European and Native. They are mixed up in the same person...an identity which is mostly celebrated, but sometimes mourned. The story of Mexico is messy. Blood is on all hands. This is one of Gonzalez’ main points in his book. Hispanic individuals live with a connection to their history in their very person, such that denial is an impossibility.


As Jason and I have contemplated looking past the “feo” to see the “bonito”, we wonder if is more difficult for us in the West to live in the mess that may be our marriage, our job, or our community, than it is for our Mexican neighbors.

It may seem easier and less painful to bring closure to the marraige, change jobs, or move away from our community, to wipe away the feo and put away the problem forever. This raises the question, can you really get rid of the mess that easily? If the mess is "out there", this strategy should work wonderfully, but if not...if the mess in "in here" as well as out there, then the strategy will fail.


From what we can tell, Biblical wisdom favors the Mestizo world view. It is possible, as our Mexican friends are showing us, to live without denying that the feo exists and see past it, appreciate and receive as a gift, the bonito.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Looking past the Feo to see the Bonito

A few mornings ago, our family was up on the roof of our house, admiring the way the sunlight glowed on the mountainsides that surround this city. It’s a strange experience to be on our roof because though there are gorgeous views all around us, there is also ugliness. Like, powerlines, haphazardly draped across buildings and streets, piles of dirty (and probably rotting) laundry dumped in the corner of our neighbor’s wash area, large black water tanks, rusted gas canisters, trash, roofs that are falling apart…you get the picture. So while looking at the view, Jason encouraged Abby to look past the “feo” or ugly, to see the “bonito” or beautiful.

I’m guessing that most developing world cities (and I’m not even sure if Mexico fits precisely into developing world…but for lack of a better term, I’ll use it) and towns have these views from high places.

In contrast, I think of all the times I’ve been in Sweden and how picture perfect the Scandinavian landscape and cityscape appear at first glance. Some of our cities are like this as well. When I tell Oaxacans that we are from San Francisco, California, they all exclaim in one way or another, “San Francisco, what a beautiful city!” But when one looks past the Bonito in a city like San Francisco or Stockholm, there is feo beneath the surface.

I don’t want to knock my Swedish family and friends, but I guess I will a little bit. In the land of my ancestors, there is the appearance of clean, pristine and put together. Yet, beneath that surface are many problems, much ugliness, like very high suicide and divorce rates (divorce rates are confusing in Sweden because often couples never tie the knot officially. The statistics for “serious relationships dissolving”, even ones where children have resulted, are among the highest in the world). Here in Mexico, divorce rates are among the lowest.

What does that say about appearances of beauty and true beauty? I’m not totally sure. Maybe nothing, but at times, we’re struggling to see past the “feo”. It can be tempting to see only “feo”, like the bus driver who threw his lunch bag out the window and onto the street without reservation (I witnessed that yesterday). I walk these streets every day and there is so much trash everywhere, it can be depressing.

In a bad moment, I slip into judgment mode and feel superior to “these people”. Then, I remember to look past the feo.

A baby girl, Fernanda Abigail (pictured above), just born to our friends Marisol and Daniel, reflects the true beauty of Oaxaca. Oaxacans love family and children and though there are plenty of problems in marriages in Mexico, they really do stay together more than we in the wealthy west.

Moreover, not everyone throws their trash on the streets. Too many do so, but there are plenty of Oaxacans who want their city to reflect its inner beauty in the outer trappings. Those neighborhoods and those places exist as well. I’m not sure what to surmise. I have more thoughts that I will post tomorrow or the next day, but I’d love to hear yours as well.