Sabbatical Times

El Ultimo Dia

2008-02-02T14:16:00.000-08:00

We ate breakfast at the apartment and took off for our morning coffee, tried Spanish churros this time with our cafés con leche…less sweet than in Mexico, but still plenty greasy and good.

After coffee, we went to the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum across the street from the Prado. The collection of a certain baronness and what a collection! We were able to see rooms of impressionist paintings, Degas, Gauguin, Manet, Monet and also a Van Gogh sketch of a dutch woman, absolutely beautiful and a Goya sketch…so close up and detailed you feel like you could feel his pencil scratching the paper. We saw more Miro, Picasso, Dali (those Catalonian painters were so prolific…we’ve seen their stuff almost everywhere in Spain) Chagal, Warhol, Rothko…paintings that most of us would recognize because they’re iconic, which makes it kind of breath-taking to see the originals…A highlight for me, viewing Charing Crossing, one of those watery blue/white Claude Monet pieces. I sat and looked at it for a long time, knowing I might not see an original Monet for a while.

We forged on and went to a tapas bar this evening. We felt clueless at different points, but all of the wait staff were friendly and helped us order our food. We ate potatoes (not called “papas” like they are in Mexico…but “patatas”). We enjoyed the meat on skewers (bbqued while we waited), olives and bread. Though we frequently miss vegetables in the Spanish cuisine we’ve eaten, we keep plenty on stock in our refrigerator and for lunch today we ate at a vegetarian restaurant. This strategy usually makes up for the heavy protein intake our restaurant meals often provide.

Tomorrow, we wake early, eat breakfast and head to the airport. This trip has been absolutely wonderful. We’re excited to rejoin our families, but will remember this experience for many years to come. Thank you all for my 40th birthday gift (just in case I don’t get to thank you in person on the sooner side).

On Our Feet

2008-02-01T13:46:00.001-08:00

Another day on our feet. In fact, we ran through Retiro Park this morning…4 miles or so…Retiro Park is the equivalent of Madrid’s Central Park, next to the Prado.

After our run, we applied ourselves to aggressive sight-seeing, stopping by the Palacio Real, the Cathedral near the palace and a church where Goya is buried, called Ermita de San Antonio de la Florida. Goya also painted the fresco on the ceiling…an enactment of San Antonio’s ministry of healing and preaching. We ate at Mingo’s near the Goya sight.

Mingo’s is famous for its roasted chicken and hard cider. We ate a chicken between us and shared a salad and a bottle of cider. The place was full of locals and we felt very savvy to have found the place. Oh yes, and the food, especially the chicken, was delicious. Mingo’s was written up in the Lonely Planet guide…right down to what you should order when you walk in the restaurant. We have abandoned the Rick Steve’s guide when it comes to food and taken up the Lonely Planet for all things culinary. This has helped us.

Case and point, I ate ice cream at another place from the guide…Giangrossi’s, with great coffees and homemade ice-cream (Sharon passed on the ice cream, but enjoyed her coffee). I ate three scoops of ice cream...flavors...Baileys, Vanilla and Cappuccino. Yummy! We haven't been majoring on sweets, so this was a great treat for me.

In the end, it felt like we ran and then walked all over town today, so despite our best intentions of doing a “tapas tour” tonight, we collapsed in the apartment, ate cucumbers, tomatoes, cheese, Wasa wheat crackers and shared stories from our past. This trip has been great for our friendship and tonight was one of those nights that brought us deeper. Not that we haven’t had our hard moments and conflict, but overall, what a blessing to be with Sharon, who is now saying evening prayers while I type out this entry.

The photo…one of the best parts of the day, was our breakfast. Sharon cooked up our 5 chorizo sausages in eggs. We bought the chorizo at our local butcher’s. They were so great, we bought 5 more tonight, so we can make those same eggs and eat them the morning after tomorrow. That marks the end of our trip. We’ll fix a large breakfast before our flight out of Madrid at noon on Sunday. We arrive home Sunday night. One more full day…not sure what we’ll do, but looking forward to the adventure.

Oh...worth mentioning to Alex...Sharon got her boots shined today. They look fabulous and to the rest of you all, the first droplets of rain fell on us this morning...a very negligible amount, but enough to remind us of the great weather we've had while traveling. We are so thankful.

Guernica, no...Flamenco, yes

2008-01-31T14:10:00.000-08:00

Well, unfortunately, Guernica was not on display at the Reina Sofia. We are crushed, but the Flamenco show we went to tonight, Zambra 5.1, made up for it. We happen to be visiting Madrid during the 26th annual Flamenco Festival. That's good because I may be getting my fill of paintings and sculpture, not sure, but today I seemed to hit overload and went home after lunch to read. Sharon went back to the Sofia and saw some pieces she liked, mostly moderns and sculptures.

One wonderful side bonus of the Sofia was an exhibit featuring Flamenco art and film. We got a taste of the Flamenco tradition before our theater show. An item that caught my eye was a few 1932 reviews of the Flamenco dancer, Vicente Escudero. He did a tour of the major US cities in that year to rave reviews. Here's what the New York Times wrote about his performance to a sold-out crowd in the city.

His dancing is a thing of amazing skill. There is an electric energy to it that transforms his body from the motionlessness of stone in an instant to a veritable dynamo of nervous activity...he moves with the easy grace of a fine animal, his chest held high and his feet picking their way with the daintiness of a cat...

Leave it to the New York Times to capture the artistic moment on paper, even the newspaper. The show we saw tonight featured two exceptional flamenco guitarists, a singer with an incredible tenor voice and a female dancer. We had a great evening, loving the music and the dancing...so much energy in the theater. We're back in the apartment, eating our evening meal and planning our day tomorrow to the palace.

If you're into Flamenco music at all, check out Zambra 5.1. The guitar music in particular is stunning.

Click on:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flamenco for more info on Flamenco music...

El Prado

2008-01-30T13:32:00.000-08:00

We slept late, ate breakfast at our apartment, grabbed a coffee at a café near the Prado (see photo…I am determined to post multiple photos of me holding a coffee cup) and entered the museum at 11:30 AM. We spent all day there (except for a 2 hour lunch at a place called “Finca” Susana…Susana’s lodge or estate) and left at closing, which is 8 PM. We still didn’t see everything. The art was wonderful, everything we had hoped for. I appreciated having Sharon with me to give me periodic art history lessons. Basically, we walked through the history of art (from 1300s until 1900s) in Spain. Much of the influence comes from France and the Netherlands during those years, but there is a distinct Spanish style of which the Prado is very proud. As off season patrons of the museum, we had few crowds and saw two special exhibitions, including an exceptional exhibition of Velasquez and his development as an artist, as well as a Goya sketch room (a room that included sketches from his personal sketch book…very weird). As an aside, we were in the room with about two people when we stepped back and saw Las Meninas, the painting that some feel is the most important painting in the world…Of course the Spanish feel that!

There is much religious art in the Prado and we absorbed all of that with joy. Plus, the El Greco paintings have a certain icon style to them that we both appreciated. All in all, a great day. Tomorrow we head to the Reina Sophia to see Picasso’s Guernica. The other photo is Sharon in our beloved apartment. Here is our evening meal. Manchego cheese (semi-curado…semi-cured), French herbed cream cheese, jamon (ham) de Iberia, tomatoes, cucumbers, red onions, vino, water and Wasa crackers, our tribute to my Swedish ancestry and a helpful addition of fiber for beautiful, but diabetic Sharon. We continue to love every minute of our travels. Both of us are healthy now. Even Sharon’s cough has dissipated.

Madrid

2008-01-29T23:54:00.000-08:00

(will post a photo later today)

We have landed in our little apartment, a great space, a few blocks from Plaza Mayor. Laundry was first on the agenda and then menu of the day. We hit a joint down the street that looked crowded with locals (so far we haven’t eaten at one place recommended by our travel books). Menu of the day included a “Primero”, “Segundo”, drink, bread and dessert. We both ordered salads and I ordered red wine, Sharon ordered mineral water. My Segundo was fresh fish and Sharon’s was roasted chicken. Both came with homemade french fries, both were delicious. Our waiter was hilarious, reminded me of that actor who stars in the King of Queens (anyone remember his name?). He would give us no recommendations, but was humored by our questions about the food and poured wine into our glasses, seeming determined to empty the entire bottle on us. We’ve come to the conclusion that wine is cheaper than water here. In fact, at the dorm in Avila (yes it was a dorm with plenty of older teens residing there…not to mention monks…) served wine to all its inhabitants lunch and dinner (not breakfast, thankfully).

Teresa of Jesus

2008-01-29T16:14:00.000-08:00

We’re in Madrid now, but I need to write about our second day in Ávila.

We visited the convent that is built about a century after Teresa died, on the site of the house where she grew up and also spent time in the cathedral that honors her. The visit was worthwhile and spiritually inspirational. Teresa was an incredible soul with a passion for loving God, maybe unparalleled in her century. While at the convent, we saw various relics…including Teresa’s finger with an emerald ring on it (gross)…and bone fragments from St. John of the Cross (less gross). Despite my initial gut reaction, I did a bit of research on the finger, since looking at the decaying body part of someone famous/spiritual left me wondering...Why? I would have taken a photo of the finger, but you’re not allowed to snap one of that relic.

As a Protestant, I was trying to have an open mind as I researched…finding out that Teresa’s body after being buried did not rot like most bodies…legend or truth…not sure? Her devotees found that her gravesite was giving off a beautiful rose odor, even months after her death, so her body was exhumed and was discovered to not have decayed. Three doctors studied her corpse and indicated this truth (says the website).

I immediately thought of the Exodus story and how when it was time for Moses to die, God had him wander off and allowed no one to find his body, perhaps because his followers would have been tempted to take the body and try to extend his influence.

It truly is amazing the influence Teresa had within the church, esp. here in Spain and she was well loved by those in her convents. Was it too difficult for them to let her go? Teresa's life spanned a time in Catholic Spain that was difficult and violent (The Inquisition). Maybe her followers needed the body, the finger as a reminder of the vision that Teresa imparted to them.

But, I suppose, I fall into the Moses camp, thinking, it’s better to leave the body in the earth…remember the life, respect the memory by living out that person’s vision. This is how true influence is extended. Is that very Protestant of me? I suppose it is.

In addition to the Teresa sites, we saw a couple of beautiful cathedrals, one is the oldest gothic cathedral in Spain. The architecture takes your breath away…it is so enormous and beautifully designed. We saw an El Greco in that cathedral and illuminated manuscripts, among other various sculptures and paintings and even antique priests’ robes. Avila is a charming town and Sharon and I loved it.

Aside from this prayer retreat, we have realized that our trip is evolving into mostly an art trip. We pretty much sacrifice all for the art…going without food, sleep, drink and I even held my pee until I was near to bursting yesterday because there was no baño in the cathedral and I didn’t want to leave without seeing all. So, I begin to see the metaphor. Sacrifices must be made for art. In reality, I should be living that every day. At least…I am in Spain.

Avila

2008-01-28T01:11:00.000-08:00

by Sharon

Onward. We are enjoying our time in Avila immensely. A nice and historic city. We are staying at a pension that is attached to the church, Santo Tomas, an old and beautiful church. I feel that God is blessing this part of our trip with lots of little mercies. Our flight to Madrid went without a hitch. We happened to get onto the express train to Avila right after we landed and a jaunt on the metro. I got money with seemingly no service charge on this end. We got to our pension on foot not knowing the directions to our place and with no workable map. We got in and basically ran a good distance to catch some time on the wall surrounding the old town of Avila which we loved. A lot of history and the best preserved defensive wall in all of Europe. Today also happens to be the feast day of St. Thomas, the patron saint of this parish. So, there will be a special mass and celebration. What a treat! This place is very inexpensive, I think 38 Euros for room and board. The food is OK so far we'll see today. There are some student teachers here, Chinese young people, and a smattering of others. Probably a third full. We eat on these long tables spanning the length of the dining hall. I look forward to sight-seeing and retreating today.

Gaudi

2008-01-26T14:19:00.000-08:00

Walking is the theme of the day…as is Antoni Gaudí. What an amazing day. We walked and walked and walked (in our nice shoes this time…on day one we wore our running shoes…not today…for style reasons. The Spanish are very stylish about shoes). We visited Park Grüell and Gaudí’s home which has been transformed into a museum. It was Saturday and the park was filled with people: couples, families, women or men pushing strollers, teens and children, grandparents and tourists, of course. The weather was so warm, we saw many in T-shirts. This great weather has been one of the greatest gifts of our time so far.

We also visited Sagrada Familia, the most amazing cathedral of modern times I have ever seen…a work in progress, a true work of art, begun by Gaudí and continued by the community. All the monies for the project come through private donation. The master plan is Gaudí’s, but the practical reality is being worked out by thousands of artists and artisans today. Gaudí died in 1926, this project still goes on in his name. The façade on one side, the stations of the cross and crucifixion…the façade on the entrance, the nativity and joyful mysteries around Jesus’ birth. The towers are enormous and my words cannot quite capture the enormity of the place.

We entered the Contemporary museum of art (we were not impressed) and ate at a sidewalk tapas place and people watched, then took the metro back to the hotel. We’re packing for Ávila now. We both could have visited more places in Barcelona, but we’re excited for a chance to enjoy a more focused spiritual pilgrimage in Ávila among the Carmelites. We will take one day for prayer retreat and one day to see the sights in town, most of which have to do with Teresa and St. John of the Cross. Sharon and I have both been reading Interior Castles, by Teresa and have reason to visit this special spiritual locale. We may not post for a couple of days. We’re not sure what our internet access will be, but hopefully, we’ll be back online in Madrid.
Sharon says she’s feeling better, but still on the mend. She’s thankful (Bora) for that ½ marathon training she did all Fall because walking has been easy despite her cold…so thanks for having that 40th birthday celebration and road race. We miss you.

Dali

2008-01-25T15:46:00.000-08:00

Despite a difficult time driving out of Barcelona in our rental car this morning, the day went smoothly and we enjoyed our excursion. The Dali Museum is possibly the weirdest, certainly the most unique place I have ever visited. Besides the alligator singing opera, the bread loaves stuck all over the stone façade, the Cadillac where, of course, rain falls inside the car instead of outside when you put a Euro in the machine, or the furniture set against a black wall that from a distance appears to be the face of Mae West…I could go on and on. You have to go there sometime. I feel like I’ve been through the genius and disturbed psyche of Salvador Dali.

Following the museum, Sharon and I, wanting to make the most of our rental car, headed for the Costa Brava. We found the town of Tossa and ate dinner at a restaurant adjacent to a castle on a rock at the shore’s edge. We tried to order Catalonian food, including a “sampler plate from Girona”…turned out to be what is pictured here…hanging sausages. When it arrived at our table, we burst into laughter. Clearly, my Oaxaca Spanish has some limitations on the Costa Brava because this is not what we thought we had ordered, but we enjoyed the nice meal and the waiter appreciated our company, since we were his only patrons (the advantage to traveling low season).

Picasso

2008-01-24T18:39:00.000-08:00

Another beautiful day in Barcelona, despite the sleep problems we’ve been experiencing, we are mostly well and having fun. Sharon still has a terrible cough, though thankfully, right now she is sleeping like a baby and coughing less than usual. I know she hasn’t been feeling completely well…she told me to write: tell them, I’ve been feeling so achy and sick in the mornings I’ve been taking a shower every morning. I can attest to the fact…Sharon has been a very clean human on this trip.

Sleep still eludes me at night. This blog entry is taking place around 2 AM Barcelona time. Of course, jet lag has its advantages…my internet connection is fast this time of night.

So here’s the run down. Today (actually yesterday), we had the weirdest, groggy morning. I was up early, showered and ate breakfast, after about 3 hours of fitful sleep all night. Sharon slept in. I went back to sleep for about an hour after breakfast. Meanwhile, Sharon took her shower and ate, we gulped a lot of café con leche and rode the metro to the Picasso museum. The part of town that houses the museum is ancient and gorgeous, with narrow cobblestone streets, flower planters in windows, beautiful facades on the buildings that tower around you and plenty of stylish Catalonians walking on their way to work…wait, maybe they were on their way to lunch. It was after noon.

The Picasso museum was wonderful and we spent all afternoon within its old stone walls. We were pleasantly surprised by the special room dedicated to Picasso’s re-envisioning of Las Meninas…a famous Velasquez painting in the Prado (which we’ll be seeing in about a week). About 50 large and small canvases filled the space. It was like getting inside Picasso’s brain and beginning to understand his sense of reality. Sharon loved this.

We ambled through the old part of town after our museum adventure. Lanterns lit the cobblestones and though a bit early for cena, we pined for tapas. We found a smoke-filled tavern on a street called Born and sat ourselves down to eat. After the nutrition, we had energy to roam around some more, visited the Cathedral. (Not the Gaudí. That was closed.) Once again, many people were out in this part of town. The weather was cooler than the night before, but that didn’t stop the Catalonians from strolling along their lovely streets.

Our final find of the day was an open market…lively and well-lit at 8 PM. Sharon poses here by a candy vendor’s jewels…all jelly candies of different shapes and sizes. I am posing at the butcher’s stall. Tomorrow we rent a car and head up the coast to see Dali’s theater and museum in Las Figueres.

PS...Sorry for the weird formatting of the text...we have limited time, are paying a premium for our internet access, therefore, I'm leaving the oddities, though due to compulsions, might fix them later.

Barcelona

2008-01-23T18:47:00.000-08:00

The blog continues, and yes, I’m writing from Spain…How my current trip to Spain came about is a long story, but to make it short…it’s a 40th birthday gift from many friends and family. I’m on this amazing journey with my friend Sharon Henthorn-Iwane. We’re in Barcelona for 5 nights, Ávila for a two night prayer retreat and 5 nights in Madrid.

The timing of this probably seems crazy to many of you and it certainly does to me as well. Jason is at home, moving our family back into the house, but he wanted me to take the trip while he was still on sabbatical. He returns to work in mid February, so this was my chance.

Sharon and I arrived Tuesday afternoon, the 22nd. We were jet lagged and sore from squeezing our bodies in economy seats for 12 hours, but enjoyed a full moon over the city as we took public transportation from the airport to our hotel. We slept until 8:30, after being up for ½ the night, of course.

Montjuϊc

Following breakfast, we put on our running shoes and set out. We took the metro (similar to BART) toward the Espanya Fountain…(Espanya…I think is how you spell Spain in Catalán, the language of Catalonians, still spoken fiercely by the locals). From there, we walked all over Montjuϊc…a hill-like golden gate park area…lots of museums, gardens, fountains and scenic views. We were soaking it in and thankful for the beautiful weather.

One of the highlights of our day was visiting the museum of Joan Miró, a 20th century Catalonian artist. Sharon who is an artist/painter said it was one of the most inspiring art museums she has been in. It contains most of Miró’s work, so you can really track how he developed over time. We also stumbled upon a fantastic Italian restaurant. Initially, we thought the food might be local, but we were wrong, and happily so. We shared a fresh mozzarella salad, with a tomato on it…the best heirloom tomato I’ve eaten since summer, and also shared Osso Bucco in rustic peppery gravy, a huge hunk of meat with potatoes. The food was really incredible and the cappuccino afterward, in true Italian style, the best I’ve tasted in months. See photo of me smiling and with my Illy cup. A great day.

We walked home. Lots of people were out though it was dark. The people remind me of the Oaxacans in their easy demeanor and relational/communal lifestyles, but the city is very European. Tomorrow, it’s the Picasso museum.

Saying Good-bye

2008-01-07T05:42:00.000-08:00

I think this will be my final Oaxaca posting. We return our modem to Cablemas, which Jason has nicknamed Calemenos...and won't have an easy internet connection for our final two days.

Among other "lasts" that we're experiencing...I played for the last time with our church band yesterday. Not pictured...the keyboard player, the bass guitarist and the drummer. In a few days when we're in Denver...I'll post another email that contains more reflection.

Ringing in the New Year

2008-01-01T14:39:00.000-08:00

We were wiped out after waking up at 4:30 AM yesterday morning to send off our cousins and Jason's sister and husband. No one in our family was going to stay awake until midnight (despite the constant bombs and fire-crackers going off all over town). The kids went to sleep at 7:30 PM, adults at 9:30 PM. We set our alarm for 11:30 PM.

So, after dragging the kids from bed and heading to the street, we found pretty much all our neighbors out of their houses. The wood-fire blaze was already burning on the street and a young boy was throwing fire-crackers in the heat. Most of the adults were happy and drinking mescal (Oaxacan spirits, made from a local succulant), though not drunk.

As soon as the woman across the way spotted us, she warmly invited us to join her party. She insisted that we sit down and gave us bbqued meat, noodles, radishes, salsa and bean-covered tortillas, toasted on the fire. We were handed a special holiday drink made from fruit and sugar cane...you suck the sugar out of the cane after you drink the juice. She offered a variety of spirits.

The kids hiked up to our roof, to better see the action and avoid the constant invitations to eat and drink. They're pictured above.

At the stroke of midnight, fireworks erupted all over town. The old fella, the year 2007 was thrown into the fire and burned to a crisp, but the strangest tradition and most insane, was the toro loco. This bad boy is pictured above, looks a bit like a bull, made of sticks and bamboo, he sports these wheels on the side that are loaded with bottle rockets and other flaming fireworks. Then, the fire-crackers are lit, this lucky guy puts the thing on his head, and he runs around the street to the delight of all the bystanders. Notice the safety features on the guy and the bull. The guy has pulled his jeans jacket over his head, so his hair doesn't catch fire and the bull has long pieces of cardboard on each side so that the sparks zing down diagonally to the ground instead of landing on his host's head. I wonder how you get picked for this assignment. Perhaps he didn't send out his Christmas cards on time this year.

So, we woke up, ate, rang in 2008, watched the toro loco and said good night to our neighbors. The wildness continued until about 5:30 AM this morning and then all was quiet. It's a New Year's party we'll never forget.

Good Bye 2007

2007-12-30T13:54:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-28T19:51:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-26T19:54:00.001-08:00

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

2007-12-25T11:18:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-20T19:35:00.001-08:00

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

2007-12-18T07:57:00.000-08:00

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…

2007-12-13T20:39:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-12T14:54:00.000-08:00

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?

2007-12-12T08:32:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-10T17:45:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-08T09:17:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-05T14:25:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-04T09:41:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-27T19:24:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-26T08:29:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-25T16:57:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-21T15:38:00.001-08:00

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!)

2007-11-19T09:16:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-14T10:52:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-10T09:32:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-06T19:18:00.000-08:00

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

2007-10-30T21:14:00.001-07:00

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

2007-10-28T07:40:00.001-07:00

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

2007-10-27T10:57:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-25T11:08:00.000-07:00

(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

2007-10-17T13:41:00.001-07:00

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

2007-10-15T10:31:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-11T14:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Our struggle with World Views

2007-10-10T09:24:00.000-07:00

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.

Looking past the Feo to see the Bonito

2007-10-04T18:59:00.000-07:00

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.

Vinicio Castilla Soria

2007-09-28T18:40:00.000-07:00

We realized recently that the park where Gabe practices baseball is named after a Major League player from Oaxaca City...a relatively recent player...Vinicio Castilla Soria. As soon as I found out he played for the Colorado Rockies, I emailed my brother-in-law in Denver and asked him about Vinny. Dean Neuwirth is a baseball fan and when I mentioned Vinny to him, this is what he had to say...For those of you who don't follow baseball, this little piece of trivia might serve you well at a cocktail party with sports fanatics, so take note...

Dean writes: Vinny had some great years here in Denver, where the air is thin and dry, breaking balls (especially curve balls) don't break as sharply as a result, and fly balls tend to carry over the wall more easily. Until I saw a major league game here, I'd never seen the ball routinely jump off the bat with such speed.

It also didn't hurt that Vinny usually batted 6th at the end of the Blake Street Bomber line-up that included Dante Bichette and Andres Galarraga. That group (and either Ellis Burks or Larry Walker, can't recall for sure now) took the Rockies to their only playoff appearance in 1995, when the Rocks managed to win two games from the Braves before succumbing in the divisional series. That was the year that the Braves won the World Series and Tommy Glavine pitched one of the most courageous games I've ever seen pitched in game 6 to beat the Indians and win the Word Series. Glavine recently won his 300th career game while pitching for the Mets, who are hanging on to their divisional lead by the skin of their teeth.

Hitters' stats aren't quite as inflated in Denver these days, as the balls used in Rockies' home games are stored in a humidor so that they are heavier. But the stats are still inflated relative to everywhere else. No coincidence that, although Vinny had some decent stints elsewhere, he never duplicated his Rockies' numbers with another team.

Keeping the Music Brain Alive

2007-09-26T08:22:00.000-07:00

Music, baseball and art. These are our extracurricular activities in Oaxaca. Along with our big heavy bags (many filled with books), we brought two instruments (guitar and violin) with us…all the way from the Bay Area, to Colorado and then to Oaxaca City. We have a tip from our real estate agent (the guy who rented this house to us…he’s an American) on a classical/flamenco guitar teacher nearby, but I haven’t called him to set up an appointment.

Our slower life feels too rich, too precious to fill with activity. So, no lessons yet, but I have convinced my kids that they ought to practice three times a week in order to keep their musical brain synapses firing. No joke! I explained to them how the brain works and how practicing any activity keeps that part of the brain alive and that when we don’t use that part of the brain, it rewires/sort of shuts down the pathways, that in the case of acuity in playing their instruments, a bit of practice will result in them “not losing ground” musically.

I think my science is not too far off. Judy B. (my brilliant doctor friend) and Jennifer H. (my brilliant scientist cousin)…you or others can weigh in and tell me if I’m feeding my children a line of bull.

Anyway…it’s working…and isn’t that what really matters? My kids practice three times a week for ½ hour a pop…and without complaining about it. They’re determined to keep their musical brains going.

Speaking of music, my own brain has been re-firing old synapses. I have been playing violin for the past two weeks with the music band at our church in Oaxaca. I’ve played an average of 5 hours per week in practice and performance. That’s about 4.75 more hours a week than I normally play in Berkeley. The band is quite talented. Davíd…a brilliant musician, plays harmonica, flute and sax. Mario is the guitarist…accomplished vocalist as well and little Mario (pictured here) plays the drums. Derek B. would be excited to hear this youngster play. He’s 13-years-old. He keeps the beat well and many of us know how sad it can be in a Mexican church service when the hermanos can’t find a beat together and sing in time. It’s a little bit like torture. So, I’m thankful for little Mario.

And they love me. Especially, the older ladies. A few of them have come up to me after the service and tell me how much they love my violin playing. One woman is convinced that the violin is an instrument of prayer. She was determined that I agree with her, so I did, finishing with the all emcompassing...Gracias a Dios. This is a very gracious culture, so I'm trying not to let any of this go to my head, instead focusing on how much fun it is to play my instrument again.

Uniforms Have Arrived

2007-09-22T18:55:00.000-07:00

Last night after baseball practice, we were told to show up at the Uniform Factory. We did so, descending on the place with the rest of the team. We collected the uniforms for the Dragones, made sure sizes, names and numbers were all correct, then took them home. Though Gabe did not have to be dressed and ready until 11:00 AM, he came downstairs this morning wearing his new duds at 7:30 AM. It’s a beautiful thing, a brand new uniform. Here’s Gabe at bat and the team...They’ll never look this clean again. Also, a photo of Gabe and Pedro Luis...his best friend in Oaxaca and Dragones team mate. They warm the bench together sometimes...there's nothing quite as bonding as that.

The Rainy Season

2007-09-21T10:54:00.000-07:00

The months of July-November mark the rainy season for Oaxaca. From what we understand, dry months follow. All the green brush, grass and flowers turn to brown. The soil dries out and becomes dusty. The sun beats down hardest in March and April. By the time May and June roll around, dust and heat fill the air. The reservoirs and wells are almost empty and Oaxacans are longing for their rainy season. Though we've seen many rainstorms since arriving, I think we are fortunate to live in Oaxaca during this beautiful season.

Oaxacan Flowers

2007-09-20T18:59:00.000-07:00

Some posts need few words. Here are a two of the floral beauties we saw in our Monday afternoon hike around the reservoir above Teotitlán de Valle. Tomorrow…I’ll post a couple more.

Margarita Maza

2007-09-20T03:45:00.000-07:00

Benito Juaréz’s struggle to free Mexico from oppressive rule and bring about legal reforms that would serve the people came about as a result of many dedicated individuals and communities. His wife, Margarita Maza, deserves her own post for the sacrifices she made during the time her husband worked toward this end.

When Juaréz moved to Oaxaca City after receiving some education, he was not only thinking of finding work, he was searching for his sister. He found her working as a cook in the household of Italian immigrant and merchant Antonio Maza and his wife, Petra Parada.

Benito also found refuge and warmth in the Maza household. Through the Mazas, Benito found work and social connections that led to further education and introduction into Oaxacan society. Benito was 20 years old when Margarita was born, the Mazas’ youngest child. He bounced the baby on his knee and played with her like an older brother as she matured and while Benito’s career as a lawyer and state legislator blossomed.

By the time Margarita was 17, their mutual affection had also blossomed into love. Benito, a successful attorney at 37, proposed marriage. They were married in the church of San Felipe de Neri, in Oaxaca City, on July 31, 1843. Even today such a match would be unusual, but in the Oaxaca of 1843 it was unheard of. That he, a poor, dark brown Zapotec, and she, a lily-white daughter of a prominent merchant, were even able to associate, much less to marry, is testament to the Mazas’ liberal views.

The same liberal views and their iron determination to do something about them scarred the last half of Benito and Margarita’s 26-year marriage. From around 1854, when Benito was driven into exile in New Orleans, civil war, foreign invasion, and assassination attempts forced the family to be nearly always on the move, living in unfamiliar and trying circumstances, hounded and threatened by enemies, and continually lacking money.

One of the most dangerous episodes came in 1858, when Margarita, at the age of 32 had to move her five children and entire household from Oaxaca to Veracruz, where Benito was running the liberal Mexican government-in-exile. Fearing spies and assassins, Margarita took the tortuous, roundabout route over the heart of the Sierra Madre, traveling at night, on foot beside their burro-train, disguising herself in native huipil and sleeping by day in farm houses of friendly Zapotec campesinos.

Later, Benito and Margarita enjoyed two years of peace together, beginning in 1861, after the liberal triumph in the civil War of the Reforms. Their marriage, although severely tried by hardship and separation, was a supremely happy one. Twelve children resulted, seven—six girls and a boy—outlived their parents. Two boys and three girls died when still young. Their love, although profoundly deep, had few pretensions. Benito called her his “old lady.” She called him “Juaréz” and, when asked, replied that “he is very homely but good.”

Their peace together was short-lived. The French invasion forced Benito to travel the country, managing the government in a black carriage, one jump ahead of the French army. Margarita took the family into northern Mexico and finally to New York and Washington, D.C. There, she reached the depths of despair when two of her three sons died. She wrote to Benito: “The loss of my sons is killing me…I prefer death a thousand times more than life…I do not blame persons who kill themselves…If I had been braver I should have done it a year ago.”

Eventually Margarita recovered her equilibrium, buoyed by the birth of her first grandchild, a baby girl, and the admiring attention of American society, including General Ulysses S. Grant and President Andrew Johnson.

On June 19, 1867, after Maximillian was executed, Margarita returned home. She arrived with her party of 14, in Veracruz, showered by bouquets as she walked down the gangplank.

Reunited for 3 happy years with Margarita in Mexico City, Benito worked like a demon to turn his dreams for Mexico into reality. But overwork took its toll and Benito suffered a stroke in October 1870. He recovered partially to discover that Margarita was fatally ill. She died on January 2 1871, of cancer. Although weak, Benito strained with all of his strength to lift her body into the coffin. All of Mexico, both friends and former enemies, joined in grief with their president for their beloved Margarita Maza, who had given as much as any heroine could for both love and country. (Once again credit to Moon’s Oaxaca Handbook and Bruce Wipperman…who must live in Berkeley because in his acknowledgements, he thanks the folks at Café Roma.)

Do You Know Your Mexican History?

2007-09-19T19:07:00.000-07:00

True or False

An Austrian Prince, Maximillian ruled Mexico for a time in the 1800s?

Read on to find out…

For hundreds of years, relatives and friends of Hernán Cortés ruled the area around Oaxaca City. Cortés was the successful explorer/conquerer (remember him from grade school history?) who worked for the Spanish Empire. He conquered the Aztecs because the very powerful Aztec King believed that the Europeans were gods. Cortés defeated their army though he was outnumbered by thousands. The Aztecs had been ruling over central Mexico and their influence was evident over the declining Zapotec empire. So, when Cortés started settling areas of Mexico with Spanish implants, the area of Oaxaca was included in that territory. In fact, Cortés loved the state of Oaxaca and wanted it for himself.

Early on, he staked out the Valley of Oaxaca as his personal domain. Time and again during the 1520s he ordered the settlers evacuated from the City (an area called by the indigenous folks, Huaxyacac) , only to find a year of two later that they had returned. During Cortés’s absence on an expedition to Honduras, the settlers petitioned for and received a charter from King Carlos V for their town, which they christened Antequera after the old Roman city in Spain. Determined not to be out maneuvered, Cortés personally went to Spain to plead his case and returned triumphant with the royal title of Marqués del Valle de Oaxaca. This included a grant of hundreds of thousands of acres and rights to the labor of thousands of indigenous subjects in a grand checkerboard domain stretching from the Valley of Mexico to the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. Cortés’s lands surrounded the settlers’ entire town of Antequera. In desperation, the townspeople petitioned the queen of Spain for land on which to grow vegetables: They were granted a one-league square in 1532, now the core of the modern city of Oaxaca. For hundreds of years, Cortés’s descendants reigned; the townspeople prospered, the church grew fat, and the natives toiled—in corn, cattle, cane, and cochineal (that famous beetle that makes a beautiful red dye…see previous post).

In contrast to its neighbors in the state of Guerrero, conservative Oaxaca was a grudging player in the 1810-1821 War of Independence. But as the subsequent republican tide swept the country, local fervor produced a new state constitution, including a state legislature and governmental departments, such as public instruction and the Institute of Arts and Sciences.

By the 1850s, times had changed. Oaxacans were leading a new national struggle. Benito Juárez (pictured above), a pure Zapotec native Mexican, was rallying liberal forces in the Civil War of the Reforms against the oligarchy that had replaced the colonial rule. Born in Guelatao, a mountain village north of the Valley of Oaxaca, Juárez at age 12 was an orphan sheepherder (reminds me of St. Patrick at this stage in his life). A Catholic priest, struck by the boy’s intelligence, brought him to the city as a servant and taught him Spanish in preparation for the priesthood.

Instead, Benito became a lawyer. He hung out his shingle in Oaxaca, as a defender of the poor. He then became state legislator, governor, chief justice, and finally the president of Mexico. In his honor, the city’s official name was again changed—to Oaxaca de Juárez—in 1872.

In 1861, after winning the 3-year civil war, Juárez’s Reformista forces had their victory snatched away. France, taking advantage of the preoccupation of the US with its own civil war, invaded Mexico and installed an Austrian Hapsburg prince as Emperor Maximilian of Mexico.
It took Juárez 5 years to prevail against old Max and his conservative Mexican backers.

Although Maximilian and Juárez paradoxically shared many of the same liberal ideas, Juárez had Maximilian executed after his defeat and capture in 1867…(that’s the way they took care of those royal twits back in the old days) Juárez bathed Mexico in enlightenment as he promulgated his Laws of the Reform (which remain essentially in force). Although the country rewarded him with reelection, he died of exhaustion in 1871.

Credit for most of this…goes to the Moon Handbook on Oaxaca, author Bruce Whipperman.

Land Ownership Makes All the Difference

2007-09-18T20:27:00.000-07:00

The Valley of Oaxaca spreads out in three directions, made up of sub-valleys—the Valley of Tlacolula, the Valley of Ocotlán, and the Valley of Etla—each extend, respectively, about 30 miles east, south, and northeast of Oaxaca City. Most of the inhabitants in the Valley are indigenous Zapotec-speaking people. We have learned in some of our reading about land reform and ownership. For the Zapotecs, the opportunity to own and control their own land has made all the difference for their prosperity. I’ll try to explain.

Brief history: During the mid-1800s, Mexico’s Laws of the Reform forced the sale of nearly all church lands throughout the country. In most parts of Mexico, rich Mexicans and foreigners bought up much of these holdings, but in Oaxaca, isolated in Mexico’s far southern region, there were few rich buyers, so the land was bought at very low prices by the locals, most of them Zapotec farmers.

Moreover, after the revolution of 1910-1917, progressive federal land-reform law and policies awarded many millions of acres of land to campesino (farming) communities, notably to Oaxaca Valley towns.

The Signs of Health, Wealth and Control Within the Community: The signs of this wealth could be clearly seen in the villages we visited yesterday, Santa María deTule and Teotítlan de Valle.

Santa María deTule is a charming village at the edge of Oaxaca City built around a 2000-year-old Cyprus tree. We spent 45 minutes yesterday morning walking around this giant, mouths agape. It is an amazing tree and so grand, I could not get photo at any distance. The tree would not fit into my camera frame. The giant stands in a courtyard where gardens and pathways crisscross and the local and colorful catholic cathedral stands in its shadow. The dynamic of the huge tree and the local cathedral caused me to think about the cities in Europe and elsewhere that built the church in the center of town to be taller than all the other buildings as a symbol of God’s sovereignty and lordship. I suspect that when the cathedral was built in the 1700s, it was in fact, taller than the tree. That is no longer true. God made the tree and keeps growing it. Did God, in fact make the church, and does the church still grow? Interesting parable.

Teotítlan de Valle means “Place of the Gods” in Nahuatl; before that, it was know, appropriately, as Xa Quire (shah KEE ray) or “Foot of the Mountain” by the Zapotecs who settled it, archaeologists estimate, at least 2,000 years ago. From the age of artifacts uncovered beneath both the present town and at nearby sites, experts estimate that approximately 1,000 people were living in Teotilán by A. D. 400.

Present day Teotitlán people are relatively well off, not only from sales of their renowned tapetes (woven rugs, etc.), but from their rich communal landholdings. Besides a sizable swath of valley bottom farmland and pasture, which every Teotitlán family is entitled to use, the community owns a dam and reservoir and a small kingdom of approximately 100,000 acres of sylvan mountain forest and meadow, spreading for about 20 miles along the Valley of Oaxaca’s lush northeastern foothills (I copied this last part from the travel guide…sorry. Does anyone know what a “sylvan forest” is?)

We visited the town, saw the incredible tapetes and hiked around the dam and reservoir. I took so many photos, I cannot possibly include them all, but for all you knitters out there, you might be intrigued to find out that the wool is dyed with all natural dyes (example, their blue comes from the indigo plant which grows in the valley, yellow from the marigold flower, and the red, their most famous color, comes from a beetle that is indigenous to the area.) This red is the most vibrant red in nature that has been found. My mother dyed wool with natural dyes when I was young. I remember specifically how difficult it was to find a good and vibrant shade of red. The rugs are gorgeous. We are having one made for us and will pick it up in a month. The product is not cheap, but the quality is amazing. Anyone who visits Oaxaca should make a point of visiting these two wonderful pueblos…the travel guide says as much. We agree!

Chapulines

2007-09-14T13:25:00.000-07:00

Little grasshoppers, deep fried in salt and chili powder. A salty, delicious, insect treat. Sold at a mercado near you (if you live in Oaxaca City). Our sweet cleaning lady, Berta, brought them over. They were still hot when I first tried them. Jason ate some, Gabe tried them. Abby got out of it somehow!

They’re quite tasty…not nearly as strange as balut (embryonic duck egg, Filipino delicacy that we slurped in Manila two summers ago). We won’t be making chapulines a part of our regular menu yet, but we understand that a famous restaurant on the Zócalo serves a salad with the little critters sprinkled on top…kind of like six-legged croutons.
Enjoy the photos!

I Confess...

2007-09-12T20:10:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, Jason returned home with a pirated DVD of Live Free or Die Hard. As a writer, I have always imagined myself above the criminal act of buying intellectual property from the pirate community. Alas, I have crossed over. Mind you, I haven’t personally bought any of those DVDs, so technically, I have not broken the law. Jason has done the dirty work, but, I confess, I have watched them and enjoyed them. A pirated DVD costs about 3 dollars in Oaxaca City. The quality of these DVDs has been pretty good, with a few flaws here and there. Nothing you wouldn't expect given the bargain basement price. Oh...and Jason mentioned that on one of the DVDs there was a written "consent" that this DVD was legal in Mexico. That could potentially clear our conscience, but I'm skeptical about the legitimacy of this "waiver".

Pictured above, the current Jensen collection of pirated DVDs. In our defense, we haven’t found any “non-pirated” DVDs for sale in Oaxaca City nor have we found any movie rental stores. I'm interested in hearing what some of you feel about this tricky issue.

And since I’m confessing, I might as well tell you all, that I stepped on my first cockroach the other night. Previously, I made Jason and the kids squash the shiny brown pests, when they showed themselves in the house…or I ignored them. I have chalked this aversion up to some kind of St. Francis sensibility. I cannot hurt one of God’s living creatures. But, that isn’t honest. I kill ants when then threaten our fresh bakery bread. The truth is, I hate the feel of and the sound of the crunch under the sole of my shoe. Sorry cockroaches. Your luck has run out.

Tripod and Her Little Friend

2007-09-12T09:39:00.000-07:00

Now...the calendar you’ve been waiting for
Dogs of Oaxaca

In the wild, dogs hang out in packs. They do so in Oaxaca as well. These two are inseparable...we're not sure if they're "married"...if you know what I mean. Tripod is missing a foot. Her scruffy little friend is intact and pretty genial. They hang out at the apartment complex near our grocery store, Gigante, during the day and around dinner time, focus their attentions on the street taquerias that line the sidewalk. They're not starving, so the street taqueria scavanging business must be good.

Roof dogs

2007-09-12T09:11:00.000-07:00

Speaking of "Roof." Did you hear the joke about the guy with the talking dog?

He walks into a bar, pulls up a stool and buys a drink. He begins a conversation with the bartender that leads to them talking about their pets. Eventually, the man gets around to confiding in the bartender, "My pet dog is unlike any other. He can talk," he says.

"Yeah right," says the bartender.

"It's true," says the man. "I'll bet you a pitcher of beer my dog can talk, plain English."

"How you going to prove it?" says the bartender.

"My dog is right outside, tied up to that elm near the curb."

"All right," says the bartender. "Bring him in."

Man goes out and brings his dog into the bar. By this time, folks are taking notice and gather around. Man calls his dog to attention. "Fido," he says, "What is the substance that covers a tree trunk?"

The dog says, "Bark."

"Very good," says the owner, as the audience begins to grumble. "Now," he says, "how does my face feel when I haven't shaved for a couple of days?"

"Ruff," says the dog.

The bartender is shaking his head. "Get that dog outta here," he says.

"But wait," says the man. "There's one more question." He zeroes in on his canine with a serious look on his face. "Who is the best homerun hitter of all time?"

"Ruth," says the dog.

The audience boos and the man is forced to pay for an extra pitcher of beer, then thrown out of the bar with his dog. As he gathers up the leash and gets ready to walk down the sidewalk, the dog looks up and says, "You think I made a mistake in not saying Bonds?"

Meet Grim

2007-09-12T08:53:00.000-07:00

Dogs, dogs, dogs. They’re everywhere. Before we set out for Oaxaca, an acquaintance who lived here for a month expressed how much she loved this city, but “The one thing,” she said, “I never got used to, was the dogs.”

Photos probably tell the story better than words regarding the dogs of Oaxaca.
Here is a photo of a canine friend the kids call Grim, a reference to a Harry Potter image. We meet him every day on our walk to school. He’s old. He lays in the shade in the afternoon. He’s a little more active in the mornings.

Grim exhibits the behavior of most Oaxacan dogs we’ve met. He roams off leash, somehow, he has managed to avoid getting killed by a vehicle (our theory…hyper and stupid canines get weeded out of the gene pool very quickly) and he ignores passersby. Grim also looks about as cute as most of the beasts around town…that is, he has most, but not all of his fur, he’s a bit dirty and insect-bitten. Though our kids love dogs, they avoid him per our instructions, just as the average Oaxacan does.

A few of you may remember that Gabe was bitten on the chest (at the age of four) by a dog off leash in the Yucatán. The owner of the dog swore that his animal had had rabies shots…then proceeded to tell us that he was about to take the dog into a field and shoot him. He showed us various papers on the beast, who actually looked like a pure bred Weimaraner. After returning home and consulting a doctor, we decided Gabe should have the series of rabies shots. The risk was too great.

Thankfully, Gabe feels little residual antipathy toward Mexican dogs, but that experience has made us cautious.

Jason's addition...Dogs are better off here than in the villages of the Yuc. I don't think I've seen any bald dogs here and few with noticeable diseases.

Santiago

2007-09-10T19:26:00.000-07:00

Santiago is the two-year-old brother to Sebastian, one of the best baseball players on the Dragones. His father is a jock and a joker. He speaks so fast, I often have difficulty understanding what he is saying in Spanish, but it must be funny because all the parents laugh after he speaks. His father’s nickname is “Chino”…which means he has Asian features. Those of you who have been to Mexico before know this tendency. Nicknames, such as Chino (china man), gordo (fatty), negro (blackie) and juerito (blondie) flow freely and without the kind of judgment we might attach to those terms.

But back to Santiago. I have to say, this little two-year-old is already quite a baseball punk. He loves to be on the field and wears the uniform you see to every practice and game. Today he was heavy laden with catcher’s gear on. He adores the sport, as do his big brother and father.

At the beginning of our game this past weekend, he gave all of us quite a show. We on the Dragones are used to it, but other team had never seen him perform. His dad pitched a ball to him. Santiago hit the ball with his little wooden bat and proceeded to run around the bases. He is so small and so cute, all eyes fixed on him. He slid into every base...the bases here are simply flat pillows…they aren’t very stationary. So, Santiago slid, got up, adjusted the base (everyone laughed) and kept running. By the time he reached home, the whole crowd of parents and players were riveted and cheering. Santiago, who didn’t realize he had accumulated such an audience rose up from home plate in shock. He burst into tears and ran to his papa who comforted him and carried him off the field.

Life in Mexico celebrates children. You see it in a multitude of ways and feel how it pads all things serious or competitive. Santiago is a delight to his parents and all those who watch his exuberant attitude toward baseball, which at this point in his two-year-old life…is EVERYTHING.

Oaxacan Wedding Processions

2007-09-09T16:03:00.000-07:00

Now…here’s a worthy photo topic for a calendar…

We got off our bus on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Our stop was the llano…a square near the centro. We were heading to our favorite taqueria, when the wedding procession met us walking the other way. They were strolling from the church to the reception place. It was a parade of guests in their wedding best as well as a few others who seemed to be part of making a show of the event. It was wonderful and completely different from any wedding I’ve ever attended. I snapped these photos as they passed.

Sidewalks of Oaxaca

2007-09-09T06:39:00.000-07:00

I’m considering a theme for some posts…a theme which struck me the other day when walking past one of the many mangy dogs that line the streets of Oaxaca City. Though I’m sure canines here are better off than in certain cities in Viet Nam, I wonder what they would say, if they could meet up with a hound north of the border and compare notes. I have the feeling, they would howl , whimper and be aghast at the difference in lifestyles.

This isn’t the theme, of course…but the inspiration for a theme which I will call: Calendars you won’t see at Barnes and Noble this Christmas

There are a few calendars of Oaxacan persuasion that you might find at Barnes and Noble. I’ll try to highlight these as well.

Much of this is an exercise at observation, a wonderful aspect of living abroad. Potentially, the senses are more open to the marvelous and the horrible when we enter a new culture. We become attentive to realities that might eventually become part of the scenery , but when encountered new, stand out. We confront our own ideas about what is “normal”, or what “ought to be”…and sometimes what is “comfortable”. We entertain the possibility that someone else, another people group for example, might actually have something to teach us.

If all else fails, and the philosophical and moral learning cannot inch forward, then at least, we can have a good laugh at ourselves and our discomfort. So, I hope you can learn and laugh with me.

The first of these posts, I call:

Sidewalks of Oaxaca

I, and hundreds of others use the sidewalks of Oaxaca City. Actually, I am thankful there are sidewalks at all and that they are, for the most part, sufficiently wide. That is, they are wide enough for our family, usually walking two by two. Without sidewalks, we would be in mortal danger of being run over by a taxi or a moped, or bus.

With that said…the sidewalks here are atrocious. Our neighbor has a disabled son in a wheel chair and I often think of him when walking to the kids’ school.

I could post a hundred pictures, of mud-covered walkways, washed away cement, cracked up concrete, a car parked across the path, or what Gabe and I encountered today…piles of rock and sand…which were dumped across the sidewalk because someone was doing a construction project and needed them today. They might be gone by tomorrow, or they might remain for 3 weeks, like the scaffolding that jutted out from a building under construction. Those piles of rock and sand prevented anyone from passing safely on what is a very busy street. A mother with her baby in a stroller, a young couple walking hand in hand, Gabe and I all had to walk into traffic to get around the mess.

These photos I’ve included might be two to put on the calendar (a calendar that would be sent to the civil authorities in order to bring about some kind of change…ah, now there’s an American ideal…shame them into fixing the sidewalks).

Photo 1 captures a common problem for sidewalks all over the world…tree roots! What to do about tree roots. I truthfully don’t know the answer to that, but I’m sure somebody anal, probably in one of the Scandinavian countries (It's okay for me to call them anal, since I'm a Swede) has worked on this issue. There is a way to make peace with that tree and create a level path for walking.

Photo 2 This particular hole in the sidewalk is so large, you could lose a small child in it. The photo does not do it justice, and since we’ve been in Oaxaca, individuals have started to stuff trash in it. Earlier last week, you could still see rebar sticking up out of the hole.

I know that many Oaxacans have given up trying to bring attention to these problems…they ignore them because convincing their government officials to put money toward infrastructure is extremely difficult. I cannot say with authority, but have heard from friends, that the issue of corruption is the problem. Money that should go to infrastructure, lines the pockets of politicians. It's also true that there are other problems which are more urgent than fixing holes in the sidewalk.

All the same, I feel for my disabled neighbor who cannot roll two blocks to the supermarket to buy a carton of milk.

Food in Oaxaca

2007-09-08T05:27:00.000-07:00

A few of you have asked about Oaxacan cuisine and what we are eating. We enjoy many special foods here, but some of them are different from what we Californians think of as Mexican food. We have yet to taste them all, but right now, we buy a lot of and eat as much fresh fruits and vegetables as we can find. The mangos are heavenly, silken in texture and incredibly flavorful. (all of us, but Jason eat about a mango a day). We've also found good papayas in every market and grocery store since arriving. I used to not like papaya, but someone from Mexico taught us to put lime on it and it’s so good that way. Cucumbers are great. Folks here also eat them in lime, sprinkled with salt and chili powder.

Chocolate in Oaxaca is a big export. It’s dark and a bit bitter, but we like it. Moles come from this part of the world and there are many kinds. We have tasted red mole, yellow mole, black mole and green mole. Black mole (the chocolaty version) is what most Americans know as mole. Mole means “sauce” in the Zapotec language. We haven’t tried to make moles, but you can buy them in jars or bags at the local mercado (market). We’ve sucked on sugar cane, had plenty of delicious lemonade (it’s always fresh squeezed).

Hot off the press, corn tortillas are amazing.

Two kinds of cheese are famous in Oaxaca…the main one I’ve tasted is a string cheese, called quesillo…more pungent than our bland variety. (cheese shop pictured above. Our friend Pilar took us to a downtown market on our first day here). Our local Sunday market, a stone’s throw away, sells all the local delicacies, but our favorite treat so far is the homemade potato chips...so good and salty. The locals dribble hot sauce on them.

We’re cooking in our kitchen every day, sometimes American food (like last night I cooked spaghetti…of course it had chorizo in it instead of Italian sausage), sometimes I’m cooking more Mexican style food. Since Abby is a vegetarian, I have learned to make a tasty pot of beans. Beans have become one of our staples in the US. It's natural for us to eat them here.

We'll keep you posted on our food adventures. We're still going slow on buying and preparing meat. This will be a more tricky undertaking, but I know we'll get to the place where we can buy the big hunk of flesh hanging on a hook and turn it into something appetizing.

Hurricanes, What We Miss and the Zen of Taking Out the Trash

2007-09-06T09:06:00.000-07:00

Hurricanes... Many of you have asked about whether or not we are in danger. Though both coasts of Mexico have been hit by hurricanes in the last week, we have been affected by neither. Perhaps we are getting a bit more rain, but it's hard to know. Abby is pictured here, taking a drink of Oaxacan rain water. We were attending one of Gabe’s ball games, which was in fact, rained out. This was a big storm, but we experienced no gale force winds, loss of power, broken trees, etc. Oaxaca City sits at 5000 feet above sea level, inland a couple of hundred kilometers from the coasts and protected all around by mountains. The climate is wonderfully mild. End of summer and fall marks their normal rainy season.

What We Miss (So Far) Besides Our Friends

Abby misses being good in school and knowing what’s going on in her class
Gabe misses Barnabas (our dog...pictured in a much earlier post) and going to A’s games
Susi misses movie dates with the family at Bay Street and going to A's games
Jason misses his former digestive health (We think we’ve zeroed in on the problem…patterns indicate that Jason is allergic to mangoes…so sad, since the mangoes here are about as close to heaven on earth as you can get!) Did you know that mangoes are in the same family as poison oak? As it turns out, Jason also has a severe reaction to poison oak.

Other random news…

I heard Mac the Knife twice in one morning. So strange for this to occur in a foreign country, I had to document it. First it played in my spinning class at the gym during our final stretch. Second, (about 35 minutes later) it was playing at my favorite café while I waited for my cappuccino…I hope there’s no divine message in that song for me.

The Zen of Taking out the Trash

A beautiful morning here. I was up to meet the trash blokes. I had the early shift, or trash duty, as we call it in this house. The trash truck comes every morning at 6 AM…(did I mention that they ring a cow bell to let you know they’re coming? That cow bell wakes us faithfully every day, Sundays included!) The sky was so clear I saw brighter stars than I’ve seen in a long time, including a very brilliant morning star on the horizon, saw Mars as well…and a lot of others that I don’t know the names of. My old neighbor, Miguel Alcaron, who was also on trash duty at his house, told me the name of the morning star…Beros, he said. Who would have thought trash could so effectively inspire stargazing and bring neighbors together! Ah...Mexico.

The Downside to Tranquilo

2007-09-03T15:26:00.000-07:00

Baseball practice was canceled this afternoon because the gardeners, who are in charge of cutting the lawn, did so, very beautifully in fact, but did not finish the job. I saw them working at 2 PM when I went to pick the kids up from school. Why they did not do the little extra to place the mounds of grass clippings in the wheel barrow and remove them from the field, is a mystery. We showed up at practice and those little mounds (as you see pictured) sat all over the outfield.

The caretaker, a military appointee, said we could not play for that reason. The infield was perfect (all the mounds being in the outfield grass), so I tried to convince him to let us do infield practice, but he would not, or could not…was acting on somebody’s orders, I suppose. No one seemed uptight about the cancellation, though it affected about 30 kids. I suspect the gardeners didn’t sweat it either. And there you have it. This seems a fitting follow up to my last posting. My efficient, American brain was blowing a gasket. I fought the compulsion to get out there myself and do the work…just to show them…

Instead, Gabe and I hung out and talked baseball for a half hour, then returned home.

On Unwinding

2007-09-03T02:08:00.000-07:00

I have been reflecting on how tightly we in the West, in the Urban West in particular, are wound. How obstructed is our view into our own souls by the very busy lifestyles we choose? I have few answers yet...but some percolating ideas.

There is something good about being in this culture for me. The change of location, the change from West Coast hype to Mexican tranquilo has forced me to slow down in many respects. The fact that the work of my hands is more manageable here, makes a large impact on the “free” time I now enjoy. Since the children started school again, the space has reopened for me to write, to think, to read, to rest. In addition, Jason isn't working and travelling as usual, so he shares in the chores much more. He’s ready and willing to do dishes, breakfast, lunch or dinner (we don’t have a dishwasher here) or watch the laundry hanging on the line, when the rain threatens to ruin that hour’s worth of my labor. (He’s usually up on the roof reading or praying…not literally watching the laundry dry…though that image does express some of the way our life has slowed.)

At the moment, I see three main differences in the patterns of my life here in Mexico that are absent from my life in the Bay Area.

1) A few of you know that I am a news junkie. I read papers, listen to NPR, even read the conservative weekly that my brother buys for me (which he hopes will help to balance out the “liberal” Bay Area influence in my media intake). But here…I am watching less news. I know little of what is going on in politics and among the people of power. A week after the fact, I have learned of the resignation of Gonzalez, Snow and Rove…this would not have been truth a couple of months ago. Mind you…I know exactly what is happening with the A’s and the NL West and other baseball news. This has been a year where baseball has made a huge resurgence in my life. But I’m taking a sabbatical from political news. I suppose that’s okay for a season. Anyway…it definitely frees up time.

2) I clean less…and the compulsive nature of my “clean up everything and make it shine” self slumbers here. I see dirt, I see grime and I don’t clean. I stop myself from cleaning because I know that Berta is coming on Friday. I convince myself that I can live with the grime for a few days. Berta, after all, must have something to do for three hours. This too has freed up time.

3) Life is simpler here and we have a lot less stuff. We have fewer clothes, toys, board games, sporting equipment. There is no car to wash, no house to fix. Managing our stuff ends up taking a lot of my time at home. That’s not all bad, but it is one of the costs of living in the West. It all adds up and sucks time away from the quieter disciplines. Here are a few examples of how our lives have slowed down. I haven’t been on a freeway/highway in 3 weeks. I haven’t been to Cost Co. or a large box store in months. I walk to one of our local farmers’ markets every day. I can walk to the grocery store. We walk to school, to the little league field, to church. This is a simple existence and in many ways, a small life we’re leading. (Everyone here has a car, so I suspect if we stayed long-term, we might end up buying a car). Also, in general, the kids get a lot less homework. That has a positive impact on our family life.

These are my reflections so far. I am unwinding. I’m also homesick here and there. I miss my friends, my church and various aspects of the Bay Area, but I do not miss the complexity and busyness of that life. For the most part, I’m happy to have this chance to decelerate and I’m not sure I would have very much (or perhaps it would have taken longer) had we stayed at home.

I read an interesting interview of David Sedaris in the Missouri Review recently. Though he lives in New York, he does not drive, own a cell phone or have an email address. His reflections on these "deficiencies" were fascinating. He has forced simplicity into his life, chosen a more monastic existence, despite many pressures around him. On one occasion, a very frustrated friend who had been trying to find him at the airport in Paris, gave him a cell phone, which DS never turned on, of course. Anyway, his devotion to writing, his focus and his ability to "turn off" the outside world...even when living in an incredibly busy city, has caused me to contemplate how change might come down the pike for me out of this sabbatical. What to prune for the sake of focus?

Thankfully, I have a few more months to figure this out.

More House

2007-09-02T06:31:00.000-07:00

The second floor has the final two bedrooms and bathroom. Gabe, Jason and I sleep on that floor.

A rod-iron staircase leads to the roof where there is much potential to grow flowers and vegetables, make a beautiful sitting patio. We won’t do that since we will only stay in the house for a semester. At this point it’s a strategic environment for drying clothes and a great the place for enjoying in views of the city…often late in the evening or in the morning. Jason has taken to praying up there for a couple of hours every morning. The views of the mountains on both side are spectacular, especially in this rainy season when the clouds and the green add texture to the landscape.

Our House in Oaxaca

2007-09-01T15:56:00.000-07:00

A few of you have expressed interest in our rental house…so in the next few postings, I’ll try to describe it and upload photos onto the blog. The house looks very plain from the street and in fact, it is a simple set up. To us it feels just right, with enough furnishings and appliances to make our life here pleasant and comfortable. The home is in a middle class neighborhood. Its walls on both sides are the walls of our neighbor’s homes (I can hear clearly when their doorbell rings or when the gradkids are visiting). This is not so unusual for Mexico…especially in the colonial districts of town. Here is pictured the view from the street…Calle Manuel M. Dieguez…two blocks “arriba” up from Gigante (Giant…the large grocery store where we often shop).

The house is two stories, a rectangular block, five bedrooms and two full baths. On the bottom floor, the entry way (previous owner used it as a garage…our kids use it to play with their super balls) opens into the living room. This is a large rectangle, with window, two couches, television, desk and a few bookcases. We live in this room quite a lot. Walk down the hallway to the dining area and kitchen…there are three more bedrooms on this floor, the back bedroom is Abby’s. She’s the only one sleeping on the first floor. Another bedroom is Jason’s prayer room. The final room is currently the music room. We keep my violin and Gabe’s guitar in there, as well as all our sports equipment. It’s very nice to have all that extra space. Makes me wish our house in Berkeley was a bit bigger, though if it were, we’d probably feel compelled to rent out a room. The downstairs bath is attached to the music room.

We bought a comfortable sitting chair (from a local craftsman) for the prayer room in which Jason can sit and pray or read. The only other piece of furniture we replaced was a futon mattress in the living room. The previous mattress was awful. The current…as you see Jason sitting on it in the living room photo…is thick and wonderful.

There are five other curious spaces on the ground floor. One is a small room, with a washing machine. The other is a utility room with cleaning supplies and an ironing board. The other two spaces are open to the sky…almost like little patios, but walled in by neighbor's house or ours. One of those spaces contains the water pump and the washing sink (the ridged sink to which I referred in the “Uniforms” posting)…the other patio has a plastic roof over part of it…we can hang laundry under this roof if it rains on laundry day.

I’ll post about the second floor and roof tomorrow.

Uniforms

2007-08-30T07:50:00.000-07:00

We enjoyed an unusual baseball practice on Monday. First of all, Gabe and I always arrive early in order to get more playing time in. We got there about 15 minutes before 4 PM and I started hitting him grounders. Around 3:50, Abraham shows up, my favorite player on the team…and others trickle in.

It’s funny to me, but before we showed up, everyone would come and just sit on the bench and wait for the coach. Part of that was the fact that the kids don’t have balls with them. I suppose when they get one, they lose it pretty fast…Anyway…we’re always fully supplied, so when about five guys show up, we do hitting practice until coach shows up…about 4:05 PM.

At that point, all the parents, mostly men are just staring at us, at me. They’re kind of used to it, but I think it’s so unusual for a woman to play baseball, they can hardly wrap their heads around the idea…Once both coaches show, I quit whatever I’m doing and tell the boys to go to their coaches. Coach has made them run laps every practice…3 last week, but now they’re up to 5. This time around, I ran with them…seemed like a good opportunity to get a work out. Wow…did I feel the oxygen debt. I forget that we’re at 5000 feet. After the laps, coach has them stretching and repeating these curious sprints…each seeming to have a baseball bent to them. I had never seen them before. The boys don’t complain. They all cooperate, even the “gordos”…the fatter boys (In Mexico it’s not impolite to call someone fatty. It’s actually an endearment).

From there they move on to playing catch with each other and the rest of practice is pretty similar a typical American little league practice, with infield drills, outfield drills and hitting practice. I go to my book at this point…sitting on the sports bag in order to avoid getting bitten by ants. Eventually, the rain starts, so I head for the dugout. The boys are still playing. Now the “reunion” or “meeting” to decide on the uniforms begins. I knew it was supposed to happen sometime, but have kept waiting to see how this plays out. Because my Spanish isn’t superb, I know I’m missing various aspects of the verbal communication and the subtext. All the parents start chiming in, but one guy…cool, slick machismo dad…seems to have control of the group. I’m reading folks and trying to figure out if everyone is happy about that. It seems they are. They do talk about colors. My only addition (which they rejected) was to have dark colors so the dirt doesn’t show on their uniforms. They say…dark colors are too hot. Okay, I say. I like white. Let’s go with white…and a bunch of the mother’s laugh, teasing the men about whether or not they’re going to wash their son’s uniforms. Then, a couple of moms take me aside and tell me how to get the dirt out of a white uniform. It has everything to do with the ridged, cement sink on our porch…you hand wash clothes on this thing…we have a washer here, but I’ve washed my clothes this way before in Mexico….it’s a tremendous amount of work, but it does seem to get those stains out of your clothes…practically shreds them, but you can get the dirt out with enough scrubbing.

Now, they zero in on Gabe, who is wearing his Athletics jersey and hat. Though white pants are a must, they are very taken by the forest green and yellow. So I bring Gabe over. The parents ooh and aah. By this time it is pouring and all the team begins huddling under the cover of the dugout, including the two-year-old who keeps running out into the rain, to his mother’s chagrin (The Mexicans believe that if you get wet, you will certainly get sick…so this is a point of great concern to the mother…not to the two-year-old). With all this commotion going on, the meeting continues. I say…When do we need to order the uniforms? They say…we’re going right now, do you have a car? I say no…so I pile into someone’s car, with Gabe and we head downtown to a uniform making factory. The boys get measured, tell their numbers and names…which will be on the jerseys and that’s it

Kindly, one of the dads drives us home and I thank him profusely for his help. Anyway…it’s working out. Gabe will be on the Dragons (Dragones)in Oaxaca and will wear the colors of the Athleticos.

Opening Ceremonies

2007-08-29T17:53:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, the little league of Oaxaca City had its opening ceremonies. The locals call this the inaguarción or inauguration. There was a marching band, a mascot (looked like that chicken from the 80s…is he still around...wasn’t he in San Diego?) Anyway, he was there…and a ton of parents, the board members and a band. It was very organized and yet very Mexican. For example, they were still setting up ½ hour after the thing was supposed to have started. All teams marched on the field, a few received medals from the previous season (first and second place received medals).

A priest was there in his full robes. He read from the Bible, prayed over all the boys and sprinkled them with holy water, that came out what looked like a sport bottle. It was just amazing. Also, later on, a kid prayed what I think is the “baseball prayer”…Something like…

God, we believe in you, your laws. We will play clean, and whether we win or lose, have a great time….Amen.

It’s interesting to be in a setting where something is familiar and yet so flavored by the Mexican culture…as you may begin to imagine. I hope the photos help.

Baseball in Oaxaca

2007-08-28T18:51:00.001-07:00

Though Mexico is a soccer country, Oaxaca City is a baseball town. Many of you may know that I have been increasingly getting back into an old habit…baseball. The obsession picked up steam last summer when I began taking the kids to A’s games. Then, Gabe played on an undefeated little league team this Spring…Also, my cousin Jennifer has moved to Berkeley for her post doc…She too is an A’s fanatic. This summer was an opportunity to visit various ball parks. Jason, who doesn’t enjoy baseball as much as we do, was busy studying, so the kids and I ventured out. Besides visiting AT & T Park, and the Oakland Coliseum, we went to Dodger stadium to see Marlins v. Dodgers, a Padres game at Petco Park, and a Rockies game in Denver with Jason, Bridget (Jason's brother's wife) and half the Colorado cousins.

When we arrived in Oaxaca a few weeks ago, we explored the city on foot and by taxi. We found lots of wonderful sights and sounds, but longed for the green spaces of California. Where would we play? Where would have room to throw a hardball or kick a soccer ball? We discovered that parks are not plentiful here. However, the day we moved into our new house, we walked toward the kid’s school and saw, to our amazement, a lush green baseball diamond. It was raining that day, but we ventured onto the field and spoke with the caretaker. He informed us that a little league team was to practice on the following Monday. We showed up on that Monday (after the first day of school) and found a team, the Dragones. Gabe is now playing with the 11 and 12 year-old little leaguers in Oaxaca. It’s a bit surreal. We practice on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, from 4 to 6. On Fridays…they often practice longer. Games are on Saturdays. The practice field is walking distance from our house. Gabe and I usually go early to get a little bit of extra practice in. So, do the math…baseball is essentially a part-time job for Gabe right now. He’s getting in as many as 10 hours per week of playing time. Who would have thought?

My next few entries will record some of what this experience has been like for us.

First Day of School

2007-08-27T07:40:00.000-07:00

The end of summer comes a week early for Abby and Gabe. Today they started school at Erich Pohlenz Christian School…the school that had room and the one that seemed to want our kids.
The day began at 6 am…with the ringing of the garbage bell. In this neighborhood, a lazy rooster does not crow until after the cow bell rings. The cow bell signals those in the hood that the garbage truck is about to come by and you’d better be ready because they stop for no stationary bag at the curb. It’s a funny little reality. This morning was my turn. I heard the bell toll at 6 AM, rolled out of bed and shuffled down our stairs to the covered porch where I gathered our collection of garbage and waited at the curb. After doing this for a couple of mornings, I’ve learned that the truck follows the bell by about ten minutes.

This morning, as it was Monday and the end of the weekend, almost all my neighbors were up to deal with their trash. There was no dawn to speak of yet. The sky was black and clear. The birds had started in with their song, but the stars still sparkled. It’s a strange reality. All of us up, waiting at the curb, in the dark, one woman in her robe and slippers, another couple I haven’t met, snuggling at the corner, their large white bag of garbage, sitting at their feet. “Buenos dias,” we say in greeting, yawning, ready for the moment he drives onto our street. Sure enough, at 6:11 AM, the truck swerves around the corner and stops. I and the others carry our bags to the truck and chuck them in the back. On the first day, I kept waiting for someone to come and get my bag (how very American of me), but when I saw the woman across the street, struggle with her sizable trash container, drag it over all by herself and dump it in the back of the truck, I realized my error. Mind you, there are two workers riding/standing on the back of the truck’s bumper, but they don’t lift a finger. I’m sure it saves the city loads in workman’s comp complaints. No, we all carry our own garbage to the back of the truck and dump it in with a “Buenos dias,” and “gracias”. This happens every morning and that bell continues to ring throughout the neighborhood for the next hour. Just in case you didn’t wake up the first time, there are many opportunities…not necessarily for garbage removal, but for REM disruption. Since, Jason and I are taking turns with the garbage, I will ignore the cow bell tomorrow.

We woke the kids by 6:20 and got them going with breakfast. We left the house at 7:15 and walked up our street to Erich Pohlenz. That’s about a fifteen minute jaunt. The mornings here are cool and most pedestrians we met (parents and their school children) were wearing their jackets and sweaters. I even saw a woman in a down jacket. We gringos, of course, were sweating by the time we reach the school yard. On this morning, the first day, parents were allowed to enter the yard and watch the opening ceremonies…complete with marching girls, carrying the Mexican flag around their mini-plaza while all the parents and students saluted and sang the national anthem…at least, I think it was the national anthem. We also sang a few other tunes, none of which I knew. During all this time, Abby and Gabe appeared terrified. You could see how they were trying to fit in, and figure things out, but they looked completely odd and out of place.

The strangest sensation came over me when Jason and I left the yard. In the time it took me to walk home, I realized what I was feeling. It was exactly the same feeling I had experienced after dropping Abby off at Malcolm X for the first time, then later, with Gabe…that I was abandoning my children…giving them up and over. This feeling is difficult to describe if you are not a parent and I think it is particularly wrenching for a mother, although it was Jason who expressed how stressed he was for the children later in the day.

We picked them up at 2 PM, coming to the schoolyard gate, then hearing their names called over a loudspeaker. They emerged happy to see us, but more than that, they were clearly filled with delight in their first days’ experience. Both had enjoyed their classes, both had made friends, Gabe had scored the first goal in their lunchtime soccer game and Abby had found someone who spoke English and could translate some of what was happening in her class.

It seems too good to be true and we know that more difficult days and weeks will transpire, but the day was a gift. Gabe’s memorable quote of the day: “ I like this school better than school at home because you don’t have to pay attention.” We decided to let this one ride…Of course, we’ll want to help him pay attention in the future, since we do want him to learn…but for no it’s a concerning approach to his new learning environment.

Week One...Details Fall Into Place

2007-08-27T07:25:00.000-07:00

Saturday, we went out into the neighborhood, found a cobbler who fixed Abby’s school shoes (black mary janes that are required for her school uniform), visited a swimming pool where Abby could join a swim team if she chooses, strolled through a beautiful market, where all manner of meat, vegetables, fruits, moles, cheese and fresh cut flowers are sold.

Poco a poco, details fall into place. We’ve met the cleaning lady just now, Berta. We will pay her to come once a week. She will come on Fridays, clean for 3 to 4 hours, all for 175 pesos (about 16 dollars) per visit (the going rate is 150 pesos, but this woman comes with rave reviews and it seems ridiculous to haggle over what to us, feels like so little).

We’ve checked out two gyms, one so high-end, we’d be paying more than our YMCA membership, the other, with nice equipment, but little or no air conditioning. The huge monthly budget savings come with cheap rent (700 dollars per month), not having a car, therefore buying no gas, not paying for private music lessons nor violin rental, no sports teams (yet) and a relatively cheap grocery bill. Oh…a significant, but not back-breaking expense will be the kids’ private school tuition. (start-up fee of $100.00 American, per child and after that, $100.00 per child per month.) So inexpensive! We’ve met a few of the expatriate types here, those from the States living in Oaxaca to escape from the US rat race. They all seem very happy, living a better life on much less than they did at home. Often, they are married to a Oaxacan.

We did go to a fancy restaurant last night and met an American-born chef who has opened a new restaurant, called Naranja in the centro. His may be the most expensive restaurant in Oaxaca. We all ate and drank to our hearts content last night for $60.00 American. It was a delicious meal, but we’ve had other marvelous meals that have set us back much less. There is a street-side taqueria around the corner that beckons to us every evening around 7:30 PM. The carne asada smells up the entire block. I’m sure we’ll find ourselves doing take-out often, though we’ve decided to hold off on street food for another week or so, just in case. I don’t want the kids to miss their first day of school…so we’ve resisted the temptation. But, the day will come…

Another great discovery, which happened last night as we were practicing our walk to school (16 minutes door to door), was finding a baseball and soccer field along the way. It was raining, so the field was closed, but the security guard lady informed us that baseball and softball leagues will start up on Monday afternoon and that we should come and sign up/check it out. This is the first well-groomed field I’ve seen since we arrived a week ago. I was beginning to think that the Oaxaca didn’t have any parks, not so.

The day after tomorrow we will begin to experience the routine: school, work, study, workouts, meals, shopping…All our daily hours will take on more pattern and predictability. This will be a welcome change since our life has been ruled by little or no routine for a couple of months. I’m sure many of you can relate to that.

Tomorrow is Jason’s birthday and our plan at this point is to visit Montalban (as pictured, since we did go the following day), the Zapotec ruins on the hilltop we view from our third story roof patio. As you can probably hear in this posting, we are settling in gently now, receiving the gift of descanso (rest) and la vida tranquila (the peaceful life) of Oaxaca.

Day Two and Three

2007-08-27T06:53:00.000-07:00

The drama over our living situation reached its peak yesterday when our host here offered us the use of his car and made it known to us that he will gladly take our kids to and bring them back from school every day. Jason felt compassion for the guy (Sergio…owner and builder of this beautiful house) and wasn’t sure we should reject his generosity, but still so many issues about this neighborhood and this house didn’t sit right with me. For one thing, the house is barely furnished, another issue…broad windows, without coverings expose us to any interested parties. The idea of trying to do window coverings and buying a bunch of furniture seems so taxing to me. I have no interest in spending my time and energy this way. Also, our distance from the school and the center of beauty and activity of Oaxaca filled me with grief. I’m not sure I want to live in an industrial/slum neighborhood for 5 months…no matter how beautiful the house. I finally convinced Jason on these issues last night. I think he agrees with me deep in his heart, but has a difficult time with the idea that we might offend anyone here.
Fortunately, a conversation with Pilar and Saul this morning set everything straight. Sergio built this house for his mother, who died before moving in. The house was offered to Pilar and Saul since they do more and more work around Oaxaca these days and need a dwelling while they are here. They have taken the house temporarily, but also rented another house nearer to their work. They too want to be closer to the center. If we move out, they will give up the house. Their loyalty to Sergio has a limit as well. It was good for me and Jason to realize that our priorities to live closer to the school and the centro are not so unusual. We are not selfish gringos…we’re a couple trying to make the best decision for our family. This choice will disappoint Sergio, but I think for Jason…better Sergio disappointed, than his wife unhappy for the next 5 months. I knew this dynamic would be tough. It has proven to be about what I expected.
Today, a new property is on the horizon. At 10 AM this morning, we looked at a large house (4 plus bedrooms, two full baths) in the colonia (neighborhood) that lies between the school and the centro. Feeling a little desperate last night, I had prayed that it would be the perfect house. It felt that way. We all saw the place and loved it. Abby and Gabe will have their own bedrooms. We have sheets and beds, plenty of furniture, though a few things we might replace…Best detail, it has a high, flat roof with a view of the city and the surrounding mountains…lots of space for a table, chairs, a place where we can enjoy the cool at the end of the day, an evening card game, a chat, or a glass of wine, or Mescal (the Oaxacan equivalent of tequila). I’m pretty sure Jason will have his morning tea and prayer times up there. Also…plenty of room for visitors. We could comfortably sleep 4 more people! So come on down! Barring some kind of emergency, we’ll begin moving in tomorrow. We might even finish moving in, though we need to make sure all is in order with the finances and utilities.
The school will be about a ten minute walk from our house and the llano, a park/square near the center (not the Zocalo itself…but the outskirts of the colonial/historic neighborhood) will be a ten minute walk in the other direction. If you remember your Spanish colonial architecture, city is designed around the main cathedral with a plaza area, then goes out in concentric circles of government buildings, businesses and restaurants/hotels, so a place like the llano is linked to the centro and in the case of Oaxaca…it is linked by a pedestrian only street…so walking is a pleasure, once you reach the llano. We ate at a wonderful taqueria on the llano last night…good Oaxacan style tacos and I enjoyed a margarita…first alcohol since arriving on Sunday.
I’ll try to explain more about the house, with photos in future postings. Also…I know these postings I am writing are going to be bunched up when we figure out our email/high speed internet. All this info will come tumbling onto my blog at once. Sorry. I’m such a blogging novice…All of are still healthy. We haven’t seen any signs of stomach disturbance, aside from the usual travel/adjusting to different foods kind of stomach issues…I won’t go into details, but I’m sure you can imagine.

Travel Day/First Day

2007-08-27T06:36:00.000-07:00

What can I say about travel…hmm…with 14 bags between us (counting all our carry ons) it was fun, adventurous, and I felt like a mule…We were able to get our luggage checked all the way to Oaxaca, so we went through customs there. We assumed that would be easy, but alas, as fate would have it, our family was randomly chosen by the airport officials for a more thorough inspection. They opened and sifted through all 14 bags, including the guitar and violin case. Lucky for us, they didn’t find the marijuana or the diamonds! (Homeland security…that was a joke, by the way.)

And…I have to say something about the long flight from Denver to La Ciudad de Mexico. I enjoyed the privilege of a bulkhead seat (by myself). Jason and the kids were 10 rows behind me. I thought my flight would be a great opportunity to catch up on reading and sleep, but it was not meant to be. I sat by a young mother with a lively 14 month old boy and a 4-year-old girl. Very sweet people, but that little boy, who was supposed to be on her lap for the whole flight, never stopped moving and cried anytime his mother forced him into a sitting position.
But, I had fun interacting with them and helped her whenever I could, remembering a time when I used to fly with two kids under four…Anyway, this mother was Mexican, but an Orthodox Jew, living in a mainly Sephardic Jewish community in Mexico City. Most of her synagogue had grandparents who immigrated to Mexico after WWI, primarily from Syria, but also other Arabic/Muslim countries. Her husband, who was sitting in the back of the plane, came to relieve her toward the end of the flight. We had an enjoyable discussion about the Torah, which he studies one hour every morning and two hours each evening after work. He didn’t have those curly-cue sideburns, which I asked him about and he said…oh…those Jews are from Europe. They’re Ashkenazi. After listening to Michael Chabon’s new novel this summer, I found myself once again, amazed at the resilience of the Jewish people.

So, no sleep and very little reading, but an interesting flight. Oh…did I tell you that Gabe expressed feeling homesick as soon as we stepped foot on Mexican soil. Today was better for him, but I did feel for the poor kid, travel can be so disorienting and his parents don’t tend to tolerate complaining.
So, that brings me to day one. For you, my friends, who have spent precious time in pueblos around Merida, or in any developing world country, you will remember the morning music that plays before or at dawn. First, you have Mr. Rooster next door, the one with the penchant for starting his crow at 4 AM. When I was growing up, they always said these animals crowed at sun-up. Bull-s—t. Well, not completely bull shit…they do crow at dawn, but they also start crowing before dawn and end that final crow sometime around the moment when one of us throws our shoe out the window at the testosterone-filled maniac. Yes…we know about roosters. They don’t just crow once. That’s the other myth you learn as a child. Roosters are the snooze buttons of the wild…reminding you that you need to wake up about, oh…every ten minutes or so.

Next, we have dog-barking. The dog-barking usually comes a bit later than the rooster crows…takes doggie a bit of time to stretch and wake up…but when he does, barks ring throughout the neighborhood. Our neighbors dog is a St. Bernard. We tried to make friends with him, but he really is a watch dog, tied up to a tree, with flies and mosquitoes pecking at him all day long. (I’m sure that doesn’t improve his disposition). As far as barks go, his woofs are a pleasant and deep baritone. I’m thankful the dog outside our window is not a yapper.

Lastly, by around 6:30 am, the morning music changes genres…street vendors come around, offering their various services. Of course, since no one is yet awake, except the rooster and the dog, the vendor must yell, proclaim his product to high-heaven, hoping the occupants asleep inside will open their door and buy, buy, buy. Let’s see…who are these folks? We have the garbage man, the man who fills your propane tank, the man with the diesel truck(with loud horn, not afraid to use it) who fills your cistern, the tortilla guy, and so on and so on.
Let’s just say that sleeping off Ashby Avenue, as we have done for so many years now, is a garden of silence in comparison.

We enjoyed a wonderful day after waking. Our host’s wife, Pilar and her driver took us all over Oaxaca to run errands. We visited the school and registered the kids. We received a list of supplies and bought them, got cell phones, met the butcher, the baker and (not the candlestick maker) but the cheese vendors (Oaxaca sells two very special kinds of cheese, one like string cheese, the other a crumbly creamy cheese). We brought our children to a photographer to have photos taken for their school ids…the old man wielding the camera told them not to smile. It made us laugh.

We ran into street children selling goods for their parents, two of whom Pilar had a lengthy discussion with, told me how to spot anemia and malnutrition in them…though it wasn’t difficult to see. One little girl, who was the same age as Abby, was more than a foot shorter than she. We bought gum from them and found out their names, discovered the fact that they attend school, at least. Pilar told them to study hard…to study and avoid having a novio (boyfriend) until age 20. Pilar and Saul, her husband, have helped kids like these their whole adult lives. Danny, a young man who is staying in the house with us just now, was a street urchin, an orphan, whom they adopted. He’s one of many success stories.

So, many wonderful and inspiring sights. The main square is absolutely beautiful and charming. Unlike Merida, there is no traffic around the square…those streets are closed off to all motorized vehicles. It’s amazing how much this improves atmosphere. No noise and no pollution, only Cafes, music, novios cuddling, Western tourists with their backpacks and children at play. The zocalo (that’s what they call the main square) is all that the travel books say it is.
For my final tribute to Oaxaca, I have to say something about the weather. Again, it’s difficult not to compare this place to Merida. In the case of weather, they are not polar opposites in terms of temperature, but they are in terms of comfort. I noticed it when I stepped off the plane at OAX and felt the cool air, the fresh mountain wind and the absence of extreme humidity. It’s unusual to break a sweat here, whereas in Merida, the only time you aren’t sweating is in the shower. This is what I hear from all who have spent time in Oaxaca…the weather is perfect, or as near perfect as a place can get.

This concludes my first impressions of Oaxaca. More to come and hopefully we’ll figure out our internet situation soon, so I can write and receive emails from many of you.

Pasadena

2007-07-05T09:40:00.000-07:00

The drive home to Berkeley from Olympia, my first lone roadtrip in many years, went off without a hitch. No flat tires, no running out of gas, no creepy characters on the road. I listened to most of Michael Chabon's new novel, The Yiddish Policeman's Union, and drank a lot of Diet Coke. Once in Berkeley, I frantically packed for the next few days (while taking a few breaks here and there, like a day at AT & T Park to see the Giants play the Padres and a happy hour at Cesars with my cousin Jennifer.) I barely made it out of the house before our sublet tenants arrived, my final bag was chucked in the back of our car a couple of minutes before they walked through our gate. They're a great family and they were happy with the house.
I started the drive to LA to reunite with Jason around 1 PM on Monday July 2nd. Six hours later, we were eating brats and drinking our favorite Porter on the patio of our friend's Pasadena mansion, which we have to ourselves for the next week and a half. More on the mansion later...Dana asked about mileage...let's see...according to the mileage calculator, I have driven 1,614.6 miles in the last couple of weeks.
Labels: Did I Earn the MVP Award for this Effort?

Saying Goodbye to Barnabas

2007-06-28T21:48:00.000-07:00

One objective in the drive up to Washington is leaving our beloved dog, Barnabas. with my parents. He will not travel with us to Oaxaca City, but will remain in Washington until we fetch him sometime in the Winter. The dog senses transition whenever he sees us packing. And sure enough, when I was packing my bag and getting ready to return to Berkeley, but without Barnabas, he came into the room and laid on my feet. Literally, he plunked down on them while I was folding clothing and setting them into my bag, as if to protest. His whole life revolves around the pack...our family...and one by one, we are abandoning him. Of course, he's a dog, but we will miss him and hope he will (since he is a bit elderly) greet us in February without bitterness and resentment. We love you Barnabas. You've been a faithful companion and a wonderful encouragement to all of us.

Driving Up and Down the Coast

2007-06-17T21:01:00.001-07:00

Fathers Day. Jason left us at 11 AM for his stint at Fuller Seminary in Pasadena. The kids and I leave on Tuesday morning. We will put 100s of miles on our car in the next month. First, I drive the kids and dog to my parents home in Olympia, arriving Wednesday evening. I stay for a few days, then journey back to Berkeley to finish packing and cleaning. (I leave the kids and the dog). How long will the rest of the packing and cleaning take? Hopefully, no longer than 5 days since I arrive in Berkeley on June 25th. On July 2, I hand over the keys of our house to our sublet tenants and drive to Pasadena to join Jason. We will not reenter our house until January 20th of 2008--strange, yet the value of our property humbles us--rent for our three bedroom, two bath home is funding much of this sabbatical. Oh yeah, what about the children? They fly down on July 5th--first time flying on their ownn--2.5 hours, non-stop on Alaska Airlines. We'll meet them at the Burbank Airport. At that point, Jason will have been away from them for two weeks. What about the dog? He stays with Bill and Britt (my folks) in Olympia until we return from south of the border.

Later in August, we will drive to Colorado. I'll save those roadtrip details for another posting.

Packing up the House

2007-06-16T10:20:00.000-07:00

The Work Goes On

We have so much junk in this house...It's felt glorious to get rid of much of it. However, we still have boxes and boxes of possessions. Moreover, we're not even packing up the kitchen and some of the toys because our tenants want access to those items. Ah well...