Food in Oaxaca

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.