Esta es mi ultima carta de Oaxaca. Mañana tomaré un examen para mi clase de español, y en viernes, regresaré a los Estados Unidos.

[This is my last letter from Oaxaca. Tomorrow I will take an exam for my Spanish class, and on Friday I will return to the United States.]

Echo de menos a mi novio, y nuestra casa, y nuestra cama, pero echaré de menos a Oaxaca tambien. Desde que estuve curando mis problemas de estómago, me disfrutaba mucho Oaxaca. Tengo amigos aquí, y sera dificil sacarlos. Oaxaca tiene un paso muy lento y San Francisco es muy rapido. Pienso preferir el primero.

[I miss my boyfriend, and our house, and our bed, but I will also miss Oaxaca. Since having cured my stomach problems, I've enjoyed Oaxaca quite a bit. I have friends here, and it will be hard to leave them. Oaxaca has a very slow pace, and San Francisco is very fast. I think I prefer the former.]

Hice muchas cosas durante mi tiempo en Oaxaca. Visité Mitla y Yagul, dos sitios arqueológicos y ambos muy magníficos. A Yagul, subí a la fortaleza, qué dominaba todo el valle. (Yagul es una sitio muy importante, y no esta atestado.) Caminé los calles de Arrozola, y hablé con un hombre viejo de su abuelo quien trabajaba en Monte Alban cuando estaba discubriendo. Comí cocina oaxaqueña extaordinariamente buena. Estudié español, y aprendí un poco.

[I've done many things during my time in Oaxaca. I visited Mitla and Yagul, two very magnificent archeological sites. At Yagul, I climbed to the fortress, which overlooks the entire valley. (Yagul is a very important site, and it isn't crowded.) I walked the streets of Arrozola, and talked with an old man whose grandfather worked in Monte Alban when it was discovered. I ate incredibly good Oaxacan food. I studied Spanish, and learned a little.]

Mas importante, me encontré nuevos amigos. Encontrando nuevos amigos es la primera misión de la Caravana Pan-Americana. Mitla, Teotitlan del Valle y las inglesias estarÝn recuerdos, pero amigos serÝn siempre amigos.

[More important, I met new friends. Meeting new friends is the primary mission of Caravana Pan-Americana. Mitla, Teotitlan of the Valley and the churches will be memories, but friends are always friends.]

Ron

The people studying at the institute tend to fall into three broad categories. There are the adults, vacationing while improving themselves. There are school groups, arrange and organized by a college and usually chaperoned by one or more teachers. Lastly, there are the college students, coming to Oaxaca individually or in small groups to study and receive credit towards graduation.

The latter group can easily be divided into two classes; the mature and the immature. The mature students treat their visit to Oaxaca as a privilege. They study hard, explore the city, and try to interact with the natives. The school encourages this with after-class ‘intercambios’ (exchanges) between students learning Spanish and natives learning English. In the afternoon the lawn and gardens of the school are filled with groups of two people, eagerly exchanging ideas via language and hand gestures. At these times, the school has the feel of a particularly intense college campus.

The immature students tend to be sulky and resentful of their time in Oaxaca, or alternately, see their visit as an extended party. They study little if at all, and often don’t do homework. In class, they don’t participate or treat the experience as a joke. “This guy can’t seem to make a sentence without the word ‘cerveza’ [beer]“, said one frustrated classmate.

I’ve enjoyed spending time with several of the more mature students. Particularly I enjoy Sabrina, from Chico, California. Sabrina is hoping to pass the course in an exam on Thursday and thus finish her college language requirement.

Back home, Sabrina cares for kids who are severely developmentally challenged. She loves the kids, and you can hear it when she talks about them. Actually, Sabrina loves kids in general, and will probably make a great mom someday.

Sabrina has been my source of English-language books here in Oaxaca. After a week of studying Spanish exclusively, Sabrina went out and bought “The Reader” and “The Pilot’s Wife”, both Oprah Book Club selections. When she finished them, she passed them on to me, and they’ve both been very interesting. You can see why they would be good book-club books… both of these inspire discussion and moral questions.

Another college student who I’ve been delighted to meet has been Stephanie. Stephanie is a married college student whose husband is doing post-doctorate work in Washington D.C. While he’s down there, Stephanie is here with her friend Robby. She and Robby are sharing a room, which caused our teacher to remark “Muy modern!” ["Very modern!"] They seem well-suited to one another. Stephanie is very self-assured and gregarious, while Robby is shy and appears to be somewhat insecure.

Like some insecure people I know, Robby is able to compensate by doing some things that more secure people would never do. One time while he was taking a shower, Sabrina’s roommate Erin stole all of his clothing except for one sock. Robby put on the sock (and not on a foot), walked over to Erin’s room, and started having a conversation. When Erin (a bit flustered at this point) didn’t produce the clothes, Robby decided that he didn’t need the sock any more. Robby removed, and the clothes appeared.

The other day in class, Stephanie told us she had had the most embarrassing dream. It was completely embarrassing, she said, and then she proceeded to tell us all what she’d dreamt. She and Robby had decided that they were both so horny after being in Mexico for two weeks that they were going to have sex. Soon Stephanie had her hand around Robby’s cock, and was pleased to report to all of us that she couldn’t get her hand all of the way around. Unfortunately, Robby then told her that he had ‘genetic genital herpes’, and Stephanie called off the assignation. End of dream.

A few weeks ago, Stephanie came down with something very bad. She had a fever, and (this is from her) had ‘fountain of ass’ out of one end while vomiting into a wastebasket from the other. During her more lucid moments, she studied how to say ‘I hate Mexico!’ in Spanish, and started writing a letter to the president berating him for the country’s sanitation standards.

The adults are much more reserved, and therefore not as fun. They don’t talk about slutting it up in the zocalo, or about Robby’s big penis (veracity as yet unconfirmed, but Brian, you would find him very cute.) This doesn’t mean they’re boring. Ana, who I took a massage with, is anything but boring. But they’re not going to talk about the stupid things they’ve done, or how horny they’ve gotten. Naturally, I prefer hanging out with the college students.

It seems like most of the adults I’ve met here have been teachers. Ana is a teacher of ESL (English as a Second Language) in Fort Worth. For 3 days last week, we had a teacher from San Diego in our class. She and I got into a big debate about bilingual education (she against, me for.) Then she disappeared. Her young daughter wasn’t happy in Oaxaca, and I expect she returned to the states. Today I met two more teachers, these from Oakland. They were both charming, and I hope to spend a little more time with them this week. I expect that Oaxaca appeals to teachers because 1) they can deduct travel expenses as work-related, and 2) it’s cheap.

I haven’t spoken much about the folks associated with school groups. Since they come to Oaxaca with classmates and teachers, they tend to keep to their groups. They take tours organized for their groups, rather than joining the general school tours. This is one of the dangers we face on Caravana Pan-Americana. It will be easy to spend all of our time with one another. People on the trip will soon become predictable, known, and comfortable to one another. Cliche though it may be, this is the adventure of a lifetime for many of us. It’s not about being comfortable. It’s about each one of us challenging ourselves, and part of that is reaching outside the group to meet new people, make new friends, and experience new things.

Ron

Me levanté a las ocho, y me duché. Después, fui al restaurante ‘La Olla’ y desayuné. Comí un plato de enchiladas oaxaque“os con pollo y tortillas. Tambien bebí un vaso de jugo ‘vampiro’, una combinacion de los jugos de zanahoria, betabel, apio, y naranja.

[I got out of bed at 8 in the morning, and showered. Afterwards, I went to the restaurant 'La Olla' to eat breakfast. I ate a plate of Oaxacan Enchiladas with chicken (and black mole) as well as tortillas. I also drank a glass of Vampiro juice, a combination of carrot, beet, celery, and orange juices.]

A las diez, mi amigo Victor, un taxista, me condujo a Arrozola, un pueblo muy famoso for los alebrijes. Por una hora, caminé las calles de Arrozola, visitando los artistas y mirando la vista. Arrozola esta debajo de Monte Alban, y los ruinas son muy conspicu sobre de las colinas al lado del pueblo.

[At ten in the morning, my friend Victor, a taxi driver, drive me to Arrozola, a pueblo very famous for figures of wood. For an hour, I walked the streets of Arrozola, visiting the artists and looking at the view. Arrozola is below Monte Alban, and the ruins are very conspicuous on top of the hills next to the town.]

A la una y media, regresé a mi casa, y después fui de compras por un regalo para mis parientes. No encontré nada, pero encontré una amiga de clase, Ana (del masaje mexicano.) Charlabamos con Ana por un rato cuando nosotros encontramos mi amiga Sabrina. Después, Sabrina y yo fuimos a comer en un restaurante italiano. Tomé una litro de limonada y comí una bruchetta con anchoas. Fue un comida ligera.

[At 1:30, I returned to my home, and afterwards went shopping for a gift for my in-laws. I didn't find anything, but I met a friend from class, Ana (of the mexican massage.) I was chatting with Ana for a while when we met my friend Sabrina. Afterwards, Sabrina and I went to eat in an italian restaurant. I drank a liter of lemonade and ate a bruchetta with anchovies. It was a light lunch.]

A las cuatro y media en la tarde, tomé una siesta porque hacía mucho calor, y estaba c¤modo debajo del ventilador sobre el techo.

[At 4:30 in the afternoon, I took a siesta. It was very hot, and it was comfortable under the fan on the ceiling.]

A las siete en la tarde, fui al café de internet y leí mis emails. Después, regresé a mi apartamiento y hice un orden por una pizza con pi“a y peperoni para teléfono. ¡Qué adventura! Ahora, espero para mi novio llamar por teléfono. Echo de menos a Dan.

[At 7 in evening, I went to the internet cafe and read my emails. Afterwards, I returned to my apartment and made an order for pizza with pepperoni and pineapple by telephone. What an adventure! Now, I am waiting for my boyfriend to call. I miss Dan.]

The rest is going to be in English, because I’m tired.

I was supposed to meet a teacher from school at 10:30pm. We were going to visit Oaxaca’s major gay bar together. At around midnight, I realized he wasn’t going to show so I went to bed. I didn’t want to go to a strange bar alone. But then I tossed and turned. I was being a wimp. Whenever my mind doesn’t want to do something, I try to figure out why. In this case, I felt it was a fear of trying new things. A fear is like a challenge to me. I got up, got dressed, and went.

The bar is called ’502′, and is the only true ‘gay bar’ in the U.S. sense in town. It’s very different, though, from San Francisco. First, you walk up to a doorway. Outside the door is a padlocked grating of iron bars. You reach through the bars and ring the doorbell. A small window opens in the door, and the guard checks you out. He then opens the door, checks you out again, and unlocks the padlock with a key. After you’ve passed through the doorway, the iron bars are once again padlocked shut behind you. All of the windows have locked iron bars. If the building were to burn, there would be no way out.

Once inside, you pay a $20 peso cover, plus $10 pesos for your first beer. You’re then frisked for weapons and allowed to enter the bar.

At midnight, people were just starting to arrive. The place had an empty, expecting feel. I collected my Dos Equis, found an empty table, and started to drink. Around me couples and groups of friends chatted. One guy was making eyes at me, but I wasn’t interested. Why was I here?

I started looking around. The walls were covered with some sort of silver metalic paper. There was one poster of the beatles, and four (!) of Marilyn Monroe. In the other room was a poster of a male torso. By all American standards, this place was seedy.

After 10 minutes I finished my beer and left. I’m sorry it wasn’t a fun, happy bar. I wish it were, but it wasn’t. It was sad. When I remember my gay experiences in Oaxaca, I’ll remember the Zapotec fiesta, which was happening and very gay in all senses of the word.

I got home at 1pm. The night was still warm. I cranked up the ceiling fan and slept. At 8am the next morning, I was going on a tour to Teotitlan del Valle.

Ron

On the television at the internet cafe is ‘Celebrity Deathmatch’, in español! This particiular match is between Cheech Marin, Antonio Banderas, and Fidel Castro. It’s pretty amusing. Cheech, after getting beaten severely by Antonio, said “Yo tengo hambre!” and went off for munchies. Meanwhile Fidel stands in the corner smoking a cigar.

Last weekend, I took a tour with the institute. We went to Mitla, a large indigenous market, and the Tule tree.

Mitla is an archeological site. Archeologists believe it was originally designed to be the ‘city of the dead’. In Zapotec tradition, bodies are buried in stages. The bodies of important persons (probably priests) from Monte Alban were brought to Mitla, where they were entombed for 7 years. After seven years, the bones were removed, painted red, and decorated with jewelry and masks. They were then reburied at Monte Alban.

When the civilization at Monte Alban started declining, the population center in the valley switched to Mitla. Construction continued on the complex for ~44 generations, and was still underway the Spanish arrived. The Spanish immediately built 2 catholic churches using the Mitla buildings as foundations and building material and started teaching the locals to disrespect the old ways. The temples of Mitla began being used as granaries and barns, and many were disassembled and the stones used elsewhere.

Since Mitla was always in use, it was not a ‘ruin’ per se. Only 20% of the site is restored… the rest was still standing at it’s original height when archeological work began.

The construction is amazing. The walls are built in levels. The first level above the foundation leans inwards, and the 2 levels above this lean outwards.There is no mortar used between the stones. Since the Oaxacan valley has always been an active earthquake zone, the stones are allowed to float on one another, flexing and moving with the earth. When archeologists first started working on the site, they added concrete to some walls to ‘stablize’ them. The effect was that the huge stone lintels across the tops of the doorways almost immediately cracked.

The walls are entirely decorated in pattered panels. The patterns are not carved into a single block of stone. Rather, the patterns are a mosaic of stones, each laid upon its neighbors and extending a foot into the wall from either side. I was amazed that this could be done without computers… the patterns and the work involved is amazing. (Looking at the work in the patterns one can easily imagine 44 generations of Mitlans working on these edifices.)

After Mitla, we went to a nearby indigenous market. The market filled the streets of the pueblo, and seemed to go on forever, a maze of commerce. You could buy shoes, pants, tapetes [rugs], traditional embroidered shirts, Levis, and bootleg music for every taste. I’ve never seen so many doomed chickens and turkeys in my life, carried under arms or swung by the legs. Kids tugged their parents towards tables of toys, and burros pulled carts filled with baskets of herbs through the crowds.

At one point I took a wrong turn and ended up in the hall of meat sellers. If you ever want to convince someone to become a vegetarian, take them to a meat market in Mexico. Women sat behind tables piled high with animal parts, whipping the tables every few moments to keep the flies from settling. The hall reeked of decomposing flesh. Alone one entire row women hacked at chickens with machetes, an irregular faltering heartbeat for the room. I tried to defocus my eyes, ignore the scent, and find the nearest exit.

More wandering. Carved figures, copper pots, carved wooden yokes for oxen, dogs, burros, and pottery. Scarfs, tablecloths, and other textiles. The only thing I bought was a small bag of potato chips covered in salsa for $3 pesos (USD$0.30). They were delicious… warm and spicy.

Lastly we went to the Tule tree. Named after the pueblo in which it resides, the Tule tree is a water cypress. The normal life span for this sort of tree is 500 years, and the Tule tree has been ring-dated at over 2,000 years. It’s huge. The trunk is 40′ in diameter, twisted, irregular, and beautiful. The tree is entirely covered by a huge green mass of foliage, easily double the size of the church built by Spaniards nearby.

Boys 5 and 6 years old from the village dress in green sweaters and act as unofficial tour guides, telling tourists that an elephant can be seen in this knoll, and a witch in that one over there. They drone on, describing very imaginary features of the tree, and then hold out their hand for a tip.

Ron

[Last Saturday, I went to a party. It was a Zapotec party. The Zapotec culture is a matriarchical culture. The wives work, and the husbands stay in the house, clean, and take care of the children. It's a very interesting culture, and very different from American culture. In an ancient tradition, women would given 'toloache' to their husbands to make them 'numb'. Afterwards, their husbands would only be good in the bedroom.]

En este cultura cuándo un muchacho annuncia que el es gay a célebre. Es similar a muchos culturas de los indios americanos, antes de le religión de Christo.

[In this culture when a teenage boy announces that he is gay it is celebrated. It's similar to many of the cultures of native americans, before Christianity.]

La fiesta estuvo por uno grupo de los gays Zapotecas. Estuve muchos hombres con pantalones negros y guayaveras blancas. Las mujeres y los travestidos llevaron los vestidos con muchos colores y muchas flores bordado. Ellas son muchas bonitas.

[The fiesta was for a group of gay Zapotecs. There were many men with black pants and white 'guayaveras' (a traditional shirt). The women and the transvestites wore dresses with many colors and many embroidered flowers. There were very pretty.]

Whoo, enough Spanish for now, though those of you who speak the language may have noticed that I’m learning the pretérito, or past tense. (Yay! Enough of living for today!)

This party was known as a ‘Yelas Istmeñas’, and is a traditional party for the Zapotecs of the Mexican isthmus region. Though the party began at 8pm, everyone started arriving at around 10. The ‘salon de fiesta’ had only one narrow door in and out, and everyone (men and women) pushed and shoved their way to the head of the line. Folks were allowed into the hall in small groups. To be admitted to the fiesta, it was necessary to purchase a case of beer (for $70 pesos.) This case was the cost of admittance. You then gave this case to the person who invited you. They, in turn, gave out beers and food to their friends during the evening. I believe that the remaining beer was sold after the fiesta to raise money for whatever cause each individual person was promoting.

There was lots of dancing, followed by a procession of the ‘mejordomo’ and her royal court. I believe that during the evening, a new queen was selected. She was accompanied by a gentleman who earlier in the evening had introduced himself to me as ‘la puta madre’ [the whore mother] of my friend David. Two live bands played, folks danced and drank, and it was a great party. When I left at one, it was still going strong.

Ron

Today was a long day. I didn’t sleep last night at all. I tossed and turned all night with stomach cramps, getting up hourly to visit the baño [toilet]. It was not a pleasant night. This morning, I went to class against my better judgement, because I was so proud de mi composición por mi tarea [of my composition for my homework]. Está lo es [this is it]:

r: Buenas tarde. Quiero comprar una vaca.
[Good afternoon. I want to buy a cow.]

t: Si señor. Esa vaca negra es buena.
[Yes sir. This black cow is good.]

r: ¡Pero ésa no tiene una ubre! Quiero leche, no quiero carne.
[But that one doesn't have an udder! I want milk, I don't want meat.]

t: No, señor, ésa tiene una ubre, pero es pequeña por que ésa chupo esta mañana.
[No, sir, that one has an udder, but it's small because that one was milked this morning.]

r: Si, si, me gusta aquella vaca con una ubre muy grande.
[Yes, yes, I want that cow over there with a really big udder.]

t: ¡Señor, aquélla es mi esposa!
[Mister, that one over there is my wife!]

Not Shakespeare, but I was rather proud of it.

Anyhow, I was in class just long enough to turn in my homework before I decided that being there was a really bad idea. So I went home and slept.

This afternoon, Ana and I were signed up for a traditional steam and massage. After sleeping for a few hours, I felt much better, so I went.

A moment to describe Ana. She’s in her early sixties, from El Paso Texas, and full of life. The more I learn about her the more I like her. She has an eye for art, and knows the stories of various artists. She pronounces spanish like she’s calling a square dance, and I’m amazed that the teachers can understand her. The other day she was walking my my house looking for a B&B called ‘Las Bugambilias’ (mentioned earlier.) I knew where it was, so I offered to walk her down there. When we got there, she told me she was going to do a traditional mexican massage. When she found out that the masseurs were capable of doing two people at the same time, she asked me along, and I agreed.

So Ana and I are in a cab heading of to this place, and we have absolutely no idea of what to expect. The cab dropped us off in a cul-de-sac with 6 doorways, none of them marked in any way whatsoever. We knocked on the most ‘professional’ looking one, and the lady who answered directed us to the next door down, which looked just like someone’s house. We rang the bell, and an elderly lady in an embroidered white dress answered. She looked confused for a moment, but then let us in.

Entering the garden was like stepping into a new-age retreat in Sedona, Arizona. The garden was huge, and full of equal numbers of flowers and butterflys. Two hammocks swung invitingly on the veranda, and we were invited to rest in them while our baño was prepared.

After about ten minutes, we were taken to a small log house in the corner of the garden. The interior was lit with candles, and decorated with altarpieces and pictures of the Virgin. We were given bedsheets, and retreated to our separate alcoves to remove out clothes and wrap ourselves in the sheets. When we were changed, one of the elderly ladies entered and opened a little door on on side of the room.

The door led to a small room, perhaps 8 feet square and only 4 feet high. We crawled in and settled ourselves seated cross-legged against one wall. In one corner was a small brick pit filled with hot rocks and topped with red tiles. There were also two buckets of water and a huge pile of green herbs.

Once we were settled, the señora explained that we were to meditate for 10 minutes, and then the other señora would enter. She left, closed the door, and turned off the light. We were left to sweat in the dark. When you’re in the dark with your thoughts and oppressive heat, 10 minutes is a long time. I breathed in and out, trying to meditate but only managing to conjugate spanish to myself over and over.

Finally the door opened and the more elderly woman entered. She was wearing a white dress and a white cloth draped over her head. She brought in a single candle and closed the door.

Next she took half of the herbs, dunked them into the buckets of water, and through them onto the hot tiles. When this was done, she poured an additional bowlful of water over the tiles. The room immediately got *much* hotter, and started smelling strongly of parsley. We sat there, breathing in and out, not saying anything. I was sweating heavily, which I guess is the point.

After a while, she took the herbs off of the hot stones and put them off to the side, replacing them with the other half of the herbs and more water. When the herbs had cooled enough, she took a bunch and started flagellating us with them, saying some sort of prayer (I didn’t catch it, but I heard ‘cuerpo’ and ‘espiritu’ ['body' and 'soul'].) When we were thoughoughly whipped, she put one hot bunch of herbs between our back and the wall, another in our lap, and another against our chest. I felt like a salad.

We sat there, marinating, for the remainder of an hour. Occasionally the señora would replace the herbs with new bunches freshly warmed from the fire. Occasionally she would open one of the little doors and let in a cool breeze.

Finally, after an hour, our herbs were taken away. She filled her bowl from the bucket and began pouring the water over our heads, back, and shoulders. The water was warm, and felt fantastic. We were soaking wet, and clean.

We were given a new cloth to wipe ourselves with, and I dried and (this was tricky) wrapped myself in the new cloth, discarding the old. I crawled out of the room, and was given yet another sheet to wear, which I wrapped around myself. Ana and I then lay side-by-side on our backs, just resting for ten minutes or so.

Finally the massage started. It was a pretty normal massage, albeit complete. Every part of me was kneaded and stretched, from my feet to my hair. At one point the señora was kneeling on my butt working on my back with her hands. My hands, my feet (mmmmmmm), and my ears were all worked on. After an hour of this I was a pudding.

It was an amazing experience. Not always comfortable, but the sort of experience that I’m glad I had.

Particulars:

Temazcal
Contact: Mariana E Arroyo
Claudia Cabrera
Reforma 402
C.P. 68000 Centro
Oaxaca, OAX
Mexico

+52 (951) 611 65
(email hidden in RSS feeds)

Ron

En Mexico, martes decimotercero es mal suerte, no como los Estados Unis, donde es viernes decimotercero. [In Mexico, Tuesday the 13th is bad luck, not like the United States, where it is Friday the 13th.] For me, however, it was a fairly good day. I did fairly well in classes, though no one guessed the movies I was describing. I can understand them missing “El Cocinero, El Ladrón, Su Esposo, y Su Amante”, but “Como Agua Para Chocolate”? Let’s see if you could have figured it out from the clues:

Es una pelicula de cocina y amor. En esta pelicula, un muy bonita mujere corre en el desierto sin ropas. Estan muchos revolutionarios, y una de las hermanas es la amante de uno revolutionario. En una escena, el primero personaje cocina con las lagrímas.

It turns out that no one in class had seen the film!

I also realized today that I know enough español to ask my landlady (propietaria) if another room in the compound was available, and then ask her if it would be possible to switch. She agreed. This other room has a balcony off of the second floor bedroom, which will be very nice for a breeze at night. It also has a ceiling fan and the most incredible stone walls. I recommend this place for renting furnished apartments:

La casa de los abuelos [Grandparents' house]
Reforma 410 C.P. 68000
Centro Histórico
Oaxaca, Oax. México
+52 (951) 61982

Rosa C. Arroyo Núñez, Manager

These apartments couldn’t be better located. They’re about a block from the magnificent Iglesia de Santo Domingo. That’s a bit of a problem, as for some reason *huge* firecrackers are going off in the churchyard pretty much any time of the day or night. 6am, 11pm, anytime. Others have heard them at 3 in the morning, but I’m a heavy sleeper. I’ve been told by one person that this is a year-round thing, and by another that it occurs solamente en junio [only in June]. These are *big* firecrackers. Think small dynamite.

If you’re not easily excitable, I heartily recommend this place. It’s costing me $4000 pesos for a month, or about US$400 at today’s exchange rate. The place is fully furnished, including utensils, cooking pots, a range and refrigerator (though no oven), sheets and towels. The art on the walls is above-average.

Just down the street is a wonderful bed and breakfast. I’m not staying there, but I took a look and it’s very charming. I’d definitely stay there for a romantic week in Oaxaca:

Las Bugambilias
Reforma 402 C.P. 68000
Centro, Oaxaca, Oax., México
+52 (951) 611 65
(email hidden in RSS feeds)

There are many places around town where you can get your car washed, as well as several secure car parks that I’ve spotted. The majority of the vehicles parked on the street have a ‘club’ of some sort affixed to the steering wheel. Traffic lights definitely seem advisory, though most people seem to pay attention. Yesterday I actually saw someone getting pulled over, for going the wrong way down a one-way street.

Parked in front of my house the other way was a beautiful red-and-white split-window bus. Painted on the side were the words ‘Der Doktor’. Unfortunately no one was around, so I couldn’t get the story.

Ron

Estuve tomando las fotos esta tarde cuándo comenzó a llover. [I was taking photos this afternoon when it began to rain.] Llueve esta tarde en junio en Oaxaca. [It rains every afternoon in June in Oaxaca.] I got under an overhang and waited it out. Normalmente [Usually] the rains last 20-30 minutes tops, and those who don’t have a place to be wait them out. Unfortunately I was in the middle of nowhere, but there was una cochera agradable [a nice driveway] to wait in. Since many of the buildings here are built as compounds, the driveways enter through a tunnel into the central courtyard.

Walking this morning, I saw another Vanagon, this time a white, air-cooled passenger camioneta [van]. It was right outside my door, and I got so excited that I ran back a mi apartamiento and grabbed mi cámara. (I’ll send the picture separately to post on the web site.) Dos Vanagons en una semana!

Once you get out of the centro [central district], the streets become a twisty maze, with streets of rough cobbles. I came across a district election office, and two soldiers were standing in the door, one holding a huge automatic rifle. I was about 6 feet away when I saw the gun, and I wondered if the soldier would see the black tripod slung under my arm, think it was a gun, and panic. Of course that didn’t happen, but my heart did speed up considerably.

The walls of many of the houses are adobe, a type of mud sun-baked and cut into bricks. After the wall is completed, it is plastered, which gives protection against the rains. Further protection is given by overhanging eaves. When the plaster is allowed to deteriorate, the wall quickly follows. In the poorer neighborhoods, the tops of the walls are exposed and irregular, with plants growing from the exposed adobe.

There is also an alarming amount of graffiti in the poorer neighborhoods. The tagging style is amazingly similar to that of the states… semi-artistic squiggles identifying an individual. Unfortunately people in the poor neighborhoods probably can’t afford to repair the damage, and it builds up. You see much less graffiti in centro.

I saw two Mormons today. They both looked mexicano, but I didn’t ask. I wondered how Elijah is doing on his mission in Phoenix. In case you’re wondering, Mormons in méxico look the same… white shirt, black name badges, black pants, and in a pair. I didn’t look close enough to see how ‘Elder’ is translated.

Tomorrow I start my second week of classes. After one week, I feel like I haven’t really learned anything. I know that’s not true, but a language is a huge thing, and I’m starting to realize how much there is to learn. One month is hardly enough to speak fluently. I’m still hoping that my month in mexico will give me the foundation for further absorption and volcabulary-building on the Caravana.

Ron

The internet is big down here. There is literally an internet cafe on every corner. Some are tiny… a computer tucked into the corner of a stationery store (tienda del papel). Others are more serious. I’m in a fairly nice place with multiple machines, a cafe serving limonada, and even a technician who speaks english. I suspect that the situation will be every country in South America.

Well, as I was writing this, a huge march is passing by. Led by a brightly colored clown, followed by a tambourine troupe, and then a bunch of kids waving flags. Next come a bunch of kids dressed like mimes, passing out brochures telling me this is una Marcha Para Jesús! Next come a gaggle of grandmothers, a bunch of bicyclists, and lots of pickup trucks with loudspeakers. “Jesús Te Ama!” They’re still passing. There goes another group in purple and white, swinging tambourines…

I see things here that remind me of nightmares. I saw a skinny middle-aged guy sitting on the curb literally sucking the gas fumes out of a pickup truck. It must have got him high, and it was very sad to see. I saw another gentleman walking down the street. After taking a glance at him, I had to look again. Both of his feet were turned straight inwards. He walked fine, but it was strange to see.

Like the United States, folks here tend to be separating into the rich and the poor, and the middle class is dwindling. My spanish teacher confirmed this in class a few days ago, and you can see it in the streets. There are people down here with brand-new Jeep Grand Cherokees, which must cost a fortune, given the cost of living down here. Last time I was down here, Dan and I were sitting eating comida [lunch] in the zocalo, when a group of mexicans bicycled in on state-of-the-art, full-suspension Cannondale mountain bikes. They were all wearing brightly-colored spandex outfits, and it was jarring to see them. It was like seeing a bunch of flamingos in the middle of a flock of chickens.

My grandmother died a few days ago. I loved her very much, and I know she always loved me. She always called me ‘mon petit chou’, which translates to ‘my little cabbage’. She’s been suffering with Alzheimer’s, however, for many years, and I feel like she left us several years ago. Gloria Benjamin was a good, caring woman. She was 92.

La Marcha Para Jesús is still going after 1/2 hour. I uppose Jesús helps these people keep going as well.

Ron

21:00

I was walking home just now de la cena en el zocalo [from dinner in the central square.] Los gentes comen tarde en Oaxaca [Folks eat late in Oaxaca], alrededor de los ochos o los nueves el la noche [at about 8 or 9 in the evening.] Los calles en Oaxaca [The streets in Oaxaca] are paved with a greenish stone, the indigenous stone of the region. Many of the major buildings, the foundains, and the sidewalks are made of this stone, and Oaxaca is sometimes called ‘la ciudad del jade’ ['the city of jade'.]

Enough of the Spanish lesson for now. This is probably getting as tiresome for you as it is for me. (But it’s good practice.)

The Zocalo, even at 11pm on a weekday, is a happening place. Folks eat late dinners. Mariachi bands roam from restaurant to restaurant, playing at a level that is nice from across the zocalo, but painful when beside your table. Young boys go from table to table offering beads, bookmarks of leather and wood, shoe shines, and candy. Teenage boys play guitarra and sing, often fairly well. Tonight one gentleman was singing solo at the top of his voice, which was stunning. He could hold a note for a very long time, and did. He had attracted a large crowd of oaxaceños. In every restaurant, a crowd of men watched the soccer game on the restaurant television. And in one corner of the zocalo, I worked on my homework.

Away from the zocalo, the streets are quiet. The school told women to not walk around after 10pm, and that seems to be the time when folks tend to return home. The cobbles are wet from the afternoon rains we’ve been getting, and occasional couples neck on benches or in doorways.

Oaxaca is growing on me day by day. I have been trying to figure out why, and I think it’s because the city has dignity. Very few people beg per se. A few old women, but most people *do* something for money. Kids sell candy, or shine shoes. There is one entire family where the dad plays the accordion while the kids fan out with cups for money. He plays well, too. I treated myself to a hoeshine, and the kid did a good job… better than I expected. He asked for 7 pesos, and I gave him 10. It’s amazing how good that extra 30 cents made me feel. Benevolence is cheap here.

I’m a big believer in a social safety net, but I think that many people in the United States mistake a safety net for a lifestyle, or they are too mentally ill to know the difference. In the city I call home, you’ll see many people who simply sit around all day, waiting for the next check from the city or the state. A city study found that approximately 2/3 of those on public assistance spend their money on illegal drugs. For some cultural reason I don’t understand, the abject poor here in Oaxaca have much more dignity than most of the folks on the dole in San Francisco.

Strangely enough, I’ve seen ‘Liberdad por Mumia!’ scrawled on walls in three different places around Oaxaca. I can’t quite figure that one out. (Though there are many students from the states here, I can’t imagine them tagging buildings with foot-high red letters.) The culture of the United States is a strange and frightening thing.

Ron

The first day of school was horrible. I felt like we were racing along much too fast for me. I was learning mucho [a lot], but I wasn’t remembering anything. I was filled with anxiety and felt that I would never learn. Quise volver a los Estados Unidos [I wanted to return to the United States.]

Today was better. I felt more comfortable with la conversación, y las clases no estuve demasiado dificil [the conversation and the classes weren't too difficult.]

Pienso que [think that] our trip to South America will be like that. The first few days in Venezuela will be mas dificil [very difficult]. We’ll be confused, we’ll make mistakes. Pero después dos o tres dias [but after two or three days], it will be a lot more comfortable. Within a month, we’ll be ‘old hands’. Granted, each country will present different problems, but I think that the first week we’ll be learning to slow down, how to solve problems, and how to travel.

Ron

Walking to class today for the first time, I passed un joven wearing a ‘Java One’ camiseta. I felt a weird cultural shift… Java One is going on in San Francisco right now.

The first day of classes was exhausting. Tres horas de conferencia, una hora de conversación, comida, y dos otros horas de conversación. Luckily I’m not the stupidest student en clase.

This block was hit hard in the big quake… several people died in the building next door. There is a man working on restoring one of the front rooms of this casa. He’s covered in adobe dust so thick that his skin and hair appears uniformly gray. It’s raining on and off this afternoon. Just now it started again. The workman is slowly coiling a rope, ignoring the rain. I’m watching out the window as the raindrops hit him, one by one. He slowly winds the rope, looking more and more like a silver leopard.

I’m going to do my tarea [homework], eat crepes for dinner, and then take the night off.

Ron