All The World's A Stage.

Let's start with the positives.
Actually, I'm not so sure it's a "positive" but it's not the angry rant that I have brewing in the depths of my soul.

So let's start with something lighter.

Street kids.

They are literally on every street in Oaxaca. Hungry, dirty, hilarious, vivacious, little kids who typically spend their days begging for money.

And occasionally food.

Because I am almost 100% certain they don't get to keep the money they collect, I will not give them any. But food? Always.

If a child asks me for food, I will never say no. Starving or not.
And so today, when Lisa and I were walking to the little park to sit and eat lunch, and this little chico came up alongside us asking for some of our peanuts, we happily obliged.

And I gave him a sucker.
And then a woman passed by, selling alegría and I bought those and gave him that, too.

The look on his face was pure shock. He had only asked for peanuts.
He walked back towards his accordion-playing dad with his hands full, and a spring in his step, and I felt a little better knowing that they'd have something extra to eat today.

- - - - -

Now about that angry rant.

As much as I love Oaxaca - and I really, really love it here - there is one thing that I just can't figure out how to approach: the bounty of unwanted attention.

I can handle the annoying noises.
I just pretend I don't hear them. I keep my head down. I don't make eye contact. I don't say hello.
Well, 88% of the time.

But despite trying to make myself invisible, the fact of the matter is simply that I'm not. And I'm different.

And I'm not sure why, but for some reason my differentness seems to be synonymous with "Hey, complete stranger! Yeah, you! I don't know you but why don't you come talk to me? I'd really love to answer all your really personal questions!"

At least once a day, but usually 2 or 3 times, I am approached by a complete stranger (of the male variety). Sometimes, these conversations are innocent: why are you here, what do you think about Oaxaca?

But more often than not, they go like this:
Them: (catching pace with me) "Hola."
Me: - Looking at them without saying anything. -
Them: Are you here for vacations?
Me: No. I live here.
Them: What do you do?
Me: I have a job. That's why I live here.
Them: Where did you learn Spanish?
Me: Good question.
Them: Where do you live?
Me: Here.
Them: - laughing because I'm being difficult. -
Me: - still walking -
Them: You're really a beautiful woman.

This typically ends in a proposition of some sort. Am I interested in going to a hotel? Do I want to hook up somewhere? Do I live alone?

What I want...is to walk down the street...in peace.

I realize this sounds like a silly thing to continue to be angry about. But, unless you have to deal with it on a regular basis, you don't really get it. A lot of people here don't get it. I was recently walking down the street with a male friend, local to the area, and out of seemingly nowhere he exasperatedly said, "Is this what it's like for you every time you leave the house?"

And all he was witnessing were the stares. I was walking with him, so no one was going to say anything to me.

Before I could answer his question, he answered it himself saying that it's probably 10x worse when I'm by myself, and that he'd never realized it was so bad.

- - - - -

This is the last I'll complain about it for a while. But sometimes it destroys your confidence. It shakes you. It makes you question everything about yourself. The way you're dressed, the way you walk, the way you hold your head up. It makes you hyper aware of everything.

You always have an audience.

But I have found that if you make a really ridiculous face at people when they say something crass, they often don't know what to do with themselves, or how to interact with you.

And it's hilarious.

Benjamin Button

I'm going to go backwards. I'll start with what I did last, and work my way to morning. It's good to change things up I think.

I've just taken a shower.

Francis, Cordelia and I just walked home in the rain. It was a bit chilly, yes, but oddly refreshing. The rain here isn't harsh or aggressive. It's just rain. It's not slanty, like Japan. It's not a downpour, it's not misty and annoying. Just soft, regular rain.

Prior to that, we were in a cafe, but I was feeling quite ill (you know, achy bones and such). Instead of trying to push it and stay out for the night (especially with plans for a long day out tomorrow), getting to our casas seemed like a good plan.

We spent the evening sitting in the Zocalo, people watching. There was a traditional dance competition happening which was fascinating to watch. There are always people selling millions of balloons, scarves, bubbles, flowers, candy and more. Cordelia and I bought memelitas from this cute little family (street vending) and they were so amazingly tasty. And when I say "Cordelia and I bought" them, I mean I had mine paid for by a Mexican man who thought I was beautiful. He wanted to be my tour guide around Mexico.

It was only 10 pesos, but it was 10 pesos I didn't have to pay.

Francis ended up eating elote. So, the three of us with our food just hung out and took some time to recognize how fortunate we are in our own lives. It was a lovely moment. Which we totally deserved because we spent the earlier part of the afternoon at Cafe Brujula, studying our Spanish.

The street artist we met before in the Zocalo (the one from earlier posts) showed up there as well, and we had a little chat. But the majority of the rest of the time was spent practicing, teaching, and speaking Spanish. Francis came up with a clever way to remember when to use "estos, esos, aquellos" and we learned from his audio book that "go go" verbs (tengo) go "ga ga" (tenga) when put into the imperative.

But before all the fun we had practicing our Spanish at the cafe, Francis and I were at the organic market! It's quite small, but definitely awesome. I was able to get just over an 8 oz cup's worth of pomegranate seeds for 10 pesos. To put that into perspective, 20 pesos isn't even 2 dollars - it's closer to $1.50. So I paid about 78 cents.

I also bought an amazing scarf for 80 pesos and 2 little bracelets for 30 pesos. There were a million other things I wanted to buy, too, but decided to wait until next week. I did, however, inquire as to how one might get their hands on a poncho for a certain-about-to-be-born-baby-moses-maurer.

And it's a good thing I ate a hearty breakfast this morning, because I was in full-on Spanish mode at the market. I definitely wouldn't have been able to operate without Martita's miracle enchiladas. This morning, two other women joined me and my host mother for breakfast. They all talked about how the boys their daughters want to marry are usually not very motivated, unemployed, dropouts, etc. In Mexico, you don't get married without the permission of your parents. Paula (host mom) talked about how she'd rejected at least two guys for her daughter.

That's serious business.

Almost as serious as the fact that last night, I dreamt in Spanish. When I woke up this morning, I was definitely super excited about it.

And tonight, I'm super excited for tomorrow. We'll take a cab to Mitla, play there, and then - in the bed of a truck - be carted up to some water falls (Hierve El Agua). Hooray for adventures!!

A Feeling, Not a Word.

My morning started with a multivitamin. And breakfast. A breakfast made for the gods...no - by a god(dess).

Seriously. I sat at the table with a glass of orange juice, a plate of sliced bananas and watched as Martita made tortillas filled with squash flowers. She even sauteed the squash and some carrots for me. She plated it beautifully and it tasted like Heaven.

Like. Heaven.

My host father was sitting at the table, and he chuckled over my joy. Food. He complimented Martita, and I stuffed my face. We eventually talked un poco de topics like familia (family), amigos (friends), y cosas mas politicas (more political things). We talked about globalization, cheap products, the destruction of communities...you know. The things people talk about over breakfast.

During that conversation, I found out Renee (host dad) is a retired architect. He built this house about 30 years ago and they've lived in it ever since. The house is amazing, and my windows are soundproof to the point that they keep 90% of the noises out. I've also got this amazing bathtub in my bathroom, but I can't use the tub because there's not enough water to fill it without depleting a huge chunk of the supply.

I also found out he owns a small ranch/orchard with orange and lime trees. Awesome. And that all of his siblings are dead now except for 2. Not as awesome.

Anyway, around 10:00 AM I met up with my british friend. Being my dad's daughter, I had already made us a few plans. We went to an art museum (pictures will be on Facebook) with all sorts of ancient art(ifacts). We enjoyed the exhibits there for a while, and then meandered down the street to a beautiful church with a nice courtyard.

Beautiful doesn't really being to describe it, though. It's strange, because when you're looking at these things - churches, artifacts, fountains - it's more of a feeling than anything else. It's a physical response, an interaction with it.

Adjectives don't work.

After that, we wandered into the Zocalo, and over to Lobo Azul. It's as though this place was built with the knowledge that someday I would visit. The first thing I saw was a side-bag/satchel/purse with a woman in a red bandana stamped with EZLN on it.

I don't need to say much more than that. I think you know, based on this alone, I felt I'd come exactly to the right spot. I ordered memelas and lemonade. The lemonade was hand-squeezed and delivered in a measuring cup!

After that, activities included sitting in a park, me fawning over every dog that walked by, going to the corner store and buying little snacks, dropping our snacks off at our homes, looking for a place with wifi and failing, but finding this really cool rooftop restaurant/cafe.

Seriously. This place is gold. From the roof there is a fantastic view of the city around us. I was so sucked in by this view - and distracted by good conversation - that I really wasn't aware of the ice in my drink until I started drinking it. Mi amigo (my friend) and I decided that it was best that I just fish the ice out, and then we chuckled at the fact that my fingers were probably dirtier than the ice could have been to begin with.

So, I potentially drank tap-water ice. But I kind of doubt it. My host family doesn't drink from the tap, so I assume that most people don't use the tap for that kind of stuff....?

Anyway, we enjoyed it there...but then we moved to the Zocalo for the evening - and we're lucky we did!! Apparently, Sunday nights are really really lively. There was an epic Edward Scissorhands "actor" - he even had a red chair and pretended to cut hair for people! There were these giant people-puppets that just walked through...and other fascinating street performers. There is always music playing in the Zocalo as well - and it felt very surreal.

Everything happening felt other-worldly. Especially this moment where we happened upon another church courtyard (in the Zocalo) and people were tossing these large, air-filled, decorated tubes. But they just kind of float, and they're long and straight. Music was playing, people were everywhere, and these tubes were just kind of floating about.

It sounds silly. It wasn't. It was a feeling, again, I guess.
The closest thing I can compare it to is a scene out of Big Fish. And that's not even right. Or fair.

I feel like I should have more to say, but all we really did was take everything in. We sat. We watched. We chatted. We ate. We listened. We wondered.

Tomorrow, classes begin - routine! Homework! Hopefully, my Spanish (and confidence) improve 10-fold. I'm tired of this plateau I've come up against.

Until tomorrow, folks!