Can't Let a Cold Slow Me Down

I think I've eaten potato chips or french fries every day this week.
The people who sell them on the street must sprinkle crack on them.

Tomorrow, I will not eat potato chips or french fries.
I will not.

And, I think I live here now...because there are two places in the city where people know me (and my preferences) by name. This morning, I walked into Cafe Brujula - I haven't been for like 4 or 5 days - and they all cheered.

I guess they missed me.

And then, this evening, when I walked into the taco place, the chef just looked at me and put 4 fingers in the air (as in "would you like 4 tacos?") and started making them. He even put fresh avocado in them.

I think that means I'm eating too many tacos.
But, a girl's gotta eat.

And I must live here, because I'm not afraid to talk to people in Spanish on the street. And because I know what's a fair price and what's a price gouge. And I bought a book in Spanish. And I have an apartment.

Yep, today, I got my own apartment - right near the Zocalo!

But before I secured a place to live for the next month, I had a super-fun day with Francis and Thora. We walked through a massive book festival in the Zocalo (which I was basically drooling over) and then I bought some potato chips and then we asked about 400 people for directions to a place to catch a bus to Monte Alban.

Eventually, and kind of by accident, we found the place and (after buying water and advil) made our way up there. The road to Monte Alban is ridiculous. It winds and curves and twists and narrows and makes you sick and scared and astonished all at once.

Think knight-bus from Harry Potter meets cat-bus from Totoro, and then put it in Mexico.

I would be terrified to drive here. It's really scary.
A few times, I was certain the vehicle would flip right over the mountain. Right over the edge.

Obviously, that didn't happen.
Instead, we made it up the mountain alive - and walked up a ways further - and passed all the street vendors (maybe we stopped to try on hats) - and made our way to the ticket counter where I tried to convince him to let us in for free (as we are all students at a school in Oaxaca, and students with ID get in free)....but we didn't have ID (because the school doesn't issue IDs).

So we bought our tickets and went in.
There is something about mountain air, and about getting out and away from the noise of the city...

Monte Alban (an archeological site that is said to be one of the earliest cities in Mesoamerica --- about 500 BCish) is a beautiful place. Right now, because of the rainy season (which hasn't totally ended yet), everything is amazing and green. The view from the top of the mountain is - in a really cliche way - absolutely breathtaking.

Or maybe that's just the altitude reminding me I'm far above sea level (after climbing the steepest stairs ever).

And, not surprisingly, I found myself contemplating my own existence as I walked on the proof of others...and Thora and Francis and I engaged in a conversation about the current year/dating system (A.C. and B.C.) and existence and evidence and Stonehenge and Easter Island.

After ooh-ing and aww-ing and dodging one of my many new "friends" (I'm really good at making unsolicited friends wherever we go) we returned to our beloved city, bought french fries, ate tacos, hung out at Billy's house and went our separate ways for the evening.

I viewed an apartment.
Now, I'm contemplating the packing I should be doing...and wondering if I ought to take a taxi to my new place.

Oh, and I'm blowing my nose a lot because I have a terrible cold.
Booooo!

Days of the Dead

This post is a two-in-one, since I didn't get to post yesterday (the festivities required my full attention). So, fasten your seatbelts. I have a lot to say.

It feels like Christmas.

That probably sounds weird, but it's the truth. I woke up yesterday at 6 AM to the garbage man ringing his jingle-bells and made my way to the kitchen (today, too) to a table of bread and orange juice and hot chocolate and tea and water and the magical foods Martita makes. If you know my family, you know Christmas means hot chocolate, orange juice, bread...

It feels like Christmas. Or family. 

It feels important. 

It is important.
In fact, nothing is more important than this. You'll have to figure out why on your own someday.

There is a beauty in the Day of the Dead that I haven't experienced in any capacity in any way near to what I've been feeling and experiencing these last few days. It is inspiring. It is comforting. It's community, tradition. It's perfect.

It's perfect.

The city is buried in millions of flowers. The city is buried in Day of the Dead bread. The city is buried in sugar skulls, chocolate, mezcal and comparsas. Yesterday after classes, Francis and Thora and I went to the panteon here in the city. It was dark and beautiful, and the care and affection of family and friends towards their loved ones was made evident by the elaborate and ample offerings of gifts. This cemetery had a few walking tourist-tours, which made me a little annoyed. But the overall experience was a good one, which left me pumped for the rest of the night.

After the panteon in the centro, my schoolmate-friends and I took cabs from el centro to Xoxo to visit two more panteones (cemeteries). I told my Spanish jokes to the cab driver. He laughed harder than anyone ever has laughed at my jokes.

Anyway, it's very important that there are two panteones in Xoxo. One of them is very old. The other is "new." The experience of the Day of the Dead in the new panteon is a even mix of authentic and commercial. When there are port-a-potties and 15+ street food options, you know that there must be a lot of visitors around.

In the new panteon, people sat and stood everywhere. People lit candles, cried, laughed, danced, sung. There was a band playing on the far right side, and we went to listen. As suddenly as I appeared in the area, I was swept off to dance by an older Honduran man. His accent was really hard to understand, by the way. After that, we encountered a man who invited us to hear about his experience with Day of the Dead. He told us of his baby daughter, of the comfort there is to be found in remembering the lives of others with others. He said that, for as long as he could remember, there had always been vendors in the panteon, selling cotton candy and chips.

He didn't like the commercial aspect of it. It's a beautiful thing to want to experience and adopt the traditions of others, but you shouldn't expect them to alter or be catered to you. You embrace it, or you are best to leave it alone.

I didn't like the commercial aspect either. I didn't like that so many of the spectators of this tradition chose to pre-grame heavily with alcohol. How can you appreciate a tradition, a culture, an experience if you are too drunk to walk in a straight line? Yes. This is a celebration. A celebration you must be present for.

I heard someone say tonight that they were bored last night. That is because you cannot enjoy something you are not present for.

I was far from bored. I was in awe, in shock, in wonder; I was annoyed at the disrespect and lacking of understanding bleeding from the pores of idiots. I was stopped in my tracks and humbled by forgotten graves. By the evidence of class differences even after death. I was encouraged and surprised by peoples willingness to share their stories.

It was much easier to get to hear peoples stories after separating myself from the larger group.
When you are 1 or 2 people, other people will feed you candied pumpkin and ponche. They'll let you use their bathrooms, explain traditions to you, tell you stories...

Learning experiences. Teachable moments.

There was a second panteon. The old one. I much, much preferred it to the other one. There were families there, but there were no vendors. There weren't any tourists because there wasn't a giant party happening. And who wants to watch people practicing their traditions?

That's obviously so boring. ^^^
Let me stop to roll my eyes now.

There is nothing boring about something as beautiful as this. In the old cemetery, a very old chapel had crumbled. The graves are wonky and hodge podge because they've shifted. And no one was forgotten. Every grave had a flower, even if it was only one.

It is obviously a place where everyone gets taken care of. Including the gringa (me). Over these last few days, if people have anything to offer - they offer it. Even to me. The outsider. If their comparsa stops in the street and they have food, their food becomes our food. When the music starts, and the dancing begins, everyone dances. Spectating is allowed, but participation is much more desired and encouraged.

Something I've continuously felt while being here is "taken care of." I'm surrounded by people who take care of one another, and when I'm here "one another" includes me. I have more words I want to say about this, but I don't want to ruin it. I don't want to dissect it.

Today was probably too exciting for my own good. I woke up at 7, ready to eat breakfast and go to school....running on 3.5 hours of sleep. Strangely, I had enough energy to engage in class (I even wrote a poem for someone for their birthday) and to celebrate with the school after class.

And boy what a celebration we had. I can't tell you what happened in full detail because you'd be ashamed and jealous all at once.
I will tell you that we made a video, and you'll probably be able to put the pieces together. 

I had a lot of fun. I danced a lot.
I talked to many people.
I wore a mask.
I climbed a tree with a child.
I laid on a bench. I laid on a ledge. I laid in a tree. I laid on the sidewalk in front of the school.

Eventually, I went home and slept for a little over an hour. But only because I needed more energy for more partying! Luckily, we just had a chill little get together at the hostel where an older Iranian man wrote something beautiful in Farsi on my arm.

Then we went into town to enjoy the festivities in the streets.
Then I came home and failed to put it adequately into words.

Bolsa Chica - Papas Fritas

There are currently 4 other students living here now, in addition to myself. And I'm pretty sure the longer I stay, the worse my Spanish gets.

That's a lie. I'm just hyper aware of all the mistakes I'm making. I need to get over the fear.
That's why I'm staying much longer than anticipated.
Don't freak out.
I'll come back.
Probably.

This morning started with tortillas and potatoes and beans and vegetables. I. Love. Tortillas.
Then, it was off to school where I showed off my new haircut. My teacher called me pesada. Apparently, that means I look tough. After a while, the side of my head got cold....so I covered it with my hair.

Who knew I'd ever have that issue.

Class was - as always - super exciting. Herman is a super fun, engaging teacher. He has to listen to us butcher his language for 4 straight hours. He almost never laughs at us, and he never loses his patience. As a fellow teacher, I know this cannot be easy.

Today, we focused on apenas and acabar. It was especially hard for Marc and I to keep it together as an elderly female class member kept saying "a-penis" instead of "apenas." Apenas basically signifies that you've just finish doing something. So, if I say apenas comí, chances are I have eaten in the last 15 - 30 minutes.

She said a-penis comí (I ate a penis).
Laughing, laughing, laughing.

For whatever reason, I've had a headache for like 3 straight days. It feels like my sinuses have dried out. I find that odd, as it has been raining every day. That being said, it is what it is. It could be the painkillers and the antibiotics.

Because of the painkillers and sinus pain (and the lack of sleep from last night), I basically slept through my last hour of class. That's just how I roll, I guess.

After class, I ran home for lunch and - for the first time since being here - really had a hard time understanding Martita. She was talking, and I wasn't comprehending. I blame the headache.

Then I packed my laptop and took my homework to mask making class. I'm done with my mask, but I like my teachers and figure(d) it's better to study where there are people who can answer my questions. For instance hubo v. habia.

Now I understand. I wouldn't if I hadn't studied near my teachers.
I also wouldn't have been able to call them swear words and command them to do things.
That's what school is like around here.

Afterwards, I had intercambio and worked on translating an article from English to Spanish. After that, Francis, Billy, Thora, Lisa and I walked down to chocolate row and bought some chocolate con almendras.

I'm going to make hot chocolate with it tomorrow.
Con agua. (With water).
Calm down.

Then, Francis and I grabbed food on our way home (why am I a sucker for potato chips and fries?!?).
So that was my day.

Speaking of potato chips...you're probably thinking I stopped in a corner store.
NO.
There is this freaking amazing street vendor who just basically stands there all day slicing and chopping and cutting potatoes for making fries/chips and these spiral potatoes. Then, he puts all these sauces on them - and some fresh lime....

There is always a long line. I think he sprinkles crack on them.
And now you know!

Let's Just Get It Out Of The Way

2% of my day was not so great. But 98% was amazing, and so I'm going to start with the "bad" so that when you finish reading the post in its entirety, you feel happy.

On my walk home tonight, I stopped to look at an interested Day of the Dead display tucked in a courtyard just off the Zocalo. A man approached me and said (this conversation happened in Spanish)
"Hey, do you remember me?"

I looked up and sure enough it was the man who randomly bought me a memelita in the Zocalo last week. I said, "Yes. Thank you for buying my memelita last week. That was nice." He started explaining to me what the display was about, and giving me a short history of Catholic traditions + Day of the Dead.

I asked him about indigenous customs. He couldn't answer me; I should have known then that he was a creep. Instead, he told me a few more things and then asked "What are you doing tonight?" I responded with "My family is waiting for me at home. They're expecting me for dinner."

This is a classic military brat lie. It's the "I'm not going to tell you I'm walking home alone with no one expecting me" move.

Then he asked for my phone number. I told him I didn't have a phone. Then he asked if we could meet in the park and chat (at this point, I was moving out of the dark courtyard and back towards the main road with tons of people). He grabbed my hand and said he'd really like to do an intercambio (like language exchange) with me. At this point, I wasn't sure if he was being creepy or just an older man who wanted an intercambio. I told him that my friends could use the practice too, but that I wasn't comfortable meeting him alone.

He said, "I only want to be with you."
I said, "Sorry. I need to go. My family is waiting."
Then he grabbed my arm (just as I was a foot away from the main road) and said, "You're not going anywhere." He pulled me towards him.
Maybe he meant to hurt me as much as he did. Maybe my pulling violently away from him and stumbling into the road hurt me more than he intended. Either way, he got aggressively angry and followed me out into the street.

He looked really mad.

I ran to Cafe Brujula (about 10 feet away) and hid for a while. I asked the barista to check to make sure he was gone. He went out and said he didn't see any creepy looking angry dudes, and I booked it back to my house.

I guess I can't walk alone in the Zocalo anymore. That guy will probably see me and grab me and then I'll be afraid to leave the house ever again.

--- Now, before you get freaked out and say "That's Mexico for you" or something racist and inappropriate let me remind you that I have been accosted other times in the US by men of my own (and other) races. This man does not represent Mexican men. In fact, he represents the polar opposite. His actions in no way speak for the male population here, nor do his poor manners reflect the manners of men here. If you are thinking that, you are wrong. ---

Now let's get to the 98% awesome part of my day.

Breakfast. I love breakfast. Every morning, Martita feeds me gold.
Class - I love class! I love being a student! I love studying! I love learning! I love Spanish! I love my teacher! Today, we spent the whole day working on something I asked about. Luckily, my whole class didn't know the concept either, and so I didn't feel like a jerk for hijacking the class (or his lesson plan).
Mask Making Class - Mask making class is super fun. I love the 2 Octavios (teachers) and Omar. They are funny, hands on teachers that make you feel like an adult in a craft class - not a baby in a craft class. We are planning to make a video in which all of us/our masks appear. We spent class time telling jokes in Spanish and learning Spanish slang from one of the Octavios.

After mask making class, Lucy, Saskia, Billy, Thora and I all walked to the barber shop. Yesterday, Lucy and Saskia and I decided we were going to shave the sides of our heads (like Cordelia)! The two barbers there are MS13 gang members and are fully tatted (arms, necks, faces).

They're really nice dudes!

There was also the cutest little boy in there who was playing peek-a-boo with me, and would laugh hysterically every time I pretended to cut his hair. Anyway, Billy basically got us all hooked up with this place...we were the 3rd, 4th, and 5th girl Billy has brought to this shop. I'm sure the guys are wondering what the deal is. But, they didn't ask questions. They just shaved away. And they did great jobs of it. We all look really awesome. :)

After that, Saskia and Lucy went home. Thora, Billy and I went to the taco place...they didn't eat. But I ate 4 tacos + 2 extra tortillas to clean up the taco spill leftovers at the end. In the restaurant, the waiter's name was Gego. Or something like that. And they thought my hair was cool, too. And they were weirdly shocked that I was ordering and speaking in Spanish.

I'm not sure why. I must not look like I can do it.

After that, I walked home.

There were a million little things about today which I loved. Lots of laughing. New experiences. Cute little kids, smart remarks in class, being dared by a teacher to steal free fruit from a conference at our school and chickening out. Climbing on the tables at the school. Walking in the rain. The Day of the Dead festivities around the city. Talking with Martita.

98% is okay with me.

Just Another Day in Paradise

I got a compliment from Martita today. She is the best person on the planet, and so her compliment made me really happy.

I had been expressing my concerns over my mediocre Spanish, but she insisted my Spanish was good - and told me I was a clear, purposeful speaker. Then she gave me an extra tortilla. Nothing spells love more clearly than extra food.

There are two more people living at the house (a couple in their 40s from Boston). They are also taking Spanish classes. I was feeling self conscious because they were speaking a lot of Spanish, and I'm just not a big talker [I should say I'm not a confident speaker].

That's where my doubts arose.

After my tamale breakfast, I went to class (which is totally in Spanish, which I totally understand) and enjoyed a day of working on the future tense (which I know). We played a fun game of hypothetical situations. I love games!

After class, I went home and had lunch - these potato cakes that are delicious. Martita and I talked about Matt, my dad, the police, the new couple living in the house.

Then I went to class, finished painting my mask, went for a run in Llano park (it was kind of a pathetic run....altitude problems), came back to class, changed in the bathroom, talked with a random chick, and went to study at Cafe Brujula. Unfortunately, studying wasn't very successful. My brain was not turned on, and I couldn't really understand what I was supposed to be studying.

In other news: there is a symposium/conference at the school this week which focuses on indigenous communities and education. Right.Up.My.Alley. Unfortunately, I'm in class during the lecture times. I might sluff mask making on Thursday and hit up a lecture instead.

It's important. Everyone should sluff class Thursday. 

Easy Street

I went to bed late, but woke up in time for breakfast. As soon as I finished eating, I fell back into bed for another hour.

It was a great decision, and I had a weird dream that everyone in my host-home was speaking fluent English.

Then I woke up, took a shower, packed my bags and headed off to do 5 pages of homework. But before I settled in to do homework, I wandered around the shops and ended up buying myself a new mochila and a sweater!!

It's great, because it happened so naturally. I'm really picky about things that I buy, and so when the bag caught my eye and then the sweater in the same shopping stretch...it was kind of a miracle. And the prices were right.

I took my winnings to study with me at Cafe Brujula, which is basically my second home. The people who work there are starting to recognize me! And then, after studying, I went home (and then back out to find the band playing by the house. It was just playing in the street, and people were dancing in the streets and on their roofs).

Francis and I wandered out a few hours ago for some dinner. We checked out the goings on of the Zocalo, and got trapped in some giant parade/procession full of people wearing monster masks. We tried to make our way up that street which turned out to be a terrible idea. We ended up getting stuck in a mob-like crowd, being shoved and pushed. Francis eventually had to give the death stare to a guy who was being far too aggressive.

Oh, Oaxaca.

It's been a nice, relaxing day. It's nice to decompress. Hopefully I'll be a good girl and go to bed early so I'm ready for class tomorrow.

The Witching Hour

Don't forget to roll back the clock.

And what rhymes with clock? Rock. And where was I for the last 2 - 3 hours? A rock bar. And what was in this rock bar? A cover band.

It was pretty weird and kind of on the outset of the main part of town...and mostly full of dudes. But a large group of us were coerced into going, and ultimately it ended up being pretty fun. We took lots of silly pictures.

Before being coerced into this hair-shaking, head-banging fiesta we were all hanging out at the hostel. We sat around the table trying to mimic each others accents (which was a hilarious mix of Australian, English, Dutch, Finnish, German, and USAmerican) and talked about where we've been, where we're going next...

I really enjoy meeting people from all walks of life. And I enjoy meeting them in unexpected ways and places, too. I like feeling my world expanding and contracting at the same time.

Let me go back to the beginning of the day up to this point.

Francis and I were planning to go to Monte Alban and Arbol de Tule. Upon speaking with a cab driver, he mentioned that you can't just catch any cab to Monte Alban...so we decided to go to the tree first, and see where that took us. El Arbol was pretty beautiful. It's amazing to have been in the presence of something that feels so very eternal. The tree has surpassed 2000 years in age.

Can you even imagine? This tree has been living and growing and experiencing and adapting and changing for 2000+ years. And it may very well see 2000 more. And me? What's my measly 80 - 100 years in compared to that. And what a testament to the power of nature - and community as well.

After the tree, Francis and I wandered around...and happened upon two random donkeys on the sidewalk. That was interesting. Then we decided to hop a cab back to the city and devise a plan as to whether Monte Alban was feasible. The cab ride was all good and well until randomly the cab driver decided to put on his seatbelt.

Let's talk about the taxis here for a minute. Taxis can be found en mass cerca the beisbol stadium. They fill the street, and they have all sorts of places written on their windows. Basically, you just pick a cab - agree on a price for transport - and hop in. Now, just because you and your friend are in the cab doesn't mean it's only yours. The cab will continuously try to pick up more people until it's reached a full capacity of 6 or possibly even 7.

These cabs legally sit 5.

The seatbelts don't usually work (if there are any), and so no one wears a seatbelt. This is why it was startling that our cab driver randomly decided wearing his would be a good idea.

- For the record, people think cabs here are sketchy. If you know what you're doing, you're not an idiot, and aren't afraid of everything...you won't have a problem. And you can get around basically for free. That being said, there are some sketchy cabs here. So if you don't know what you're doing, you are an idiot, or you are easily frightened...don't bother trying to catch one on the street.

After he dropped us off, we decided Monte Alban wasn't going to happen (a series of hunger, fatigue, and overcast weather played heavily into our decision) and so we decided to find food in the city and hit the market. Lucy was supposed to meet a friend in the park, but her plans fell through and she joined us at Cafe Brujula.

She was on a hunt for tacos, and I was on a hunt for chocolate.

Neither tacos nor chocolate were had, but we did end up in this giant food-vendor-market and everyone in there was really aggressive. They were super competitive for business, and we were being assaulted with words and menus. It was scary, so we left and went to Lobo Azul. I had a tlayudita which was fine, but Lucy's food was super bland.

Ultimately, we were disappointed. The thing about Oaxaca is....the street food here is so good that restaurants are basically always a disappointment. Especially when you compare both quality and price....

It was then that Francis, Lucy, and I took off towards the hostel.
You know the rest of the story.