Oaxaca

It has been difficult to write these last two weeks. When I have had time, I can't decide what great story I want to tell. I could write about the amazing fiesta with a cubano and his Mexican family and friends; he learned Russian rather than English when he was younger and has tons of pictures of Che Guevara hanging in his gorgeous house. We spent the evening passing his wife's acoustic guitar around singing classic Mexican and English songs. Stand by Me is their favorite.

Or I could tell you about my group of machos who swore like sailors and made cat noises while I was teaching. With a little change in my classroom management, they have become my most successful and hardworking class.

My students, in general, are amazing; I have learned 95% of their names (the other 5% haven't shown up for class enough for me to recognize them); I've been invited to baby showers, grandmothers' birthday parties, and to the local discoteca. They don't always do their homework, and copying is a huge problem, but they all work about 20-30 hours a week on top of their studies. Their pride for their country and culture is incredible, and I find they teach me something new everyday. Also, they love to play lotería (bingo) with their families on the weekend.

As for my weekends, Coco and her husband have decided I can't spend my Saturdays and Sundays in the café working anymore. Our first adventure was last weekend in Oaxaca (pronounce wah-hah-cah).

It takes about 4 hours by car to drive from Izucar to Oaxaca so Coco told me we would be leaving bright and early at 5:00 am Saturday morning. I turned down all fiesta offers Friday night to assure I would be ready to go the next morning. The carload of Coco, her husband, her sister and brother-in-law, two nieces and one super cute Diego arrived only one hour late, and we were off.

While the rest of the crew sleeps, I watch as the flat landscape quickly transforms into lush hills and valleys. The hills then change from green to a sandy brown with sporadic patches of cacti; they remind me of five o clock shadows.

After about an hour, my friends awaken and in typical Mexican tradition, they all start talking at the same time. This actually happens more with women I've noticed, and I am in the middle of four very talkative mexicanas. My head ping pongs back and forth as I try to understand each of them. They are talking about a nightmare Lily had recently. She ends her story with the phase "cuando duerme, la muerte entra". Not only is this family super Catholic, but Mexicans are also very superstitious. The superstition here is when you sleep the dead enters your body and takes over; this is what causes you to dream. They look at me and ask if I've dreamt yet here...I shake my head - nope haven't been possessed just yet...

Diego jumps from the back seat to the middle row trying to decide if he wants to sleep by his grandparents or practice his English with me. He knows all his colors, numbers up to 20 and has picked up on my overly used phrase "Oh my goodness!" This was the first English phrase I spoke in Mexico, in response to our car almost hitting a pedestrian on the freeway. Of course, the Mexicans thought my reaction was hilarious. I say it all the time now, as do all of my friends.

A little over half way there, we pass through a toll, and the guy in the booth says something to Chucho I can't quite understand. I know llanta is tire, but I've never heard punchada before. By the look on Coco's face, I'm pretty sure we aren't going much further.

We stop on the other side of the toll where there is a little tienda selling food. Our tire is completely flat, and unfortunately, the tire store that is directly across from us is closed today because the owner's mother-in-law has passed away. Like a typical optimistic Mexican, I think to myself, our luck is bad but it could be worse.

There is a small pueblo about 2 miles away; we can see the church and the enormous Pepsi and Corona signs advertised in the center. The girl at the tienda tells us we have to walk to the town if we want our tire fixed.  So Chucho and Jorge start walking in the late morning sun. No one is upset; in fact, everyone is in a great mood. Diego and I pick flowers; he arranges them so he can take a picture of them with my camera. We jump a tiny stream of nasty drainage, pretending there are crocodiles and snakes waiting for us. Lily and Fanny change and put on makeup; they never made it to bed from the night before; their mom decides to take a nap in the SUV - she stayed up all night too!

Diego pretending he is a cholo (Mexican gangster)

We had a lot of time to kill

Jorge and Chucho arrive about 2 hours later, and shortly after, a man with a jack and a new tire. And we are off.

We finally arrived in Oaxaca at 3 o'clock. We find a hotel and decide to eat in the Zocalo. Lily, Diego, and I eat a place that sells both tacos and sushi. I feel incredibly guilty, but I go with the sushi. Lily is 28 and Diego, who just turned 5, is her son. I tell her my sister is also 28 (both were born in May) and has a five-year old daughter a week younger than Diego. She is sure Olivia and Diego will get married someday. Lily is about 6 inches shorter than me. Olivia will probably be about a foot taller than Diego in 15 years. I laugh as Lily says exactly what I'm thinking.

We walk the colonial streets of Oaxaca, admiring the Spanish architecture in its bright colors; it's much prettier than Izucar - definitely kept up for the sake of tourists and their money. We walk through the famous Santo Domingo cathedral where the Pope will visit the following day. The alter and parts of the ceiling are made of pure gold; it is spectacular. We have just enough time to take a few photos and then we are hurried out, as a wedding will be starting soon.

We ran into the wedding party later on that night.

After much primping and preening, we go out for the night. Fanny and Coco choose a place called "Nude." In English. My eyes go wide - I'm sure it is a strip joint. But actually, it is just a bad name for a cool club. The band is above us on a tiny balcony - the female singer is awesome and I spend the night dancing with my friends and a really cute Cuban.

The next day we travel to Mitla, a small town about 45 minutes away.  We eat at a tiny little diner that serves Mole negro - different from mole poblano in that it is darker and a little sweeter. After eating it, we all decide that mole poblano is way better because that is what Mexicans do on vacation - they compare everything to how it is in their hometown and decide home is always better. Chucho notes the decoration on the wall is a Toltec design. The ruins we see later on will be adorned with  similar patterns.

Mitla has a Nahuatl origin meaning "City of the Dead." The ruins are actually high priests tombs and the intricate patterns along each wall signifies how they were sacrificed. Jorge (Coco's brother-in-law, not the Cuban) tells me that the church was built in the 16th century on top of the ruins in order to convert the Zapotec people to Catholicism. I happen upon a group of English speaking tourists with a guide; after about five minutes of listening, the group leader says I can join them for 200 pesos, but I decline and walk away. My Spanish-speaking tour guides are just as knowledgeable and free.

Market in front of San Pablo Church at Mitla

We pass a fabrica de mezcal on the highway. The family insists I must try this cultural treasure.  Mezcal tastes a lot like tequila and is made from the maguey plant which is a relative of the agave plant used to make tequila. We are invited to watch how it is made and then, to try the many, many different flavors. My favorites are mint chocolate, cappuccino, mocha, and just plain old mezcal. Much like tequila, you drink it with lime but instead of salt, a delicious orange chili and lime flavored powder. Only after I licked the powder did they tell me it was made of a fried and ground up worm found in the maguey plant. Super yummy. Seriously.

Our last stop was Tule, another small town located outside of Oaxaca. It is famous for it's enormous tree that would take 30 people with their arms outstretched to wrap around it.  To soak up the mezcal, we found a cute little restaurant known for its tlayudas (like a tostada but way bigger) and listened to an amazing musician who played anything we requested.

Jorge and his tlayuda

We drive through Oaxaca and stop at the market for some chapulines, fried grasshoppers covered in chili or garlic, depending on your preference.  I like the chili flavored chapulines. They are kind of messy as you have to pull the legs off before you eat them, getting chili salsa all over. It's a lot of work for a little bug, but it definitely vale la pena.

I didn't sleep during the five-hour trip home. I stayed awake reflecting on our trip, thinking how lucky I am to have met these wonderful friends and to be in this amazing country. And as I watched in horror as crazy drivers passed between the two lanes of traffic, straddling the center lane, I couldn't help think how lucky I was to make it back to Izucar in one piece.