¡Vamos a Comemos!

Or, Let's Go Eat!

A street decorated for Christmas in Oaxaca. The city is full of Flor de Buena Noche (poinsettas), brought by the Spanish in the 17th century. 

This post is a bit belated, so bear with me as I backtrack. My first days in Oaxaca were spent in true tourist fashion--with a camera in hand and a penchant for discovery. Walking up and down the cobblestone streets either alone or with other travelers I met along the way, I began to get a feel for the city. From the watering-hole hubs to the gathering places for free open air concerts to the daily markets vending mostly local produce, meat, and chocolate, I've successfully found my go-to spots.

My days have mostly been occupied by Spanish lessons, which are going well or horribly depending on if you ask me or someone else. In true Megan fashion, I expect myself to be speaking in grammatical perfect sentences with perfect pronounciation. No tanto. I imagine my Spanish vocabulary is on par with a toddler, and my pronounciation less refined. But I've been taking every opportunity to inflict my disjointed Spanish on locals! I've met several that are willing to endure my babbling, and slow their own speech to a near halt. Thank goodness for the patience of Oaxacans!

Mole negro made from chilies, chocolate, cinnamon, garlic, and a handful of other ingredients. It has a characterisitc smoky flavour (pairs well with mezcal), and is one of the seven moles (sauces) this region is  renowned for. It tops just about anything, but I had mine with queso (cheese) enchiladas.

Food has certainly taken centre stage in my days. I've paid, on average, about 30 pesos (around $2) per meal, and tried everything from empanadas with flor de calabaza (squash flower), to tlacoluya (a type of Oaxacan pizza, made from large tortillas), to the mole negro with enchiladas you see above. A Oaxacan speciality you can buy for about 15 pesos on most streets is chocolate de leche, a chocolate drink made from a block of ground cacoa, almonds, cinnamon, and sugar cane mixed with milk (or water). Sure to be the thing I miss the most when I move on from Oaxaca! The streets of Oaxaca constantly smell like warm chocolate, since there are chocolate makers every few blocks.

Friday was the last day of high school and university in Mexico for the Christmas break, so the streets leading up to and in the central square (called the Zocalo) were full of Oaxacan teenagers and 20-somethings. With mezcal flowing, people danced in the streets to the music of an exuberant brass marching band. The Corona cowboy hats and t-shirts were reminiscent of a spring-break party, though I had trouble imagining spring-breakers getting enthused about a marching band. There is something going on every night in Oaxaca, whether a carnival (the one in the park across the street form my hostel just ended after seven straight days), live outdoor symphony, parade, or small sets put on by local musicians in any number of the ecclectic pubs in the downtown core. My favourite is one that showcases a quirky mix of decorations from decals of Mexican wrestlers to a half cardboard box wrapped in chicken wire with a pasted picture of Jesus inside. Another contemporary art expression I appreciate but don't hold out hope to understand!

Colonial Spanish building in the remote countryside in the Valles Centrales de Oaxaca.  

On the weekend, I tagged along with the young Mexican guy studying Zapotec theology/culture I met on the bus to some surrounding indigenous communities. As we left the city and entered the valley, Roman told me all about the local folklore, and traditional Aborginal way of life. As I learn more about the Indigenous people in Mexico, I see many parrels to Canada's First Nations. Not just the colonialization and subjugation by Europeans, but also cultural practices and spiritual beliefs. Zapotecs have a similar symbology to the North America indigenous medicine wheel, and place a strong emphasis on harmony and holistic being. Some superstitions are shared, like the belief in the owl being an agent of death. They also have a belief in deities that control the movement of the sun, rain, etc. Not being a anthropologist I can only offer my observations, but find it interesting that civilizations so geographically distant developed similar spiritual beliefs and practices. It's easy to think it has something to do with being in close contact with the earth and its natural cycles. A stark contrast to the more sterile devotional practices I see in Oaxaca's innumerous Catholic cathedrals (which I don't mean as an insult, just an aesthetic difference).

 We visited a village called San Miguel Mixtepec in the lush valley to Oaxaca's south that was traditionally Zapotec. Recent years have brought conversion to Jehova's Witness faith all across Mexico, so fewer and fewer people maintain the traditional culture. I was lucky enought to meet with a man who is like a priest in the Zapotec faith, along with his wife, two daughters and teenaged granddaughter. Their home was exactly like what you'd expect a home to look like in the rural countryside. A large central dirt courtyard flanked by a long brick building used to cook, eat, and wash clothing. As many Mexicans still do, they cook using a charcoal fire in a poorly ventilated room. Tortillas are made from scratch from whole corn kernels, ground on a large stone plank and combined with 'lime' (calcium hydroxide) and a bit of water to form a dough, then hand-formed and grilled over the fire on something that looks like a huge metal cookie sheet.

The family toured me around happily with the help of my translator companion, and showed us the kind of rare hospitality you likely only encounter in a rural village with traditional customs like this. I found myself applying my North American perspective on some of the pratices I saw, such as how women occupy a lower position in the family (and society) than men (positioning their chairs behind men, serving men in a different room than they themselves eat, etc.), but made a concerted effort to reserve my judgements of a culture so different from mine since judgements are more often than not misplaced and useless, if not harmful.

The Zapotec priest and his wife I visited in their courtyard.  

For scale purposes! I was told they must have trusted me because typically they resist having their photos taken due to a belief in them being used for witchcraft. 

The simple but delicious calabaza (squash) soup we were served, eaten with a chunk of the squash peel.

We also visited a town on its market day (the towns surrounding Oaxaca have their large markets on various different days of the week). This is the thing to do for market lovers. We covered 4 city blocks square worth of vendors and still didn't see it all! Markets here are a heteregenous mix of fresh produce, raw meat, household wares, the odd coffin, and fresh-cut flowers (sold for cheap but would fetch a lot of money in high-end florists in Canada). The market experience is not recommended for those with personal space or food safety hold-ups (think no refrigeration, temperatures in the 30s and ample raw meat), but is the best way I've found yet to take the pulse of the culture.

Local food is the name of the game here and I've yet to see a true grocery store in any of the towns I've visited. Oaxaca city received its first Walmart a year ago, much to the chagrin of 'real food' enthusiasts (so told to me by a local chef). Their reasons for disliking supermarket food is perhaps less sophisticated than many in the north who choose not to support large multinational chains, but every much as important. Their concern is with the taste of food produced for transport or longer-term storage on a shelf. Taste is paramount in Oaxacan cooking, and they refuse to compromise in this area. The result is an incredibly lively and diverse local food system, and a world renowed cuisine, of course.

Sugar cane for sale at the Tlacolula market

This would make a good Fear Factor challenge, scorpion mezcal. 

I also made the trip to Hierve de Agua (in Espanol, boiling water), high on a mountain an hour from the city. Hierve de Agua receives a good mix of tourists and Mexicans, who come to see the views and bathe in what's believed to be the God of the mountain's tears, since his wife left him. Much of the folklore involves love, whether current, long-lost, or unrequited. I've come to believe that passion wasn't imported from Spain, but a product of the land!

View of a petrified waterfall  from Hierve de Agua.

Hierve de Agua

Gringos, Burros, and the End of The World

Un nino in front of a shrine in a cathedral in Oaxaca. Today is the national holiday for the Virgin Guadalupe, and to celebrate they hold a huge carnival where the parents dress the children up as saints and they pose for pictures in front of decorated shrines.

I've been intimidated about this blog post since launching this thing. Must make profound observations! Must regale with unprecedented tales from highlands Mexico! Which has effectively thwarted adventure on my journey so far. Or so I'm convinced.

Truth be told, Mexico is incredibly easy on its visitors. I arrived in Mexico City late Monday evening to the task I had been dreading-namely hiring a taxi in one of the biggest cities in the world and communicating my destination in my Spanish that habitually places the stress on the wrong syllable (truly the most critical step in prononcing Spanish words). Alas, the Benito Juarez airport, in an act of compassion for gringos like me, has divided the entire city into zones and labeled them on a map. Which means, effectively, you just have to tap a spot on the map, grinning your compliant turista grin. The airport does not, however, apply judgement when the destination you've selected is close enough to spit at, quietly taking your fee and summoning your two block ride.

I then found myself inside the home of the most gracious Mexican woman who spoke less English then I do Spanish. Somehow my need for a bed and a meal was communicated (with the aid of a helpful fellow traveler with perfecto espanol) and I, along with a couple others who happened upon the place at the same time, were served the freshest tortillas con cebolla (onion) y guacamole y some kind of mortor and pestle ground chilies and shown to an austere but homey private room with a matrimonio (queen sized) bed, all for 200 pesos or about $15. Muchas gracias Mexico...

Today I arrived by bus to Oaxaca city. The difference between Oaxaca and Mexico City is perceptible the moment you step off the bus, if only in ways that defy explanation. Several indigenous cultures intersect in the Valles Centrales de Oaxaca, amidst a strong Roman Catholic presence. The combined Catholic piety, shamanic superstition, intact indigenous culture, colourful artisanal wares and decadent food makes Oaxaca unlike anywhere I've ever been.

Certain coincidental trends usually makes one wonder if coincidence is truly the operative power or if something else is at work. From the Mexican-American man I shared the flight from Chicago to Houston with who enlightened me to Mexico's current socio-political state and gave me good advice for 'surviving' Mexico, to the tragically-nerdy-but-pure-hearted young Mexican who gave me a 6 hour lesson on the bus ride to Oaxaca on everything from the socially stigmatized burro (donkey) to Zapotec theology, I have crossed paths with people at every turn of this jounrey so far who have enhanced my experience of Mexico immeasurably. Here's to hoping the trend continues.

Right, and I couldn't write a post about Mexico without addressing the impending apocalypse. This is what I've ascertained so far: the only people observing the end of the Mayan calendar are non-Mayans. In particular, Caucasian, new-age, transcendentalists with a penchant for hallucinogens who believe it signals the end of an era in human thought, but not the end of the world. So rest easy?

Update: This post was written yesterday but an unreliable internet connection meant I wasn't able to post until today.