Christmas in Oaxaca

Update: this post was published a couple of weeks ago, but has been updated with pictures...finally! 

After two weeks of solo travel, I was joined by Garrett for a couple weeks over his Christmas break (teaching has its perks). In a moment of awful foresight, we failed to reserve a spot on the bus from Mexico City to Oaxaca where I was, since I had no trouble jumping on the first available bus two weeks prior. Some factors to consider for the spontaneous traveler: Mexico has a population of 100 million people who, like most of us, desire to be in a beautiful place for Christmas (which Mexico City isn't, exactly). If your preferred style of travel involves "just showing up and seeing where the breeze takes you", best to avoid Latin America at Christmas time. Of the 30 or so buses leaving the capital to Oaxaca the night and next morning after he arrived, all were full.

So plans changed as plans do, and I spent the night on a Mexico City-bound bus, after a hefty amount of stress making arrangements to get Garrett the message that I was headed his way, rather than vice versa (a great thing about Mexico-you can pay someone to do just about any errand you need). I'm proud to report that we spent the day (after my 4am arrival) successfully navigating at least 6 lines on the Mexico City metro, which delivered us to the Museo Nacional de Antropolgia e Historia (National Museum of Anthropology and History), the zocalo, and the airport zone. The museum is beautiful and grand, with thousands of artifacts from Mayan, Zapotec, Toltec, Mixtec, and other pre-Spanish civilizations. However, it's an interesting irony in a country that welcomes millions of foreign visitors (and that borders two English speaking countries) each year that English translations were rarely available. I say that not from an English-centric point-of-view, but am merely making a pragmatic observation that I've noticed throughout high volume tourist locations in Mexico. It's almost like a subtle resistance to the universalization of English language, despite the importance of English language tourism dollars to the Mexican economy (surely the national museum could afford the translations and the wall space). But I can respect it!

The Aztec Piedra del Sol, or stone of the sun, at the Museo Nacional de Antropolgia e Historia. Excavated from the main square in Mexico City, it`s believed to be either a representation of the Aztec deity of the sun, or used as a calendar by ancient Aztecs (or both). It stands at 12 feet tall and weighs 24 tonnes. 

Considerably more hectic than Oaxaca's, Mexico City's (or D.F., as it's broadly referred) zocalo is similarly a grandiose display of colonial architecture and modern Mexican culture. Ripe with young love (everywhere a two some embracing on a scale of G to 14A), buskers, hugely oversized balloons, military personnel with machine guns, and well behaved multi-child families, the zocalo is where "it" all happens. When we visited it was hosting a winter carnival, ironically (for us) providing Canadian-esque festivities. Hoards of fake snow was trucked in to create the main attractions: a circular snowmobile track offering rides for purchase, a snowmobile jump, and a sledding hill. Only possible given D.F's mild temperature this time of year-it was only about 20 degrees at the height of the day. After observing a questionable use of military resources (100 or so soldiers conducting a flag lowering ceremony), we retired to the hostal to chat with our friendly proprietress and fetch some midnight tacos before our early morning bus ride.

In the large Mexican cities, there are young activists who don brass paint and carry their placards into the main squares. His first sign, quoting Che Guevara, reads, ¨everyday people fix their hair, why not their heart?¨ The next translates loosely to something like ´The state must make sure that society builds its own cultural development and art, and allow for culture to spread´. This activist gets to criticize the powers that be while making a buck or two as a pundit busker.

The sun sets on a busy shopping street in Mexico City´s main plaza. The absence of beggars, hawkers, and stray dogs leads me to believe this square is for the affluent only. 

Sledding in Mexico City´s zocalo. 

We arrived to Oaxaca in time for Christmas eve celebrations, which greatly trump celebrations on the 25th. As told by a local, the 24th is for celebrating (read: drinking and eating) after midnight mass, the 25th is for recovering. In advance of mass, the streets are flooded with parades from various parishes, complete with marching bands and difficult to describe large illuminated props atop huge wooded poles (they take the shape of people, stars, etc). Some parades have floats topped with kids wearing biblical outfits (Jesus, Virgin Mary..). Noticeable absent, at least from our perspective, was the rampant consumerism that's overridden celebrations in Canada. A singular gift is exchanged between people on Christmas eve, the rest of the emphasis dedicated to the festivities. The argument could be made that drinking, eating, and parading around is also a far cry from the origins of this Christian tradition, but that suits my secular self just fine!

A old convent in Oaxaca that was home to the Dominican order of nuns, known to have been advocates and protectors of indigenous peoples during the era of the conquistadores. 

Christmas eve parade around Oaxaca´s zocalo. 

The traditional Christmas meal eaten in Oaxaca is a dish of cured fish called bacalao, cooked after midnight on Christmas eve. The tradition has Spanish origins, with a Mexican flare (it's served with various salsas and tortillas). In Oaxaca it's enjoyed with oodles of the locally produced Mezcal, which has gained prestige in local years, previously being considered much inferior to tequila. The flavour is distinctly smoky and fuerte (strong), with hundreds of fruity or herbal variations (the most unique I tasted was strained through a chicken breast, cooked or not I don't know!). Oaxaquenas are incredibly proud of their Mezcal, from the young chic crowd that holds tasting events of expensive varieties in trendy venues to showcase it, to the campesinos that drink the 30 peso a bottle variety in the fields.

In true Canadian fashion we spent the 26th seeking deals on Oaxaquena wares, lucking out at the Mercado 20 de Noviembre on impressive leather work, some pottery, and other regalos (gifts) that I shouldn't broadcast here! The highlight of the day for both of us was our meal in what is surely Oaxaca's most hectic 500 cubic feet. A confusing set up of dependently independent vendors hawking either barbequed carne (meat) coked over an open fire, fresh salsas or ensaladas (salads of cucumber and radish), vegetables to be grilled, or beverages, the barbacoa is nevertheless something not to be missed. You dine amidst the smoke of 20 or so wood fired grills and loads of people milling about. The hand made local queso (cheese) can be bought just outside on the street, and is a welcome sight among all of the carne. After much negotiating and help from locals you end up with a massive complete meal of barbeque meat (if you wish) and veg, avocado, salsa, tortillas and cheese, for around $8 for the two people. Perhaps the most rewarding part of your adventure will be when you realize you're the only foreigner around brave enough to navigate the barbacoa (and the props you get from locals).

Oaxacaqueno barbacoa. Chorizo, biztec (beef)..vegetables take second stage in this act. 

Not excited at all...

The abundance and diversity of fresh, local produce in Oaxaca didn't lose it's appeal or novelty after my two and a half week stay, not to mention the slow-food institution that is Oaxaca's culinary tradition. It takes an army of people to produce and prepare the fresh and cooked food that makes the city tick. Something about that food brigade appeals to me--so many hands involved in fulfilling such a fundamental need we all have. 

While it is easy to fall into food system envy (as in, 'I wish I could walk to my neighborhood market everyday year-round and buy an unending range of just-picked local produce', or 'I wish my food dollars always went directly into the hands of the person who grew the food I'm about to enjoy instead of padding the pockets of supermarket executives'), yet Oaxaca's food bounty is far from perfect. Having one of the country's highest poverty rates and food costs that don't reflect the average income means many people who can't partake in the food fortune, even the people producing the food. A lack of public support for small-scale agriculture (not entirely different from parts of Canada, certainly Saskatchewan) means many people continue to plant large staple monocrops like maize or, increasingly, wheat and live in subsistence poverty, rather than diversifying and becoming more food self-reliant. Much of the urban poverty stems from this fact too, as rural people migrate to the city after failing to earn an acceptable living farming. So while visitors can ooh and aww at the beautiful tangerine pyramids in the markets or delectable slow simmered moles, we have to be careful not to idolize a food system that is not designed to be enjoyed by all.

How easy it is to forget the farmers that make our urban lives possible. A poster in a cafe for a documentary exposing the injustices levied on the rural people of Bolivia.