Hola, Oaxaca!

Oaxaca is truly a city unto itself. So, so, so different from Guadalajara, it really could almost be a different country. Where Guadalajara is a modern, sprawling, cosmopolitan, world-business center of Mexico, Oaxaca is everything traditional, artsy, walk-able and pretty (if maybe a tad tourist-bent . . . but it is perfect, so who can blame them?). The buildings are an attractive mix of Spain's best influence and the streets are clean and wide. Churches can be found at nearly every corner and every one appears to have its own story, beginning, of course, with lots of gilt.

I have been searching for accommodation in the more unlikely places and have gotten an extroridnary peak of the “other Mexico”—the one that requires a gringo to get their feet a little dirty to see. I was invited to look at a room for rent by Irene, a woman I met on the way to Hierve de Agua, (a natural spring site high up in the mountains, with an incredible, multi-colored rock sediment "waterfall"). ‘Wild’ does not begin to describe it. Turkeys were running around, vegetables were growing around whatever they could find to grow around, the "house" had a sheet metal roof and a big bucket of water for bathing. She offered to bring a bed down from the roof for an extra $15 (bringing the total rent to $50 USD for the month) and to hang a poster over the hole in the wall (to keep the rain from coming in) in the room that would be mine. Needless to say, I was ready to move in immediately. Who could resist once she divulged that they were saving the biggest turkey for one of her grandkid's birthdays this coming month?

However, Pepe, my new friend and dear translator from Mexico City, suggested a bit of circumspection. So, we checked out several other rooms for rent, some of which were perfectly respectable furnished establishments for a perfectly respectable $100-120 USD per month, others of which were a tad more rustic, and possibly already inhabited by other people, maybe convicts, if the pictures of the young man wearing an orange jump suit and carrying two AK-47s in the picture taped to the mirror were any indication. The only way to find the perfect place (or indeed, to find anything) is through the intricate and ancient and not-even-remotely-foolproof Mexican grapevine. Here, I am learning, people are everything.

I asked everyone from little old ladies selling newspapers, to men with silver teeth smiling in doorways, to teenage girls with elaborate hairstyles and sky blue chucks working in trendy furniture stores. One woman my friend and I approached was standing in the doorway of her home, looking feisty and threatening to box her son's ears in terrifyingly rapid Spanish. We were certain that she had the ideal location in mind (if not also the answer to the meaning of life) as a knowing smile stretched across her face and she began to nod. Unfortunately, her classically machismo husband emerged from the house at just that moment and seemed bent on sending us away with no information at all. Dejected, we began to wander down the street when we heard a desperate hissing behind us. There she was, looking cheeky and full of information that might just lead to the perfect casa de Oaxaca for yours truly . . .

Of course, I make an idiot out of myself on a regular basis—apparently "soy tranquila" is a bit more appropriate than my unsuspectingly scandalous "soy facil" character testament when asked about my daily needs. So far, I have told people that I am pregnant and that I need to give them a bath, among other things. But, in the end, scandalous Spanish is still Spanish, no? Ándale!

I have faith that everything is going to work out in the end. The time is growing nigh to leave behind my hostel and sleepless nights cuddling my laptop and sharing a room with eight or ten exotic, lithe, wizened travelers of every sex speaking only remotely recognizable languages and wearing nothing but their underwear much of the time. Long live the world traveler!

Starbucks, The Event

Back in the motherland, Starbucks is the most popular stop-off for the harassed, office-bound proletariat seeking a pick-me-up. It is a casual gathering place and an ideal study spot for those needing just enough commotion to concentrate. Certainly, no one would bat an eye at a patron clad in Juicy sweats and Uggs, sans make-up and hair a little wayward from the previous night’s festivities.

In Mexico, however, Starbucks is not merely a place . . . it’s a destination.

In the cosmopolitan centers of our southern neighbor, you will be looked at askance if you dare enter this hallowed coffee ground without proper prior coiffing. Any day of the week, entry warrants high heels, designer jeans, suits, big earrings, shoes shined, hair down and eyelashes up. Estas listo? Don’t be surprised if the place is jumping at 10 o’clock at night and the people appear one mocha blanco away from the Latin Grammy’s. Don’t be surprised if the music picks up and the making-out begins. And don’t be surprised if that suave sophisticate you met out salsa dancing the night before asks you on a date to the site of the most recognizable café brand on the face of the earth. He isn’t insulting you, ladies, he’s wooing you.

Indeed, Seattle might have given the world something to help it endure the day’s ridiculousness, however over-priced and socio-economically controversial, but Mexico has made it pure legend.

A Little Crude, A Little Political

Well, after hitting peak oil production 40 years ahead of schedule, and falling into a rapid decline over the past six months, there is talk amongst the jefes de Mexico about the necessity of privatization for survival. The time span? Word on the street is two months, mas o menos, and then adios PEMEX (world's tenth largest oil producer) as we know it.

Technically, what has been polished off is the easily-accessible crude oil closest to the earth’s surface. Digging deeper, however, is expensive, so the most obvious, if not the most palatable recourse for the state, is to open up the bidding to foreign investors. Alas, as with anything in Mexico, there are two sides to the coin. In this case, the views of two presidents; yes, two. Like America’s Bush/Gore debacle of 2000, the Mexicans had their own almost equal split between Felipe Calderón, of the conservative PAN (Partido Acción Nacional) in the north and Andrés Manuel López Obrador of the uh, not so conservative Partido de la Revolución Democrática, or PRD in the south (Oaxaca, Chiapas, etc., read ‘the poorer states’). Rather than send one of them packing, it has worked out that Obrador essentially controls and governs the southern states. Needless to say, "las adelitas" (a group of woman who follow Obrador and carry a great deal of influence . . . named for las cucarachas de Poncho Villa—yes, our hero was quite the ladies' man and had many women supporters back cerca de 1810) are very strongly against the privatization of oil, seeing that the people of Mexico who need it the most will get even less of anything once control of the invaluable resource shifts to foreign hands. The PRD, painfully leftist, are said to be a little less corrupt and a little harder working than PAN, so they fight the good fight, but lack, of course, any real influence in congress.

Now, if one really wants to talk money and power in Mexico today, the only words to know are “Carlos Slim”. Carlos "Slim" Helu, originally from Lebanon, controls all telecommunication in Mexico, including Telmex and Movistar. In addition, he controls Banamex (banks) and the concessions for every Wal-mart in the country. On top of the telecom, the banks, the Wal-marts, and the other American stores, he also has his hand in the pharma industry and other consumables. If you drink a cup of coffee here, you are putting money straight into his pocket. Like Proctor and Gamble products around the world, practically everything one touches here in Mexico is somehow tied to Slim. He is reported to be the richest man in the world, making Bill Gates and Warren Buffet look like untouchables. His competition? Nada. Any student of economics need only to hop on a plane to see a big, thriving monopoly in front of their very eyes.

The best bit is that the people think he's great . . . a real philanthropist because he lives in Mexico City and pays taxes like a Mexican. Es muy loco, no?

Maybe if AT&T had been left to its own devices for a little while longer, the situation might have looked something like this? I just hope Slim decides that modern plumbing for all of Mexico is a viable investment. That space could be worth watching.

Ajijic

If tranquility were a person, she would make her home in Ajijic, a small puebla on the north shore of Lake Chapala in Jalisco. Surrounded by lush, green mountains to the east, west and north, and Mexico’s largest lake to the south, Ajijic’s placement makes it home to one of the world’s most pleasing climates year-round. From the moment you step off the bus, your tensions simply slip away.

The town has a population of maybe 1500 people and the streets are cobbled and narrow. Getting around on horseback appears to be almost as popular a mode of transportation as using a car (the majority of which sport the license plates of American/Canadian ex-pats looking for a reasonably-priced escape from less-amiable climes). All of the buildings are painted in bright blues, oranges and pinks and the inhabitants have achieved a new level of relaxation. Of course, they are also unfailingly hospitable. A impressive church, pale yellow and built in the Spanish style, sits at one end of a broad pedestrian street where a market featuring the work of local artisans comes to life on the weekends. From there, one can wander into the town square and find ice cream vendors, small restaurants and a garden of roses with benches for those interested in stopping to smell them.

On my last night in Ajijic, I heard music playing not too far away from my apartment ($18 USD a night!) and went to investigate with one of the girls I accompanied on the trip. The sound, thrown against the backdrop of the mountains, created the most unbelievable acoustics I had ever heard. We stumbled on band practice for a local group: eighteen people with everything from tubas to clarinets to bongos. It was an almost deafening experience, but the joyful spirit of the music was contagious and there was a smile on every face. The rehearsal was being held in someone’s backyard—a hard-packed dirt area twice the size of the average garage, surrounded by high stonewalls. They hung their sheet music from the clotheslines and appeared to let the music itself be their conductor, as I couldn’t spot any obvious leader. Somehow, though, the melody persevered.

I am continually impressed by how simplicity is celebrated here in Mexico and life is based on the philosophy that if you are good natured and open-minded, the possibilities for merriment are absolutely without limit.

A Guadalajara Botana

Mexico, I am quickly discovering, is a land of shifting norms, colorful traditional and eternal paradoxes. The caballero, whistling his sad song, sandswept and rugged, is as real as the polished, modern, sartorially-savvy investment banker downtown. Guadalajara, the city of the tapatíos, is at once the seat of Catholicism in the state of Jalisco and ‘the San Francisco’ of Mexico. On one side of the city, rush-hour traffic is dotted with Mercedes, Volkswagens, Renaults and an array of new, roomy SUVs. On the other side, horses can be seen tied to a tree stump on the shoulder of the road and the kamikaze-inclined city buses, at $.50 USD a ride, are the most popular mode of transportation. Figuartively and sometimes literally, old and new collide at every intersection.

Days in Mexico operate roughly on a 12pm-4am schedule. Most people don't eat breakfast until 11:00am, comida (lunch), which is enormous, at 3:00pm, then dinner at 9:30 or 10pm. A night out doesn't even begin until 12:30pm or so, and usually finishes as the sun prepares to do its thing in the morning . . . and this applies to ANY day of the week. However, the Mexican sense of humor really got creative when they decided that CEPE (the University of Guadalajara school of Spanish-for-foreigners) classes would start at 8:00am. The heaven-sent afternoon siesta is the only apparent answer to a three-hour night’s sleep.

Women are celebrated, yet contained. As explained to me by a Mexican friend, girls take the approach of “I love you, but I’ll never tell you” to their relationships and patience is surely the greatest of virtues. On the way to school in the morning, it's quite normal to be whistled at and called to and whispered-to-in-passing comments just this side of risqué. And perhaps this is something only experienced by gringas, but wearing skirts or any type of clothing that shows a hint of leg above the calf is suicide, unless you are lucky enough to be in the company of a guy. Which every girl here seems to be . . . a guy, or an hijo (kid). In my first week here, I contemplated kidnapping one just to fit in—a kid, not a guy. But even with a guy, you have to be careful that he always walks on the side closest to the street. Endearing chivalry? I fear not. Times are a-changing, but in some places still, if he fails to take such action, ladies, you just might be being pimped out.

Public display of affection is a national pastime in Mexico. Back on the conservative side of things, there isn’t much opportunity for young people to be alone together here, which forces them to take their love to the streets. In time, I think that I won’t even lift an eyebrow when I see a guy athletically making out with a girl whilst going down an escalator backwards.

The cities and towns of Mexico house a thriving entrepreneur around every corner. When the honey goes off to work in the morning and pulls the car out of the driveway, the space suddenly morphs into a tiendita: a bakery, a restaurant, a salon, or an arms dealer. Considering that cops whistle as much, if not more than the average Josés, and that there are bigger criminal fish to fry, it is refreshing to see that one doesn’t seem to need a permit to make a life here. Speaking of bigger criminal fish to fry, not long after I arrived, there was a report on the noticias about the chief of police making a big drug bust downtown, then being found several hours later chopped up in pieces in the trunk of his car. Before congratulating myself on what a grand choice of destinations I made, I was given reason to take heart. As long as you don't do drugs, kids, and avoid hanging out with the people that sell them, you are fine. Major drug cartels actually take out ads in the newspapers saying, "if you aren't involved in any funny business with drugs/police, you are completely safe from us." Now that is reassuring, isn't it?

Thus far, I see la vida de Guadalajara as being edgy, uncomplicated, abounding with possibilities and adventure. The people are vibrant and friendly and there is a strong sense of pride and solidarity. It is by no means an easy adjustment and there are days when all that is familiar and understood feels impossibly distant. Yet many Americans say that they feel more alive here than anywhere else. I am beginning to see why.

Hola Amigos y Bienvenido!

This marks my first attempt at documenting my travels here in Mexico (and someday hopefully other places) in a slightly more organized fashion than the scattered scribblings of my journal. As of today, I have been in Mexico for 3 weeks and 6 days, which falls somewhere between a lifetime and the blink of an eye. I flew into Puerto Vallarta from BWI on a one-way ticket with the intention of spending a few days on the beach, 5 1/2 weeks studying Spanish at the University of Guadalajara, 4-6 weeks volunteering in an orphanage in Oaxaca and the remainder of the time that my money held out finding the answers to ‘those questions that bother me so.'

Life here does not appear to fit into any sort of box--which I say with excitement as well as precaution. Any observations that I make or experiences I recount along the way within this medium are solely for the purpose of illustration and are by no means designed to judge or offend.

So whenever you have the inclination, please join this islander abroad in living la vida Mexicana!