Ruminations of an Expatriate

During the bus ride return from Oaxaca I snapped this photos through the bus window with my phone and now that I have received my new laptop I have been able to download them.

The bus passed miles upon miles of hills covered only in forests of these cacti, which I think is Organo Cephalocereus columna-trajani, and a variety of ground hugging shrubs. I have since read that this variety of columnar cactus grows to 33 feet in height and 16″ in diameter.

So as to provide a contrast below is a photo of the richly vegetated hills of Veracruz stare not too far across the Qaxaca state border.

Sorry about the lousy photo quality.

You may remember that my report of my visit to La Casa de Mezcal included a report of my encounter with Christopher, 27, who plays trumpet in a “banda” and his buddy Marcos, 21, who is stationed with the Mexican military in Chihuahua. Both fellows are from the pueblo of San Pedro San Pablo Ayutla, about a four hour bus ride through the mountains, pretty much due East from Oaxaca, where they had invited me to visit.

So on the morning of Monday, January 21, I arose early; enjoyed a breakfast of a tamale Oaxaquenos, juice, coffee, and bread; and walked the eight or so blocks to, what the locals refer to, the “second class” bus station. And the place is a riot.

The station, from which locals depart for an amazing variety of destinations, is constructed in a huge semi-circle, with ticket booths arrayed along the outside of the arc corresponding to departure points arrayed along the inside of the arc. The bus yard, through which I walked to reach the station, is unpaved, quite rough, and dusty. There were a number of pretty rugged looking dogs foraging through the lot.

There are in the station a number of shops, food vendors, and even an internet cafe. There were a number of fellows at each gate hollering out the destinations served from their gate. Everyone was friendly and helpful.

Entering the station I made my way from ticket booth to ticket booth asking for directions to the one serving the Ayutla route, which I eventually encountered. I bought my ticket and went out onto the platform to await the bus to wait with others.

There was a very friendly fellow waiting next to me, with a new chainsaw, who was returning to his home pueblo, beyond Ayutla. He works in the forest and uses the chainsaw to cut boards from the log, he cuts, I discovered after striking up a conversation. There was also a fellow that drug a queen sized mattress onto the platform, which fortunately did not go into the bus which I eventually boarded. With the exception of one young fellow, none of the other waiting passengers reached my shoulder in their heights.

The bus arrived fifteen or so minutes late and within five minutes of frenzied action everyone had their bagged stowed and was seated in their assigned seats. Larger baggage items were loaded at the rear, through what you would probably know as the emergency exit of a school bus, with the largest items hoisted onto and lashed to a large luggage rack on top. It was a riot.

Those who know me, know that this is the type of authentic travel experience I particularly enjoy.

During the few minutes before the bus departed a fellow boarded to sell small plastic jars of cream he claimed would relieve pain and cure just about any other ailment. I asked if the cream would help chapped lips, to which he responded “claro” (of course). I bought a jar for $10 pesos and slathered a bit on my lips, chapped, I assumed, by the dry air. Only after the application did I read the list of ingredients, which included, amongst other constituents, coyote fat. The green hued cream was effective.

The bus traveled along the floor of the valley within which Oaxaca resides through Mitla and then began its winding climb into the mountains on a two lane, modern quite smooth roadway. The surrounding hillsides remained quite arid until perhaps a half hour out of Ayutla when Pine forest became increasingly dense. The hills surrounding Ayutla are entirely forested and the vistas from Ayutla are stunning.

A bit before Ayutla the bus pulled into a Pemex station and I saw my opportunity to use a bathroom. The driver and attendant assured me I had the time. While exiting the bathroom I heard the bus horn blast and saw the bus pulling out. I ran and jumped onto to the platform of the moving bus. When I arrived at my seat I encountered a very sweet looking girl, of about nine years I supposed, occupying my seat and looking up at me with a very sweet smile. I grabbed my bag, assured the girl’s father that there was no problem, and moved to the very back of the bus where there was an available seat next to the chainsaw owner.

To get there I had to climbed over five bags of something lined up in the aisle which had come aboard with an older gentlemen maybe twenty minutes earlier. I had been in the seat only a few minutes when the bus stopped again to disgorge a couple of passengers and to take on an older gentleman, and older woman and a younger woman. There being no seat for the older gentleman, I got up, crawled over the top of the bags in the aisle, gave up my seat to the older fellow, and spent the remaining fifteen of the trip standing in aisle.

Arriving in Ayutla the bus attendant and the chain saw fellow both informed me that I had arrived at my destination. I disembarked to encounter a couple fellows loading metal onto a pickup and asked where I might find a restaurant. They pointed to my immediate right to a bar. I ascended two stories to a bar with stunning views of the mountains, ordered a beer, and asked the young attendant where I might find accommodations. He directed me to “centro”.

I finished my beers and headed off toward “centro”, which consists of a few stores and a few cocinas, into one of which I stopped for three beef tacos and an orange soda. The friendly woman staffing the cocina directed me to the town’s three hotels, and that’s using the term “hotel” extremely loosely.

I rented a room at the hotel I judged had the nicest views. The room, with the bathrooms around the corner,was $80 pesos, which I can say is the cheapest room I’ve ever rented. I rented a room in a flop house in Denver in 1977, to take a break from my cross country freight train trip, for $5 USA, the story of which I will spare you; but adjusting for inflation I assume the price today would be equivalent to more than $80 pesos.

Later I walked back toward centro to a restaurant/bar I had seen on the way to the hotel. It was a wonderfully decorated place with very good food and great, friendly service. The menu included fresh, locally grown trout.

Unable to contact the fellows I’d met in Oaxaca, owing to a lack of cellular service in the area, I arose early the next morning, having learned the day before the “cooperativo” left for Oaxaca at 6:00 AM and 1:00 PM. I walked down the hill from the hotel and as soon as I hit the main road along came a cooperativo (a Dodge van). I hollered “Oaxaca”, the driver pulled over, confirmed that I wished to go to Oaxaca, loaded my bag in the back, and directed me to the one remaining seat in the very back. The van contained about ten sleeping folks. About four hours latter we arrived in Oaxaca.

Ayutla is a dusty little burg straddling the roadway snaking through the mountains; and other than the grand mountain vistas, and the great restaurant, and its friendly inhabitants, in my judgment, it has little to recommend itself. But traveling there and back was a grand adventure.

I was sitting in the lobby of the Hotel Virginia just finishing up the Casa de Mezcal post when a couple of husky young fellows entered and sat down on the couch adjacent to where I was sitting. I do not have wireless reception in my room so I hang out either the lobby or restaurant to take care of my internet business.

I noticed that the young fellows were speaking English really well and remarked on its quality. One of the fellows answered that he was born in Chicago and the other in American Lake Idaho.

The fellow from Chicago, Hector, indicated that he plays drums in a Duranguemse band, Autoridad de la Sierra; and the other fellow, Piko, indicated he worked security for the band. Either one of the fellows could work security anywhere, given there sizes.

Hector explained that Duranguemse, named for the Mexican state of Durango, is a genre developed in Chicago and consists of electronic keyboards, a tuba, other brass instruments, and an accordion. Hector also remarked that Chicago is a “magical” place for music.

The shot above is of the band’s logo on their tour bus.

Another interesting encounter on the road.

Being a committed reprobate, you know that when I happened upon La Casa de Mezcal, I had to enter. What ensued was one of those serendipitous travel experiences into which I often stumble when traveling without specific plans.

Actually there are quite a number of mescal stores here, as it is a product for which the area is apparently famous.

Upon my entrance, Jose greeted me warmly and described the six different mescal options from which I could choose. The choices differed in their ages and, thus, their colors, as the color, as well as various flavors, are imparted by the wooden barrel in which the liquor is aged. I opted for a shot of the “anejo” variety which has been aged for twelve years in Oak (Roble) barrels and is of a rich dark color and very smooth flavor. Jose explained that the younger mescal is harsher and is of a much lighter color.

La Casa de Mezcal is richly finished in wood, as you may see in the photos, with much of the wood intricately carved and with raised panels of Cedar surrounded by stiles and rails of lighter Pine. It is stunning.

I asked Jose if it would be alright if I took photos (always the polite thing to do, I think) and he, of course welcomed me to do so, and began showing me around. He took me into an adjoining room where a couple of young fellows were quaffing the youngest variety of mescal offered, blanco. I excused myself as I wished to take a photo of a particularly stunning carved door, and they asked me to join them, which I of course did.

Marcos, twenty one and stationed with the Mexican military in Chihuahua, and Christopher, a twenty seven year old musician who plays trumpet in a fifteen piece “banda” (which I understand is a genre) playing mostly Mexican music, had already had a few shots.

Both Marcos and Christopher live in San Pedro San Pablo Ayutla, a pueblo of about 300 folks a three or four hour bus ride pretty much due East of here. They told me that in the area of their pueblo gold ore is mined and that the area was never overrun by the Spanish conquerors.
Marcos was a bit inebriated, though not obnoxiously so, but persisted in tapping my arm when he wished to gain my attention and continuously repeated himself. Christopher, on the other hand, was very polite and very interesting.

Christopher told me that in the process of excavating for the foundation for a house he was building he unearthed a gold horse and a gold cup, which he says are of Aztecan vintage. He asked that I not mention the fact to anyone local and if I might be able to help him find a buyer. I told him I would look through the internet for buyers of Aztec antiquities and call him with contact information.

OK, I can hear you all now. And I admit, I am somewhat of a sucker for such things. But tomorrow I am taking a bus to the pueblo to visit, and to stay in what Christopher told me was his three room hotel. I have confirmed with the desk clerk at the Hotel Virginia, where I am staying here, that the pueblo (which does appear on my map) is quite nice and that there is a hotel there. Other than that I don’t know.

You may never hear from me again, but I’m up for the adventure. Meanwhile enjoy the photos of La Casa de Mezcal.

The police here, who are far fewer than in Xalapa it seems, carry only a “night stick” and handcuffs. None that I have seen carry a sidearm or rifle. All of the many police persons in Xalapa carry side arms, many carry rifles or shotguns and some carry six foot long metal truncheons, though I hasten to add that the police in Xalapa are not the least bit menacing.

There are very few buildings here of more than two stories, and few of even two stories. I was told by Jose, of the Casa de Mezcal (of which I will tell you), that Oaxaca is located in a seismic zone, thus the low rise nature of the buildings. Xalapa does not reside in a seismic zone, thus there are many multi-story buildings, particularly in Centro.

The streets and sidewalks in Centro Oaxaca are wider than their counterparts in Xalapa, thus, coupled with the fact of lower buildings, it is lighter and more airy at street level.

Damn there are a lot of churches here. It seems that every couple of blocks one encounters an opulent cathedral.

While I recommend that anyone visiting Oaxaca visit the Zocolo, and park oneself in a chair at one of the restaurants to experience the comings and goings and to make appropriate donations to vendors, I recommend a walk along Calle Las Casas for a tour of the local shopping district. Calles Independencia, Hidalgo, and Guerrero are the streets heavily traveled by tourists, but the other areas of town are quite loevely.

There are many folks in the Oaxaca area, so I’m told, who primarily speak Mixe, an indigenous Aztecan language, of which there are two dialects in the area. The woman making tortillas in the Restaurant Centro, where I had both breakfast and lunch today, told me that she doesn’t speak Spanish well, but speaks Mixe. Likewise, Marcos and Christopher, whom I met in the Case de Mezcal, told me that perhaps twenty percent of those in their home pueblo, near to here and where I will go tomorrow, don’t speak Spanish.

There is a beautiful building fronting on the Zocolo of which I asked Adan, the waiter at the restaurant on the Zocolo where I had a couple of beers yesterday, if it was a government building. He told me that is used to be the state government building; but the state government offices have since been dispersed to different buildings around town, as the Zocolo building had been the site of so many disruptive, often violent, demonstrations.

There is a Jardin de Entobotanico here, to which I walked this morning. Tough I was able to look through a couple of windows in the surrounding walls, it is closed on Sundays so I was not able to visit. Given that I will leave tomorrow at noon, a visit to the Jardin will have to wait. The pictures you see here are of the entrances to the jardin.

I enjoy nothing more than being on the road, encumbered with few plans, learning of new places and people, who are generally eager to answer my many questions, which I generally precede with a “disculpa, una pregunta por favor.” My entreaties are almost always answered with a “no te preocupea” and an answer is gladly proferred.

Also, traveling with no plans enables me to take advantage of such serendipitous opportunities of which I will next report to you.

The Templo de la Soledad bell tower.

Another Templo sculpture.

And yet another, and there are many more.

The church across the plaza from the Templo has also has some  very impressive sculpturing.

With that I’m off for more exploration of the City.

The side entrance to the Templo is also quite elegant.

Through another entrance may be seen a courtyard centered by a fountain.

And across the plaza is yet another elegant church.

The magnificent Templo de la Soledad (Solitude) lies midway between the Hotel Virginia and the Zocolo. The main entrance of the edifice, constructed of cantera stone, is surrounded by intricately carved figures of religious significance.

The templo is built upon the site of a 1543 apparition of the Virgin Mary, was completed in 1690, and declared a basilica in 1959.

The temple is flanked by sprawling plazas, one of which is framed on two sides by the stone amphitheater type seating seen in the photo below.

I arrived in Oaxaca this morning at 7:30, after an all night bus ride from Xalapa. The ADO GL bus line has very modern, very comfortable buses, complete with bathrooms. The fare to here from Xalapa is $390 pesos (the current exchange rate is $10.88 peso per $1.00 USA), about what it would cost to drive; but buses to here leave Xalapa only on Friday and Sunday nights, though one may first bus to Puebla for more frequent departures to here.

I had purchased a pair of Bluetooth wireless headphones, through which I may listen to the music stored in my phone/mp3, so passed the trip listening to Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, the Dixie Chicks, and to the Nutcracker, Swan Lake, and a variety of other classic music selections. The bus made three or four stops, but I’ll be damed if I can tell you where, as I was fading in and out.

About an hour and a half out of Oaxaca the sun had risen sufficiently for me to see the countryside. It is quite dry here and the rolling hills are sparsely covered with shrubby vegetation. I was told by a taxi driver that most rain falls here in June, July, and August, when it is usually quite humid; and that the hottest months are April and May. There are small cultivated patches along the arroyos amongst the hills where I think corn is grown, though none is currently planted.

Oaxaca, itself, resides in a broad valley amongst the hills, with mountains beyond. At the outskirts of the city are green patches of irrigated agricultural lands, though I was unable to identify the low-growing crops. A taxi driver told me that the surrounding farmers grow a wide variety of vegetables which they sell in the central market here.

Leaving the bus station I crossed the street to one of a number of cocina economicas and enjoyed a breakfast of freshly extracted orange juice, juevos rancheros, a slightly sweet roll, tortillas, and a totally unsatisfying cup of reconstituted Nescafe instant coffee. All for $40. pesos and served by a very pleasant young fellow.

Here, as in Xalapa and Merida, folks entering a restaurant customarily greet those eating with a buenos dias, tardes, or noche, as appropriate, and with a buen provecha.

I took a $40. peso taxi ride from the bus station to the Hotel Virginia, where I had made reservations a couple of days prior. The room is clean and the water is hot, my only two essential requirements for hotel accommodations. The room is $300 pesos per night and the hotel is about a six block walk from the Zocolo, to which the central plazas here in Mexico cities are referred. I recommend the place, which also provides free wireless internet service.

Having checked in, cleaned up and took a bit of rest, I headed for the Zocolo, following a tourist map provided by the Hotel. I looked around a bit and parked myself at a table of a restaurant which afforded a Zocolo side view of the comings and goings. Adan, my waiter, speaks wonderful English, which he says he learned waiting on tourists here; and was a great source of information, being quite patient with my many questions.

There are lots of tourists here, though I am told the numbers are significantly less then before the “problems”, as both the taxi driver and Adan put it, here in 2006.

Those who keep up with news of Mexico will remember that a 2006 teachers’ resulted in the occupation of Centro Oaxaca by the teachers and their supporters. Barricades were erected around, Adan told me, a forty two square block area. Buses and buildings were burned; and, ultimately, President Fox sent in federal troops which shot and killed a number of folks in the process of removing the protesters’ encampments.

Centro Oaxaca, Adan also told me, is called Verde Antequera owning to the fact that very many of the buildings are constructed of green cantera stone. Antequera, he told me, refers to the indigenous folks who once lived in the area. Most of the Centro buildings were defaced with graffiti during the 2006 protests and the pale green paint used to cover the graffiti can be seen on most Centro buildings today, including upon all of the columns of the building housing the restaurant.

The Zocolo here is quite lovely, centered by a striking gazebo constructed of carved, green cantera stone and intricate iron railings. There are large, spreading trees and raised garden beds, also constructed of cantera, planted with blazing red poinsettias.

The vendors of all manner of handicrafts plying the Zocolo, reminds me of the vendors hawking their wares along the beach in Cabo San Lucas.

There was, as I sat enjoying a couple Bohemias, an organ player in the restaurant, accompanied by canned percussions, playing elevator type arrangements of popular North American songs, such as “Tie a Yellow Ribbon ‘Round the Old Oak Tree” and “It’s Now or Never, Our Love Can’t Wait”. Mid-way down the Zocolo was a duo playing the pan flute and guitar and at the far end a marimba band.

It is all quite festive.