Benito Juar-ez-this-dam -place-anyway?

Last weekend I made a quick trip up to the mountains to get a break from the loud, congested city. Unfortunately the bus did not go to the town I was staying at so I was instead dropped off about four kilometers away as the bus made its way to the next town over. I didn’t mind though, the walk was beautiful and it was a great opportunity to take pictures. I barely noticed the weight of my big bag as I walked along listening to my iPod and taking in the mountain scenery. When I arrived in town an hour and a half later I couldn’t help but smile. My guide-book spoke highly of the town and Benito Juarez is certainly appealing however, as I walked around I kept asking myself “how is this place even on the map?” To call Benito Juarez a town at all is a bit generous. It has only two large structures, the school and the municipality building which serves as the police station, post office, hospital and no doubt several other purposes. There are also several houses, two restaurants, a general store and two lodging areas for tourists. That’s pretty much it. No other tourists that I could see and hardly any movement from the locals around town. The hostel too was practically empty; only two other backpackers shared the huge lodge with me. This was exactly what I wanted, to get away from the city and enjoy the peace and quiet of the mountains. After getting settled in I immediately strapped on both my cameras as well as my tripod in hopes of catching the famous sunset that Juarez is known for. Before heading out I decided to pick up some snacks for the trail. Unfortunately the little general store didn’t have a huge selection and what they did have was for the most part loaded with sugar and salt. They did have a nice selection of yogurt, however to my surprise none of this was refrigerated! Guess if I was in the mood for cottage cheese I’d know where to go... luckily I found some cereal bars and a bag if peanuts tucked away in the corner. I grabbed these and handed them to the clerk. When I did he just scratched his head and stared, clearly he didn’t sell these too often. For a couple of minutes he flipped through some book of his and then inspected the food. The peanuts actually had a price on the wrapper which he was very happy to point out was 69 cents. [ great, now how bout those bars] I though. He went over to where I had found everything and eyed up the stand a couple of times. I just stood there smiling in amazement as I watched this guy search around for a non-existent price-tag. After about five minutes of this I politely asked him how much he wanted for everything. Again he scratched his head. “Well, the peanuts are 69 cents.”  [Yes, yes I know about the peanuts, you’re very excited out the peanuts] He then went back on searching. He did this for a couple more minutes until he just gave up and went to the back corner. I looked over at him, bars in hand, and motioned to him. His face was blank, he didn’t know what to do. I was bewildered, was I going to have to put the food back because he didn’t know what to charge me? In the end I just offered him what I thought was a fair price and luckily he accepted; I was definitely out of the city!

After talking to the nice guy at tourist information I decided to hike the Mirrador, the peak directly behind the town. When I began I was reminded of just how high the elevation was; I was immediately out of breath. In fact, I noticed once in the Sierra Norte the climate in general changes dramatically. The weather can go from pleasantly hot to freezing and rainy in minutes. Don’t be fooled by the pictures of lush, green valleys and diverse wildlife, this place is rough and unforgiving and the people who live here are no doubt a hell of a lot tougher than me, I found this out sooner than I would have liked. As I made my way up, a cold fog began to surround me and the upper half of the mountain. I should have turned back right then but the storm was creating such photogenic forest scenes that I had to keep going. I made it all the way to the top before the rain came and I was happy to find a small shack at the peak of the mountain. I hid in there for a little bit but eventually the thought of being stuck up there after dark convinced me it would be better to brave the rain than the wild animals of Mexico. By the time I made it back to Juarez I was completely soaked and chilled to the bone. I walked to the police station where a man directed me to the comedor; or tiny eatery below. When I opened the door I saw three woman staring back at me like I was crazy. They were actually getting ready to close up shop but upon seeing my condition they were kind enough to stay a little longer. I told then I only wanted one thing, “chocolate con leche, muy caliente por favor!” They just looked at each other, smiled and prepared my hot chocolate. They also gave me some complementary pan dulce or sweet bread, which I’m finding is a great side to coffee and hot chocolate, one of Mexico’s many great comfort foods. I sat there and ate in the kitchen as the women talked amongst themselves and no doubt joked about me. The room was fairly small, about 20 by 20 and was made completely of stone. On one side they had a decent size wood-fired oven where they would make their delicious pan and the other side was almost completely occupied by the huge stone stove. The surface was basically one huge cast iron skillet and they would use it for everything from cooking tortillas to heating the hot chocolate I was now enjoying. The rest of the place was fairly Spartan, a couple of cooking ingredients, a picture of the blessed mother, a few dried flowers; this place was definitely built for function! In fact the only piece of ornament in the kitchen was the table cloth, a beat-up piece of plastic covered in Christmas designs.  I hung out here for a little longer and warmed myself by the fire and then reluctantly dragged myself back out into the rain for a sprint to my hostel.

I spent the entire next day hiking. I started off on a trail but eventually decided it would be a good idea to do a little trail-blazing. This was fun until I had to make my way down a steep, slick, nettle-infested embankment for about an hour, but hey that’s part of the adventure right? Eventually I picked up a trail and followed it down. Later I realized that had I followed it in the opposite direction I would have actually had made it back to Juarez, unfortunately I followed that dam trail all the way to the next town! It was cool though, the sights were beautiful and even though the weather was constantly threatening me with a torrential downpour the rain held out and I eventually made it back to my hostel safe and sound. When I got back I whipped out my guidebook and read the rest of the entry on the Sierra Norte: “ Be sure to hire a guide or at least buy a map at the tourist information center, the trails are poorly marked at best and you could easily find you’re self lost in the wilderness for the better part of the day.” Huh, well at least I know it’s not just me!

Unfortunately, because I got home so late I had to pack and leave right away so I got my stuff together, paid for the hostel, said my goodbyes and walked the four kilometers back to the main road. I was assured that I would easily pick up a bus or at the very least a colectivo (shared taxi) going in the direction of Oaxaca. Apparently the guys at the hostel didn’t know what they were talking because there were no buses and all of the collectivos were either full or going in the wrong direction! When I had started off I had decided to not even consider hitching but after an hour and a half of waiting in the desolate cold, and the possibility of rain and the impending darkness the idea was looking better and better. I finally gave it a shot and after a couple of failures an old pickup pulled over. It was a family of three, the parents and a teenage boy. They looked pretty harmless and they were going to Oaxaca so I through my bag in the back and hoped on in. The guy sped down the mountain at dangerous speeds, slowing only for the cows and goats in the road and before I knew it we were in Oaxaca. When I stepped out I tried to say in my best Spanish, “may I help pay for the gasoline?” I don’t know word for word what he said but I think I can pretty much guess it went something like this, “ you sure as hell better, this is a taxi you idiot!”

            Adios, Justin

Alone in the Mountains

            The past couple of days have been pretty crazy. On Friday I was planning on moving into my new apartment. If it had all gone down I would have had a beautiful apartment right down the road from my school and close to the cool part of the city to boot. Plus after recruiting a roommate I would have been paying $210 for the month. Unfortunately when I went to the apartment and spoke to the land-lady she told me for the third time that the room wasn’t ready yet and to come back next week. Ha, shame on me for getting my hopes up, should have realized she was stringing me on. This was more than just a setback to my morale; I hadn’t renewed my room at the hostel and when I returned I found that there was no room left! I had to speedily find a hostel and once again lug all my gear across the city. Quickly got everything settled and fell into bed ready for a nap only to find out that my “private room” had paper-thin walls and instead stayed up listening to my roomates’ conversation. Went to bed after some apartment hunting , dinner, and some random picture taking. Spent the next day tying to do some errands but ended up being very unproductive. Also, I rented a bike and tried to ride on the highway to a nearby site but then remembered that the last time I rode a bike was 2 years ago and despite the old saying, its not that easy to jump back into. Imagine this, me with a bright blue shirt, covered in mud, carrying a huge backpack, trying to navigate on a bike on the free way in a busy part of Oaxaca.  Also keep in mind that I’m trying to read a map at the same time and daylight is fading fast. I thought of what my mom would say if she knew about this and for the first time I listened to that advice and turned back. I returned in one piece but by that time I was feeling pretty shitty. I was in a bit of a rut. I was frustrated and defeated and to make things worse I had no one to go out with that night. Its at moments like these that I really feel alone. Don’t get me wrong, for the most part being down here is fine, I have my friends from school as well as work from school to keep me busy. It only really sucks when something cool happens and I have no one to enjoy it, with or when I need a little bit of help and I have no one to turn to but myself. Yep, going to a restaurant alone sucks. I wanted to meet up with someone from school but without cell phones that becomes surprisingly tough so I decided to not even try. I walked around for a little bit and found a place that served mole’ (not the animal) but when it arrived at the table I found out that this was only soup and decided to head out again after finishing up. I was going to head to a typical tacoria when by sheer luck I walked past a shining beckon of hope. Before me stood a genuine, American sportsbar! I don’t think I have ever been so happy to see American kitsch and overpriced beers. And this place was the real deal; there were framed jerseys on the wall and memorabilia everywhere. They could have named it Bar America. As soon as I walked in I saw one of those personal keg towers and contemplated getting really wasted that night but with a smile on my face thought better of it. Instead, I sat down, ordered a crappy local beer and a chicken burger and watched the game in front of me. It was scoccer; some MLS team against a Mexican team. I was so happy I barely watched the game at all, I do however know that we won! I went to bed very content and with the goal of waking up early and trying to navigate that dam bike again. I figured since I was going to be up so early traffic wouldn’t be a problem, however, when I went down the next morning to get the bike I found it locked in the room I stored it in. “Oh well”. I walked to Mercado Abastos and told the first taxi I could find to take me to Monte Alban. Monte Alban is the biggest site in the area and one of Mexico’s most important ruins. I’ve been meaning to go to it for a while now but wanted to catch it during sunrise. This is why I was heading up the mountain in darkness via taxi (probably best the bike was locked up, don’t ya think). I had to hike the last bit since the park was still closed but I didn’t mind this a bit. In fact I loved it. Oaxaca is nice but when I’m on the road I can’t help but long for the mountains. It doesn’t help that the Sierras are always in view when walking around the city, just teasing me with their proximity. But there I was, finally out of the fast paced, loud city and enjoying the peacefulness that is nature. I got to the ruins in about ten minutes and immediately got to work. With tripod in one hand and my two cameras in the other I ran from place to place trying to get as many pictures as I could while the good light held out. Eventually though I allowed myself to enjoy the amazing structures that were built so long ago. Monte Alban was constructed on a man-made plateau on the top of a mountain. The huge stone pyramids were erected without wheels or pack animals and much of the construction of the city remains unknown to present-day archaeologists. Unfortunately even more is unknown to me. I hadn’t read up on the place and of course I didn’t have a guide but despite this it was still quite a site to behold. Standing at the top and looking down gives you a feeling of sacredness and having the place all to myself in the early morning hours made it that much sweeter. I eventually put the cameras down and strolled around. Even though I was still completely alone it didn’t feel like it; you’re never really alone in nature. I have three more weeks at school but I have decided that once that’s up its off to the mountains for me. At least for a little while I’m going to travel alone. Even after hooking up with someone I want it to be with some one who speaks Spanish and very little English, this way I can continue my education. After about an hour and a half I rode back to town and enjoyed the rest of the day. I never did get any use out of that bike (my only disappointment of the day) but I was too happy to care. I am now at the original hostel I stayed at when I first arrived and will remain for here the next three weeks. I have free wifi so you will definitely be hearing from me.

For now though I must say Adios,

Justin

LuchaLibre!

Last night I went to my first Luchadore match! Very exciting. This is pretty similar to American entertainment wrestling; you got your cheesy intros with the smoke and bad music, the ridiculous costumes and names, and last but not least the overdramatic taunts and victory dances. In fact, before going to this match I was never quite sure what the appeal was, I’d rather see fake fighting in movies where its done right. However now that I’ve experienced a live show I have to say it was pretty entertaining. This is much less like a staged UFC fight and much more like the circus. Actually its kind of like watching clowns on steroids. You get you’re funny bits and you’re exciting bits and you even get an inappropriate amount of skin (more guy skin though !?). However from what I can tell the Luchalibre culture is quite a bit different than that of Pro-wrestling back home. It is considered a family outing and everyone comes out. I bought a first-row seat and sat next to a Grandma who screamed and cheered the whole time. She was hilarious but it got a little weird when she started to cat-call at the half-naked wrestler giving a lap dance. Don’t ask. Furthermore there are a few unwritten laws to Luchalibre. First and foremost, it is extremely shameful for a masked fighter to be de-masked. Almost never happens and when it does its trouble. Second the good guys always win. Third, the bad guys are usually foreigners and for some reason the favorite bad guy of choice is Japanese? That’s pretty much it for rules, after that most anything goes…which leads us to another difference between American and Mexican wrestling: There are no rules or regulations! More and more I’m finding this to be the case with Mexico in genrenal. I guess coming from lawsuit happy America this is quite a surprise but sometimes it does get a little dangerous. Take fireworks for instance. I’m all for blowing stuff up but Mexicans seem to take delight in showering their eager onlookers with sparks and explosions. In fact every firework show I’ve seen so far has forced people to run away from the show. This of course happened again at the match as well as plenty of other things to endanger the crowed; luckily I’m young, healthy, and quick to dodge so I loved every second of it. The other difference of Luchalibre is how ghetto it is. The match was held in a high school gym and the ring, costumes and props looked like they were bought second hand 10 years ago. Similarly all the music was straight from the 80s, they even played Labamba, twice! Then finally there are the vendors. These aren’t the official vendors that you’d see at a baseball or football game, these are pretty much the same vendors you’d see at the markets or on random street corners. So this means little old grandmas selling posters and masks and children selling gum and frozen coffee (got to love the variety). All joking aside though the show was great and a couple of the wrestlers where truly great athletes. Even the women put on a good show! When I first saw them come out I had to laugh, they were dressed in the skimpiest of outfits and a couple were definitely showing some age but once they got warmed up they beat the shit out of each other. The Japanese girl was thrown into the crowd several times and she went flying into those chairs. It was awesome! I had a blast and definitely recommend checking out one if you ever get the chance.

For now adios,

                      Justin

Mexican Markets

Today was one of those days I enjoy being alone. I decided it was going to be a photography day so I woke up and caught Senora Yolanda’s (mi Madre de Oaxaca) breakfast. It’s always good but today was especially tasty, tamale con pina (pineapple). I have never had a tamale back home to compare this to but I did have one just the other day. In my cooking class we made a savory version with a black bean mixture and some type of leaf native to Mexico called yerba, (not the tea). Those were good but my breakfast today definitely tops it. Traditionally tamales are made by taking a cornmeal mixture and adding various other additions and then spreading everything onto a corn-husk. The husk is then folded and tied together into a neat little package. Finally these packages are then steamed for about an hour until the tamale has a doughy, dumpling like consistency. Senora Yolanda’s pineapple tamale was very light and just sweet enough to make it suitable for breakfast, definitely a great way to start the day out! After breakfast I headed straight to the bus station. Didn’t know exactly where it was but this gave me a couple opportunities to practice my Spanish. I’m getting pretty good a speaking without pausing too often and I did well on my walk but every now and then I get nervous and fall flat on my face. Once at the station I decided to share a taxi instead of take the bus so I hoped and tried to ask if it went to my destination but the only thing that came out was a nervous laugh. “Vamos Tlacolula?” Tough to pronounce, not remember. Luckily the taxi driver knew what I wanted and explained that he was going my way.

Once at the town I found out that I had arrived a little early. Most of the vendors were still setting up their tents and there was almost no one in the streets shopping. No worries though, this gave me the chance to catch the end of Mass at the beautiful cathedral in the center of town. Pretty interesting to see mass in this part of the world and if you ever get a chance I recommend it. Even if you’re not Christian it’s rewarding to see just how devout these people are. Every aspect of the mass is held with the utmost of respect and the turnout puts my own parish to shame; I only had room to stand in the back. To my left there was a confession stand and they were actually hearing confessions right then. The priest performing the sacrament was great he could have been a monk straight out of the 1600s. He looked like an easy hundred and he hade the biggest, bushiest white beard. This was exaggerated by his lack of hair on his head and his scrawny old body. To top it off he was dressed in a robe fit for the pope. Not something you’d see back home! After church all the families hurried out to their stands and I was left with an almost empty interior to take pictures of. I had only brought my film camera so I can’t share any pictures right now but I’m pretty confident that what I got turned out pretty good. The best part of the cathedral was the little chapel attached to its side. Every inch of it was covered in ornate woodwork and larger than life size paintings of biblical scenes. Furthermore, in stark contrast to the churches of Europe this wasn’t just a tourist attraction; in fact I felt quite out of place. I had to sneak my photos when the pious, timeworn grandmas weren’t scoffing at me. I’m pretty sure as one hobbled past me she muttered some curse at me. No worries though, once I said a couple prayers with them I was free to get all the pictures I needed. After that I headed out in search of the one scene that brought me here.

Probably won’t interest too many of you, just a regular old vendor but it had great lighting and when I spotted it my last time here I new I had to come back to get the shot. I quickly loaded my camera with some color film and walked over to get the shot. As I formulated what to say to the vendor I took a test shot. Unfortunately to my surprise my camera did nothing but make a strange noise and then the power abruptly cut off. Shit! I turned it off and then on again. Nothing. Changed out the film. Still nothing. Finally I took the thing apart but to my horror it still remained silent. I was freaking out. This meant that not only would I not be able to use this camera but that I’d have 200 dollars worth of film slowly deteriorating as it sat unused. Wasn’t too happy about that. I returned defeated, without my amazing photo and without the use of a camera that I have grown to love. Luckily back at the house I learned that it was the lens that was broken, not the camera. Not that much better but at least I can still take pictures. Went out again for photography only this time in Oaxaca’s markets.

First one I went to was 20 de Noviembre. This market has the craziest, most disgusting meat vendors. Not to say that they are unclean, just that to most American eyes they’re enough to make one puke. All the meat is hanging on hooks in cramp little stalls and none of it is refrigerated; guess this is why you so rarely find a steak cooked rare. To make things even more uh.. interesting, none of the meat displayed is what I would call normal. The most recognizable cuts are fresh pigs feet and the entire skin of, well, something. From there we move on to stranger and stranger sights until finally coming to a piece?/ product?, I don’t even know to call it that almost had me asking “what the f*ck is that?” to the vendor. Luckily I stopped myself and began talking to the guy next to me. He was wearing a T-shirt that said Budapest on it and this started a conversation that lasted a couple minutes. I actually understood most of it and he was so happy that I was trying to talk to him that he started to have the vendor (his friend) give me free samples of the meat! Great I thought. I get to try all the things I was trying to avoid. What was first given to me was enough to scare even me off. It was a big brick of what appeared to be chopped up fat, grey meat and various other mysteries. I think it is Mexico’s version of an olive loaf and from what I could understand it was mostly pork fat. Not wanting to be rude I took my slice with a generous helping of salsa and dug in. It actually tasted all right, very fatty but definitely stomachable. The only thing that got me was the consistency. In general it was like pate’, smooth and easy to bite but then it also had little hard bits to it! That made me fight the gagg reflex. Nothing worse that finding little grisle in meat, it always leaves you wondering just what it was you ate! I did however manage to swallow it and afterwards got the picture that motivated my to endure this in the first place. My new friend with the Budapest shirt then quickly took me out the door and down the street. All the while rambling on about some kind of a fiesta. He kept saying it was “muy traditional” and I assumed it was the Geulaguetza, the huge festival that everyone keeps talking about. When I got to his little apartment just off the market I soon found out that it wasn’t quite the same thing. In fact it wasn’t that traditional either. What he was actually inviting me to was a fiesta where tradition Mexican dresses were being worn by men. I had to laugh. I knew he was gay and figured he was inviting me to a party with him and his friends but I really thought this was going to be some native Mexican festival. The pictures he was now showing me were definitely not depicting some indigenous ritual. All in all though it looked like a lot of fun and I decided that my buddy (actually cant remember his name) was harmless. Besides, how could I turn down the offer to be the photographer of a genuine drag fest in Mexico? I asked if I could bring friends and he said bring as much as I wanted. So it was settled. I said adios and was on my way to Mercado Abastos.

            Abastos is huge, the biggest market in Oaxaca and possibly the biggest in Mexico. I heard people joke around about bringing a map and I laughed at them at the time but once in it became clear that they were only half joking. Much of the market is comprised of collapsible metal structures but that is where the order stops. Shops are strewn out in every which way, seemingly without any organization. One second you’ll be ducking underneath handmade leather goods and the next you’ll have fruit and flowers pushed into your face by the determined vendors. Given my track record for getting lost I was sure to keep close to the border. As I wondered around I ended up in the center of about half a dozen grills cooking up Tlayudas. One vendor spotted me for the gringo that I am and joked that it was a Mexican pizza. I smiled and agreed to try it. I talked to him for a little and was a good sport at being the but of his jokes. He and his wife had a good time and when I asked him how much for the “pizza” he told me it was on the house. That’s the great thing about Oaxaca. Most of the shops are still little old mom and pop specialty stores and everything is made fresh on premise. I make fun about the markets and vendors but at the end of the day it really is much more rewarding than back home and the food is not to be missed. Anyone tourist who has been scared away from the street food has truly missed out on an important part of Mexico. I’ll be sure to report on the food and more later. Plus I promise next time I’ll have more pictures and less writing. Thanks for reading my rant.

Adios,

        Justin.