mexiroccan

A Quicky on the BIG Squeeze

2011-06-03T19:34:00.001-05:00

I had to write something simply because the SUN IS FINALLY OUT! Not a cloud in the sky for at least 2 days from what I hear, and NPR sweetened the day with a feature on Texas accordion love. It's way too nice to stay in long so this is a quicky.

If you haven't figured this out by now let me come clean, Texas turned me into a massive conjunto and thereby accordion fan. Yes I LOVE me some accordion and along with my dreams of getting up on a tarima and effortlessly getting down to some son jarocho, I dream of grabbing an accordion and letting er' RIP!

So in honor of the big accordion pilgrimage in Houston this weekend, I am posting up a couple of videos. Also check out Flaco and Santiago Jimenez's version of Viva Seguin on the NPR story if you're curious about what makes my hair stand up. As a bonus here's a Freddy Fender and Flaco Jimenez (with Willie Nelson on the side) version of Volver Volver! I'm off to buy myself some botas picudas and a cowgirl hat to go with my dream accordion!

La Lloroncita Three Month Hump

2011-05-30T17:49:00.004-05:00

There's no doubt, I've hit the three month hump. The day in and day out grisuras have seeped into my mind. My bones and body ache... rechinan... squeak like an un-oiled rusty machine. The pangs of my beating heart, and the longing of my soul clumping in my throat, sinking heavy deep down into my stomach like a boulder.

A wave of childhood memories. Old yellowed polaroid film-like images of the girl I once was. I keep imagining myself back there somewhere, bolita de angustia, staring out the window plotting her great escape from the misery around. Now I sit here in front of this window, la lloroncita contemplating the grayness and stillness of everyday. I imagine myself as one of those light-loving insects. I think about walking towards the sun the same way they fly towards the light in their ultimate demise.

My dreams are filled with firefly nights and paleta de limón days. Swinging back and forth en mi hamaca, getting wiffs of cacao beans en el metate. I can hear the sound of mi tía Elena's hands making tortillas en el comal... Chickens running back and forth in a frenzy con su manada de pollitos as my little brother tries to catch one to hold in his tiny hands. Una oleada de viento makes the hand made cortinas that hang in every door swop up into a dance. There I stay swinging back and forth en mi hamaca a daydreaming lloroncita.

Message in a Bottle: Re-visiting La Sexta...

2011-05-23T18:58:00.006-05:00

Excerpts from La Sexta Declaración de la Selva Lacandona

"Ésta es nuestra palabra sencilla que busca tocar el corazón de la gente humilde y simple como nosotros, pero, también como nosotros, digna y rebelde. Ésta es nuestra palabra sencilla para contar de lo que ha sido nuestro paso y en donde estamos ahora, para explicar cómo vemos el mundo y nuestro país, para decir lo que pensamos hacer y cómo pensamos hacerlo, y para invitar a otras personas a que se caminan con nosotros en algo muy grande que se llama México y algo más grande que se llama mundo. ésta es nuestra palabra sensilla para dar cuenta a todos los corazones que son honestos y nobles, de lo que queremos en México y el mundo. Ésta es nuestra palabra sencilla, porque es nuestra idea el llamar a quienes como nosotros y unirnos a ellos, en todas partes donde viven y luchan..."

"This is our simple word which seeks to touch the hearts of humble and simple people like ourselves, but who are also, like ourselves, dignified and rebel. This is our simple words for recounting what our path has been and where we are now, in order to explain how we see the world and our country, in order to say what we are thinking of doing and how we are thinking of doing it, and in order to invite other persons to walk with us in something very great which is called Mexico and something greater which is called the world. This is our simple word in order to inform all honest and noble hearts what it is we want in Mexico and the world. This is our simple word, because it is our idea to call on those who are like us and to join together with them, everywhere they are living and struggling..."

Sometimes you just have to go back to those trusty old basics to make sense of it all. Como dicen por ahí 'mas sabe el diablo por viejo que por diablo.' And so I've decided to take a step back from the plethora of debates making the rounds out in the great bloggasphere. I'm taking a breather from the two or three posts I've been working on pero no mas no salen. Breathing deeply before diving into the dozen or so applications hanging on my head like esferitas on a Christmas tree.

Coming back to la Sexta feels like landing on a deserted beach after a storm. You feel the sand underneath your feet, the sun caressing your skin, and when you look out you can see clearly for miles and miles. Every time I read through it I feel like I've been standing in a dark room when suddenly a lightbulb turns on...

No theoretical trabalenguas, no massive dictionary needed, no big road maps, just words sent out to the world in 2005 from deep down in the Lacandon Jungle.

It wasn't always this way. I remember shunning most of the Zapatista declarations for a while, cuando se puso muy de moda, and all I could see were international activists wearing pantalones de manta y guaraches and those dreaded blond dreads snaking down or bee-hiving-up-high on their heads. The sudden catapulting of the Zapatista's into celebrity status by activist groups made me cringe, cover my ears up with my hands, close my eyes, and start humming 'blah blah blah' the same way Dorothy repeated "there's no place like home" in the Wizard of Oz.

Then there was grad-school... Talk about overkill. My graduate department was basically divided between the all hail the Zapatistas can do no wrong and the 'blah, blah blah'-humming contingency. As usual, I was stuck somewhere in the middle, but mostly tried to stay out of it as I tried to do with every other gone-awry battle in my department. No, this was not out of some sort of complacency, it was mostly out of the profound disconnection I felt between the graduate school battles, my life and the world at large. That disconnect became so heavy that at some point I lost my voice, but that's a story for another day.

Re-reading through the Sexta and visiting a Zapatista Caracol while living in Oaxaca profoundly changed my relationship to words that had at one point become a burden. Reading la Sexta in the dry asphyxiating heat of a Spring in Oaxaca was like walking out into the drenching cooling rain of a Oaxacan summer evening. And so I turn to it again and again, on the eve of the 'rapture', when people around the world rise up and demand to be heard and our news channels run 20 minutes on the Billboard awards and debate who will replace Charlie Sheen on Two and a half men. I turn to it at a time when our digital acercamientos leave us more and more disconnected from one another tripping over words when how-do-you-do scripts are not followed. I turn to it feeling like I've experienced a small miracle, as if I had just found a message in a bottle set out to sea. I turn to it with the hope that maybe just maybe others might also stop their "blah blah blahing" and find the message in the bottle stuck somewhere in the sand...

Oventic, Chiapas, 2010.

"Bueno, pues ahora les vamos a decir lo que queremos hacer en el mundo y en México, porque no podemos ver todo lo que pasa en nuestro planeta y quedarnos nomás callados, como si sólo nosotros estamos donde estamos..."

"We are now going to tell you what we want to do in the world and in Mexico, because we cannot watch everything that is happening on our planet and jut remain quiet, as if it were only we were where we are..."

Love Fest

2011-05-18T00:30:00.001-05:00

I remember the names randomly popping up on my fb news feed months ago when I was still living la vida loca down in Oaxaca

Mosquita y Mari

An old high school classmate randomly saying something about supporting the film and the film maker, a queer Latina from the bay area living down in LA.

I let it pass by... didn't investigate any further... until one day out of the blue it practically slapped me across the face! A few days ago Colorlines made the film the subject of their daily Celebrate Love post. I checked out the films page, read the synopsis, and checked out the crew... and what a sight it was. Rainbow colored, from all walks of life. Made me miss LA, made me miss its gritty, concrete, norteño, mural plastered, orange selling freeway ramps... Reminded me of its magic... It filled me with joy to see their beautiful faces, to witness the effort of so many to try to get this story, our story told. It doesn't hurt they set it in my old stomping grounds. The same places I was around when I was the age of Mosquita y Mari... a quinseañera...

So I've decided to join the cyber space love for M y M. Can't wait to see las mocosas up on the big screen uno de estos días soon. In the mean time check out the director's other short film bellow and click on this kickstarter link to support the film any small way you can.

Rumores en el Blogosphere

2011-05-05T15:09:00.006-05:00

OJO! I've UPDATED this post!

Taking a clue from a few other sites I follow, I've decided to give this a try. Some blog loving. A few posts I recommend for this week.

"Botas y disco ball," from the exhibit Milli es una histérica at Estación Cero, Oaxaca, Mexico, February 2011.

On proving citizenship: check out the Unapologetic Mexican on the Obama Trump saga and what it means for the rest of us.

On May Day: photo essay, street vendors working on May day in L.A. at Multi-American.

On Cinco de Mayo: check out this short but sweet piece at Racialicious from a few years back. Also check out A lt.Latino's podcast on up-and-coming Mexican musicians with a little sprinkling of LA Mexican History.

On feminisms and intersectionality: check out What Tami Said on how to blog on race, feminisms and equality... LOVED this piece! Also check out Feminism for Real, responding o the mainstream feminist blogosphere.

Anecdotes: from the trenches of the LA Book festival. A Chicano cuenta cuentos from the student movement and more at interections.

On the Borderlands: a book review, Making a Killing: Feminicide, Free rade, and La Frontera also published at Feminist Texican.

Reflections on violence: given the recent news, everything from the Royal Wedding, to the Marcha por la Paz in Mexico, and the killing of Osama Bin Ladden, Empezo a Volar's reflections are not only timely but beautiful.

Any blogs you suggest getting to this week? (Shameless self promotion is allowed and highly encouraged ;)

Lo Prometido es Deuda

2011-05-04T20:25:00.003-05:00

And so, the book review as promised*

Escondido, 2005, from the Mazahuacholoskatopunk series. Photo by: Federico Gama

Book Review: Down and Delirious in Mexico City: The Aztec Metropolis in the Twenty-First Century, by Daniel Hernandez

There is a legend that runs through artist circles in Mexico about the surrealist French photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson’s first visit to that country. They say Cartier-Bresson was so moved and overwhelmed with visual stimulation that he declared all one had to do to find a surrealist image while in Mexico was to point one’s camera and simply shoot. Apparently, Cartier-Bresson found the surrealist promised land in le Mexique.

I often times find myself imagining Mr. Cartier-Bresson wondering the streets of Mexico camera and western sensibilities in hand, like some sort of belated colonialist explorer encountering the totem-like mishmash of the ancient, colonial and the modern that makes up Mexico. My own voyeuristic fascination with Mexico, like all the best voyeuristic endeavors in life, is deeply personal. I am, to put it mildly, passionately in love with its fluid pump-up-the-color-volume folklorico-piñata-dance chaos. Fortunately, this love abounds and Daniel Hernandez’s new book, a quasi telenovela meets Boogie Nights love letter to the 20 plus million metropolis that is Mexico City, is a worthwhile testament.

To take Hernandez’s book as simply a non-fiction travel book or as the cool kids are calling it these days, creative non-fiction travel book, would be a mistake. Hernandez’s book is fascinating precisely because he is NOT: 1) trying to find himself by teaching English in another country 2) throwing himself into hard labor in a remote indigenous village 3) has no philanthropic endeavors 4) and NO broken heart he needs to mend through ancient indigenous practices. Hernandez is on a mission to find himself, a San Diego native, Angeleno transplant via Tijuana, Mexico whose parents warn him early on that in el DF (Mexico City, pronounced ‘de – efe ’), he’ll get his socks stolen while he’s got his shoes on. Instead of making him run up towards Canada, Hernandez, a self-described “dark-skinned” pocho mexi-gringo, decides to move to el monstruo (the monster, a tongue and cheek term-of-endearment for el DF). It is in el monstruo that Hernandez leads us through a series of hoyos funkys, underground tunnels that weave through the city coming up momentarily from time to time for brief snap-shots of a series of urban subcultures that include but are not limited to fashionista fairies, nezayorkinos, banda, grafiteros, emos and fresas.

One of, I believe, nine children raised by immigrant parents in Southern California, by the end of the book you get a sense that Hernandez is some sort of desert chameleon one minute drinking a cahuama (a family sized beer sold in Mexico) with a friend in a run-down prostitute laden side of town and the next schmoozing with the crème-de-la-crème Mexican up-and-coming fashion, artist, writing crowd. I suppose a warning against whiplash is in order. Nevertheless, it is through these encounters that Hernandez not only lays out the mega-city for us with all of its divine contradictions, but it is precisely through these urban-life snippets that he refreshingly peels back and exposes his own identity based struggles. Knowing exactly from where he was coming, I found myself wanting to reach through the pages to shake his hand on several occasions. There are particularities to being a fill-in-the-blank –American and going back to the country of “origin” that I believe might transcend beyond one particular experience or culture, Hernandez’s book would fit that category. The prodigal son that leaves the land of opportunity for the land our parents left behind. This is not Cartier-Bresson getting off a plane baptizing Mexico as the surrealist-promised land.

The book is a quick read at that, one that I intentionally extended and savored piece by piece until despite my every effort it’s pages ran out. At the end of the journey through one of the largest urban jungles in the world, it is obvious that although Hernandez is gifted with those chameleon-like tendencies I previously mentioned, it is the magic of the city itself that allows Hernandez and the millions of transplants that keep pumping into it, to transform themselves day in and day out.

Suggested music:

CUMBIA!

Rock en Español

*This entry first appeared in Le Chaim.

Aventuras en Voyeurism

2011-04-28T11:54:00.004-05:00

Nezayorkinos, Fresas, and Fashionista Faries en la Gran Tenochtitlan

Aztec Punk, 2005, from the Mazahuacholoskatopunk series. Photo by: Federico Gama

Ando emocionada, finished Daniel Hernandez's "Down and Delirious in Mexico City" a few days ago and wrote a review that was very generously published by Le Chaim. I had a blast writing the review and so I am now looking for my next victim, ja ja ja! Here's a link for anyone interested in cruising on over to Le Chaim. Will repost the review on this site a week or so from now as well, just cause ando emocionada ;]

Lessons from bell hooks

2011-04-20T23:47:00.002-05:00

I have been struggling with allergies and dehydration all day today. Bed-ridden and unable to really concentrate, write etc, and in the in-between of my delirios, I have been watching and listening to bell hooks in a series she taped years back. What more to lift one's spirit than to hear this woman talk...

Here is Part 1, you can get to the following parts through youtube. I highly recommend you do just that.

And a bonus lecture at UO a few years ago :)

Monas in the window

2011-04-19T00:28:00.008-05:00

"La Mona coqueta in the window"... Life in Portland, Oregon, April 2011.

Vuelvo...
Although to be honest I am just going to take this whole coming back thing O N E D A Y a t a T I M E ,
Poquito a poquito.
Pasito a pasito...
No promises,
No palabras de honor... just yet.

Still in a head-spin, mostly a self-inflicted head-spin. Before el choc wore-off, I took off-running like that Chicana Virgen de Guadalupe from Yolanda Lopez's "Portrait of the artist as the Virgin of Guadalupe," l i k e s o m e sort of crazy Chicana version of Run Lola Run (except for the whole boyfriend losing a stash of cash and having the mob after him part). I figured that if we were going to be here por un rato, there was NO time to waste, NO time to spare, too many plans, too much to do, too many bridges to build...

And so, I've been on a mission to find, learn, absorb everything I can while here. Through this journey, it's turned out this whole moving thing, this whole leaving behind a community I have nurtured and tried to build over the span of years was not as tragic as I first imagined... Don't get me wrong I miss Oaxaca, but I also feel I am at a different place now since my last telenovela drama of a month ago. I've turned the drama into a learning-frenzy that I am determined to keep up until we go down south again. I know deep down inside Oaxaca is not going anywhere and neither is my love and respect for the community I have built there.

I admit that living in the US has always been hard for me. I was born here, but having spent a crucial part of my childhood in Mexico and to be ripped from it just before I hit my teenage years, left a hueco I have always been trying to fill al my life. It left me with a never ending ongoing search to recover a lost childhood. Yet this time around coming back to the US, I am learning to do so on my own terms without being ripped into pieces. Instead I have been making an extra effort to make the experience of being here as fruitful as possible. As a result this has so far changed my experiences for the good so far. No noches de ronda tomando mezcal para olvidar thank you. I am, believe it or not, enjoying este tiempo.

How am I doing this you might ask? Well here are a few things I have been doing since I got here to turn things around: 1) I reached out to the local community radio and am now learning how to use their equipment and volunteering with them as a trade off, 2) I have found numerous interesting organizations doing all sorts of work, from urban farming where people trade crops to feminist community spaces, 3) have found a few potential spaces where I might e able to organize a few exhibits with the art work I brought back with me from Oaxaca (part of the bridge building), 4) finished designing a blog for a women artists collective in Oaxaca, 5) have found some of the most amazing coffee ever! (yes I am a coffee snob), I've eaten some amazing pie and strolled through one of the most beautiful farmers markets I have ever seen... which just happens to have an adjunct-rogue mariachi trompetista playing to his own tune :] I hope tell you more about him soon.

There is so much more to tell, so much more to say, pero tengo el cuerpo cansado por ahora. Did I mention I am starting my own vegetable garden? Yeah, was out shoveling yesterday then went on to unwind and cut ivy from berry bushes that are beginning to spring up... I am guessing black berries... but will let you know when they pop out! Oh! and then there's that whole job search thing to top things off... No time to waste too much to do :]

One year later...

2011-04-10T20:33:00.000-05:00

...celebrando que hace un año nos encontramos rodeados de amigos y familia compartiendo tejate, horchata, mole negro, y pastel de tres leches, bailando al compas de una banda Oaxaqueña y brindando alegremente con mezcal...

Dispatches from a Mixed-Up Mex in the Northwest...

2011-03-16T00:01:00.006-05:00

Alas we are at it again... Yes we have moved and I can barely feel my feet under me, mostly I think because they are wet and frozen. I come to you from yet another mexiroccan experience, the great puddle of Portlandia. Yes no more straight from the mercado dispatches, no more flaunting my memela and tamales de mole powers, no more colorful Sunday strolls in the sun bathed (sometimes scortched) streets of mi enamorada... la linda Oaxaca.

Enter BIG SIGH!... Sniff sniff...

Alright! I admit I am being a l i t t l e - b i t t y - b i t overly dramatic, but heck it goes with the territory, I'M A CITY GIRL not a frontiers woman! Give me some cement, some chaos, some crazy fight-for-your-life lines and I'll feel right at home. Okay, and yes, I am exaggerating the whole never-Oaxaca-this-and-that-talk a l i t t l e - b i t t y - b i t like a tween-aged-girl who just found out Justin Bieber is going steady thus crushing all of her hopes and dreams of ever touching his oh-so-perfect hair.

WE WILL BE BACK IN Oaxaca soon enough. What can I say, we caught, or to be more accurate, WE ATE the chapulin bug a long time ago and Oaxaca is no longer a question mark in our minds, it has become part of our home. A place where being not quite Mexican, and not quite gringo feels comfortable and uncomfortable enough for us to be happy. So like a couple of good telenovela lovers riding a never ending see-saw of romance dysfunctionality of an on-and-off again relationship, our torrid wonderful affair has no fin in sight...Ce la vie de le pocho-mexicaine!

Back to my sulking...

So in a not so small nutshell... Yes we have moved. Yes I live in green beautiful woodsy rainlandia. Yes I am surrounded by most often tragically hip hipsters, the brawny man and other woodskeepers ( I am guessing I'll soon bump into the keebler elves), and of course the gringo/a-one-love-rasta-mans/womans.

Here's a snap shot of my life now days:

Walk into my local coffee shop where I often feel like I have entered some other dimension. You know the feeling, it's like in that program Star-Trek where they can beam you up or down to another planet or galaxy, except you get this creeping feeling that someone must have pressed the wrong button on the control panel! Okay, back to the coffee shop where M and I are now the only two non-'hip', non-mustache, non-beard contest winners, or 70s wearing, bike riding, comPOST GENIES... In other words we are the only two ni de aquí ni de alla straight from the streets of East Los and La Estrella Oaxaca, mixed-up, non-white humans in the building. HELL! I feel like some sort of minority statistic just walking into a place these days.

Can't help but think of that book by Dr. Seuss, the one everyone gets for graduating high-schoolers and fresh-off-the-block 21 year college graduates... Oh! the Places You'll Go... yep. Funny.

And so with that thought, I bid this blog entry adieu for now ;)

We're not in Kansas anymore...or maybe we are!

2011-03-10T15:39:00.003-06:00

Relocation semi-complete... now mexiroccan from the West Coast. Back on the aquí y alla rocking boat. I normally refrain from using outside images but I thought this image captured the current moment accurately ;] Back on the blogasphere soon!

Photo by: Corey Arnold

Postcard Love Note

2011-01-30T21:31:00.000-06:00

Corazónes volando, Ave. Allende, Oaxaca, 29 de enero 2011.

A postcard love note...

short, sweet, can be sent by mail,

can be delivered personally,

left or tucked-in somewhere

visible for the beloved to find.

I went out to pick up a few supplies from the mercado Saturday morning. Nothing better after a Friday night out with friends than tamalitos de mole negro, un atolito de panela, y unos cuantos churros for our mid-day cafecito. Got to the market and found myself in the middle of a party con todo y cumbia band. Just one of those not unusual yet unexpected surprises that make going to the mercado on a Saturday morning that much more exciting, one of those acontecimientos that makes one fall head-over-heels in-love with Oaxaca una y otra vez. Still feeling the tunda from the night before's events, zombyfied, and embrujada by the wooing cumbia beats, I took out my camera to film a little (see video bellow, I suggest watching it on the blog and not youtube for a less pixilated experience).

A que RE-CHULA es la Oaxaca...

Mercado Sanchez Pazcuas, Oaxaca, sábado, 29 de enero 2011.

Demos taller...

2011-01-27T22:20:00.005-06:00

Lucio Cabañas instalación organica, Demos Taller Galería, Barrio de Jalatlaco, Oaxaca. Enero 2011.

The last few weeks here have been extra busy! Knowing that we will soon be leaving for an extended period of time is making my head spin with work, visits with friends, and mental re-organizing. Finally after months of uncertainty and confusion, it all seems a bit clearer, a bit more in place and little by little I've had the chance to put all those once retired skills to work! (and to think I will most likely be starting over when we leave... sigh)

One of the projects I've been working on has been a blog for a collective of artists from/or who were living in Oaxaca during the 2006 social uprising. As a collection, the 15 woodcut and linoleum prints produced are titled "Dialectica para NO Olvidar". The original project grew from a collaboration between Demos Taller Gallery and a group of women, human rights activists and Demetrio Barrita who then invited 7 other local artists. Each artist was given the task of producing at least 1 piece, most produced 2, for the series using their particular visual language and their personal reflections on the movement in an attempt to not forget their experiences, to keep the memory of that time and place alive as well as to leave a tangible rememberance. The pieces not only speak of that particular time and place from the perspective of each individual artist but also enter into a collective dialogue about their very particularities. The finished series also, I feel, invites the viewer to participate in a much larger reflection about the perpetual state of violence we live in here in México, but also engage in a more global reflection about the state of normalized everyday violence being experienced around the world.

I've had a great time working on this project and spending time with Demos and the group of artists involved. After so many years of knowing Demetrio, the corner stone of Demos Taller, I have been more than happy to finally have someway of giving something back to him for the open arms of friendship he extended in the middle of so much chaos in 2006. While at the studio I have taken a few photos. Here is a little of what I've been surrounded by lately...

Portada "Dialectica para NO Olvidar," Demos Taller Galería, Barrio de Jalatlaco, Oaxaca. Enero 2011.

Detalle Zapatista, Virgen y niño instalación organica, Demos Taller Galería, Barrio de Jalatlaco, Oaxaca. Enero 2011.

"La barca del olvido" instalación organica de D. Barrita, Demos Taller Galería, Barrio de Jalatlaco, Oaxaca. Enero 2011.

"Niños Dios en proceso de restauración," Demos Taller Galería, Barrio de Jalatlaco, Oaxaca. Enero 2011.

Ando Volando

2011-01-23T19:38:00.001-06:00

Chacahua, Oaxaca.

Ando volando,

having a hard time keeping my feet on the ground,

know the fall is coming,

have to land running... keep running...

no looking back.

Pero ando volando.

Can't think of running from up here,

mucho menos imagine falling...

Head and heart up in the clouds

feet dragging me down...

Pero sigo volando.

Swaying and zapateando

to the cajón-like thumping of my heart

Con la Bruja y las Olas del Mar...

Lullaby sprung from the ocean

que mas puedo hacer que volar.

Entonces ando volando.

Came down only to dig a hole deep down

entre los cenos de esta tierra

burried my hombligo

shed my skin

and el cuetero sent me straight back up.

Desde entonces ando volando.

Perdida entre bugambilias, pinceles y las olas del mar...

Chacahua

2011-01-17T12:20:00.006-06:00

Playa, Chacahua, Oaxaca, January 2011.

La Costa Chica de Oaxaca colinda, runs into, la Costa Grande de Guerrero, both known for their Afro-Indigenous- Mestizo roots. It is a place that is still hard to get to, far removed from many of the more popular Mexican pacific coast beach destinations. The language culture and music of this region can seem worlds away even from those of the Mexican states they are tucked into. Political maps might have the region divided in two but the region's similar history and continuing trade and exchange of goods makes them seem like two parts of the same naranja.

Coming from the Valles Centrales of Oaxaca into la Costa Chica the topography can seem almost garden-of-eden-like... Hues of GREENS, BLUES, and shades of WHITE... large open areas of bright green grass, cows out to pasture among las palmeras... a w o o i n g sound of waves crashing on the beach near-by... swamp-like marshes where birds and cows gather to drink and bathe... small and large lake-mirrors reflecting flocks of small white cranes as they fly overhead... campesinos working the land, tending to the young papaya plants, cutting cocos, sembrando maíz... and the lingiring ghosts of colonialization and slavery marked on the faces of young and old alike. I've been to la Costa Chica only a couple of times but have always been struck by the beautiful faces de su gente, almost completely absent, hidden, and erased from the larger Mexican imaginary, growing, thriving, and the life and blood of a land de manglares, lagunas, y mar...

To get to Chacahua from the city of Oaxaca is a bit of an odyssey. It takes almost every type of transportation method to get there: suburban (large van) to Puerto Escondido (about a 7+ hour topsy curvy ride through la Sierra Sur), a colectivo to Rio Grande, taxi colectivo to el crucero de Zapotal, colectivo truck into Zapotal, boat from Zapotal to the peninsula of Chacahua (Chacahua is surrounded by lakes and on the other side the ocean), colectivo truck to pueblo de Chacahua.

Most of these modes of transportation do not have a set time, a nice reminder that not everyone believes or lives by the TIME IS MONEY syndrome of capitalism. Camping at one of the palapas in Chacahua is free, yes FREE, however you are expected to eat at the respective palapa you are camping at. If you like fresh seafood and home-cooked meals this should not be a problem. We stayed with the same family M had stayed with years before on the recommendation of a friend who has visited the same family for years.

Here are a few more images of our camping trip to Chacahua...

Lesli the youngest of the family, Chacahua, Oaxaca, January 2011.

Palma roof, Chacahua, Oaxaca, January 2011.

Palma & boat on lake, Pueblo de Chacahua, Oaxaca, January 2011.

Hierva Santa, Chacahua, Oaxaca, January 2011.

Bird & lake, Chacahua, Oaxaca, January 2011.

Palmeras, Pueblo de Chacahua, Oaxaca, January 2011.

Playa, Chacahua, Oaxaca, January 2011.

domingueando...

2011-01-10T20:37:00.012-06:00

I used to hate Sundays in Oaxaca. Las calles solas, desalojadas sin el hustle and bustle of everyday life here. Las calles los domingos used to feel plain dead.

I remember I especially hated despedidas en domingo. I used to avoid them like the plague. Sunday mornings used to feel like the life had been sucked right out of the city and saying goodbye on that day was always sadder and harder which might explain the countless 'accidentally' missed flights I've accumulated over the years.

Thankfully those days are long gone... I hate Sundays in Oaxaca no more...

Sure they are still quite y las calles siguen solas sans the hustle and bustle...yet I've learned to find a kind of beauty in the s l o w , quiet, despertares en domingo that changes ever so slightly depending on the season, month and week. Sundays have become a r e s p i t e , a kind of refuge from the clacson y el constant beeping, the clouds of exhaust, and even the tourists. The winter light is especially beautiful in Oaxaca and looking at the city with fresh eyes on those quiet Sunday mornings has become one of my favorite pass times.

Este domingo we went to el mercado, got our memelas, shared a jugo de mango con naranja from Angelitas Jugos (yes! there are mangos in season again!), walked on el andador and listened to the accordion player play to an almost empty street (see video above). We took time to admire the amazing Oaxacan skies, marveled at how the sun light caresses Santo Domingo so beautifully that you can't help but be enchanted by it every time you pass by. We then headed to the coffee shop where we met years ago and talked over cups of espresso about how the Oaxacan skies and sunlight can make a photographer out of almost anyone. We then took our domingo to el museo del ferrocarril where a few minutes more in the hot sun found us sharing a jicara of refreshing tejate... mmmmm... I love tejate...

Here are a few photos from our domingo.

Santo Domingo, Plazuela del Pañuelito, Oaxaca de Juárez, 9 de enero 2011.

Tren Azúl, Museo del Ferrocarril, Oaxaca de Juárez, 9 de enero 2011.

Museo del Ferrocarril, Oaxaca de Juárez, 9 de enero, 2011.

Niña Mariposa, Museo del Ferrocarril, Oaxaca de Juárez, 9 de enero, 2011.

Pajarito nuevo, Museo del Ferrocarril, Oaxaca de Juárez, 9 de enero, 2011.

Buseador y niño pajaro, Museo del Ferrocarril, Oaxaca de Juárez, 9 de enero 2011.

A year of Kaliman

2011-01-03T13:27:00.003-06:00

Maya (dog) and Kaliman Ninja (cat) one year ago, home en la Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca de Juárez.

Yes I am going to be completely ridiculous in this post. To tell you the truth I think most people here in Oaxaca would think I am absolutely mental, (I am sure you can find a few more out there outside of Oax who would think the same).

This is a pet post. A post about the two furry crazies that get us out of bed in the morning wether we want to or not. The two furries with completely opposite personalities, colors and sizes who somehow get along like two peas in a pod. The reason for the post is Kaliman's one year anniversary with us. It's not hard to see from early pictures just how this crazy little yellow fur-ball ended up taking over the household. I mean just look at the picture above! Maya the ever drama queen looking confused yet stoic and the little yellow fur-ball ears popped straight up looking out from his bed stage. (See evidence of Kaliman's sin verguenzadas bellow as he stretches on the bed and Maya curls up).

Maya and Kaliman Ninja Jan. 2010.

Kaliman came to us via a Oaxacan friend of ours who loves animals and is on a constant mission to rescue them all, much the chagrin of her Texan husband who now calls her pet loca. She had asked us not to look for a cat or buy one. She promised to find one and give it to us. She was good on her word and on Jan. 3 2010 she called.

M and I had been mostly hoping for a female cat since we heard they were much more homie and cariñosas... When B called to let us know she had one for us and that it was a male I was a bit cautious. This would be M's first cat and I was afraid of scaring the wits out of him with an insane male cat who would hardly look for us or be around the house...

It's been a year and Kaliman Ninja (as his name suggests) is crazy... entertaining, vocal, smart, and loves loves his life his family and especially his big sister Maya whom he cuddles up to, demands licking from (he also licks her), and whom he loves taunting by bitting and jumping on her to get her to chase him around and through the house. He is the first cat I have ever had that understands and comes when he is called by name. His tail wiggles almost out of his control when we call his name and he is perched on high on his favorite tree.

I think it is safe to say that M is now a full fledged cat convert... The cat and M have done everything from putting back together parts of the car to planting lemon trees. And as aloof as Maya can sometimes be, having Kaliman has ironically turned her into more of a dog than she ever was. The relationship between the cat and the dog is so crazy that Kaliman is the only animal Maya is comfortable with around when she's eating or snacking.

Yes it's been a great furry year indeed... Here are a few more pictures.

Año Viejo...me dejo cosas muy buenas

2011-01-02T23:00:00.012-06:00

Baile "meguiochiga" los invitados bailando con sus cantaritos para la coperación... Ixtepec, Oaxaca Dec. 28, 2010.

I've spent a couple of New Years in el Istmo de Tehuantepec. The last New Year's I spent there was in 2008 in Juchitan de las Flores. I love el Istmo... No no, let me rephrase that... I love love absolutely LOVE EL ISTMO...

It is unlike any other place I have ever been to, it is unlike any other place I could ever visit. Ah but New Year's in Juchitan can be a bit of a heart stopper. T o d a v í a me acuerdo walking through the streets, the clock about to strike las doce, the viejos made out of hay, dressed in old rags and stuffed with cuetes, sitting outside every other house waiting p a t i e n t l y as I hurried towards la casa de la familia gathered en la septima, a section of town known for it's zapotec speaking people...

Me acuerdo that all the kids in the neighborhood had begun to light fireworks on the sidewalks, los famosos busca pies my mother and father always spoke about, tiny firecrackers that kids throw at the feet of passersby hence the name.

I can still hear the cacaphony of fiestas con banda music coming at me from different directions, desde la calle from blocked off street parties and from deep deep in peoples backyards... Laughter and chattering, clincking of glass bottles... and in the midst of it all I could only think of getting to la casa de la familia, catching snippets of el año viejo as I scurried along, corre que corre... trying to beat a ticking clock... tick, tock, tick, tock, tiCK! Yeah I didn't quite make it...

Ya me fregue! Son las doce! and I see los viejos being taken to the middle of the street and one by one being set on fire. Whistles, baNGS, POPS! Squirting lights in every direction... los cuetes escapando de los viejos en todas las direcciones... more poPS and BANGS y PITOS!

I ended up pushing my body against the walls of the houses leaving my foreigness smeared en los muros along the way to la casa de la familia. Kids laughing excitedly, running from one side of the viejo to the other, daring each other to jump over the exploding effigy as the adults congratulated each other con abrazos, con baile, tomando, comiendo, y tomando un poco inside...

This New Year's Eve was nothing like the one spent in Juchitan... No exploding viejos lying in the middle of the road other than the usual borrachin left in the baldio in front of the house. We did, however, manage to get to el Istmo a few days before the new year. We went on a whirlwind tour to the second day of a wedding in Ixtepec, weddings in the Isthmus last 3 days. It had been two year's since I had been back and yet it was all still so absolutely beautiful and still HOT...

On our way back we were even able to stop and let the Juchitan sun caress our skin. The jardín had been renovated and the palacio was not all grafittied or held in protest as it was last time we were there. We weaved through the istmeño crowds of men and women in their long flowing rabonas to go to the mercado to get some garnachas and drink some agua de coco. We bought betabinguis and frutas en chile y miel for the road and headed back to the city to spend New Years.

It was a quiet one here, well almost quiet that is, would have been minus the barrage of cuetes that went off a las doce that lasted, no exageration, for over an hour. We made some dinner, listened to some music, and watched a movie with our pets coming in and out most of the night... The next day we headed for the mearcado to welcome the New Year with a tamal de mole negro... Si señor, como Dios manda!

Los novios y los cantaritos rotos, Ixtepec, Oaxaca, Dec. 28, 2010.

The Hap Hap Happiest Christmas...

2010-12-16T18:41:00.004-06:00

Our little Charlie Brown tree this year. Oaxaca, Oaxaca de Júarez, México, Dec. 2010.

I've been a bit more kris kringly, os pido posada... and entren santos peregrinos this year. A tad bit more into the holiday spirit than last year when I was doing my best at doubling as the humbugging Ebenezer Scrooge. Heck, I'd even say I might be on some sort of Christmas overdrive! Been blasting Christmas music since the calendar turned to December driving M and I am sure our furry pets up the wall... The truth is I just can't help it! REALLY I can't!

I've taken a 180 turn into Christmas Ville, jumped off the holiday barranca into some chocolatito de agua river, walked through the giant candy cane forest, and the sea of swirly gum drops, marveled gawked and admired the GIANT piñatas that pop up this time of year on Porfirio Diaz, and wished oh so much to be invited to a posada. Yes a posada! I want to sing carols, eat tamales, drink ponche and chocolate de agua in our almost constant above 70F weather. By the way we were invited to one, but getting there might have been like going through the seven levels of the candy cane forrest and coming out the Lincoln tunnel.

My Christmas enthusiasm has been transformed into a few DIY projects this year including making stockings out of manteles de plastico, making istmo inspired gourd decorations, a big bake-athon is in the works for gifts this year, and I have managed to extend our nativity scene a la abuelita Rita, Petra, and mom's style... although I am still quite far FAR from their nativity scene expertise level, (no Mickey Mouse, Beatles, or cake ballerinas skating on mirror lakes), I have managed to add a small duck and a nopalito this year. Ah! and to keep with tradition, M and I have been watching a series of holiday movies. Watched Elf last night and before that National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation... we were rolling! Next up I believe is Scrooged :)

I thought I would end this 'dipping my toe' in the blogesphere entry with one of my new favorite Christmas song... Saludos from Oaxaca!

Bici-Zapata

2010-12-09T21:07:00.002-06:00

Bici-Zapata, Calle Crespo, Oaxaca de Júarez, Oaxaca. October 2010.

It's been a while I know! I've been contemplating coming back for a few weeks now but sometimes life gets in the way and then before you know it we just don't know how to come back... Where to begin!

October and November are probably hands down two of my favorite months here in Oaxaca for so many reasons that I don't think I can explain just yet. Can't say December's been too shabby either ;] I don't see myself writing about the 'lost weeks' at the moment, but something tells me I will come back to these 'lost weeks' at this time next year when I am completely homesick for Oaxaca...

Now back to where we left off...

This Bici-Zapata went up a few weeks ago. It was designed by two young artist friends and I had the chance to see their original stencil. The piece is about 5 feet tall (to give you some perspective), and the stencil looked very complicated. They put the piece together on paper and then pasted it on the wall. I think this was their trial piece since I found pieces of others throughout the city after a protest march. Pasting stenciled pieces is becoming increasingly popular because of the speed these artists can put their work up clandestinely.

There is no doubt that stenciling continues to be all the rage here in Oaxaca. Just the other day, M and I walked into an art school and found the whole inside of the building had been used as a canvas by stenciling artists. The city itself is a changing canvas upon which artists paste and stencil their work, archeological remains of those that came before found in bits and pieces framing the most recently exhibited work.

I leave you then with exhibit B... and yes I am back ;]

Ps.
I am working on redesigning my page, so bare with me... It will look weird for a while until I get the redesign all done :]

Flores Magon & friends... Barrio de Xochimilco, Los Arquitos, Oaxaca de Júarez. November 2010.

Bicentenario from the South (part deux)

2010-09-20T11:33:00.003-05:00

Break dancers next to calle Indpendencia practicing their moves, Sept. 15, 2010.

Oaxaca's bicentenario celebrations were no where near what we saw in newspapers, through youtube videos, and heard coming from DF, but it was very much a reflection of where Oaxaca (and maybe the rest of the country), is. It was evident that for one, the PRIs defeat (the country's ruling political party for over 70 years, and in Oaxaca for almost 80), put a big damper on the 'official' celebration. In Santo Domingo, the anti-government celebration was left to be, although there was no lack of intimidation. Truck loads of soldiers passing on nearby streets, state police on motorcycles periodically running through the pedestrian street where the Triqui women from Copala had setup camp, etc. Nothing out of the ordinary really.

Near the zocalo, the group of young break-dancers that usually gathers on weekday and weekend evenings, set up their radio and put on a show for each other and the curious passerby. The show was interrupted periodically by those tourists and locals wanting to take a picture in front of the countdown clock (which was miraculous clean, no graffiti, no stencil art, no tagging).

Despite the mostly tranquil bicentenario in the city of Oaxaca, there were several communities under threat, Copala, Zimatlan de Matamoros, and Ixcatlán, hence unable to celebrate. In the community of Copala 3 women were shot during the days leading up to the national celebration. Due to the threats on the community, none of the women were able to receive medical attention until they were 'recued' from the community by state police.

Here are a few more pictures from the bicentenario celebrations in the city of Oaxaca. The few night images I could rescue from my digital camera ;) Enjoy!

Heroes de la Independencia with National Anthem in several Oaxacan indigenous languages, Spet. 15, 2010.

Catedral, Sept. 15, 2010.

Zocalo de Oaxaca, Sept. 15, 2010.

Sombrerote, Hidalgo y Morelos, Sept. 15, 2010.

Ex-Palacio de Gobernación, Sept. 15, 2010.

Banderas, reguiletes, y soldados (soldier convoy) en Alcala, Sept. 15, 2010.

El Bicentenario from the South

2010-09-16T20:50:00.021-05:00

Vocho, bandera y paloma, Sept. 2010.

After a year of preparations, analysis, and talk about Mexico's 200th independence anniversary... IT ARRIVED! Toda pomp y circumstance, but not all out pavorreal, aventando la casa por la ventana as we might have expected, or as DF seems to have gone. Unless you've been living under a rock, in some hole, or the such here in Mexico, there was no way around the Bicentenario frenzie. Living through the bicentennial celebrations here in Oaxaca was interesting. Unlike the DFs all-out-bash, (a few links for your enjoyment: link 1 link 2), Oaxaca seemed quite tranquilo, and if you walked through the zocalo just the day before "el grito" the plaza was full of anti-government graffiti up the waaazoo! It was hard to imagine any government celebration actually taking place the next night.

The next day I was actually shocked to walk through the same plaza to find it all painted over, cleaned, and as festive as an army of workers could get the place. You could still make out the words ASESINO through the paint during the day, but lucky for the government night time lighting can perform miracles.

The celebrations went on without a hitch. I say celebrations because there were two in the centro de Oaxaca, the 'official' celebration over which the outgoing governor presided, and an anti-official celebration held in front of Santo Domingo (one of Oaxaca'z main churches and tourist corridor), where the on-going planton by Triqui women was reinstalled after having to move a few days before. At the second celebration videos highlighting some of the ongoing struggles in Oaxaca were projected. The place was filled with mostly young people.

At the 'official' celebration, three stages were set up from which music acts alternated. The whole place was strung up in green white and red lights and large portraits of some of the indenpendence heroes were set up in front of the cathedral with the himno nacional (national anthem) written in a few of Oaxaca's 16 indigenous languages.

To celebrate Mauricio and I had a plate of nachos, a beer, and I accidently ordered some kind of Cancun-Spring-Break drink that the waitress insisted on setting-on-fire and having me chug with a straw... Hmmm Yeah! It wasn't my style at 16 or 19... Turns out I'm still not into the chugging, so I didn't! Who knew that Juan Rulfo's classic "El Llano en Llamas" would be turned into some flaming chugging devil drink?! Se a de estar revolcando en la tumba!

Anywho, here are a few images of how the Bicentenario looked down south in Oaxaca. Will post the night time images on another post. Enjoy!

Balcon y bandera, Sept. 15, 2010.

Ex-Palacio de Gobierno, Oaxaca, Sept. 15, 2010.

Sombrero Viva México, Sept. 15, 2010.
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Papel picado, Sept. 15, 2010.

Our lunch! Chiles en nogada, only available during this time of year... Click here for a recipe

Reguiletes, Sept. 15, 2010.
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Manequín, Sept. 15, 2010.

Grita tu Pesar, Sept. 15, 2010.

Hereo de la Independencia, Guerrero como Boxeador, Sept. 15, 2010.

Oaxacan Tamales de Mole - Mmm GOOD!

2010-09-08T16:47:00.003-05:00

Primer entry on a series on the Mercado Sanchez Pascuas...

LARGE PHTO of Mole Tamale, from Tamales Cande, at Mercado Sanchez Pascuas, September, 2010.

In the last few years the Mercado Sanchéz Pascuas se a vuelto mas y mas IN. Go there any weekend or early weekday morning and you're sure to bump into the cool-ARTISTES-oaxaqueños, DF transplants, pochos (that would be us), and the larger foreign-local contingency in the mercado's vender flanked cramped blue corridors. I love mercados, always have. I remember as a little girl walking from our house to the mercado with my mother holding on to my hand. The smells, some good some bad, the colors, the commotion, have ever since reminded me of a little piece of that imaginary home one builds as a child.

The Sanchez Pascuas is no exception. A medium/to small sized mercado, it is full of everything you might or might not be looking for. Beautiful large flor de calabaza blossoms, pan dulce, pollo criollo (free-range chicken), oaxaca pizza-sized-blue-corn tortillas and tlayudas, and of course seasonal finds like chicatanas (large ants used to make salsa in July), or the current favorite gusanos de maguey (maguey worms), and the old faithfuls like chapulines (a Oaxacan delicacy you must try... from the right vendor).

Down by the prepared food section you'll find Angelita's famous fresh fruit juices (no Jamba Juice here, we are talking straight from the source juice, no added shots of anything but natures own goodness), comedores, homemade food to go (YES! HOMEMADE DELICIOUSNESS made with fresh and seasonal ingredients), the memelita stand (promise to write about memelitas and tlayudas on another post), chocolate atole, and Cande's Tamales...

Banana leaf opened to reveal tamal de mole con pollo, from Cande's Tamales, Mercado Sanchez Pascuas, September 2010.

Oaxaca is probably most known for, (despite its extensive culinary variety), its mole, and the mole tamales at Cande's Tamales do not disappoint. Steaming hot, moist large banana leaf wrapped bundles of masa de maiz, mole (Señora Cande's personal recipe) y pollo... scrumptiousness cooked to perfection and brought to the mercado every morning from Cande's home. Although she no longer sells them herself, Señora Cande still makes and wraps each tamal like individual little presents delivered to us by her daughter and yerno (son-in-law).

Mmmm GOODNESS indeed!

There are so many varieties of tamales, but I thought I would start with this one before moving on to the great unknown...

A Little Oaxaca Music

2010-09-04T18:52:00.005-05:00

When Tlahuitoltepec met the Balkans

This is a long, long overdue post...

I was first introduced to Balkan gypsy music a few years back here in Southern Mexico. I had spent my first few years here as a faithful dance-athoner, attending weekly night services Friday's and Saturday's at a local club/bar/cine/concert stage all-rolled-up-into-one. It was there I first heard the music of Kocani Orkestar; there where I first heard Señor Coconut's remixes mixed-in with la cumbia de las luchas; and there where I saw some of the weirdest, coolest, most terrible and most amazing local and international acts. It's a little known fact to the rest of the world (unless you've spent some time in Oaxaca) that sometimes, down south in the middle of "sleepy" Oaxaca, far far-off from the lime-light, and the cool oozing cities like NY, London, LA, Paris, or D.F.... Magic Happens!

This past year's magic came in the form of la Banda Regional Mixe who had free, yes FREE! concerts booked all over town to promote their first album. Their concert's culminated with an encuentro between them and low and behold all the way from the Balkans... Kocani.

La Banda Regional Mixe, is from a small town called Tlahuitoltepec in la Sierra Mixe, known for its music program from children and for its excellent musicians. I have yet to visit the town, which is high on my list. It is said that before kids can walk or talk they are playing an instrument in Tlahui.

So when I heard of the encuentro between RM and Kocani, I was more than a little bit excited... To put it simply, NEVER IN MY WILDEST DREAMS did I think I would ever get to see Kocani live, and then there was RM for whom our love had grown with every presentation we happened to catch. RM concerts are nothing less of a jumping extravaganza!

No surprise then that the encuentro was more than we could have ever hoped for. Between the blurrish joy-filled bouncing, I can still remember turning to Mauricio now and again, both of us BEAMING with happiness, hopping, dancing with the rest of the audience, high on life, HIGH ON RM and KOCANI! It was and still is one of the fondest memories I will ever have here in Oaxaca. When it was all over we left practically floating... YES IT WAS THAT GOOD! Magic happens... and it sure happened that cool night in December.

A few days ago Mauricio found the video above and the emotions from that night all came rushing back... AH! and to our surprise we realized we are in the video! ja, ja ja! Newly arrived from the States, we were still not on Oaxacan time and we arrived at the concert so early we had our pick of seats... so we took the second row behind a older couple who arrived early to not have to fight through the usually late-Oaxacan-mad-rush.

I am also attaching a second video of music inspired by Oaxaca. Beirut, for those of you who know their music, also made a stop in Oaxaca... The lead singer came for inspiration about a year and a half ago or so and played with a local band from Teotitlan del Valle on the song bellow. The sounds and images are screaming "I'VE BEEN TO OAXACA!"

Hope you enjoy!

Oaxaca re-mix

2010-08-30T20:42:00.004-05:00

Oaxaqueando en lunes...

miscelanea, Oaxaca re-mix, August 2010.

guaracheando, Oaxaca re-mix, August 2010.

Pero sigo siendo el REY calavera, Oaxaca re-mix, August 2010.

Arte Jaguar Punketo, Oaxaca re-mix, August 2010.

Racimo de Colores and sights of Oaxaca on a Monday in August...

On Women Aquí y Allá

2010-08-28T17:19:00.007-05:00

Colectivo Raahuna - Tejiendo por el futuro de nuestros pueblos, Santo Tomas Jalietza, Oaxaca, July 2010.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about how we relate to one another, in other words, been thinking a lot about Human Relations. Yep, here goes another curve ball in the all-encompassing slightly schitzo mexiroccan blog coming to you direct from deep down in the heart-of-southern Mexico. Bare with me...it's a bumpy ride but one I think worth taking ;]

Specifically I've been thinking about women and how we relate to one another. I think about these relationships constantly I suppose as a direct result of my own back and forth upbringing, the macho and machista-like tendencies in this upbringing (I urge you not to take my honesty under a US-centric microscope of Oooohs and Aaaaws exotification), my here and there state of mind, and the constant need to reconcile this aquí y alla syndrome in the most productive of ways possible. Mostly, I think, the strong female role models that have surrounded me, as I am sure many of you, throughout my life have led me to seek out other women, to listen, learn, and at times use that bridge on my back as a link between what I understand and what I don't get just yet. You gotta keep that bridge handy living the transborder lives we live these days, gotta bring it out to reach each other just as much as to cross to the other side.

I've been more aware lately of these crossings, of the reaching, the seeking, the learning. For one, I recently had the opportunity and privilege to meet a grupo de artesanas from Santo Tomas Jalietza, a small rural pueblo in the central valley of Oaxaca, with two Xicanas from Califas who were visiting Oaxaca for a few weeks. The indigenous Zapoteca women from el Colectivo de Mujeres Raahuna originally came together to support each other in the working and sale of their weaved goods, which now includes computer bags and cell phone pouches (how's that for globalization). The experience was humbling as the women worked to organize packages to send back to the US with the two Xicanas. Final destination for the packages...the hands of an indigenous woman migrant who has been living under cover with the threat of deportation for a few years now, who despite her own situation has kept extending her hand out to help.

Sharing time with the women in Santo Tomas and the Califas Xicanas, and thinking about myself the pocha living in Oaxaca, and seeing how we all came together a darnos la mano was, at the risk of sounding conry, exilerating and nurturing. Don't get me wrong I am by no means naive enough to believe in some sort of universal sisterhood, hermanahood, or the like. And NO, I am by no means interested in engaging in some sort of we are women vs. machista men dialogue. On the contrary, what I am interested in is finding ways of relating despite or better said, THROUGH our differences. We already do this all the time! Let's leave that second wave feminism cochinadas, as much as they pop-up over and over, where they belong en el pasado.

What I am interested in these days is finding spaces where we can learn, collaborate, and exchange ideas without leaving behind our differences, mas bien, spaces where we can put those differences to use. In other words instead of beginning from an assumed sisterhood, launching ourselves from difference towards building bridges, links, conversations...

Lately I've been more hopeful of the possibilities, mostly because of everyday experiences here, but also because of you I know personally, because of you I don't but who read, and because of you with whom I exchange brief "how do you do's" with virtually.

Here are just a few more mujeres, you might be interested in checking out what they do:

afrolicious Fabmexicana FloResiste MonikaFabian

ModelMinority SheBeganToFly QuirkyBlackGirls

For more on Colectivo Raahuna in Oaxaca click here.

Tiempos de Azucenas

2010-08-21T20:11:00.002-05:00

Azucenas dancing in the night, 2008.

Nights during la temporada de lluvia en Oaxaca come wrapped-up in scents of azucenas, jazmines, and gardenias balanced in baskets by mujeres from nearby villages. Sweet perfume aromas spilling behind them as they sway from side to side offering ramitos to passers by.

My favorite are las azucenas, queens of the night... tiny, starlike petals that release potent quantities of sweet smells when they open to dance with the moon that you would think them ten-times-their-size. Flores of summer nights in the city, a reminder of the spells Oaxaca casts como redes de pescador upon those that come in contact with her.

Zapata Instructions

2010-08-18T23:44:00.002-05:00

Zapata léase instrucciones, Buscando a Zapata Series, Oaxaca, 2010.

Our back and forth travels lately have left me with little time to write so I apologize de antemano for la tardanza with this post.

Now only a few weeks from el grito commemorating the 200th anniversary of Mexico's Independence, and with this year also marking the 100th anniversary of la Revolución, it is, I think, appropriate that Zapata makes another appearance on this blog. One of my favorite, along with the Zapata Punk that no longer exists, in my Buscando a Zapata series, this mural sits inside a house nestled in the middle of our currently chaotic city of Oaxaca. Sometimes I think it might do better sitting outside where people can see and read it... A reminder of where we are 100 years later.

As for the chaos...
Transportation costs went up 64% from one day to the next with bus fares going from 4.50pesos a few days ago to 7pesos. Yesterday the streets were blocked everywhere, making it impossible for people to get from one place to another. We got home just in time for it...WELCOME TO OAXACA!

This is not the first time I see Oaxaca on foot, but the mere scale of this time's street blockades was much larger than I have ever seen except for the 2006 uprising. Traffic seems to be flowing today, and negotiations between state 'regulators' and the transportation companies have cut the initial increase to 22%, 1 peso for the time being... Still, it does make you wonder how much can be squeezed out of people, many of whom could barely pay the previous fee...

In the meantime... Zapata con todo e instrucciones!

The Weekend Chilaquile Pilgrimage

2010-08-08T15:39:00.002-05:00

Boiling cazuelas de chilaquiles rojos y verdes, Fonda Rosita, Mercado de la Merced, Oaxaca, August 2010.

Living in Oaxaca you soon figure out that many of those traditional mexican dishes you grew up with, in my case, or just know from your local mexican restaurant, are given a unique and distinctly Oaxacan twist. Yep welcome to Oaxaca Nation, a place that often feels like a foreign country, no where more evident than in its culinary traditions. The sheer variety, complexity, and Mmmmm sooooo goodness of Oaxacan food, is in my humble opinion some of the best food you will ever have. Como dicen por allí, panza llena corazón contento, and contento is a good way to describe ones heart after a good mole.

And so this brings me to a new and wonderful tradition we have begun to exercise thanks to two good friends who recently left Oaxaca for new adventures, the weekend chilaquile pilgrimage. Like a good mexicana, I love my chilaquiles. Those crispy tortillas drenched in a homemade salsa, mixed with blanquillos (eggs), and drizzled with queso fresco or ranchero, were often only a weekend treat while growing up in LA and a favorite breakfast pick during my travels through México. No pressure, but chilaquiles are one of those dishes that can make or break a place for me. Yeah I'm one of those that scouts a mexican food menu before I go in, if in the US I see fajitas I am usually out the door before you can say con queso! Yes I can be an annoying mexican food purist, but that doesn't mean I don't like innovation... but fajitas just don't fit the bill as mexican food. Chilaquiles on the other hand.. Now we're talking.

Fonda Rosita sits deep within the Mercado de la Merced (as it is known locally), in a small atrium surrounded by fonditas. On Sunday's you'll often find el Señor Orquestra playing his raucous concoction of homemade instrument sounds, it's mercado day and so the mercado is full of vendors that spill out of the entrance. We had heard of the chilaquile pots a while before actually having one ourselves, but nothing could prepare us for our own boiling ollitas de barro, sauce bubbling, tortilla tostaditas peering through, and the pièce de résistance two perfectly cooked egg-islands on top. No ordinary chilaquiles indeed. I myself am partial to chilaquiles rojos, our friends seem to prefer the verdes, and well Mauricio just likes both, he'd even take yellow ones if they had some... ja ja ja!

This is how I think these particular ollitas of joy are made. Sauce, strips of quesillo (mozzarella like string cheese sold like balls of yarn in Oaxaca, strangely known as queso Oaxaca in other places), uncooked epazote, homemade tortilla chips, more epazote and sauce, ollita put on stove to boil, eggs cooked and placed on top, more sauce, served still boiling with ingredients releasing their flavors as you eat... Little pots of heaven :)

Need anymore proof? Just look at Mauricio after finishing his.

At Fonda Rosita, Mercado de la Merced, August 2010.

Las Oaxaqueñas

2010-08-02T23:21:00.000-05:00

La Banda at the 1 of August women's march commemoration, Oaxaca 2010.

It's been four years since las oaxaqueñas marched down the streets of city of Oaxaca banging on pots and pans with large spoons, chanting consignas, wearing rebozos and aprons; indigenous, mestizas, middle class, working class, young and old, demanding to be heard. The now famous marcha de las cacerolas, as the women's protest would be called, was organized by women in support of the ongoing social movement pumping through the streets of Oaxaca. What began as a women's march would turn into a spontaneous burst that would go down in the history of Oaxaca as the day the women spoke. This is what I heard happened after I left the zocalo where the women's march turned into a miting.

Surrounded by what they felt was biased news media and especially tired of the Televisa, coverage of Oaxaca during the weeks of unrest, a group of women confronted a few cameramen and reporters about what they felt was an ongoing smear campaign directed at the Oaxacan movement. When the Televisa reporter deemed them lucky to get any coverage and threatened to stop covering their event, a few women in the group decided to head over to the local state TV station to ask for a few minutes of airtime... and so las oaxaqueñas would do what no one could have imagined. After being denied any airtime, the women, cocineras, housewives, street vendors, abuelitas, professionals, teachers, with no previous experienced would peacefully take over the state run TV and radio stations. Reclaiming the state run media as the stations of the people of Oaxaca as the official slogans claimed, became a key turning point for the movement.

Four years later, if you're lucky and listen to the streets speak you can still find small waves of electricity from the lightning rod plunged deep into Oaxacan society by las guerreras oaxaqueñas on August 1, 2006. This past Sunday, on the day declared as the day of las oaxaqueñas four years ago, they marched again, led by a band of girls and boys from the Valles Centrales.

Simply Zapata

2010-07-29T20:49:00.001-05:00

Emiliano Zapata, Crespo, Oaxaca de Juárez, July 2010.

Emiliano Zapata, Jardín El Pañuelito, Oaxaca de Juárez, July 2010.

Punk Emiliano Zapata, La Piztola design, Oaxaca de Juárez, July 2010.

Que What?!

2010-07-26T22:09:00.008-05:00

Cloud Ocean, road to La Mixteca, Oaxaca, July 25, 2010.

It's been over eight months since Mauricio, Maya (our dog), and I began our great Mexican experience. Two 1st generation Mexican-Americans, pochos, gringos, mexicanos, and Chicanos picking up our lives to do exactly the opposite of what our parents did. We moved south. No, not just south, but deep down into southern Mexico. Yep this is when your parents begin to wonder where they went wrong... QUE WHAT?! Oaxaca?! I can pretty much sum up my father's feelings in what a cousin asked when he found out I was living here... "What are you doing down there? I thought we were supposed to keep migrating north towards Canada!"

Then there's the other side, the how two Mexican-Americans, pochos, gringos, mexicanos, Chicanos with a dog are perceived... Errrrrrr! First sticking point, DOG. Yeah dog-as-cuddly-pet not as working beast that gets kicked around and often dumped. Guess how most people look at us when they find out our dog sleeps inside the house, has eating hours and gets walked?!!! That's right! Que WHAT?!! The MARTIANS HAVE LANDED! ...Those crazy GRINGOS I tell yah!

The physical journey from Texas to Oaxaca was long but the spiritual journey has been a hell of a ride. Lot's of soul searching, lot's of 'am I crazy, are they crazy, are we all just crazy?!" Then there are all those little things one takes for granted, the ones that don't even cross your mind when you decide one day to pick up and move to the 'motherland.' Eight months later you wake up one day and realize Q-tips are the BOMB DIGGIDY! These imitation palillos you bought at the local supermarket SUCK! They barely have any cotton, are super flimsy, and they just don't cut it!

You know those 'what the...? QUE WHAT?!' moments, when you realize the three squares of toilet paper you pay for at public toilets are not enough. When you've gone through two boxes of energy saving eight year life light bulbs and you're told the wiring in the house you live in can only handle standard light bulbs! You know that feeling when you dream about a nice black cup of coffee order one and get an agua de calcetin instead! Que What?!

Yep those moments. Like when you order french fries and get stale potato sticks. Or when you crave some chinese food, or just want to get your grub on with some thai, indian, ethiopian or greek food and you know that if you find a place you might end up spitting the food out. Thank the gods Oaxacan food is sooooo good or you'd be in serious trouble.

Then there are those moments you seek to indulge in to feel some sort of 'normality', you know, maybe you just want to go out to see a movie... HUM! Yeah! A bit of advise... STOP! KILL THE DESIRE! KILL IT! STOP thinking about EVER watching a movie at the theatre unless you are prepared to pick between the new KARATE KID or that vampire movie, which will most likely be playing for the next four months! That's right... QUE WHAT?!

Sometimes I actually think that living in Oaxaca might have finally, finally brought out the inner gringa in me! NO, I don't mean the stereotypical Cancún spring break gringa... I got none of that... sorry to disappoint. I mean the I want to go watch a movie, go to Target, and get an IN-N-OUT burger gringa in me! The I miss my yoga class, my gym, and my Food Network, and REAL KETCHUP gringa in me! For the love of Coatlicue I am as much Mexican really as I am 'American'... and eight months after moving south I am finally relishing in the I am totally fine with my american tendencies, yeah the gringaness in me. In an often times closed and traditional society I am embracing the I get to choose what traditions I keep and which ones I let go of, just like any other american for once. Yes I am no longer afraid or concerned with the GASPS! The que what's? and it feel good. Yes, in a sense I am crossing over the que what?! line to the side where I am the one causing the que what's?!

PHEW! That felt good! I feel like I should buy myself a Harley Davidson, tie a bandana around my head, get a tattoo on my bulging shoulder, and ride out into the sunset blasting some good old American classics... ja ja ja! Ok, ok, I'd settle for Q-tips and good ketchup ;)

Here There and Back

2010-07-22T21:44:00.002-05:00

"Aquí aquí aquí Toledo," Andador Turistico for Toledo's 70th Birthday, Oaxaca, July 2010.

It's been less than a week since we've been back in town after almost a month long absence. We left at the height of increasingly ugly political campaigns, a week or so before elections for governor here in Oaxaca. World Cup fever was at its height and we had just recently arrived from a trip down south to Chiapas to get the car legalized (long story I'll come back to in another entry). To be completely honest, in some ways leaving was a relief. Sure I looked forward to a month of fubol hibernation and was beginning to psych myself out into enjoying the rain, but I had also grown increasingly homesick (if that is even possible given my tendency to imagine and construct a place called home that in real life does not quite measure up to my expectations).

I had traveled to the Mexican state of Sonora to the border town of Nogales on several occasions in the past. My grandfather, Sam who lives just a few miles from the Sonora border in the Arizona desert, has always been proud of his Mexican heritage and traveling to the border when one of his daughters or his grandkids visit is somehow often on his agenda. Mauricio had often spoken of Sonora when talking about his father since Don Rafael was born there in the coastal town of Guaymas and had lived between Sonora and Minnesota for what seemed at least ten years. The day we left Oaxaca, we literally packed up a few things, picked up and left behind our home, pet's and all other commitments. Mauricio's father was in the hospital and for the next three weeks we would be bouncing around in the desert, from hotel to hotel, from Hermosillo to Arizona to Hermosillo to Guaymas to Arizona.

I must admit that during the time we were gone Oaxaca almost became a distant memory, a mirage in the desert that at times seemed like another lifetime... and yet not. It was strange to walk the three blocks between our hotel and the hospital, (ironically both located on Avenida Oaxaca), or go through our daily meal routines in Hermosillo and think we were still in the same country. The few times we ventured out or talked to people seemed to confirm the schism we felt within. It was as if we were listening to a record and the needle came to a halting scratch from which it could not recover.

Everything from the language, the food, the car culture streets, the architecture, the land's topography, and even people's mannerisms felt familiar to us yet so foreign to life back in Oaxaca. The hairdryer heat, the Oh too sweet! coyotas and Oh so salty! machaca, no wonder grandpa insists on the 'ton of sugar, ton of salt' balanced meal. The shhhhshing of CHs in words, the unbelievable sunrises and sunsets where the desert meets the sea. The Sonoran affinity for pipping hot menudo or pozole on equally boiling days, their almost all meat diet. Oh and what a delicious diet it is... Hand's down the best meat tacos and tortillas de harina I have ever had. The fast and helpful service, an absolute contrast to the often war one has to wage to buy even the most banal of things in a mercado in Oaxaca or to get served at a restaurant. Yes it almost felt surreal to get our food and check without hounding someone. That's right there was no 1 hour for ordering, 1 hour for food to arrive, and NO1 HOUR WAIT TO GET THE CHECK! phew!

Don't get me wrong I am happy to be back home in Oaxaca, but the time we spent outside also put a lot of things into much needed perspective and made me pick up once again those questions I've had regarding the North South, South North. The month long bouncing from place to place with Mauricio, Setty, Adrian, and M2 felt right. The outpouring of love, the caring, the laughter, the mourning together as some sort of modern-day nomad tribe was a beautiful experience that I for one feel so grateful to have been allowed to be part of. Not to mention that the drives to Arizona and the time I was able to spend with my grandfather and and uncle were priceless.

As much as I love, respect, and am grateful for my life here in Oaxaca, the last month has also helped me reflect on the horse-blinder-effect that acute regionalism can cause. This is in no way a unique phenomenon to Oaxaca, but this is where I live and have daily interactions and so where I stand and from where I can hope to learn and grow.

L.O.V.E. Gran Tenochtitlan Style

2010-07-20T00:23:00.012-05:00

La Gran Tenochtitlán in action, July 2010.

It's been a long road back to LOVE... but OH! how sweet it is this unexpected reencuentro con un viejo amor.

La Gran Tenochtitlán they call her, no es por nada... Cast her spell on me more than a decade back as a young guarache wearing chamaquilla. Swallowed me whole la cabrona, flipped me upside-down, shook me like a licuadora on her peseros, used me as mantequilla on her metros, and de relajo on her taxis.

She's impresive la condenada, blink and you'll find yourself all wrapped up in her rebozo. Pasale un tequila and bring her serenata, whisper sweet nothings to her ear and she'll break open like a pikachu piñata. Proceed con cuidado or she'll make you love her, swear to never leave her...

I suppose our reencuentro has been a long time coming... can't remember the last time I felt this way about her. Butterflies in my stomach, my eyes growing wider and wider in wonderment, feeling like an esquincle in Willy Wonka's pad, wanting to do everything at once, don't know which way to turn first... Se luce la despiadada everywhere I go como medusa and all I want to do is sail through her mazes, loose myself for a while.

She used to make me feel this way all the time until I cut her off. Went down south and gave her up, so I thought. Oaxaca has been a jealous mistress y ni cuenta me di. She's had me all embrujada for a while and just when I think it's over she parades herself through the streets, beautiful, colorful, bailando con banda, regalando mezcal and throwing regalitos to all her lovers.

But this time I wont wait as long to go back, wont let el olvido and fear get a hold of me...

Yeah fear...

A few weeks in Oaxaca and its day to dayness, the trips to the mercado to get some fresh pollo, queso, or mango, an exchange with the marchanta that sells you crunchy seasonal chapulines... or just sit down and have some memelitas straight off the comal, get a fresh jugo, or a tamal de mole and she'll have you, make you forget where you came from or where you're going. Here have some tejate.

Yeah fear... The fear of leaving, of not knowing, of not having it this good, of fighting on a day to day basis in the big metropolis without Angelita's Mujer Maravilla juice to give you a boost.

Problem is I am from a good sized pueblo myself and the minute I taste city life my eyes get wide, my step gets a spring in it, and I break out my city girl strut. Can take the girl out of a city but you most definitely can't take the city out of the girl it turns out.

On Quesillo Politics

2010-07-06T15:45:00.011-05:00

Quesillo in Oaxaca Market, author unknown.

Elections for governor were finally held in Oaxaca and in 11 other states in Mexico this past Sunday on the 4th of July. Six years after the 2004 elections that magically and over night, literally, had the trailing PRI candidate Ulises Ruiz Ortíz leading and declared the winner by morning, his mustache clone budy Eviel Perez Magaña and the same 2004 coalition candidate Gabino Cúe, fought long with over the top campaigns that left a see-it-to-believe-it circus act/mafia taste in my mouth. The outcome this time was "different" with Gabino Cúe, the mega coalition candidate declared the winner breaking an 81 year PRI hold on the state. The "change" is considered significant and although I have been out of the Oaxacan politics loop for the past two weeks, visiting family in northern Mexico, the chants of joy have reached me in these desert lands. I am happy for the "change" but not quite ready to rejoice with the crowds and here's why.

I believe having Cúe as governor will do little to change the current situation of thousands, tens of thousands and even hundreds of thousands of Oaxaca’s, and that on the contrary sometimes having the right face is misleading. What I mean by this is that having a more likable and less brutish person at the forefront with no actual structural or social change and who on the contrary continues to merely reinforce the system can be more dangerous. I don't want to sound like dooms day here, or like I am expecting miracles to be performed, but something clearly needs to change so things don't continue to go downhill. Something has to be reversed or at the very least stopped because continuing on the same path with a prettier face is not good enough. It might be easy, less worrisome, more convenient and even make one feel like a good and responsible citizen to merely go out and cast a ballot, come home watch the polls and cross ones fingers wishing and hoping stepping right back into our daily routines the next morning, but what good is a vote without any civic responsibility. By this I mean, if we want true change we can't naively think it will come through a ballot.

What is good about the "change" in Oaxaca is that with Cúe, there might be less politically motivated arrests, there might be less politically motivated disappearances, and there might be less politically motivated assassinations than there could have been with Eviel Perez Magaña. He will most likely meet with more civil organizations give in to token gestures to quell growing discontent as he continues on the same path the PRI has been following, which is not necessarily their path, or the path of any other party, but that of market interests outlined at a much higher level than just Oaxaca.

There is however a very small opportunity in this "change" that must be seized so that real change might have a slight chance. Real and continued civic participation, genuine interest in what is happening, pressuring the new government to also seize this opportunity to at least take a good look at the possibility of turning the wheels of a run away train that might just be fleetingly at a crossroads. I admit it is hard to believe this is even possible given Cúe's first words of thanks to both Lopéz Obrador and Calderón... (the great irony of his success on a ticket put together by a coalition of the supposed ultra right wing and left wing parties which in itself offers this slight opening as the parties argue over control)... but we are going nowhere and are stuck on this train whether we want to or not. We might as well do something and stop (excuse the language) half assing it sitting around the next six years in hopes of another shot for change...

Amado, Arizona

2010-06-30T04:25:00.010-05:00

Evening on the valley outside the Halfway Station, Arivaca, Arizona.

Grandpa's Camper, Arivaca, Arizona.

Desert cat, one of grandpa's pets, Arivaca, Arizona.

In the Halfway Station, Arivaca, Arizona.

Looking out from the Halfway Station, Arivaca, Arizona.

Cha cha cha, Arivaca, Arizona.

The Source, Arivaca, Arizona.

I NO VA CION, Grandpa's models, Arivaca, Arizona.

La Princesa, Arivaca, Arizona.

The king of the desert, El CamaLEON, Arivaca, Arizona.

Evening sky and camper, Arivaca, Arizona.

These photos were taken during a short visit to see my grandfather Sam, (otherwise known as the Source, as one of my brother calls him). Despite the hate politics and the constant reminders of entrenched racism, the beauty of the Arizona desert and my grandfather's spirit have recharged our souls.

I am in the middle of working on a translation so I will have to come back to this visit on another post. In the meanwhile I hope these photos speak for themselves...

June in the Sonora Desert

2010-06-26T14:47:00.001-05:00

Sunset from Don Ramon Cenadureria, Hermosillo, Sonora, June 24, 2010.

An unexpected turn of events suddenly has us in the Sonora desert at 117F and getting hotter. I love the desert, an acquired taste from childhood memories of scorching trips through Mexicali to Arizona, but the climbing temperature has practically turned Hermosillo's streets into a ghost town. Life here mostly exists within the protective confines of walls where window box air conditioners drip and blow air full blast. Outside the sun rays against the asphalt create distant mirage dreams...

The little I have seen of Hermosillo has been gritty and worn, an asphalt and concrete city surrounded by rocky golden hills. Buildings are rectangular with low ceilings making the already wide streets seem wider. I feel a fleeting familiarity in the language, the shshing of moosh-shA-shhO (muchacho) the asphalt, the heat, grit and dirtiness. The over exposing sun light, the grease, the boiling menudo and pozole on the menu, the dryness, the non-stop double entendre of words. I can't help but think of my grandfather, my grandmother, my uncle Sam and even my mother... There is something in the desert of Northern Mexico and the Southwest US that is like coming home to a place I don't quite know.

A Little Soul Music

2010-06-21T20:06:00.005-05:00

Oaxaca seems to be in fall mode on this first day of Summer. Hungry mosquitos are buzzing, twirling, zumming up and down for the kill. The chilly air on our hill disturbed only by the Charlie-Brown-teacher-blabber coming out of megaphones on passing cars courtesy of the PRI candidates whose faces are plastered on every corner, on every house, on every car, business establishment, taxi or bus. WAH WAH WAH WAH!

Fortunately, once in a while life happens and you run into something amazing that breaks the WAH WAH WAH!
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Today's amazing... Donny Hathaway :)
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World Cup Cook-athon

2010-06-19T11:32:00.003-05:00

Tomatoes, olive oil, thyme, and garlic ready for the oven... and later for fresh baked tomato bread!

Friday June 18
It's been exactly a week since World Cup Mania began in our household. Futbol 24-7, non-stop, wake up to it and go to sleep to news or analysis about it... Our whole household and LIVES now revolve around FUTBOL! I literally feel hung over from so much futbol!

Aaaaah! But it's been great! We've had some real ups and more than few surprises. For starters SACRE BLEU! Mexico beat France 2-0!!! and what a beautiful game it was (despite the horrible ref and the millions of undeserved yellow cards he handed out to every Mexican he could give one to). El Tri came through with flying colors making creme brulee out of the blue white and red! Ah! And then there were today's games... Germany vs. Serbia, US vs. Slovenia, and England vs. Algeria. Who would have thought Serbia would beat the Germans! The winning goal celebrated not in the field but in the stands. It was a sight to see the Serbian player running across the field jumping over several barriers and celebrating with the Serbian fans. It was hard not to get chills and jump with joy along with them.

We have been celebrating so much we literally ran out of food! There has been no time to cook, no time to organize or re-organize ourselves into an efficiently and fed household. The games, the rain and sudden chilly weather has turned our home into a cave from which neither we or our pets want to get out of. And so for the sake of sanity I decided to go on a much needed cook-athon to hold us up for at least a few days and the next round of games.

Beef Stew with carrots, potatoes, chayote, chile serrano, onion and laurel leaves. Asian style beef strips with red pepper, sesame seeds, soy sauce, purple onion, calabacitas, fresh basil, stewed tomatoes and jalapeños. White rice with ginger. Fresh pesto from our basil garden, garlic, Chiapas dried cheese, walnuts and olive oil. The piece of resistance: a loaf of tomato bread!

And so we'll be back stocked up for the celebrations, the hibernating, the futbol drunkenness. Waiting with the rest of the world for those long anticipated moments when the ball finally crosses the line, feeling the absolute joy in the kicker's face and his teammates, the stands going absolutely wild with disbelief, happiness, relief, and hope!

That is why we love futbol! That grassy field where Algeria can tie yee all powerful England, where the Serbs can win over the German machine, and where the Mexican team can win once more la guerra de los pasteles (pastry war)... At the risk of sounding cheesy, it's a field of dreams where many times the so called people of the 'third world' can dare to dream for at least 90min...

The World Cup and the Good, the Bad and the Ugly

2010-06-16T17:16:00.011-05:00

You would have to be living under a rock to not know the World Cup is on. Yes, it began a few days ago, on the 11th to be exact, with the opening game of Mexico vs. South Africa (the hosting country). And well, as a Mexico fan, all we can do is HOPE! And Maybe pray a little ;) Got my pirata selección t-shirt Sunday for $59.50 pesos and my San Juditas* candle READY TO GO!

I still remember my first World Cup. It was, (here it comes... about to date myself...), 1986. I was a little girl living in Colima and a wave of world cup fever drenched my non-sports fan mother. During that month in 1986 my brother and I would come home to my mother's world cup ritual. The green couch in front of our old TV, a small table set up in between with a bowl of freshly made flour churritos or palomitas with chile y limón, a glass soda bottle for each one of us, 3 straws and 3 small plates. The games were held in Mexico that year... It was CRAZY!

My mother, brother and myself would sit in front of the TV watching with joy and anguish, letting out screams or simply sitting in silence when things got bad. Our stomachs full of butterflies, the kind you feel when you hit a drop on a roller coaster ride. My brother and I would take turns jumping on the sofa, occasionally running out of the room in excitement. My mother's approach was not too different. She would often disappear unable to take the suspense to call upon a higher power to iluminar la selección! We'd find her in her room praying, imploring God and la Virgencita for a gol! She would only interrupt her prayers to tell us to start praying too! G and I would promptly close our eyes tight as could be to ask God and la Virgen with all the might our tiny bodies could muster up... Please Virgencita un gol! Un solo gol de la selección! God please give us the joy of passing to the next round! We need this!

The 85' earthquake had devastated Mexico, and the 86' World Cup offered hope, joy and triumph within an otherwise grim national outlook. We became devoted followers along with the rest of Mexico. We watched every pre-game, game, and post-game show. The TV was inundated with world cup reports around the country, reporters going into peoples homes to talk to 'everyday Mexicans.' More often than not viejita grandmothers would proudly lead a cameraman and reporter to a tattered backroom, the camera exposing paint pealing on the walls and modest looking furniture, panning to a table in the middle of the room stacked against the wall with enough candles to burn up hell itself. The viejita standing proudly, rosary in one hand selección jersey wearing baby Jesus on the other, showing off the large altar she and her family erected in honor of el Tri. The reporter noticing a saint turned on its head while the old woman explained the fate of the statue if el Tri did not score. Creyentes kneeling on all sides of the makeshift altar praying their hearts out for a gol! For a miracle!
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A yes... My dear México, where soccer, politics and religion come together like the morning after drinking a few bottles of mezcal! Bleh! But what the hell, if you can't beat em join em... and I've been part of it a long time now.

Much has happened since that beloved 86' national team. There have been some ups but mostly some downs... and well more downs... But then there was the sub-20 world cup win. A lingering light in the future of Mexican futbol that is now upon us.

Lately however the downs are not necessarily within the cancha de futbol but off the field. I am not sure if its the gray weather, homesickness, a dwindling inventory of patience, or all of the above but I have found myself quite tired of what seems to be high schoolish behavior by grown women watching the games. I know I must sound snotty and don't get me wrong I can most certainly understand watching a game to get a few good tacos de ojos if that's your thing. Long, firm, and well toned legs are not lost on me, but let's be honest, having to hear your girlfriends GWAK! over the English, German, or Switzerland teams simply because they are BIG BRAWNY GÜEROS can be more than annoying... junior highish at best. And what's up with this obsession with whiteness? What can I say, I like futbol the game, I am not immune to piernotas, but sitting next to your husband and friends acting like giggly insecure girls with a crush is something the rest of us just don't want to see. REALLY!
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Yep, there is quite a lot of good, bad and the ugly going on and more to come. Tomorrow Mexico faces off with France! We'll enjoy the game with friends, botanas, and some chelas and will cross our fingers that we've overcome the woman-dingbat syndrome or that it is at least far far away! In the meantime I'm off to turn that San Juditas candle on...

* Saint Jude is known as the saint of lost causes, in other words he is prayed to as a very last resort and in extreme cases.

Cow Bells and Mountains of Crap!

2010-06-15T17:17:00.003-05:00

For all its city-like aspirations Oaxaca continues to be small and life predictable in all its unpredictability. Take for example TRASH DAY...

Trash pick ups on our street are Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. So as ridiculous as this might sound, here is a breakdown of trash day...

TRASH DAY BREAKDOWN

1) In order to get rid of your trash you need to be home or have someone there when the trash passes by.

2) Your trash should be ready to go, close to the door.

3) You should have a few pesos for tip in your pocket.

4) Don't forget your keys or you'll most likely be locked out of your home since houses here are behind walls and or gates.

5) You know the trash truck is coming when you hear a cow-bell rung, no, not the bellish sound of the gas passing (which you hear at least 3 or 4 times a day), but a much deeper and less frequent sound.

6) Once you hear the right sound you have to make a quick call on what corner the sound is coming from, run out with trash in hand and the pesos in your pocket. Yes, good or at least descent hearing is necessary in order to avoid running to an empty street, trash in hand, a gust of wind piking up dust and some lone-ranger music playing in the background...

Ah! but that's not all.

7) Frankly you will never know when the trash truck will come by.

A few scenarios:

a) They can show up early in the morning as you are waking up. You frantically look for shoes, the keys, some pesos... HURRY! Oops! too late IT'S GONE!

b) They might decide to show up mid-day. You're hungry so you dare to turn on the stove and make lunch. BIG MISTAKE! The dreaded cow bell rings and now you have to decide between your food and running out to get rid of the trash!

c) Later in the day. You've spent all day waiting and waiting and you have just about given up. You've been sitting around all day and you just want to take a shower for the love of GOD! You dare to get in and well... THE BELL!

d) Or it can just NOT SHOW UP! Leave you as they say vestida y alborotada, trash ready, pesos in hand, and a growing multitude of flies until the next time the trash truck decides to show up!

Good Grief! Remember when bells meant an angel had gotten its wings like in It's a Wonderful Life?! Oh the perils of ones own MOUNTAIN OF CRAP!

Today is trash day. It is now almost 5 pm, trash bags have been waiting since 8 am this morning... Instead of the hot hairdryer wind there is a slight misty rain falling on the trash bags. Yeah, they are still there... sitting next to the front gate.

The Scream and Oventic, Chiapas

2010-06-11T18:05:00.010-05:00

Caracol Resistencia y Rebeldía por la Humanidad, Oventic, Chiapas,
sabado 29 de mayo, 2010.

'Zapata,' Oventic, Chiapas, May 29, 2010.*

"In the beginning is the scream. WE SCREAM.

When we write or when we read, it is easy to forget that the beginning is not the word, but the scream. Faced with the mutilation of human lives by capitalism, a scream of sadness, a scream of horror, a scream of anger, a scream of refusal: NO.

... It is from rage that thought is born, not from the pose of reason, not from the reasoned-sitting-back-and-reflecting-on-the-mysteries-of-existence that is the conventional image of the thinker..."

- from Change the World without taking power, by Josh Holloway.

Lately the scream has been building up inside of me. Lethal cocktail, chemical reaction between myself and the world apparently...

No soda POP f i z z i n g , j u s t a B I G B A N G ! glass and fire flying s l o w m o t i o n through the air...

Can't read the paper, can't hear the news, can't over hear conversations on the street without the SCREAM b u b b l i n g up like lava in a volcano...
YA BASTA!

Flotillas, oil, bullets, and tassers... not to mention the ball of quesillo** that gets bigger and BIGGER each day here in Oaxaca... YA BASTA! They screamed form the SOUTH!

Now their silence e c h o e s like a pebble tossed in a calm lake.

So we went to that place called Chiapas to see for ourselves. Turns out the revolution will NOT be televised... but IT WILL be painted.

P a i n t e d on the muros y paredes of every building, in every corner, wherever the eye can see... s h i e l d s o f c o l o r a n d h o p e.

Aquí, a few of the pictures I took while in Oventic. The second of two Zapata in Chiapas posts.

Los Zapatas de Oventic

* Click on the images to enlarge.
** Quesillo is a Oaxacan string cheese wrapped into a ball much like a ball of yarn. There is a saying in Oaxaca, that basically pokes fun at the fact that Oaxacans managed to even make cheese difficult by wrapping it into a ball.

Growing things

2010-06-07T12:47:00.009-05:00

Mi prized Sage / Salvia, Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca de Juárez, 7 de junio, 2010.

I am in love! And like all people in love I must climb upon the highest hill and yell it out to the four winds... LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!

Nothing new I know, but lately there's a renewed fluttering in the heart, a woozing buzz that only a teenage crush can bring. Let the cheese balls roll! I'm feeling cheesy and it feels great!

The cause of so much excitement and gooey gushing is our growing backyard garden :)

There's nothing better than reveling in the morning dew drinking coffee, observing, pruning, and rediscovering our potted wonderland before the oven-like heat wave blanket smothers the city once more.

I love plants! I just can't help it. I AM A PLANT FREAK, as M would say. How could I not be? I come from a long line of plant freaks. On my mother's side, I can still remember my great grandmother abuelita Rita tending to roses. My abuela Petra's overcrowded and dropping avocado tree in la Marengo (a house my grandparents lived in on Marengo street in East L.A.). And who can forget her iconic nopalitos. Then there were those spring visits to the Homedepot garden section with my mother. Oh how we would try desperately to contain ourselves like two addicts without avail! Never failed to roll out with a cart full of plants often forgetting whatever excuse we used to go inside in the first place. And then there is her garden. My mother's irises, roses, succulents, and blooming rainbow flowers. Ah and that most prized of all her fruit trees, her fig tree. Oh how I love her fig tree! Lucious drops of sweetness... YUM! Then my father who comes from a long line of farmers, working the dry clay-like land they inherited from the revolution. Corn, beans and papaya... I'd say I am doomed to be a plant freak... Yep, I'm a goner!

It's been less than a week since we returned from Chiapas so I have been obsessed with discovering changes. The cilantro, dalia, and spinach seedlings have sprung. The ginger I planted is sprouting. My sole sage plant (my prized plant since it is hard to find here and I grew it from an old packet of seeds I found) is bigger. Oh that plant that was doing absolutely nothing a few months ago is flowering!

Forgive me for gushing but I just can't help being excited over the things that grow in our garden :]

A little music

Cilantro seedlings, Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca, June 7, 2010.

Spinach seedlings, Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca, June 7, 2010.

Ginger sprouts, Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca, June 7, 2010.

The once lazy plant, Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca, June 7, 2010.

Succulent antenas, Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca, June 7, 2010.

'Kaliman in tomato and basil,' Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca, June 7, 2010.

Una mujer se a perdido...

2010-06-06T12:00:00.010-05:00

Stencil mural by Lapiztola, Barrio de Jalatlaco, Oaxaca, mayo, 2010.

Una mujer se a perdido...
Se a perdido caminando las calles de asfalto,
Entre el sol que s o f o c a, polvo y nubes de s m o g...

Una mujer se a perdido...
A caído en heridas a b i e r t a s en la tierra.
D e s a p a r e c i d o en un mar urbano,
Entre reflejos de espejos y señales de luz.

Una mujer se a perdido...
Se a perdido en un bosque de symbolos, palabras, e idiomas,
Que no la t o c a n que no la l l e n a n ...

Zapata en Chiapas

2010-06-03T19:42:00.006-05:00

Zapata en San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas

I first traveled to San Cristobal in the summer of 2006 amidst the Oaxacan movement. To be completely honest, I can't say I liked it much. It took one tamal and about a day to decide to head back to Oaxaca as soon as possible. The town's mini European city feel with its abundance of cafes, wine and cheese bars, as well as the stark divisions between the indigenous population, revolutionary travelers, and coletos* to name a few, were too much to take while my head was immersed in Oaxaca's barricaded streets.

I went back last week. This time I knew we would be there at least a week and I went with the intention of giving San Cristobal and myself a second chance. Things turned out well and I have much to write and reflect upon. First off, however, I am posting some of the Zapata images I found throughout the city.

To say you can find a Zapata or two in Chiapas is an understatement. Zapatas mark the Chiapaneco landscape like no other place I have been to in Mexico. Here is the first of two entries on Zapata in Chiapas. A very brief sampling of the contrasts and the irony of how his image is used.

"See you in 2010," stencil en calle Guadalupe Victoría, Centro, San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas, mayo 2010.

"Rebeldia Zapata Cover," Tierra Adentro, San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas, mayo 2010.

"Zapata Corner," San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas, mayo 2010.

* Coletos - is the term used for people who are from San Cristobal.

La Cosecha

2010-05-19T22:36:00.010-05:00

Introducing our first batch of tomatoes!

'Tomato, tomatoes,' Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca de Juárez, 19 de mayo, 2010.

... and our basil jungle...

'Jungla de albahaca,' Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca de Juárez, 19 de mayo, 2010.

The garden is loving spring in Oaxaca :)

Zapata en Marcha

2010-05-17T12:46:00.009-05:00

'Zapata en Marcha,' Calle Independencia, Oaxaca de Juárez, abril 2010.

And so Zapata keeps on marching con esa mirada callada, encendida, llena de coraje multiplicada en los rostros de docenas, de cientos, de miles, de millones cuyos pasos tejen y remendan esta tierra.

And yet, once upon a time it was out of Oaxaca's veins that this nation's great thinkers and leaders emerged.

Dicen por allí that La Revolución never got to Oaxaca... que, it never reached the South. Murmullan que es por eso su condición, permanent caudillismo, sheer abandonment, sin modernismo... The price it has payed.

And yet I find it hard to believe, hard to take in the national myth of the absent South... Si es que Zapata never reached these lands, como es que las sigue caminando?

I see him roaming, walking, marching throughout estas tierras perforadas. Firm, resolute, and unwavering...on the faces of many and marching.

Hay Chihuahua!

2010-05-08T11:06:00.010-05:00

'Adelita Remix,' Tlacolula, Oaxaca, marzo 2010.

I have been irritable, w i g g l i n g out of my own skin just to JUMP back in with the Cherríe Moraga, Sandra Cisneros, Anzaldua Chicana in me. The I AM the great granddaughter of one of Pancho Villas men... Magdaleno 'El Mocho' y aquí mis cacahuates truenan!

I am short of patience long with Hay Chihuahua straight shooting. Woke up this morning and wrapped my Guadalupana in a mantle of hooks, Lorde, and Davis, para empezar.

Went to a book presentation last night, mas bien, went to ANOTHER book presentation last night. Here they come like a junkie's need for a good l o n g hit. No criticism just the fly high. The lull until the next presentation is where the withdrawal slowly creeps in...

But back to the fix...
Como dicen por allí 'Dios los hace y ellos se juntan,' mas o menos translated to 'God makes them and they gather.' Same scenario here, same faces, same protocol, same bravo bravo from the same IN-crowd de aquí a Timbuktu.

Listened to the man talk about the desires and wants of a 'beautiful and goodsmelling' female prostitute. Her ability to love despite her condition... her condition... a poco su condition no era human?

Listened to the other man talk about how he made her, c o m p i l ed her from the stories of many putas. Did a lot of ethnographic research, REALLY got into it... So much so he can smell her, she smells good... a chabacanos, Channel, a sexo... She sings... has the most beautiful voice. She sings because he likes it...she sings.

A woman made from his male desire? No no, como crees cuide mucho que fuera ella misma, says the man.

Listened to these two men dissect her, want her with every pore on their body. Want her more for her inalcanzable condition, her made-up condition. Listened to the first man try to handle the complexity of globalization, talk about the neoliberazation of a woman's body with a few s t u m b l i n g words...

Escaped inside myself as heads nodded in aw and approval. Then wondered where I could get DUCK TAPE to rescue the sounds of the night... the far off wooing of a marimba and youth fresitas overtaking the street outside the smoke filled labyrinth of 'literature'...

Hello Again Zapata

2010-05-07T09:37:00.008-05:00

100 years after the official start of the Mexican Revolution, the enigma of Zapata in the Mexican imaginary continues to be unprecedented. In the grand irony of life, the campesino from the south who went up in arms demanding land reform, has been invoked by government implementing land privatization programs as well as by insurgent and grassroots groups alike.

The image of Zapata with his emblematic thick black mustache and intense dark eyes, continues to be scattered like confetti throughout Mexico on walls, t-shirts, stickers, posters, etc... He pops up in the most unexpected nooks, crevices, and craters of society. A ranchero or a punk, zapatan imagery invokes the forging of national identity that is both official and unofficial. And so in my continuing quest to find Zapata here is another image I found near Grafica Actual, an artist workshop/gallery, in Oaxaca.

'HELLO Zapata,' calle Allende entre Porfirio Diaz y Garcia Vigil, Oaxaca de Juárez, abril 2010.

Dispatches from the South

2010-05-05T11:53:00.012-05:00

'Guelaguetziando o folkloriando la guelaguetza,' cualquier dia en las calles de Oaxaca, abril 2010.

Hace tiempo que no me reporto...

...and so coming back can seem overwhelming.

Lately I have felt foreign, more foreign than usual...and yet I cannot idealize 'home' as some sort of respite from this feeling of foreignness. This I have learned.

I am in the mids of an escalating battle played out inside of myself, which I know will eventually secede into calm waters. It is one I am familiar with... it comes... it goes. It breaks like waves on my beach, sometimes caressing gently my shores and other times crashing violently, chaotic, and without mercy.

A string of fleeting ideas, decisions, and movements told me the conditions were prime... and so I prepared...

Yet in the middle of sandbagging and covering windows with plywood I realized that this time it might be better to swim with the current than to stand against it. After all I am well aware that foreignness is part of me, of who I am, of my identity. I understand that to a certain extent it is part of our human condition, that we all experience it although some more permanently than others.

It is this permanence of the condition that I have to a large extent come to be at peace with. Identifying this foreignness in others whose life histories and daily lives greatly differ from mine has in a sense propelled my interest in exploring my own foreignness. It has helped me run towards it and not from it as many of us try to do.

Permanent foreignness can be an uncomfortable place, a place that is in fact not permanent at all but in constant movement. It is not always in focus or well lit, it can be a bit blurry and if things happen to be in focus they might not necessarily be what's important...

And yet here I am again in familiar sands, more foreign than usual and knowing full well I might be less foreign yet still foreign tomorrow.

A beautiful day in Oaxaca

2010-04-16T00:06:00.002-05:00

Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca de Juátez, April 10, 2010. Photo Jorge Luis Santiago.

Countdown...

2010-04-01T14:21:00.007-05:00

'luna llena sobre montañas,' Oaxaca de Juárez, marzo 2010.

“Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite. Or waiting around for Friday night or waiting perhaps for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil or a better break or a string of pearls or a pair of pants or a wig with curls or another chance. Everyone is just waiting.”

- Dr. Seuss.

On a wedding countdown now... tomorrow we face el Monstruo for the day... DF here we come!

Zapata Punk

2010-03-31T00:29:00.008-05:00

Zapata Punk began to pop up in 2006 during the APPO movement. The art collective ASARO stenciled the Mohawk clad Zapata on walls in a sense claiming his image for the underground, marginalized and highly persecuted youth movement that sprung during the 2006 mobilizations. Four years later, despite an apparent return to the status quot, the youth movement that walked the streets in support of change continues to march to its own beat through small collectives. And so Zapata Punk continues to make his appearance here and there as if to confirm their continued resistance.

'Zapata Punketo...' from the 'Looking for Zapata' series. Oaxaca de Juárez, 30 marzo, 2010.

Zapata en Tlacolula

2010-03-29T12:18:00.004-05:00

As promised... I am still looking for Zapata...

'Zapata en Tlacolula,' from the 'Looking for Zapata,' series, March 28, 2010.

Otra vez con la Nostalgia

2010-03-29T11:43:00.007-05:00

'Luna en Tlacolula,' Tlacolula Oaxaca, March 28, 2010. Photo by Maurice Magaña.

It rained last night in Oaxaca again. They say it doesn't really rain in January, in February, or March... yet it has rained at least a couple of days each one of those months. The rain hasn't dissuade the sun or its heat.

I have been absent for a bit because of wedding preparations. All is coming along slowly but surely. Many of our friends here have been absolutely amazing and we have learned a lot about what it means to give guelaguetza. The exchange, the giving, the coming together as a community to help one another has been humbling to say the least.

I am however very nostalgic today, possibly because the wedding day is near and I have been in anticipation of it along with everyone around us. My sister arrives on Friday and that helps quelle some of the nostalgia, but the absence of so many people keeps the nostalgia growing... Anywho I felt like sharing this song about the condition of living with one foot on one side of one border and the other on the other side...

Herbolarias

2010-03-06T17:20:00.005-06:00

'Kaliman en marzo,' Oaxaca, Oaxaca de Juárez, marzo, 2010. From the 'Life in Oaxaca' series.

We're not sure what planet our cat is from, but he is absolutely hilarious. I have never had a cat that loves, LOVES lying in dirt piles. Maya (our dog) and him seem to be exchanging mannerisms. Lately he likes to lay around like a dog, preferably on Maya's outside bed. Here he is making a funny face laying between a rock wall and a succulent plant.

'Flor the mini cactus,' Oaxaca, Oaxaca de Juárez, marzo, 2010. From the 'Life in Oaxaca' series.

I thought these were doing nothing for the last few months. At one point I even thought they might be dead. Then, passing by them a few days ago I looked closer and there they were, tiny beautiful flowers :)

'Cactus flowers,' Oaxaca, Oaxaca de Juárez, marzo, 2010. From the 'Life in Oaxaca' series.

I admit, I am addicted to succulents! I bought these for 15 pesos each last weekend. Have not potted them yet but one has 9 offspring!!! I am so excited! They are so beautiful!

"Long stem cacti, flower shape,' Oaxaca, Oaxaca de Juárez, marzo, 2010. From the 'Life in Oaxaca' series.

I am still wondering about these. They were among the first plants we bought and they have still to do something. They have not grown, they do not have new leaves, they just seem to be. We'll see if spring does something to them.

"Simple succulent flower," Oaxaca, Oaxaca de Juárez, marzo, 2010. From the 'Life in Oaxaca' series.

Have I mentioned I love succenlents ;)

"Kaliman as the Eye of the Tiger,' Oaxaca, Oaxaca de Juárez, marzo, 2010. From the 'Life in Oaxaca' series.

Hope you are all having a wonderful weekend!

Buscando a Zapata

2010-03-04T22:38:00.002-06:00

This year marks the 100th anniversary of the beginning of the Mexican Revolution. Here in Oaxaca, the federal and state governments have placed a large countdown clock on one side of the zócalo (main town square), counting down minutes, hours and days. Speculation about what might or will happen given the dire circumstances of large sections of the population in most of the country vary.

There are whispers amongst some of the possibility of armed rebellion, while others speak of fundamental social change through different and peaceful means. Regardless of ongoing debates on the significance of this year in the national Mexican imaginary, I have decided to document echos of the 1910 Mexican Revolution through a series I am calling 'looking for Zapata' or 'buscando a Zapata'. Here is the first image.

'Zapata en CASOTA,' Oaxaca, Oaxaca de Juárez, 4 de marzo, 2010.

poetry

2010-03-04T10:02:00.003-06:00

I woke up the last few days thinking about this poem. Me di cuenta que ya no lo tenía guardado. Afortunadamente lo encontre. Thought I would share.

The Bridge Poem

by Donna Kate Ruskin

I've had enough
I'm sick of seeing and touching
Both sides of things
Sick of being the damn bridge for everybody
Nobody
Can talk to anybody
Without me

Right?

I explain my mother to my father my father to my little sister
My little sister to my brother my brother to the white feminists
The white feminists to the Black church folks the Black church folks
To the ex-hippies the ex-hippies to the Black separatists the
Black separatists to the artists the artists to the my friends' parents. .

Then I've got to explain myself

To everybody
I do more translating
Than the Gawdamn U.N.

Forget it
I'm sick of it

I'm sick of filling in your gaps

Sick of being your insurance against
The isolation of your self-imposed limitations
Sick of being the crazy at your holiday dinners
Sick of being the odd one at your Sunday Brunches
Sick of being the sole Black friend to 34 individual white people

Find another connection to the rest of the world
Find something else to make you legitimate
Find some other way to be political and hip
I will not be the bridge to your womanhood
Your manhood
Your human-ness

I'm sick of reminding you not to
Close off too tight for too long

I'm sick of mediating with your worst self
On behalf of your better selves

I am sick
Of having to remind you to breath
Before you suffocate
Your own fool self.

Forget it
Stretch or drown
Evolve or die
The bridge I must be
Is the Bridge to my own power
I must translate
My own fears
Mediate
My own weaknesses I must be the bridge to nowhere
But my true self
And then
I will be useful.

Un Fin de Semana

2010-02-28T20:54:00.005-06:00

'Cafecito de madrugada,' Cuajimoloyas, Sierra Juárez, Oaxaca, 2010. 'Life in Oaxaca' series.

'Sillón Anarquista,' Oaxaca, Oaxaca, 2010. 'Life in Oaxaca' series.

'Luna Sobre la Ciudad,' Oaxaca, Oaxaca, 2010. 'Life in Oaxaca' series.

When it's hot... ICE-CREAM!

2010-02-23T22:16:00.011-06:00

Helado de leche quemada con tuna, Mercado de Ocotlán, Oaxaca, México, 2010.

There's no denying it, no use in pretending... I have a crazy sweet tooth. Got it straight from my father. I can still see his black mustache sprinkled with chocolate cupcake as I stormed all through the house, opening and slamming doors. Smoke rings coming out of my ears and nostrils as I tried to identify the culprit. The one who dared to steal one of my lovingly baked cupcakes for school. My father's ojos de vago barely able to contain their giggles as I interrogated him about the missing cupcake. No mija no fuí yo! Como crees! No mija preguntale al Edgar! My brother Edgar AY! An even more extreme case of uncurable sweet tooth in the family... Could have been if only my father's a la Jorge Negrete signature mustache had not given him away...

Oh how times change... or do they... The days in Oaxaca are simultaneously getting longer and hotter and we are only in February. We've been warned over and over again of just how hot it will be come April. I suppose the heat might not be too bad if it weren't for that darn almost vertical hill we have to trek to get to our house... So how has one uncurable sweet tooth decided to pass the next few weeks dealing with the abominable ball of flames shinning down on Oaxaca? ICE-CREAM of course! Had my first glass of leche quemada with tuna, (burnt milk and prickly pear, a favorite combination here in Oaxaca, and although it might sound strange to many it is really REALLY YUMMY delicious!), not long ago, and shared a tres marias, (three different flavored ice scream scoops in a wafer cone topped with chocolate, whip cream, waffer cookie, and a cherry on top), with M as a Sunday date... A date on which I discovered a list of flavors described as SABORES EXTREMOS! That's right the EXTREME FLAVORS! The ones only hardcore ice-scream freaks might dare to try... mango-maracuya, kiwifresa, jicama-chile, mezcal, mango-chile, guanabana... and on and on...

All I can say is that I am ready, ready as I will ever be to take the SEs ON! I think the best way to follow my ice-scream declaration is to report back on the trials, triumphs, and tribulations that might come with eating the sabores extremos... So I sign off today with the promise of reporting back on the ice-cream eatathon.

Leche quemada con tuna, Mercado de Ocotlán, Oaxaca, México, 2010.

Aurora y Antonio

2010-02-18T22:04:00.013-06:00

'Y las paredes siguen hablando,' photo by Mauricio Magaña. Oaxaca, 2010.

I will try my best to be brief precisely because it is almost impossible to think of brevity after spending hours and hours listening to people weave stories into tapestries of esperanza. Last week was probably one of the hardest and most fruitful weeks of my life. I have had little time to think or wallow in 'foreigness' lately. I have been overwhelmed with emotions rushing gushing and spilling out of me; laughter, happiness, uncertainty, impotence, sadness, rage, and so, so much esperanza it poured out in tears several times. Too much has happened and I had been unable to write anything out of sheer exhaustion. This is my first attempt at reflecting on some of what was lived last week and I have chosen to begin by writing about Aurora and Antonio.

On Friday we went to a local university to hear two ex-commanders of a guerrilla group called the Insurgent People's Revolutionary Army (Éjercito Revolucionario del Pueblo Insurgente - ERPI). The ERPI grew out of another well known guerrilla group here in Mexico, the EPR with whom these two commanders broke from to form the ERPI in 1997. Both Gloria Arenas Agis and Jacobo Silva Nogales, known as Coronela Aurora and Comandante Antonio were political prisoners until late October of 2009 a little over ten years after being apprehended in late October 1999. Curiously the year before their arrests was the year the Mexican government formed the Federal Preventive Police (Policía Federal Preventive - PFP). The PFP was in fact the unit responsible for their arrests just as they were in charge of bringing order to Oaxaca in late 2006 during the APPO rebellion.

Both Gloria and Jacobo were arrested without warrants, both were severely tortured, and both were accused of a long list of crimes including rebellion, sabotage, murder, terrorism, etc. When apprehended neither denied their identities and both were presented to the public at a rueda de prensa in an effort to show the government's efficiency at dealing with crime. Finally both were sentenced to over 50 years in prison.

Being accused of a crime in Mexico, especially if done for political reasons, means guilty until ~~proven innocent~~, or to put it bluntly it means guilty with a stroke of a pen and regardless of a person's innocence. Piles of evidence in a person's favor will do nothing to reverse sentencing and will most likely, depending on the judge, never leave a person's file to be reviewed. A case in point here in Oaxaca is the case of Juan Manuel Martínez Moreno currently in prison accused of shooting the American Indymedia journalist Brad Will in 2006.

The talk on Friday was inspiring. Walking into the room I recognized Gloria. Something about her was so familiar to me I felt I knew her, I tried to recall why I felt this way while rationalizing in my mind the impossibility. I decided I must have seen her picture or seen a video of her somewhere at some point. Like Jacobo's, Gloria's face reflected an enormous sense of peace that made the idea of them spending 10 years in a maximum federal state penitentiary seem unimaginable. The room was full and the conversation focused largely on how to conceptualize and live fundamental social change without 'taking power,' ( to recall Holloway's 'How to change the world without taking powers'). Gloria and Jacobo spoke quietly yet with resolution while answering questions, showing an unfledging support and speaking of their incorporation into the continuing lucha for fundamental social change.

What was most surprising however, to most of us listening and asking from the audience was how these two ex-guerrilleros, Aurora y Antonio, political prisoners just recently released, having endured torture, and ten years in a maximum security prison, were tremendously moved by the people of Oaxaca. Their respect for the Oaxacan movement was unprecedented. I have heard reporters, NGOs, people disappointed by the movement, and a slew of academics discuss, speculate, and make conclusions over what exactly happened in the southern Sate of Oaxaca in 2006. The controversies extend from the usual arguments over semantics, (was this a movement? was this a rebellion? was this an uprising? and does it even matter?), to the aloofness of many who decided to shock-it-all-up to a few power hungry individuals pulling their usual puppetry tricks in the name of social change, in other words the tendency to reduce peoples participation to merely political manipulation. Ah but if only it were that simple... If only we could homogenise real life like we do often in our minds or on paper... Pardon me as I celebrate the fact we can't!

Gloria and Jacobo spoke with great admiration about the many lessons Oaxaca had shown the rest of Mexico in 2006, despite the aftermath and the current apathy that seems to permeate the Oaxacan landscape. It was clear that they had taken much from what was experienced in Oaxaca, not in the defeatist sense that many seem to have taken, or in fruitless arguments over whether or not what happened can be considered a movement, but by focusing on the glimmer of esperanza the Oaxacan movement was able to reveal, simply put, by imagining the possibilities.

To them the Oaxacan movement is exemplary of what el pueblo can accomplish, how it can organize, and even how it can surpass more than one would-be leader. Yes some people within the movement sold their soul to the devil, yes there was repression, yes the same governor is still in power in large part due to the Federal Government's complicity, but beyond the materially and academically measurable how did people move, react, defend, fight, or even understand their own process etc. There will always be those who take the route of politics, who are able to gain materially by taking advantage of movements, but at the same time there will also always be those who will not follow, who will make their own paths, who will challenge through their actions, and surpass movement structures. That was more than evident in 2006.

Yet in a sense those of us in that room needed to hear it, not from the countless NGOs, reporters, or academics who have tried to speculate, but from Aurora and Antonio who have spent a lifetime working, fighting, and believing in social change. Their voices echoed in those walls louder and more clearly than the voices of those of us who spend a lifetime behind desks analyzing data, deconstructing and reconstructing Babylon. In a sense their presence here in Oaxaca served to re-ignite a lingering flame amongst many Oaxaqueños whose participation in 2006 has been either elevated to misunderstood heroics or diminished to an anomaly. And so the flame of esperanza shines bright in the torn up streets of Oaxaca.

Playing Hookie

2010-02-17T18:33:00.008-06:00

'Kaliman, bugambilias y yo,' from the 'Life in Oaxaca Series,' Colonia Estrella, Febrero 2010.

'Moroccan tile mural in progress,' 'Life in Oaxaca Series,' Colonia Estrella, Febrero 2010.

'Maya y Kaliman taking afternoon nap,' 'Life in Oaxaca Series,' Colonia Estrella, Febrero 2010.

Bugambilias

2010-02-15T20:03:00.005-06:00

Bugambilia Flowers, Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca, Febrero, 2010.

Swirly Clouds y Bugambilias, Colonia Estrella, Oaxaca, Febrero 2010.

I wake up every morning to dancing purple and magenta buterflies against a blue sky. Humming birds floating from one flower to another drinking glasses of bugambilia nectar.

I love the view from my bedroom window.

This evening as I rested for a few minutes I watched the bugambilia trees sway back and forth waving adieu to the evening sun. A gust of wind turned white marshmallows into twirly clouds that rolled-on-by one after the other.

I watched as a few bugambilia's managed to break free swishing up high against the evening's blue skies before twirling, gliding, and falling as if executing a well choreographed dance ending in a purple and magenta carpet kissing ground.

Who Broke Your Lamp Vato?

2010-02-10T22:29:00.006-06:00

'Lampara de los Recuerdos,' Oaxaca, 2010.

"Theory is abstraction. We should think of it as a lamp we can use to help us illuminate what is happening here, on the ground, in real life..." - Words spoken at a seminar, my own translation from Spanish to English.

We have been participating in a weekly seminar here in Oaxaca for a bit now. Conversations have ranged from what to do and how to organize outside official spaces in the mid's of the worsening conditions for the average person and the current state of exception, to theoretical debates concerning the use of discourse. Somehow for the last 3 weeks, questions of identity have managed to poke their head out more often than not. And so I am compelled to write about the great intellectual identity quesillo (a Oaxacan string cheese that is wrapped around into what looks like a ball of yarn) as I currently understand it...

It seems lately 'identity' is OUT in intellectual circles. It is especially out of fashion amongst those who study, are interested in, analyze or just follow social movements. Turns out to talk about identity is to confirm the state's hegemonic power over us, it is to talk about a 'western' philosophical construction (unreal or made up in ones head) that is absent from REAL life. In other words, out with New Movement theory! In with the... 'we' the 'us' the 'collective' built around difference... So what exactly is difference these days?...

Glad you asked! Not 'identity' apparently! No Siree! Why not? Well apparently 'identity' can be reduced to the following equation: 1=1. Works nice mathematically doesn't it?! Ah but because in REAL life 1 (person) ≠ 1 (person), 'identity' is out the door. According to how identity is being defined in our particular seminar, the semantics and philosophical historical origins of 'identity' (which happen to of course originate in Western society according to this particular argument), clearly stipulate that one cannot identify oneself with another because to do so would mean to be 'identical' the 'same' 'equal.'

Ok, pause for a minute... The first thing that popped into my head was, WOW!!!!!!!!!... Then a million and one thoughts including: 1=1, 1≠1 REALLY?!!! How did you come up with the idea that Non-Western societies were not using 'identity' or that this idea somehow originated in the West? Who are you to tell people they can't 'identify' with one another in a group? or simply to tell them 'there is no such thing as identity?'

Oh wait, you call yourself 'Zapoteco' guess what YOU'RE NOT because if you are you are giving into the great big Wizard of OZ pulling the strings behind the curtain. You are from so and so village so you call yourself BLANK... YOU CAN'T! you'd give in to hegemony. Oh you organize around your sexuality? WRONG AGAIN!...

There is this idea that 'identity' prevents you from making alliances, from organizing across or in difference that I just can't wrap my head around just yet. I think I can't understand it, because I don't see identity as a one-sided or the BIG ONE-EYED MONSTER. It is not a floating box waiting for the powers that be to come and grab their next victim to place him/her into their very own tiny identity box. Come on let's give people and ourselves a little more credit than that.

Yes identity can be dangerous, in the sense that it can be used from the top down, for example 'national identities,' but it is also constructed from the bottom up and that is what has been the most frustrating part of our conversations these past few weeks. It's more than a one way street just like the rest of life. People use identity, they change identity, they even have multiple identities precisely because they are complex beings, because complex social phenomena cannot be reduced to simple mathematical equations and simply arguing for weeks over semantics (identity = to identify oneself with) is useless when people give meaning through their everyday lives to the these modern hieroglyphics.

I understand identity as something much more fluid, in constant construction and reconstruction. It does not hinder my ability to connect, organize, or build alliances, on the contrary, it is a tool I can use to do just that. We need to stop talking about identity as if it were static and all encompassing, and realize what feminists have been saying for years, we don't have to be the same, we can organize precisely through difference (see Andrea Smith 2008, Aida Hernandez, Chandra Mohanty, or ask me I have a long list of references).

I understand that lately there is a new turn towards some sort of 'humanism' 'internationalism' 'we are the world-ism' or plain 'intergalacticism,' or maybe there is simply the need to come up with the next ISM to define current social and cultural phenomena... This is what intellectuals live for and I do not want to deny them the opportunity to coin the next ISM. However, I am also not willing to have them throw out terms that are used in REAL LIFE by REAL PEOPLE simply because this year's new black is pink. In other words Vato I think your lamp broke!

Thinking about FOOD!...oh and perhaps some running helmet football

2010-02-04T15:44:00.009-06:00

Oh glorious, delicious, delicate marriage of flavors and smells that make one's mouth water like a leaky faucet!

I am getting ready for this week's meeting of the brutes, in other words, my very first Super Bowl Party. I thought I had been to one previously, turns out it was just a regular season game that lasted an incredible amount of time. Time I spent looking out the tiny window in the attic apartment we were in. So how in all my years with one foot on one side of the border and the other on this side, did I manage to avoid this most revered American tribal ritual? And more importantly how did I manage to go through life without ever attending a single Super Bowl Party?!

Alas, I believe I did so in much the same way I managed to skip every iconic American movie made including the whole Star Wars series... It's not that I was never curious or slightly intrigued... Oh what the hell, let's just be honest... I was not...

Oh but times change. Since my youthful rebellion against all things that symbolized, at least to me, common or 'normal' Americaness, I met and fell in love with the BIGGEST AMERICAN FOOTBALL/SPORTS FAN on this side of the galaxy!... We are talking football Ph.D. analysis here!... And so it is that I went from blissful ignorance to football season connoisseur...

Ah, but back to the main reason for this entry. We will attend our first Super Bowl gathering this Sunday and in an effort to join in the festivities in full force representing my Americaness at its stuff-your-face best, I have been scouting some possible appetizer, snack, and dishes. Being that the two teams dueling for the most coveted trophy are from Indiana (or what my siblings and I call that large unimaginable open space smack in the center of the country "The Middle") and Louisiana, the obvious and most exciting part of this event for any foodie out there would be the vast array of Cajun food to dip ones palate in.

The dilemma now is WHAT IS ONE TO MAKE?! The usual chili/ chili dogs? Or should one venture into some Jambalaya subs?! Corn bread? Or dare I try to make sea food gumbo?!

Then again I do have a sweet tooth and the Cavalier Cook's Guava Cheese Flan looks absolutely delicious!

Hmmmm! Decisions decisions... What in the world will I make? Well I can tell you this now... I think I will have my Super Bowl dish remain a mystery until Sunday :)

La niña de mis ojos

2010-02-01T20:36:00.010-06:00

I received an email on Saturday that filled my eyes with tears of joy. I have known Gloria for over thirteen years of heartaches, joy, failures and accomplishments. At the risk of sounding like a cliche, we have cried and laughed together through the ups and downs of life and in the process have loved, nurtured and even on occasion I am sure have wanted to kill each other as any two sisters might :) Despite the different paths we have taken, despite the geographical distance our friendship has not only endured but grown and matured. We are no longer the two inexperienced college graduates bound for an English winter in London... The bangs and glasses are gone and we have managed to shed some of our youthful insecurities... When we once watched every movie possible on opening weekend, we are now lucky to get to sit down and watch a movie together...

And so I received an email from Gloria on Saturday telling me about Sofia Elena that filled my soul with so much joy it flowed from my eyes. Every part of my body screamed for LA at that moment. I wanted to run to see Gloria, hug her, tell her how happy I am to know Sofia Elena will be with us soon, and how beautiful she looks with her growing pancita. My head filled with thoughts of tiny hands and feet, little dresses, tiny shoes, pink, yellow, white, fluffy, soft, beautiful...

I began dreaming of Sofia Elena and her arrival and haven't stopped since. In typical Herrera manner I watched the I love Lucy episode where Lucy let's Ricky know they are having a baby. Poor M. just watched me swim in my little pond of sentimentality, smiling, tearing up, and beaming with joy...

Nostalgia...

2010-01-30T23:53:00.013-06:00

Sera por la lluvia, el gris de los cielos, el frío, o simplemente el que a veces la nostalgia nos gana...extrañando a 'Nuevo Mexico'...

California Stars - Wilco

I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight

On a bed of California stars

I'd like to lay my weary bones tonight

On a bed of California stars

I'd love to feel

Your hand touching mine

And tell me why

I must keep working on

Yes I'd give my life

To lay my head tonight on a bed

Of California stars

I'd like to dream

My troubles all away

On a bed of California stars

Jump up from my starbed

Make another day

Underneath my California stars

They hang like grapes

On vines that shine

And warm the lovers' glass

Like friendly wine

So I'd give this world

Just to dream a dream with you

On our bed of California stars...

From one Scribbler to Another

2010-01-29T12:44:00.004-06:00

Drum roll.... Hmmm... No, scratch that. I think I prefer trumpets for this one ;)

Tuuuuturutuuuuuu!

My dear beautiful friend and sister in craziness Mathangi writer extraordinaire of Le Chaim, was too kind this week by honoring me with the award bellow. And I quote from her wonderful blog: "Mexiroccan: My fellow graduate student, fieldwork, mixed-up connoisseur of all things worth my while. They will be worth yours too. Blogs about Mexico, identity, life, school, dogs." - Aaaaawwww!

My dear Mathangi I thank you for the huge smile you gave me. I hope you know that you and your blog are an inspiration to me. That your master iron chef series is AMAZING and that I miss our lunches, dinner, talks, grocery shopping, yoga, studying, talking, etc. etc. In fewer words you are most definitely missed like crazy!

To my readers... frankly I am not sure I have too many :) but those of you who have by some twisty turny Internet road ended up here and actually read my "ranting" GRACIAS.

And so I move on to the second part of accepting the scribbler award bestowed upon me. There are many of us bloggers releasing our words like tiny stars into the immense Internet galaxy. We hope that in doing so someone somewhere out there might bestow their eyes upon them and feel compelled to read and perhaps if we are lucky feel our words. And so today as Le Chaim's blog points out I must pass this award on to 5 fellow bloggers of my choice whom I hope will know there is someone out there indeed.

1) Empezo a Volar: Filled with inspiring and heartfelt reflections on life, organizing, change, and acceptance of oneself on this road called life. My dear you are a beautiful person whose desire to see another world palpitates through the words you share. Thank you.

2) Documenting Me: I came upon this blog by mere chance or destiny, whichever way you might choose to see it. It chronicles in a refreshing and honest manner the everyday life of an undocumented graduated college student who was brought to the US as a young child. By documenting yourself on your terms you take back the anonymity that society tries to place upon millions of people living in the US.

3) Vladineyski: I simply love your blog. It is hilarious, fun, and filled with antidotes of everyday life with two kids, two dogs, a crazy insane cat, and some chickens in Southern California. I hear you in it and it makes me happy after so many years of being geographically on opposite ends to hear about the Vladineyskis.

4) Posa Tigres: Sarah and Jorge always on the go, a blog about travel and beautiful images. Sarah's reflections on traveling, coming and going, the here and there and Jorge's mesmerizing images will surely keep you coming back.

5) Notes from the North(west) Country: A dear friend and fellow grad student in Oregon who writes about life, the ups and downs of grad school with grace, hope, humor and good tips :) You are sure to be entertained.

And now for the fine print of course:

- Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving blogger/ friends/ both.

- Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.

- Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.

- Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to Mr. Linky List.

- Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

FIN!

Oaxaca Vive Vive

2010-01-27T12:51:00.006-06:00

To be honest I hardly know where to begin...

Tonight I listened to many stories. Stories about deceit, loss, triumph, disappointments, love, and even hope. I spent the night talking and sharing experiences. The kind of sharing you can only do after a few beers on a Tuesday night in a cantina in the center of town.

Lately there have been so many things making my head spin I have had a hard time processing my surroundings or my very feelings but tonight things were brought back into perspective.

Since we arrived late last year the uprising of 2006 has almost seemed like a far away dream Oaxacan's woke up from maybe a bit too early. Life in Oaxaca is almost seamlessly familiar, usual, and unshattered. The Swiss, German, French, Italian, and American senior citizen tourists, ex-pats, 'profesional anthropologists,' college students and 'artists' continue to arrive in busloads. Yet at least part of the young European and American backpackers/philanthropic activists that came before 2006 have now been replaced with what has been known as Turismo Revolucionario (a term first used in Mexico to name the flocks of European and American activists that arrived in Chiapas after the 1994 EZLN uprising), who now come to linger in what remains of the 2006 Oaxacan landscape. The city with its wide blue skies, cotton candy clouds, and touch of honey evening light continues to unleash its magical spell on more than one unsuspecting passerby.

Lately I have been questioning my place here. Mostly because I have made an effort to stop myself from falling into the middle-class 'intelectual' comfort that comes with being a highly educated, yet poor, Pocha/mestiza living in southern Mexico. Walking through a city once sown together by a network of barricadas, now literally torn apart by the construction projects of an exiting governor desperately trying to gain a fleeting and unattainable legitimacy, I have made an extra effort to see, listen, and feel Oaxaca from where I stand.

Tonight I heard, felt and saw disappointment, failure, loss, guilt, anger, pride, enormous love and so much hope it seemed to pour out from the catina and flow like rivers onto the streets of Oaxaca. It is hard to find hope after hearing about so much repression. After hearing about the continued persecution experienced by people in their everyday lives, the enormous losses they have experienced on personal and professional levels, the shattered lives that bear witness to a time and place that might otherwise seem to no longer exist. I listened to stories filled with bravery, self sacrifice, and experiences remembered and lived whole heartedly. As I listened I remembered that time that place, my heart filled with angustia, fear, and sadness as I left Oaxaca that September in 2006 knowing full well that my father's decision to migrate to the United States at age 17 had given me the privilege of crossing to el otro lado and the ability to leave while others could not.

I listened to the crumbling of marriages, to the loosing of children, to the nights of anguish, to the embracing of the wounded, to the battles of rocks and sticks against armour and guns, the victories, the defeats, to the comradery between people, to the helping hand, to the need, to the want, to the willingness to fight for change at all costs, and to the what ifs...

And yet in between it all, despite so much loss, despite so much sarcasm by others who no longer believe, and despite the what ifs, they are here in Oaxaca as they are in Oregon, broken, beaten, and tortured but unwilling to take the easy way out, to settle into the status quo, knowing full well maybe others might not follow, others might not care or take the time to listen. Knowing what that means for themselves and their families but believing there is something much greater... and so you can almost hear their voices once by the thousands in the streets of Oaxaca now filled with the rattling of destruction and reconstruction...

Mujer que sabe Latín...

2010-01-16T15:32:00.011-06:00

I was interrogated this week... It was long, tiring, pointless, and yet not surprising...

It all started when I saw a wanted-sign up at a coffee shop. A 'local' bookstore was looking for someone fluent in Spanish and English. Having decided to look for a part-time job in an effort to add more structure to my days and to break through the uncertainty of fieldwork, (a quasi New Years resolution), I decided to apply to my first job in Mexico as a citizen. After all I love books, and while they served as a place of refuge for me growing up in the inbetweens, and in anthropological terms, in the othernesses of society, they have become an integral part of my everyday life, no longer distracting my thoughts from the endless police stops and searches in the neighborhood but directing me towards them. I won't go into the peti details of applying to jobs in Mexico in this entry because what I feel is more important to deal with in this case is how I was interviewed, by whom, and why it became such a long and pointless interrogation that had nothing to do with the particular job I had originally thought of applying to.

Confident not only in my expertise but in my ability and willingness to learn, I headed with my stack of papers to apply for the bookstore attendant position. I was immediately taken up to the second floor of a colonial building, one of those buildings that revolves around a courtyard now converted into a dinning area, with high ceilings that make you feel you could fly if only you had wings. I was lead to one corner of the building where a heavy, dark, wooden door sat slightly opened. Inside at the far end of this long room was a tall medium sized man of European decent, white hair, white beard. He sat in front of a heavy dark wooden desk, the kind you see in hacienda offices in Mexican soap operas, telenovelas. He sat working on a computer with a large screen. Sunlight filtered into the room from the street through slightly opened balcony doors. I decide that the Mexican kitsch fairy must have visited this man's office as papel picado hung from the ceiling and I caught a glimpses of a human sized paper mache skeleton, walls covered in prints, skeleton scenes, lucha libre, Fridas, etc.

The man behind the desk did not turn his attention towards me immediately. He was apparently busy making car service arrangements and continued to do so, dialing numbers, talking as if alone in the room. When he finally came towards me, he quickly glanced at my CV and proceeded to ask one question after another, no, not about my ability to stack books, be organized, or anything that might be related to the duties involved in the job advertised. It seems my CV's list of academics enthralled him. He proceeded to ask questions about a particular academic, is she nice, is she helpful, how do you know her, what kind of person is she?

I couldn't help feeling that this man's previous encounters with this woman might not have been good. By his line of questioning I got the feeling that this woman must not particularly like this man and that this man was trying desperately to dig into me in an effort to find out something new about this woman. Not only was I transformed into an encyclopedia of information (information I had no intention of disclosing), but as he continued to speak I became convinced that the set up in the room reflected an hacendado complex. That is to say, that as he spoke behind his large desk he seemed to speak about himself as some sort of benefactor of Oaxaca and therefore Oaxacans. This was not a good feeling and my head began to hurt... but he continued.

He shot question after question at me for what seemed like an eternity, in random order and without a coherent line leading back to the book store attendant position. It had been no less than 45min., when he asked, 'If one of your friends was coming to Mexico what book would you recommend they read? No not a travel book. Pick any other book.' As I sat there I felt the response he was waiting for in the air, yet it refused to leave my lips. One of the countless travel journals; or perhaps a book by an American traveler who settles in provincial Mexico, a kind of manifesto of self discovery and coming to grips through otherness. I have a difficult time with books like this and it was impossible for me out of conviction to give him what he wanted. All I could think of was what I think of every time I try to read such books: How do I find myself in a 'foreign' land through the otherness that is felt by fellow Americans abroad when I have coexisted with otherness for a lifetime no matter where I am?... But he continued...

He explained how he likes to offer the job I was applying for to indigenous girls. He explained how they are not allowed to use their phone, receive messages, or have anyone that knows them talk to them at the shop. He explained how they work 6 days a week, 8 hours a day for a set wage. He highlighted how the fact that he believes they appreciate the work given the wages in Oaxaca but admits the wage is not much.

He continued... He moved on to my legal status. 'Married or not? Children? Where were you born? So you are illegal. Do you have a passport. Age? So you are illegal?' It doesn't matter how many times I explain my dual citizenship, he repeats, 'So you are illegal?"... and on and on and on...

As I sat there I thought to myself about the irony of it all. Here I was in southern Mexico, a Chiacana, Meixacana, Pocha, being interrogated by a white American man who, with all of his hacendado grandeur, made sure to remind me before I left how lucky I am to be here. How lucky I am to be here... as if he knew something about my life, about who I am, where I come from, what I have been through. A Chicana, Mexicana, American oldest of 5, hija de migrantes, whose father 2nd grade education led him to carry the scars of his labor on his hands and back. A Pocha whose desire to make something of herself has meant more sacrifices than are visible to the eye... And yet this man somehow thought it was his place to remind me of my luck...

And so this whole episode reminded me of something else that I have been reminded of often since we moved here. There is an ability for some people to accept what is foreign in a foreign land, but it is much harder to accept what they perceive as foreign in their own land. My presence here at times provides a bit of a schism to those who are comfortable with the foreignness that surrounds them and their foreignness here. I am what is both familiar and foreign and that is much more difficult to deal with than just plain foreign because it means dealing with what they in fact might not want to deal with at all. That which continues back home to be the elephant in the room despite our new found multicultural and multiracial society.

Estapilla

2010-01-09T23:32:00.006-06:00

Hay temporadas en las que los días pasan desapercibidos. Desde que llegamos a Oaxaca el tiempo literalmente se nos va, corre que corre como el conejo blanco de Alicia, sin orden y sin razón. De repente me doy cuenta que apenas y percibo lo que me rodea y en donde estoy. En nuestro afán de hacer y no hacer se pierden los atardeceres color miel que acarician la cantera antes de volver al cielo en una manta de azul oscuro. Y el tiempo corre que corre.

Ultimamente tengo ganas de sentir y vivir la vida sin el hacer y no hacer que han llenado mis días estas ultimas semanas. Añoro el sentarme en el zócalo y tejer historias entre la gente. El llenarme de los colores y ruidos que habitan sus atardeceres.

Ultimamente recuerdo. Recuerdo aquellas tardes en Estapilla. En Colima. A mi abuelo sentado en una silla tejida con plástico de colores como las bolsas de mercado. Recuerdo a la gente camino a la plaza del pueblo pasando por su casa. Todo Estapilla lo conocía. Paraban un rato a platicar. Saquen una silla, dos, tres...

Poco a poco se oscurece y el tío-abuelo que es igualito al abuelo Miguel, (solo que el siempre esta contento, no carga la misma seriedad del abuelo y sonrie con sus dientes plateados) saluda desde la calle. Se escuchan los rebusnos de un burro a lo lejos. Empieza a tocar la música de un toca-discos y aulle entre el pueblo desde las bocinas de la plaza. Los arboles se llenan de pájaros. Mi tía Elena enciende la luz de una de las habitaciones y desde afuera la observo a ella y a mi tía Concha. Arriba del armario puedo ver la muñeca rubia que mi tía Concha guarda intacta protegida del polvo en su caja original. En la siguiente calle los niños juegan pero Gerardo y yo permanecemos sentados en la banqueta donde esta el abuelo Miguel... el abuelo que no conozco y que nunca conocí. Ahora es demasiado tarde... Las gallinas se suben entre las ramas del limón para dormir. Las calles de tierra seca esperan la lluvia mientras el viento las levanta. El abuelo Miguel y sus visitantes platican, ríen, comentan, y finalmente permanecen callados observando mientras la noche nos envuelve.

Perros y Gatos

2010-01-03T21:46:00.003-06:00

El sinnombre, 3 de enero, 2010.

As of this morning we are officially a dog and cat family :) The newest and still nameless member of the family comes to us via a friend who rescued him. Maya, our dog, seemed to have sensed the change that was coming this morning when we headed out. She was extraordinarily excited, wiggling her body so much we wondered how she hasn't dislocated a hip! Maya has been in aw and wonder all day long, overly excited and very disappointed that we have asked her over and over to lay down and stay. The kitten on the other hand hisses at her but gets closer and closer testing Maya and her obedience. Maya the queen has proved to be an amazing dog while our new little guy has proved to be a big time VAGO! And so after spending one day with Mr. Purrrrrerrr Extraordinaire I have compiled a small list of possible names for which I would like to ask for your feedback.

Pancho Villa - he was a rebel, a revolutionary, a hero to some and a menace to others. Along with his men, he ran a muck on the norther part of Mexico. Our crazy kitten ran-a-muck in our house most of the day and clearly stood up to our big dog.

Houdini - We spent most of the day trying to keep track of the kitten and spent almost an hour looking for it at one point.

Loco Valdez - Yes LOCO because he is 'cuckoo in the head!' as grandpa Sam would say. Loco Valdez is the stage name of one of 3 Mexican comedian brothers.

Cafelino - A merger between coffee and feline. This cat keeps trying to drink my coffee!

Trigo Tovar - Trigo means wheat, the cat is the color of golden wheat fields. Tovar in honor of Rigo Rovar, a Mexican singer from our parents generation whose melodies and lyrics continue to make us all mover el bote :)

El Tigre - Pretty much because he looks like a miniture tiger and has the attitude of one too.

Rocky - Because he was rescued from a trash bin with every intention of surviving, not to mention his left punch! You should see the tiny piñata I hung for him to play with... He whacked the hell out of it!

Kaliman - A friend of ours suggested this name. Kaliman was a comic book hero here in Mexico with much wise advice.

Finally I am attaching two more photos in case someone has a different name suggestion.

El sin-vergüenza sin nombre, 3 de enero, 2010.

El vago loco sinnombre, 3 de enero, 2010.

Nuestra Señora de los Imposibles

2010-01-01T20:00:00.008-06:00

Dedicated to my great grandmother Rita, de la que ultimamente me acuerdo mucho. La viejita de trenza blanca, larga y enrollada.... a la que todavía escucho cantando 'la guadalupana' y aplaudiendo para que mi hermana, en aquel tiempo todavía en pañales, se pusiera a bailara.

Porque creyó en la paz, fue llamada Nuestra Señora de los Imposibles.
Santa Rita hizo el milagro de la paz en tiempos de guerras,
guerras de vecinos,
guerras de famlias,
guerras de reinos,
guerras de dioses.
Además, hizo otros milagros. El último fue en agonía. Rita pidió que los higos maduraran, aunque era pleno invierno, y que floreciera el rosal bajo la nieve, y así pudo morir con sabor a higo en la boca y respirando aromas de rosas recién abiertas, y las campanas sonaron solas, sin que nadie las tocara, en todas las iglesias de su pueblo Cassia.

Eduardo Galeano, Espejos: Una Historia Casi Universal, 2009.

Here Comes the Bride...

2009-12-30T21:18:00.005-06:00

Novios, Ocotlán de Morelos, Oaxaca Dec. 25, 2009

And so the wedding craziness begins... well perhaps. It's not that I am just now beginning to think about the wedding, on the contrary, we have both been thinking about the wedding for a bit now. First planning to get married in my tiny hometown of Los Angeles and later opting for a wedding here in Oaxaca. After all we met here and so why not also seal the deal here :)

Among the advantages: 1) The fact we will be here in Oaxaca for a bout a year 2) Depending on the type of venue you might be interested in, you don't have to make reservations months or even years in advance as we would have had to do in LA 3) We have many friends here who might otherwise not be able to attend our wedding, 4) It gives people an excuse to travel.

Weddings in Oaxaca, like any other celebration, are no small thing. A small wedding can have between 250 - 300 guests, and larger weddings can go from 1500 to a whole town being invited to the festivities. They can last anywhere between 1 day to 3 or more depending on traditions in the region and town. Knowing this when your planning a wedding here can be a little daunting. To be honest we don't anticipate having anywhere near even 200 guests at our nuptials, but as with everyone who has planned a wedding we have brainstormed on what we do and do not want. Here's a brief breakdown.

WE DON'T: a) want a big production! (no circus wedding). b) want the state to be involved in our nuptials (that is, we do not want the state to be involved in the ceremony we plan to share with friends and family. We are contemplating singing the state contract separately but very much outside of our wedding day). c) want the church or any church for that matter, as an institution to be involved. d) want a crazy DJ/animador who thinks he is funny and introduces the bride and the groom as if we were in some cheesy Saturday morning show. e) want to get married in a place that means nothing to us (by this I mean some events center; they can be nice and all but that's not the kind of wedding we are going for). f) want to mortgage our future children's future by spending money we don't have.

WE DO: a) want to have a ceremony we can share and in which family and friends can be a part of (by this I mean, no you guys over there looking at us, but more like, 'we are in this all together' kinda feeling). b) want the ceremony to reflect who we are. Yes this is complicated and long, but in a nutshell two Chicanos who deeply love and respect Oaxaca and Oaxaqueños, one Mexican, Mexican-American, Pocha from East LA and Colima and the other Mexiroccan (Mexican, Moroccan, Cuban) from Florida, Sonora, NY and MN. c) want to be married outdoors in the evening (the evening sun is beautiful in Oaxaca), preferably somewhere with lots of plants, an atrium in a house, or some other outdoor venue where we can put up a carrizo/bamboo canopy/roof. d) want a (makeshift) photo-booth like our friends Nancy and Chago had in their Tejano wedding :) e) want to share wonderful food with our families and friends. We are thinking of having mole, couscous, nopalito salad... ) want lots and lots of music to dance to, and want friends and family who play instruments to play something (yes this means Japhlet, Moises, and Ed for starters).

And so ti is with this list of don'ts and do's that we have begun to plan our upcoming nuptials whole heartedly. Here's to love!

Adventures in COMPOSTing

2009-12-27T21:47:00.013-06:00

Hombligo, Oaxaca, 2009.

Mauricio and I moved to Oaxaca about two months ago. We found a great house to live in with big open spaces, good light, a workable kitchen, some gardening potential despite the landlord's cement love-affair, and enough room for Maya our dog to rome around. The two other houses on the same property were occupied, one by a good friend, an Italian photographer, and the second by a peaceful earth loving, meditating, writer from Venezuela.

Not long after we moved in our neighbors began to tell us about their gardening aspirations on the property which included a communal rooftop garden for all of us. Our eyes opened WIDE as our friend showed off his home grown tomatoes and basil and with excitement in his voice explained how our other neighbor was in the process of reproducing worms!...

[A brief aside]. I can't say I was jumping up and down when I heard the worm reproducing scheme. To be honest my encounters with worms in my mother's garden were usually followed by a shriek! No, not shriek out of happiness like when you encounter a long lost friend, but more like, 'There's a nasty WORM WIGGLING and I want to puke!' sort of shriek. However our friend seemed so excited I figured reproducing worms must be a good thing. It turns it is a very good thing in the gardening world.

[Back to the story]. Anywho, our earthy gardening ecological neighbors also showed off their compost piles and we all even made plans for a large communal compost pile in our back yard... WOW! Now that was something! The thought of taking TRASH (YES TRASH!) and turning it into this POWERFUL plant food was exhilarating. The tons of new plants we had purchased in an effort to liven up the place would thrive. Not only that, but we would be less wasteful and in a very small way contribute (in my head) to the lessening of landfills. All this while giving our plants a boost! I thought about how the new jasmine tree we bought was sure to have flowers by the time of our wedding if we helped it along with some NUTRITIOUS COMPOST! Mauricio and I WERE SOLD!

It was not long before we went out to purchase our very own compost bin to try our hand at composting... And this is where the meat, or to be more exact, the GOO of this story begins...

Fast forward a month and half. We open our compost bin, the one where we have been throwing much of our organic trash into along with dried leaves and garden material... First Mauricio gets attacked by tiny flies... We think ok its normal... Then we see a bunch of little worms and we are told to leave the compost in the sun to get rid of them, and yes our compost looks great! I put the compost bin in the punishing Oaxacan sun for three days... Fast forward to today. After a lovely day with friends and our dogs and an evening of house cleaning and organizing we open the compost bin and...IT WREAKS OF SHIT, CRAP, NASTYNESS sooooooo BAD! That our dog Maya must think we are making sort of perfume for her pleasure.

I immediately get online to see what the hell we are doing wrong with the compost. In my head I think, PLANT FOOD CANNOT SMELL THIS BAD, SOOOO BAD IT COULD KILL HUMANS!

I watch instructional videos and learn about the compost lasagna method, wood or brown material followed by dirt, then 3 parts green, then brown, dirt, and back to green... I learn about the organisms in dirt that compost needs and I think about the 3 days in the sun... I wonder if I killed anything that might have been living in our pile of SHIT! I watch British video and almost fall out of my chair when the woman in her British accent explains how long it takes for compost to become compost... 6 to 12 months!!!!!!!! Who has that much time?! I come to the conclusion that we have been in fact making some sort of dog approved perfume (yes these are the animals that love to throw themselves on shit if you don't catch them on time) and hope there is some way of making it into compost before it kills us.

Just in case you ever want to make compost, first watch the following videos:

Christmas en la Colonia Estrella

2009-12-23T16:40:00.010-06:00

Merry Christmas desde Oaxaca!