Retrospective: Filling in the Holes

This past week and a half have been quite busy. But honestly I probably had less than half of the work

that a normal week entailed during sophomore year. It hasn't been hard to get into "México Mode" where a pretty average work week suddenly becomes "quite busy"…come to think of it, I think I was in México Mode before I got here…and maybe my whole life…but, ahem…Anyway, I've finally caught up with my studies after the Oaxaca adventure, so I suppose I can try to recount the rest of what went on down there.  (I like that phrase because it sounds like the report on a military action "You've always had your doubts about war in the Falklands. Tonight, we'll tell you what really went on down there.")

 

Oaxaca: Lots of Samples, Lots of Bassets

I arrived in Oaxaca at about 5am after a night bus from Puebla. As I walked into town from the station, all I could here were crickets and the dusty scuffs of my steps echoing off the aged masonry on either side of the street. It was peaceful and I found myself wondering why I didn't get up this early every morning. Quickly finding an answer to that question, I turned my attention to the streets. The first thing I thought ambling down Juarez Ave. was that Oaxaca reminded me of Mayberry (old pop-culture reference for those of my generation who are 100% "of my generation". Look it up.) the streets, storefronts, barber shops. The only thing is, with a population of over 250,000, Oaxaca is about 100 times bigger. So it's kind of like a bunch of Mayberrys (Mayberries?) sewn together. I found that pretty pleasant.

 

Even more pleasant was my experience in the colossal market just outside of downtown. The day I arrived I spent hours cruising the "Central de Abastos."  When lunchtime rolled around I was in the food section (which probably takes up a whole zip code in the city) and I couldn't help but notice that every single vendor had a pinch of something or other to try before you buy. And infinite vendors=infinite calories. So I spent my lunch hour eating samples and talking to the people. I learned a good bit about local agriculture and had a real feast of peanuts, sugarcane, grasshoppers with chile, and funky sweet flour beverage, and that's just the beginning. This left me with more than sufficient funds to pursue one of my main goals of the trip: coffee. And for that I was glad.

 

Yes, a "coffee tour" of sorts became one of my goals. My other goal for the trip was to take time to think and write and I found a certain beauty in the fact that they went hand-in-hand.  Have some good, Oaxacan coffee, relax, think, write in some nice little books. This ritual occurred almost every day on the road and I was sad when the luxury was revoked (when I got back to the pseudo-real life that I live).

 

The hostel in which I passed two nights proved itself to be pretty worthwhile. "La Luz de la Luna" (moonlight) hostel is a collection of unadorned and funky-smelling rooms surrounding the tiny courtyard of what was once a nice rich-person house in the center of the city. Hammocks hang between every possible pair of pillars and posts and the rooftop affords a lovely view of the barrio with its obligatory church sticking up above everything else. Even when no humans can be found (like 7am when I arrived) you are always in the company of the large pack of hound dogs (and the one out-of-place black dog) that call the place home. Hound dogs struck me as a strange, if welcome, spectacle in Mexico. My fellow hostellers were an eccentric strand of the usual mix you find in Mexico: German hippies, Dutch exhibitionists, Aussie drunkards, and lots of Israelis traveling the world after their tour with the army. From square one, when a girl shared her bread and Nutella with me, my time in the Moonlight was good to me. It's the kind of place where everybody comes back home at night and chills, and I really appreciate that. Evenings there meant a lot of sitting against the four walls, pipe smoking, a few beers, good conversation, passing around the hostel guitar, and trying to sing above the rain that poured into the courtyard for hours every night.

 

I participated in only one of Oaxaca's various tourist offerings, a culinary one (the best kind). You see, I had little interest in ruins and museums this time around, so I opted for heading to the famous chocolate stores and Mezcal booths, all of which shower you with free samples. A couple trips around the block and you've had yourself a pretty decent little dessert. The chocolate is generally used to make a rich drink called "Chocolate". In the drink is: chocolate. I had a cup. It was good.

 

All in all, my time in Oaxaca had a lot to do with free samples and deep talks with a cool Jewish fellow. It was grand, but when it was time to leave...I left.

 

The belly of the trip has already been covered briefly...

Pluma Hidalgo-

Bahia San Agustín-

Mazunte-

Then the tale drops off again...

 

Pochutla: Grabbing Life By the Walrus Blubber

I was intent on getting back to the big city for independence day and that meant taking a night bus back to Oaxaca. That also meant heading into the landlocked city of Pochutla to find the bus. The truck from Mazunte was half-populated with backpackers, one of whom I thought was awesome. The male half of a nice couple, he sported a graying mullet and leather boots that couldn't fit into his backpack. For some reason he reminded me of Brad Pitt in Babel, but in a good way. Never thought I'd say that. My bag fell on his head during the trip to Pochutla, thankfully there was no damage to the cowboy hat he wore.

 

I had an interesting realization in Pochutla. You see, it's the city that the guidebooks talk of with words like "dusty"  and "uninteresting" and phrases like "Only stop here to get cash and supplies." Ooo-k. With such a negative preconception, I arrived with the idea that it was like one big strip mall (strip malls are probably the most depressing thing to look at for me. It gives me flashbacks of living in South Carolina. ..shiver..) As soon as I arrived, I bought a ticket for the 11pm bus to Oaxaca which gave me 4 odd hours to explore this dreaded place. So away I went. Many of my fellow extranjeros bought the same ticket and I p

assed them, all within shouting distance of the station, waiting out the long hours in the closest restaurant. As I followed an old woman's directions to the zocalo, I realized how intent the other backpackers were on their next destination, how they only saw Oaxaca at the end of a long trip, totally missing the trip itself. That got me thinking about just how much of life is like that. I thought of all the people who fix themselves on the next "really good thing" and simply try to endure most of life until the good thing comes. Though I have done the same thing time and again, at that moment it didn't make any sense to me. I reached the church overlook

ing the bustling town square just in time to catch the end of Sunday night services. The congregation emptied out into the crisp night lit up thousands of red, green, and white lights and I sat outside

 eating , writing, and watching the antics of the cook's little daughter, I couldn't help but feel sad about all those people in the restaurant, biding their time, waiting for what they perceive to be the next great thing. I couldn't get out of my head how much waste there is in the "next great thing" method of living life.

 

(ok, bear with me for the next paragraph or so)

 

You see, life is like a walrus. And people are like deranged Inuit tribesmen, all searching for tusks of ivory--the very best part of the walrus. When they look at a big dead walrus, all they can think about is "Whoa, when do I get the Ivory?" Those two big pointy teeth occupy all their thoughts and the rest of the walrus just totally passes them by. Though the tusks might hold the most allure, I daresay it's possible, with a bit of time and imagination, to get all sorts of things from a dead walrus: a heavy walrus-skin jacket for those harsh Alaskan winters, a month's worth of walrus-fin stew, walrus blubber to light your igloo for those late-night reads. The fact is, all these "common" things are usually cast aside or simply treated as a means of finally getting to the ivory. In this way, the tribesmen end up hopping from tusk to tusk and losing all the good stuff in between in aspiration for the "great" stuff.

 

So there I sat in Pochutla with hefty helping of walrus-fin stew and a backpack full of mandarin oranges, happy as a clam to be in-process, in transit, on the road. (though a clam's happiness is fairly debatable, I mean to say that it was a pleasant experience) The second-class bus ride proved memorable, and not just because I got some bites from the bus-bourn equivalent of bedbugs (ask me to recount the story of "The Gnarled Hand" when you see me).

 

 

I also passed the two famous days of independence in an entertaining fashion (15th--Oaxaca; 16th--Mexico City) but maybe I'll cover those things a bit later.

 

Anyways, after two weeks straight in Cuernavaca, I'm more than ready to get out. So that's what I'm going to do. I can' t decide where to go, so I've decided to go to the bus station Friday after class and just take whatever bus leaves soonest, regardless of its destination.

 

I'll check back in a bit later. Cheers, folks.