Food for thought

Somebody asked us to post more food photos.  Here are some shots of a couple of recent meals.  The first pictures are from a surprisingly good restaurant that overlooks the Zócalo, called El Asador Vasco.  I say “surprisingly,” because it is located and priced in a way that screams “this will be low-quality tourist food!”  You sit on a balcony with a perfect view of everything happening in the city's central square.  It rivals some of the world's best people-watching spots, especially on a Saturday afternoon, which is when we were there.  The view alone justifies the admittedly inflated prices (that still are cheaper than an equivalent restaurant at home).

Enjoying the Zócalo from our table

A street theatre troop we saw while eating

But in addition to the view, the food is quite good.  Here is what we ate:

Natalie:  grilled meat, black beans sprinkled with Oaxacan cheese, grilled quesillo (a different Oaxacan cheese), tortillas soaked in mole negro

Harrison:  chile rellenos stuffed with meat, peppers and cheese with a red pepper sauce

Max (and Helen):  spaghetti carbonara

The second meal that makes this blog entry is Max’s and Helen’s breakfast.  It is the result of a shopping trip yesterday I took with Max.  We were both hungry when we went to the store -- a mistake.  Additionally, I had just been pelted during our second foray into paintballing, so my resistance to Max's nonstop requests was low.  First I let him talk me into buying sugar donuts.  Then, when he pointed out to me the humor in naming a cereal “Azucaradas,” which is the Spanish translation for “Frosted Flakes” but means literally “Sugareds,” I bought them too.  After all, it was nice to see Max enjoy a laugh about something in Spanish.  The result is that they had Frosted Flakes and sugar donuts for breakfast this morning:

Anyone look excited over breakfast?  Wired?

Max and Helen had plenty of energy when we dropped them off at school.  They probably were asleep at their desks within 45 minutes.

Earning his burritos

Well that is funny.  I logged on to say some nice things about Max, but I see he beat me to it.  I have to concur:  Max is awesome.  He faces some of the biggest challenges here.  Unlike Helen -- who certainly would like to see people from home but who, like any five year old, still lives mostly in the present -- as a ten year old Max truly misses his friends and is sad about not being with them.  His peers at school and on his soccer team in Mexico can be judgmental about his not speaking Spanish or not knowing what he should be doing, and his teachers and coach make no special accommodations.  And on top of the pressures of school, soccer, learning a new language, and being away from his friends, there is hardly a moment we are together when Helen does not want to do exactly what Max is doing.  Natalie and I think it is sweet, and at times Max enjoys it, but it can drive him a little nuts too.  Wherever Max goes, so goes Helen.

Granted, there are moments when Max is a little Focker.

But for the most part he has been a star. 

With friends at our house

Winning superballs for guests at Helen's birthday party

Hauling groceries

Embellishing our salad with a radish carving

As for school, we have told Max repeatedly we could care less about his grades this semester.  The learning he is doing – navigating a new school in a foreign country in a different language – is not measured by grades.  Nevertheless, Max has had tests in every subject this week and, somehow, he seems to be doing fine.

As a reward (for everything, not just the tests), last night we had Max’s favorite dinner.  

Burritos!

From what we can tell, the only way to get a burrito in Oaxaca is to make it yourself.

BTW, if it is starting to seem from the photos like Max and Helen wear the same thing every day, it is because they do.  I am not talking about their school uniforms.  We brought a suitcase full of clothes for each of them.  We could have brought a few pairs of shorts and a couple soccer jerseys for Max, and a couple of skirts and t-shirts for Helen.  Actually, we each could have gotten by with only a few outfits, although Natalie wishes she had more warm clothes for the mornings and for her Spanish classroom, which she claims is “freezing.”   --Harrison

live from Oaxaca it's... Max!

just wanted to say max is awesome and he has a new post on his blog.  His blog is:
http://oaxacamax.blogspot.com/  --Max

Lost and (not quite) found

The Saga of the Lost Kindle

I have spent more time than I probably should have trying to track down a Kindle e-reader my parents forgot on an airplane when they visited Oaxaca last October. They came for Day of the Dead – a trip that was planned, unfortunately, before we decided do come here this year.  My parents lost the Kindle on the flight home.  A representative for Aero Mexico told them the Kindle was found, but that it was in Mexico City.  They were given a case number and an e-mail address and phone number to use for making arrangements to get the Kindle back.  But then they hit a wall.  Nobody answered the phone when they called, and nobody responded to their e-mails.

Before we left, my father gave me the information about the Kindle in case we had time at the Mexico City airport to follow up.  We knew it was a long shot, but why not try?  In Mexico City, we waited 20 minutes for one lost and found office to open, but they sent us to a different office that did not open until after our flight left.  So last week I found the Aero Mexico office in downtown Oaxaca and asked if they could help.  I thought it would be easy to track the item, even if we could not recover it, because it had a case number.  But the man who helped me did not know what the case number referred to.  He spent twenty minutes reviewing an online list of items lost on Aero Mexico flights over the last three months, but he could not find a Kindle.  One of the problems is that we did not know how it would be listed.  Computer?  Electronic reader?  Book?  Personal Organizer?  He said he would keep looking.  I left my number and asked him to call if he found it.

Yesterday I met one of my colleagues and his partner for breakfast.  They are frequent visitors to Oaxaca, and they had given Natalie and me some good tips when we came here in June on a scouting trip.  They needed to go to the Aero Mexico office, so I went with them.  The man who had helped me before was busy.  I decided to start over with a different person.  I just could not believe the case number was good for nothing.  In fact, using the case number the woman who helped me the second time actually found the Kindle in the system.  She tried calling the lost and found facility in Mexico City, but nobody answered.  So she sent them an e-mail asking them to send the Kindle to Oaxaca and told me to check back with her later in the day.

That was yesterday morning.  I stopped by the office again today and still there was no response.  As of this afternoon, still nothing.  So, what do you think?  Will we see the Kindle again?  I have an irrational sense of optimism that we will.  Once it was logged into the system and given a case number, nobody would take it.  Or would they?  Stay tuned.

I have been instructed to include at least one photo with each blog entry.  I do not have a good picture to go with the Kindle story.  If we get it back, I promise to take a picture worthy of the celebratory blog entry that will follow.  For now, here is a completely unrelated picture of Helen lining up with her class.  She’s the third kid from the front of the line.  We had the pleasure of seeing the picture as part of a presentation the teachers did for the parents to tell us what our kids will be doing this semester.  I asked if they could e-mail the presentation to me.  I said it was so I could look up some of the Spanish words, but really I just wanted a copy of this picture.  -- Harrison

Glory without the guts

We have not written much about food, but we think about it all the time.  There is an amazing assortment of food here.  I still cannot tell which foods are unique to Oaxaca and which foods are just “Mexican,” but I can tell you that most menus contain at least as many dishes identified as being Oaxacan as other dishes.

We have approached the food somewhat conservatively.  Most importantly, we have wanted to give our bodies time to adjust to the different diet, and we especially have not wanted the kids to get sick.  We waited about a week to eat food from stands on the street, and we still favor restaurants over “street food,” although that is starting to change.  Just yesterday Max and Helen insisted on getting breakfast at an empanada stand in the market even though Natalie and I voted for a nice looking restaurant we passed on the way to the market.  And while we have not stuck to this religiously, we have tried to eat only fresh fruits and vegetables that we can wash first at home.  That did not stop Max and me from eating the lettuce that came in the tacos we bought at a street market this morning, but we passed on the cucumber slices served on the side.  

We also have used food as a way to combat the kids’ homesickness and as a reward for being such troopers.  For me and Natalie, a reward for being here comes in the form of a delicious omelette from La Olla restaurant like the one we had last week, made with cabbage flowers and zucchini, and topped with fresh tomatoes, the herb epazote, and locally-made cheese.

Omelette from La Olla

But for the kids, it could mean Cocoa Krispies for breakfast or orange soda with dinner, two things they would not get at home.  It also has meant buying imported lox for Helen’s birthday dinner, making Kraft macaroni and cheese or frozen pizza, and keeping a supply of salami in the refrigerator.  On the one hand it feels like a waste of being here to eat those kinds of foods, but anyone who has travelled knows there really is such a thing as comfort food.  And do not think only Helen and Max partake in the comfort foods.  Natalie made me line up the ingredients of my breakfast the other day so she could document it.  (Try it before you criticize it.)

Peach yogurt, bananas, and Cocoa Krispies.   Yum.

What makes it ok in my mind to eat some of the less exotic foods from time to time is that, for the most part, one simply cannot avoid eating the local fare.  Take today, for instance.  We had omelettes in the morning – nothing special, although we did mix in some homemade cheese mixed with herbs and chili peppers.  And we had some leftover macaroni and cheese before bed.  But in between, Max and I had the tacos at the outdoor market, I tried an horchata (rice) drink mixed with a fruit (or flavor?) called tuna, and all of us except Helen ate a variety of empanadas, taquitos, chili rellenos, and other goodies that the owners of our house served in a spread in the backyard this afternoon.  (Helen was in a bad mood and would not leave her room.)  There is no doubt in my mind that the foods we ate today between the omelettes and the mac and cheese are the kinds of food we will remember when, six months from now, we go home.

That is not to say we will take advantage of every local culinary offering.  It is a safe bet we will never buy anything from the stand across from where we ate the empanadas for breakfast yesterday.  (Yes, the kids got their way.)

Visceras Juanita

The stand sells liver, brain, and other unrecognizable parts of pigs and cows.  The name, translated loosely:  Juanita’s Guts Stand.

Changing subjects, briefly -- yesterday we had yet another birthday party for Helen.  We planned this one before we realized there would be a party at her school.  It was at an indoor playground called Poing Poing that offers all-inclusive birthday packages.  My favorite part was when the manager introduced me to our “chica,” a 20-year old who handled everything from serving the pizza to cutting the cake to swinging the piñata.  There should be a chica at every birthday party.  For anyone keeping track, this was the last fifth birthday party we plan to throw.  -- Harrison

Procrastination

Today’s blog entry is one of many ways I have found to procrastinate starting an 8-hour online traffic school course.  It is for a ticket I received a couple of months ago in Culver City.  I ran a red light on my way to catch a plane at LAX.  The telltale flashes as I sped through the intersection told me I was caught on camera, but I did not receive the ticket until the day before we left for Mexico.  I brought it with me to deal with here.

Sad to say, but the evidence against me is solid.  There is a picture of my rental car speeding through the intersection while the light is red, and a close-up of me driving the car at the same moment.  There is even a video on the police department’s website.  I could contest it, but I probably would lose.

                                                                                                                                    (Note:  I'm biting my nails, not picking my nose.)

Instead I chose traffic school to avoid points on my license.  But the cost is staggering:  $466 “bail” that I automatically forfeit to the Los Angeles Superior Court by opting for traffic school, plus a $64 court fee for the privilege of attending traffic school.  There’s also $20 to the traffic school provider.  And, of course, there’s the eight hours I have to spend taking the course, although I suspect it will take less time.

Why am I writing about this in our Oaxaca blog?  (Natalie had the same question.)  As I said before, mainly to procrastinate.  But there is a connection.  Before our trip, many people warned us about the Mexican police.  They said pretty much every interaction with the police here requires a bribe to resolve.  That may be true, and I may come to eat my words, but I’ll choose a $20, $50, even a $100 bribe any day over an obligatory $550 payment plus 8 hours of traffic school.  We arrived here expecting shananigans from the local police, but so far our interactions with them shine in comparison to my experience with the Culver City Red Light Photo Enforcement Program.  -- Harrison

Baby, you can drive my car

Something I saw yesterday that I wanted to share:  A man driving an SUV on a busy street with his daughter in the front seat.  The daughter looked Helen's age.  She was in the middle seat, halfway sitting on her father's lap.  I was waiting to cross the street when they made a sharp left turn in front of me.  As I saw them approaching, I thought about how lenient people are here about letting kids ride in front seats and without seat belts.  Then, as they sped past me, I realized that not only was she sitting in the front seat, the hands on the steering wheel were hers.  Her dad was letting her steer their way through rush hour traffic!  Or maybe it was an uncle.  Must have been an uncle.

This picture does not capture the traffic when I saw them, but it shows a typical scene at an intersection.  The blue scooter thing, the white car turning left, and the oncoming bus, all were driving at full speed when Natalie took this picture.  --Harrison

You say it's your birthday. We're gonna have a good time.

I was not planning to write more about Helen’s birthday, but after the last post several people asked how her birthday went.  Here is the follow-up.

On Monday, Helen’s actual birthday, she had a tough morning.  Not because she was a year older, but because she had to be out the door for school by 7:15 a.m.  That has been tough on all of us.  The day was nice, though.  Her class sang Happy Birthday to her, and that night we had a quiet, but special, family dinner.  I found lox at the grocery store, so we had one of our favorite staple meals from home – bagels and cream cheese with tomatoes, red onions, and cucumbers.  Only we did not have bagels. Nor did we have Friedbert’s special home-delivered bread.  We had bread from the bakery at the grocery store, which was tasty, but pretty crumbly.

Today we celebrated Helen’s birthday at school.  I don’t know if it came across in the last post, but I was nervous about it.  It is one thing to bring cupcakes for a class full of kids; it is another to make lunch for everyone and, possibly – although I wasn’t sure – to throw a full blown party.  Two factors contributed to my being nervous.  First, nobody could tell me what was expected of us.  I got bits and pieces from her teacher and from other parents, but no set of instructions from start to finish.  Should there be  decorations?  Choices of food?  How much food?  Activities?  Would we embarrass ourselves (and Helen) by bringing the sandwiches in our plastic dish bowl instead of in a princess-themed serving dish?

The second reason I was nervous is that the school is very regimented.  No dropping by your kid’s classroom to see what they’re up to.  Parents drop off their kids in the front part of the school, and that is it.  When you arrive for pick-up, a person with a microphone and speaker calls to your child.  You do not walk in to get him.  There seem to be all sorts of rules and expectations like that for the parents.  At least, that is the vibe we have gotten.  So, with the birthday party, I was nervous about crossing a line parents are not supposed to cross; say, by planning too much of a party, or too little, or by bringing too much food, or by not bringing enough, etc.

But even as I went back and forth on what to bring and how to present it, a voice inside me said, “You are over thinking this. Whatever you do will be fine.  Once it’s over you’ll realize you did not need to worry so much.” 

Now that it is over, I can honestly say I did not over think it.  From the moment I walked into the classroom, the teachers left me in charge.  The kids immediately swarmed around me and started asking a million and one questions in the way that pre-schoolers do, about what food I brought, where I live, where was Helen’s mother (at Spanish class), what is my favorite color, have I been to Disney Land, can I tie this shoe, and so on.  Once I got them to sit down, Helen, the teachers and I handed out the food.  Thank goodness we had enough.  Then a teacher put on some music.  But she looked a little hesitant, as if maybe she were waiting for me to do something else instead.  I’ll never know.  When I brought out the cupcakes, the teacher made an announcement:  “Children, there will be no cake at today’s party.  We are having cupcakes instead.”  So I guess cup cakes are not the norm, but the kids seemed happy enough to have them.  Midway through the party, a parent from the other preschool class, where they were also having a party, brought the teachers in my classroom plates with food from the other party.  Was I supposed to do the same?  Had Helen’s teachers sent out an S.O.S. for some normal food?  Again, I’ll never know.  Anyway, I spent the rest of the party on the floor surrounded by kids, trying to answer their questions and entertaining them with my funny accent.  After about 50 minutes, the teacher pulled out some handi-wipes, wiped everyone's hands and faces, and sent them out to recess.  We did a quick cleanup, then I was ushered to the door and I went home.

Midway through the party.  Helen is at the back table, facing the camera and wearing a
white headband.  Her teacher is in the back of the room, putting on music.

By the most important standard, the party was a success.  Helen had an absolutely fantastic time.  She was so proud – of herself, of her parents, of her friends, of everything.  Her smile says it all:

So am I glad we did the party?  Of course I am.  But at no point did I feel like, “This was easier than I thought it would be.”

While I am on the subject of school, Max did not let us take a picture of him in his uniform on the first day, but yesterday he relented.  Here he is, wearing the uniform they wear on days when they have P.E.  

Max might deny this one day, but he told us when we get back to Oakland he wants to keep wearing a school uniform because it is a lot easier.  Go figure.  -- Harrison

I don't wanna grow up

It is bedtime and Helen is upstairs crying because she wants to stay four years old.  She does not want to turn five.  Sob.  “I really like being four.”  Sob.  Helen’s birthday is tomorrow.

On Friday I asked Helen’s teacher if they do anything special for birthdays.  She said something about a little party in class, and asked if I would like to do that.  Sure, why not?  Then she asked if I would like her to write out a draft of the poster we should make for Monday.  Ok.  Three minutes later, the teacher handed me a piece of paper with the message in Spanish, “I invite you to my birthday party on Tuesday.  Don’t bring your lunch.  I’m turning five.”  The teacher gave me the address of a print shop that could help with the poster, but she did not realize how talented Natalie is.

Invitation/Poster by Natalie

So it appears I am making lunch for Helen and her 24 classmates on Tuesday.  (“I,” because Natalie will be in her second day of Spanish class.)  I have asked around, and been told to bring a light lunch, cake, and party favors for the kids.  Easily said, but not so easily done in a foreign city.  I think I hit the jackpot at the big grocery store near our house, Soriana, where I ordered cupcakes.  Around the corner from that store is a store that specializes in items for party favor bags and piñatas.  Seriously, that's all they sell.  I will make little turkey and American cheese sandwiches (on Wonder bread, of course), and bring drinks and grapes.  I considered making or buying something more uniquely Oaxacan for lunch, but I am going to play it safe.

Helen is laughing now.  It sounds like Natalie was able to talk her through the angst of growing old.  Actually, we think the crying had more to do with missing her friends and cousins at home, and wanting them to be at her birthday party.  As things get easier for us here, we worry less often that the experience is too stressful on the kids.  We are increasingly certain it was the right choice for all of us to come here.  But there continue to be moments of feeling badly for pulling them away from their lives at home.  Hearing Helen cry about turning five was one of those moments.  --Harrison

Logistics and gear

We have no car here.  So far we have done fine walking, taking taxis, and taking buses. Taking the bus, however, involves a bit of a guessing game.  We are never quite sure where it will take us.  Each bus line appears to be run by a different company, so there is no official bus map.  We bought a barely-legible photocopied map with some of the main bus routes hand drawn with highlighters at an English-language bookstore, but it is only marginally helpful.  Instead, we use the list of principal streets and landmarks each bus passes that covers a third to half of the windshield.  Once on the bus, I rely on Natalie to recognize a landmark near our destination to know when to get off.  So far we have not gotten lost, although it was a little dicey the other night when, returning from soccer practice, we boarded a bus with blacked-out windows (presumably to protect against the sun).  Still, we made it.

We try to board buses only when we know roughly where we will end up.  But if we decide to board any random bus just to see where it takes us, I know which bus I’m choosing.

On today’s agenda: 

* Drop off Helen and Max at school (done).

* Stop by school where Natalie will study Spanish for placement test.

* Continue school-supply treasure hunt.  Yes, treasure hunt.  We received a list of mandatory school supplies for each child.  We’re not talking “text books, notebooks, pens, pencils and a ruler.”  No, we’re talking detailed lists with everything from the exact size and number of pens and pencils, to the colors and binding type for each notebook, to the specifications for pencil sharpeners, and so on.  Helen’s list even includes an entry for “5 black pipe cleaners.”  There does not appear to be a single store with everything, so we get to visit stores across the city trying to cross more items off the list.

Helen's List (45 items)

Max's List (41 items)

(Today's agenda, continued)

* Take Max to soccer practice.

* Dinner

* Bed 

Nice pants!

Helen has worn pants maybe five times in the last three years.  She likes skirts.  She likes dresses.  She likes tutus.  She does not like pants.  So we were a little worried that Helen started school on a “P.E.” day, when she must wear pants, instead of on one of the three days a week she can wear a skirt.  As expected, Helen was upset when it was time to get dressed.  Natalie literally had to force the pants on her.  But boy was she cute once they were on!

I should probably write more about how the school day went, but I confess that my only motive for writing this entry before going to bed is to share these pictures.  I’m sure we’ll have more to say about school in future entries.  And there will be pictures of Max in his uniform too, after he starts school, tomorrow.  But for now, here's a glimpse of Helen's new look.  

(Yes, Natalie and I are having so much fun with the school uniforms that it feels a bit like we dragged our kids here just so we could play dress-up with them.)  -- Harrison

Mixing the old with the new

We had an interesting weekend.  Saturday was the kind of day we anticipated when we came here.  Sunday was not.

On Saturday we visited the rug making town of Teotitlán del Valle (where I ate the Diablito ice cream).  It is a 45-minute bus ride from Oaxaca, in the middle of a dry, rural valley.  The community owns all of the land in the town and the fields around it.  A council grants inhabitants the right to use the land.  But it is not entirely Socialist, since the inhabitants keep what they earn.  Judging from the size and appearance of houses, there is plenty of discrepancy between who has how much.

We visited the compound where Celestino and his parents live.  They raise chickens and sheep, grow cactus and fruit trees, and, of course, make rugs.  They also have access to land outside the town, where they farm alfalfa and other crops, and raise some cattle.  I'm sure there are a dozen other activities happening on their land that we didn't see.

Celestino and both of his parents make rugs.  Each person has his own loom.  They use wool dyed with natural materials.  Each pattern tells a story.  Here are some pictures of the process.

Grinding the Cochineal bug to make red die.

Drying freshly dyed yarn.  Before the Spanish arrived, they used cotton, not wool.

Celestino's mother putting yarn on a spindle

At her loom

At his loom 

At his(?) loom

Finished rugs, each telling a story

It is hard to fathom the amount of work that goes into a single rug.  Leaving aside spinning and dying the wool, it can take five months of solid work to weave one of the big rugs, and several days for the small, bath-mat sized rugs.  In that context, the rugs are not expensive.  But they do cost a lot - up to several thousand dollars each.  We did not buy one yet, but Natalie and I plan to go back without the kids (who got a little bored) to pick one out.  A smaller one, no doubt.

Then, on Sunday, we did something not all visitors to Oaxaca do.  I will let the pictures tell the story.

Paint Ball!

For the record, by the time Max got hit in the face, I was long out.  I was hit in the head by our friend Diocelina, who was hiding in a tree. --Harrison