Gone to the mountains

When people live somewhere for 13,000 years, and then conquerors and deadly germs invade the place, what results is a patchwork of communities that extends into the most remote corners of the region.  Such is the case in the state of Oaxaca.  Less than 10 percent of its 3.5 million inhabitants live in the capital city, Oaxaca de Juarez, and more than half live in rural areas.  Undaunted by the rugged terrain – there are three mountain ranges with several peaks above 11,000 feet – towns and communities are everywhere.

This hits you when looking at a map of the state, which is covered with the names of places.  Click on any section of this map, which divides the state into 16 sections, to see a blowup of the section and a list of the communities in it.  Check out how long each list is.  In fact, although Oaxaca is only about the size of Portugual, it has 570 distinct municipalities, and most of the municipalities have several communities.

Another way to visualize the number of rural communities that surround the city of Oaxaca is to watch the “colectivo” taxis that travel between these communities and the city every day.  The colectivos operate like buses, cramming in as many passengers as possible for the trip to or from Oaxaca’s main market, the Central de Abastos.  The colectivos all look the same, except for having the name of the communities where they originate written on the windshield.  I have stood at an intersection near the entrance to the Central market watching the colectivos zip past, each with five, six, even more passengers piled on top of each other.  There might be twenty colectivos waiting for the light to turn green, and then twenty more by the next light.  This stream of crowded colectivos, coming from different places and laden with goods and people, epitomizes the abundance of communities around us.

Colectivo taxis lined up at the Central de Abastos.

Colectivos on their way out of town.

We have visited several of the towns on the valley floor around Oaxaca, but last weekend we took our first trip into the mountains.  We went to the community of Benito Juarez, in the Sierra del Norte.  It is about an hour and a half from Oaxaca city.  Benito Juarez is one of seven communities that banded together to form the “Pueblos Mancomunados,” a reserve dedicated to ecotourism, small-scale logging, and hillside farming.  The towns, which are connected by a network of hiking, biking, and horseback riding trails, are about five to ten miles apart.  Each town has cabins for tourists.  The cabin where we stayed in Benito Juarez was very comfortable, with a big brick fireplace that would have kept us warm at night except we had to open the windows to let out the smoke.  Our entire trip was only about 24 hours, but during that time we took two hikes – one to a peak of about 9,500 feet – and went on the best trail ride I have ever been on.  The scenery was spectacular and the horses ran free as opposed to following each other in a tight line.

Cabins in Benito Juarez.  Helen is in the doorway.  Do you see me?  (Hands raised at top of photo.)

Inside of the cabin.  Photo by Helen.

One of the many views from Benito Juarez.  Mountains and farms.

Appreciating the view.

Helen and two friends she made on the trail ride.  Helen rode with the girl on the left.  The girl on the right ran with us the whole way to help control the horses.  (I have never seen somebody in such good shape:  two hours of running along steep trails in altitude.)   A third guide lead the way.

As an ecotourist, you have to swallow your pride and forget about trying to fit in.

Waiting for a ride back to Oaxaca in Cuajimoloyas, the town where our trail ride ended.

What was most remarkable about our short trip to Benito Juarez was how remote it felt, even though it was not very far from the city.  One could go and be back in half a day.  And to think, there are dozens and dozens of similar communities that are only a colectivo ride away.  Natalie and I plan to visit some while the kids are in school.  Sorry, kids!  --Harrison

The Rain in Spain

Learning a second language is a gradual and sometimes tedious process.  But if you stick with it long enough, usually there is a watershed moment, after which it becomes less of a struggle.  For Eliza Doolittle, the protagonist in My Fair Lady, the watershed moment (no pun intended) was when she recited “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain” in perfect upper-crust English.  For Helen Pollak, the watershed moment quite possibly happened today, when she hit her face on the rearview mirror of the car parked in our driveway.  

We were walking home from school.  I thought Helen walked into the mirror because she did not see it, but Max claims she was looking at herself.  (Maybe Helen was wondering who the cute girl was whose face kept getting bigger as she approached.)  Whatever the explanation, Helen hit the mirror head on and started to cry.  Our neighbors asked her what happened.  “¿Que pasó?”  Without pausing, Helen answered, “me pega mi cabeza en el espejo de la carro.”  Loosely translated, it means, “I hit my head on the mirror of the car.”  The conjugation is not perfect, and she missed the gender of one of the nouns, but that is not the point.  It was the first time Helen volunteered a complete sentence in Spanish.  (Or at least it was the first time we were there to witness it.)  And Helen did not even pause to think about it.  In fact, she probably did not even realize she had answered in Spanish – although Natalie and I took care of that by asking her to repeat the sentence several times afterward.  It was very cool.

Helen spent the rest of the afternoon playing and chatting with our neighbor’s son, José Andres, and with the housekeeper Cristi’s teenage daughter, Susie.  As with Eliza Doolittle, who still had much to learn after nailing “the rain in Spain,” Helen still has far to go before she is fluent in Spanish.  Nevertheless, as I listened to Natalie tell me how Helen continued to use Spanish phrases and sentences for the rest of the afternoon (I had gone to soccer practice with Max), a scene from My Fair Lady kept playing in my head: Liza Doolittle twirling around Professor Higgins's house, singing “I could have danced all night.”

Helen in the Zócalo with a sketch artist.

Post script to the "School Daze" blog entry about the kids' school:  That entry is only two days old, but already two more things worth mentioning have happened.  First, during a parent's presentation yesterday on discrimination, the parent showed a picture of a KKK member, explained that it is a popular religion in the United States, and asked Max and another classmate from the United States if they are members of the KKK.  It is possible that Max misunderstood the context of the question, but he swears that is not the case.  Max was still angry when we walked home after school.  I doubt the class learned much about discrimination, but Max learned an important lesson about being on the receiving end of a stereotype.


The second item has to do with Max's hair.  We took the following picture three days ago.  It shows Max Skyping with his class at home -- which was a real thrill.  (Besides being able to share what he is doing with the class, at the end of the call Max's class performed a poem about César Chávez called "Si se puede," with which they recently won first place at the Oakland Unified School District's Oratorical Festival. Natalie, Helen, our tutor Mercedes, and I watched too.  It was awesome.)

But back to the hair.  As you can see from this picture, Max's hair was not long.  Consequently, we were all surprised to learn that Max's teacher would not dismiss the boys today until each of them (except one, who already has a crew cut) signed a pledge to get a haircut by Monday.  According to Max, the pledge says he will not try to enter the classroom without getting a haircut first.  So, this evening, Max got his hair trimmed just enough to say with a straight face that he honored the pledge.  It was either that or get his hair dyed crazy colors and shaved into a mohawk.  The second option would have made for a good story, but it also would have required us to find a new school, which none of us wants to do now.  --Harrison

School Daze

The kids’ school is a constant source of pride, entertainment, and frustration.

The pride comes from the fact that Max and Helen are both doing so well.  The biggest challenge has been the language, but there’s also just school.  Max is studying Mexican history, world geography, anatomy, geometry, and other subjects.  Helen is learning to read and write (in cursive!), how plants grow, how to measure the perimeter of shapes, how to tie her shoes, and more.  Each is excelling in his and her respective studies.

They also have made friends.  The other day, when Natalie’s mother, Mary, sat in the schoolyard with Helen after school, she said it was like being with a rock star.  Nearly every kid that walked by either shouted “Helen!” or came over to pat her on the head.  At one point, a group of boys in Helen’s class that was playing soccer on the rooftop field ran to the fence to yell down to Helen.  Then, after one of them scored, he ran back to the fence to make sure Helen knew the goal was his.

The entertainment we derive from the school results from the many things that are new to us or that take us by surprise.  I still get a kick out of seeing the kids in their uniforms.  Max tells funny stories about the kinds of things that land kids in trouble.  Sometimes the homework assignments, or the timing of the assignments, are amusing.  For example, today we found out that Helen needs to bring three toilet paper rolls to school tomorrow.  Do they assume people have empty rolls sitting around, or are we supposed to take the paper off?  (The assumption may be correct.  Although we had no stored rolls, our neighbor had a bag full, which she saves for school projects.)

The frustration often is the flip side of what is entertaining.  Depending on our mood, something that is entertaining one day might be very frustrating on a different day.  For example, three weeks ago Max had a Spanish dictation quiz.  The teacher read sentences to the class that they had to write down.  At the end of the day, the teacher returned the quizzes with the mistakes circled, and told the students to correct them that night.  Max asked how he could fix his mistakes without knowing the correct sentences.  The teacher just shrugged and told him he would be graded on the corrections. So that evening, Max, Natalie, and I had fun reconstructing sentences from the garbled phonetic interpretations Max had written during the quiz.  We were entertained, but it would have been frustrating if there had been a lot of other work that night.

The most consistent source of frustration is understanding Max’s homework assignments -- not the substance of the work, but knowing what the assignment is. Several times Max has not known about an assignment until it is due.  At first it was because nobody told him about projects assigned before he arrived.  Now it happens when Max does not understand the assignment when it is given, and he either does not ask for clarification or the clarification is not very clear.  I can attest to the latter, since several times I have tried to get clarification only to walk away more confused.

Sometimes we get frustrated over things that have nothing to do with the language gap.  For example, yesterday everybody in Max’s class was supposed to bring something to school that is very special.  The only rules were no pets and no gold.  Max brought a wonderful scrapbook with notes and pictures from his classmates and teachers at home.  He wanted to share it with his class here, but it turns out it was not for show and tell.  Instead, each kid exchanged his or her item with another child, who will take care of it for two weeks – including taking it out to recess and lunch, and taking it home every night.  Natalie and I worried that the scrapbook is too fragile (and too special) to be transported around for two weeks, so we had Max retrieve the scrapbook and give his partner something else instead.  But that is against the rules.  Today the school psychologist, who is running the project, criticized Max and about five other kids in front of the class for not being good participants.

I have no problem with the concept of the project -- instill a sense of trust and responsibility in classmates -- but they could have given the parents a heads up.  We might have helped our children pick something appropriate for the task.  I hate to think what will happen to a friendship, or to somebody’s self-confidence, if a one-of-a-kind item, like the scrapbook, is misplaced or broken.  (Isn’t this assignment usually done with an egg?)  To be sure, Max did not like being accused of not participating, but he will get over it.  In fact, he is relieved, since originally he was going to bring his soccer cleats, which might have been subjected to the same two-week confiscation.  For me and Natalie, it is the kind of frustrating experience that, we think, has more to do with the school than with the fact that it is in Mexico.

In any event, here are some pictures from the last few weeks at school.  You decide whether they belong in the “pride,” “entertainment,” or “frustration” column.  Some belong in more than one column.

"Welcome to the (preschool) Science Fair."  Grandparents welcome!

Conducting an experiment with Helen at the science fair.  Proving that water is heavier than oil.

The Hello Kitty doll that is Max's charge for the next two weeks.

List of subjects for parent presentations to Max's class.  It was only after Max's teacher finished explaining the project and left the room that I understood parents, not students, make the presentations.  I was not alone in the misunderstanding.

Me and another parent on the day of our presentation, with the projected image of Max's teacher.  Our theme was "cultural diversity."  We compared Max's class at home, where the students' grandparents come from 18 different countries and 14 states (thanks everyone for sending the information!), to his class here, where the majority of the Mexican students' grandparents come from Mexico, and a few come from Spain.  We talked about how rich Oaxaca is in cultural diversity, even though there is not a lot of geographical diversity.

Max and two other boys forced to miss part of P.E. because they did not pass uniform inspection.

Max's infraction:  dirty shoelaces.

Helen was part of the honor guard at last week's Homenaje, which was a special treat. Waving, however, is not part of the official salute.

Helen's solution to stop waving.

Max in his classroom.  He is directly under the world map on the left side.

Max, looking like a kid who's Dad pulls out a camera after making a presentation to the class.

The rooftop soccer field where some of Helen's admirers play.

On a completely different subject, this weekend we are going to stay in an ecotourism cabin in the town of Benito Juarez.  It is in the mountains about an hour outside of Oaxaca.  Looking forward to visiting one of the hundreds of pueblos that surround the city.  --Harrison

So much to see

There is nothing like having visitors to make you realize how many cool things there are to see and do.  We have kept Mary and Stan (Natalie's parents) busy.  Here are a few things we have done.

1.  Market at Etla.  Every day there is a market in a different town within an hour of Oaxaca.  On Wednesday, our friend and landlord, José Manuel, took us to the market in Etla.  Fortunately, he knew a back route out of town, because traffic in most of the city was paralyzed.  Student teachers had hijacked 41 buses and used them to block major intersections throughout the city.  They were protesting the lack of guaranteed jobs for new teachers and an initiative to require existing teachers to pass subject-specific exams to keep their jobs.  Actual teacher strikes happen so often that locals joked that the protest and blockade were simply part of the training to become a teacher.  I do not know enough about the strikes to take sides, but there is no question that the students are the big losers.  One of our friends estimated that kids in public schools miss a third of the school year due to teacher strikes.  That may be an exaggeration, but it not far from the truth.

But I digress.  José Manuel got us to the market in Etla without a hitch, where we enjoyed walking around and taking in the scenery.  Our last market photos focused on the colorful people and produce.  Here are some pictures of other colorful things one sees at the market.

Baskets

Shoes

Jello

Plastic

Bras

Shirts (we paid extra for the models)

We also visited the cathedral and convent at Etla.  

Approaching the cathedral

Statue inside the cathedral

Another statue.  It appears that Stan, a self-proclaimed atheist, models his appearance on religious icons.

2.  Monte Alban.  Natalie and her parents visited the Zapoteca ruins of Monte Alban.  Natalie’s friend and Spanish/English conversation partner, Fátima, went with them.  They all thought it was spectacular.  Mary and Stan did not miss the opportunity for a portrait.

Holiday card preview?

Mary and Fátima viewing carvings from the famous Wall of the Danzantes (dancers)

3.  Alebrijes.  One evening, Stan and the kids ordered tacos in the hotel room from Don Juanito’s restaurant, while Mary, Natalie and I wandered around town and then ate at Don Juanito’s in the Centro.  Before dinner, we saw some particularly beautiful examples of the colorful wooden sculptures Oaxaca is known for, called Alebrijes.  We noted the name of the artist (Narciso Gonzales Ramirez) and the town where he lives (Arrazola de Xoxó).  The next day, we went to Arrazola to find him.

Looking for Narciso.

Is this his house?

Nope, not this one.

Success!

It was worth the search.  Narciso’s carving distinguishes him from other Alebrije makers, and his wife, Ruby, is an accomplished painter.  Although only Narciso signs the pieces, it is a team effort.  They had only one completed piece when we visited, a turkey, but that did not stop Stan.  Knowing something special when he sees it, Stan bought the turkey as well as a half-finished armadillo, which Narciso delivered to their hotel a couple of days later. 

Everybody is happy.

We left only after ascertaining that Narciso could create an Alebrije of our dog, Pierre, whom Mary and Stan are babysitting while we are in Mexico.  We may take him up on it, if that is what it takes to ransom Pierre back when we get home.    

Coming soon to an Alebrije shop near you.

4.  Meat market.  On our way back from Arrazola, we stopped at the meat market near the Zocalo for lunch.  Best lunch in Oaxaca.

Grilled meat, vegetables, and trombone (in the back).  A perfect combination.

5.  Museum of Santo Domingo.  The church at Santo Domingo is the largest in Oaxaca, and probably one of the biggest in Mexico.  Begun in 1570, it took 200 years to build the church and the attached monastery.  The monastery now houses a museum with artifacts spanning the approximately 10,000 years that people have lived in the Oaxaca Valley.  The building, the collection, and the views of the mountains, botanical garden, and a busy plaza below are spectacular.  Nevertheless, it is sobering to be inside such a powerful symbol of the Conquest and all it entailed.  It gave us much to talk and to think about.

Plaza of Santo Domingo

Squeezing our way into the museum

Inside looking out.  How many monks did the same?

View of the botanical gardens from the monastery

Thank goodness for audio tours

This is not a complete list of everything we did this week, but it shows some of the highlights.  One last photo, taken on the bus from the town of Tule to Oaxaca.  We had breakfast there this morning, after waking up early to watch Max’s soccer game.  (Max's team won 4-0, and Max scored his first official Mexican goal! After receiving a perfect pass from the center, Max two-touched it to the outside corner of the box and then ripped one into the back of the net.) 

Sharing a moment on the bus.

Mary and Stan leave Monday.  They plan to fly.  But do not be surprised if they exchange the plane tickets for a bus trip instead.  --Harrison 

Sweet bread (pan dulce)

This has been a busy week.  Natalie’s parents are visiting.  It has been a lot of fun to show them around.  It makes what we are doing here seem more real.  Before visitors arrived from home, it felt like we could have pinched ourselves at any moment and woken up in Oakland.  Now we know that is not an option.  

This will be a quick entry.  Just a few, unrelated items.  

First, something we miss very much from home is the weekly bread delivery by our neighbor, Friedbert.  Once, or sometimes twice, a week, Friedbert goes door-to-door around the block distributing surplus bread he picks up at a community center where he teaches Tai Chi.  Helen especially loves to answer the door for Friedbert.  She likes to see if he has any of the small rolls that are her favorite.

Why do I mention this?  Today on our way home from school, one of Helen's classmates, Carla, gave her a bag with two pan dulce rolls.  It is not the first time Carla has given Helen bread.  I asked Helen where Carla gets the bread.  Helen's explanation:  "Carla has a Friedbert."  She said it so matter-of-factly that it took a moment to understand what she meant.  When I did, it gave me a tinge of homesickness.

Helen and her beribboned classmates.  Do they each have a Friedbert?

Second, Max really wants us to buy him a knife.  They sell hand-made, decorated knives at some of the outdoor markets.  We are waiting until we visit a workshop where they make the knives.  We heard there is one in Ocotlán.  Why does Max want a knife?  Ask the cucumbers.

Third, Max's soccer team finally has started to play games.  They suffered a 4-0 loss in the first game, but came back last week to win 4-1.  The next game is Saturday.  Watching games here is similar to watching games at home, with a few noteworthy differences.  In Oaxaca, (1) it is ok to yell at the players (yours and the other team's); (2) it is ok to yell at the referee; and (3) it is ok to wear porn.

Not your typical Soccer Dad tee-shirt.

Natalie captured this shirt art using skills she has honed photographing shoes.  --Harrison