Oaxaca Cultural Navigator

Augustin Ruiz Gutierrez is writing his thesis in preparation for graduation from the University of Oaxaca.   He is 24 years old, just like Eric Chavez Santiago, and they were school mates during their growing up years in Teotitlan and is one of a few who went on to high school and then college.  We met Augustin last year during the Teotitlan posadas and he invited us to meet the leaders of Bii Dauu, a weavers cooperative of extended family members whose mission it is to preserve the traditions of Zapotec culture, including designs, natural dyeing techniques, education, sustainable development, and permaculture.  Augustin is a documentarian, taking videos of village life, commenting on the culture.  His thesis question is one that all cultures, societies could benefit from asking continually as it helps to define the vision of a people.  He called to ask if he could interview me and Stephen about our impressions, beliefs, ideas to include in his thesis research.   These are his questions.

• In 20 or 30 years, what do we think will happen with Zapotec weaving and natural dyes? 
• What type of organization would best communicate the principals of educating people about appreciation their traditions and values, to work cooperatively and not competitively?
• Is it possible to develop a system where cooperation and sustainability were equally important to making money?
• Can we create a national and international market for our weavings that supports both income generation and cultural continuation?  How do we protect the heritage of our people and compete in the world market? 
• Is weaving a rug with natural dyes the best way?  I(n the future, is it worth it to have this as a standard of quality?  Does the marketplace care?
• Can you be an artist and be successful without compromising the principles of cooperation and sustainability, economic equality?

It is no small feat to get to La Union.  It is not on the map.  None of us had been there before, including Eric who was born an raised in Teotitlan.  The little Chevy that could was packed with Eric driving, our two photographer friends, Sam (a “she”) and Tom, Stephen and me. We decided to set out on the adventure late in the afternoon, after a day at San Augustin Etla and a stop at Atzompa and the studio of Dolores Porres.  It was 4:30 p.m. and we were told there was a shortcut from Atzompa to San Lorenzo across a dirt road that could have been a dry river bed. We passed through hill country with cattle, sheep, houses made with tin sheeting, a lumber mill protected by a fence decorated with animal skulls and vertebrae, burros and horses grazing by the roadside nibbling at the roots of dry grass, prickly pear and saguaro cactus, red-tipped prairie grasses swaying in a gentle breeze.  If one takes the conventional route, you would head toward San Lorenzo from the highway going to Mexico City.  One must go through San Lorenzo, a modest sized town in the Etla Valley, continue on about another 8 miles to San Felipe Tejalapan — the road punctuated by “tope” or speed bumps every 100 yards, making the trip twice as long as it might have been .  We continued on the paved road until we got to a fork, made a left at the roadside stand/bus stop.  There, the narrow road turned to a hard packed clay and we inched our way up asking directions to the home of Gabino Reyes, one of the famous La Union carvers.  The road was lined with thatched huts that sell various staples and sundries. At the crest was a cluster of government buildings, a school, and community center.  Usually, in every craft village there is a central mercado that sells a selection of the work the village is famous for.  That was not the case here.  So, we stopped and asked again, continued forward down a deep arroyo, around a bend, up again.  We passed a traveling carnival setting up for a village fiesta.  We passed an adobe hut with a pig stye out front, four pigs tied to a tree and grazing, a lone goat in the front yard along side an elderly woman with a switch in hand.  We stopped a woman waiting for a tuk-tuk and asked again. Go back, she said. It’s the house you just passed.  We parked, climbed up the steep walk, past a copal tree that was scarred with cut limbs, the oinking pigs, and greeted the old lady who grinned at us toothless. Out came Gabino and we introduced ourselves. He had only two alebrijes at home — a snake with a turtle in it’s mouth for $450 pesos and a alligator with a baby on it’s back, about 80% completed, that he would sell for $1,000 pesos “trabajo interruptus” as Stephen noted.  He said he sold most of his work before it was finished to Tally, a lovely folk art shop across the street and around the corner from Santo Domingo Church and El Che Restaurant, and to a collector named Linda in the southwest (I couldn’t understand the rest).  Sr. Reyes’ workshop is the kitchen table, which is under the palapa (covered cooking area) at the entry of the small, four room adobe house — probably no bigger than 600 square feet at best.  The table was covered in oil cloth decorated with poinsettias, and held small paint jars, fine tipped brushes, and fine wood shavings left from carving the alligator.  The cooking area was comprised of a raised hearth built of clay formed in a U-shape.  The open side of the U is where the wood is added for the fire, and the U forms a cradle on top to hold the clay ollas (Oy-YAH) or jars that are the cooking vessels.  There was something delicious cooking and the hot red fire glowing under the dusky dark palapa was magical.  It was amazing to us that a famous carver who is collected by many, lives so simply in a style that Westerners would consider impoverished.  We decided not to buy because the choices were few, but considered the adventure well worth the experience and the time.  I asked Sr. Reyes about other carvers in the village and if they had any work to show; his reply was yes, maybe they had a few more pieces, but they would be harder to find.  We decided his house had been hard enough to find and decided to turn around and get back to the city while there was still a bit of daylight.  This was the most remote craft village I had been to, most others being along the tourist trail and within 30-45 minutes from the city.  However, if one is on the quest to purchase an alebrije from La Union, my best recommendation is to go to Tally where the selection is much greater and the cost to purchase will be almost the same as going to Sr. Reyes’ casa en el pueblo! 

Christmas in Teotitlan del Valle starts nine days before with posadas (procession) every night. The nine days represents nine months of Mary’s pregnancy, according to my Zapotec friends. On the first night, the baby Jesus is taken out of the creche in the church along with Mary and Joseph and carried through the streets under a tented portable altar, led by a group of musicians, many elderly, playing flutes, trumpets, trombones, clarinets and drums. A lay priest swings silver vessel filled with copal incense in front of the altar. They pass along a route that covers every neighborhood so that villagers can join in the procession, which often extends several blocks, and they march to the first home to host a posada. The next day, the posada will leave this house at dusk and move to the next house and so on and so on until December 23, when there is the posada ultima, a grand affair with prayers in the altar room of the home that is filled with copal incense and a greater feast than all the others. The village committee asks a household to host a posada and it is a great honor, but very expensive. It can cost $15-20,000 USD to host a posada because the entire village is invited to the feast. The term “guelaguetza”, which is Zapotec, in actuality means something like “obligation, pay back, exchange, mutual support.” So, families and extended families come together to lend money, provide beer and mezcal, contribute tamales (dulce, amarillo, pollo negro), turkey and guacalotes, and/or the labor to prepare them. To say “no” requires an explanation to the village committee, that not many want to have, and a “no” can trigger shame and isolation.

On December 24, families gather for a big Christmas dinner in their homes around 7 p.m. that includes three or four different kinds of tamales, chicken, nopal salad, fresh vegetables, fruits and pastries, accompanied by beer, wine and mezcal. We gathered, too, and after the dinner out came the gift exchange. It wasn’t until three or four years ago that the Chavez family started having a decorated tree and exchanging gifts. Zapotecs in the village tend to adhere more to a lower key gift exchange, but we are noticing now a stronger influence of American culture on the indigenous people and the overlay of the commercialization of the holiday season. After the gift exchange, we hear the sounds of the coming posada that will reach the corner of our street. Some run out to see the passing parade, and others in the family will join it as it continues on to the church, to reinstall the baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph in their permanent altars for another year. A midnight mass celebrates this and the close of the Christmas posadas.

The Zocalo is filled with light, people from throughout Mexico and around the world, balloons, itinerant vendors, strolling musicians. The atmosphere is festive, celebratory, one of relief, for this is a different year than last and people are thankful. Tourists are returning, the Zocalo is alive, a 30 foot Christmas tree is studded with white lights, there are noche buena (poinsettias) everywhere, and ringing the Zocalo is the display that attracts crowds who stand in line for 5 and 6 blocks ringing the area to see ancient tradition of carving radishes. They are sliced, shredded, carved in stars and circles as if a chef were preparing a totally radish dinner.

They are stuck together with toothpicks and wire to create nativity scenes, farmers plowing fields atop oxen driven carts or mechanical plows, dancers at the Guelaguetza, musicians plucking guitars and blowing horns and beating drums. The radish carvers, mostly from the campo (the country) near Ocotlan, stand sentry making sure that no one disturbs their creations, frequently spraying water from pump bottles to keep wilting leaves and red radish skin fresh and shiny. The winner of the best carved scene will win $10,000 USD, a princely sum. We are sitting up above the crowd on the second floor in the white table clothed El Asador Vasco, twelve of us, Zapotecs and gringos, when the winner is announced. An immediate shower of white firecrackers cascade like a waterfall from the top floor of the government building to herald our attention that there is a winner; it is a solid wall of twinkling light that goes on for about 5 full minutes, or so it seems. Everyone runs to the edge of the wrought iron railing to take photos, to ooh and ahhh, and to experience the glorious celebration. Then, near the Castillo (which is what everyone calls the Cathedral) another round of firecrackers goes off into the sky. It is about 10:30 p.m. and there is still a long cue waiting to circle the display of radishes that surround the Zocolo. The line won’t diminish until about 2 or 3 a.m. My sister says she was there at 11 a.m. and again at 3 p.m. when the crowds were few, there was no wait, and she could see the people doing the carving and setting up. By 7 p.m. the line began the snake and the wait was at least 2-3 hours. One trick is go into the Zocalo from behind the display to avoid the wait, which is what I did. I didn’t get to see the full view, but could get a good sense of the carvings and some of the detail. Along one end of the U-shaped promenade is where people fashion corn husks into flowers, dioramas of the nativity, and a multitude of fanciful decorations that one can buy to take home. It’s much easier to see and buy from the “back” than from the promenade side of the display.

The food and ambience at El Asador Vasco, which is above El Jardin, is great and reasonably price. We had a seafood soup from the Isthmus, house wine, entrees, dessert and beverages for 12 people and the total bill including tip was a tad over $200 USD. The meal was leisurely over almost three hours, and we were entertained by a group of strolling Mexican minstrels with guitaron, mandolin, twelve-string guitar, six-string guitar, tamborine, and pandero (a percussion instrument). Their voices were clear, strong and beautiful. The group leader knew Federico from when Fede was on the school committee in Teotitlan and the leader taught school there.It was after midnight when we got back to the pueblo and we didn’t wake up until 10 a.m. on December 24. Tonight, we are celebrating with a big dinner for 12 at home hosted by Dolores and Federico. The table is decorated with succulents from Benito Juarez that we got at the village market this morning, corn husk flowers that I bought at La Noche de los Rabanos last night, and small votives. Our meal will include green corn sweet tamales fresh made in the village, a potato salad mixed with pineapple chunks, onions, green and red peppers and mushrooms, ponche (punch made with guava, raisins, manzanitas–little apples, sugar cane, canela-cinnamon, panela–sweet Oaxaca chocolate, and pastel de chocolate with mocha, champagne y vino y cerveza Noche Buena and Modelo Negro y Claro. The guests are arriving.

I’m caught up!  Today, Sam, Tom and I climb into the three-wheeler Tuk-Tuk go-go cart piloted by a 17-year old (if that).  Three adult tushies on a bench seat designed for two very slim boy-butts.  Two of these adult tushies are quite ample, I must say!  Sam is not Samantha, she is Frances, go figure.  They are art photographers from Columbus, Ohio, who I met at Casa de los Sabores in Oaxaca almost two years ago sitting around the breakfast table figuring each other out.  They both teach photography and Sam also teaches cultural history.  This is the second time they have joined us in Oaxaca and they have made extraordinary black and white portraits of three generations of Chavez family weavers.  If you’re interested, their website is www.robbinsx2.com  We are on our way to visit Josefina Mendoza who lives at the end of Calle de Fiallo way up the hill and on the other side of town.  You don’t want to be walking there in the midday sun — the climb up the cobbled stone hillside is almost vertical.  So, the tuk-tuk is our answer … three ride for 10 pesos ($1) anywhere in town … it’s per ride, distance doesn’t matter!  Josefina’s son Clemente, age 28, has just returned after working 12 years in Santa Ana, California.  He was a project manager in a computer company, but because he was undocumented, he didn’t make much money.  Clemente is home now permanently, and I talked with him as he worked on the loom creating a tree of life pattern that is familiar, relearning, remembering the art and craft of his childhood.  His dad, who lives and works in Tustin, California, has a resident visa and is working toward becoming a U.S. citizen, is coming home to Teotitlan for Christmas.  It is easy for him to go back and forth.  For most, the underground railroad for undocumented immigrants is another route. Clemente wants to create a website for Josefina, wants to learn to paint, is perhaps considering a novia (girlfriend).  His English, of course, is perfect.  He attended community college in California for two years, including coursework in computer programming.  I tell him about Panteleone Ruiz Martinez, a village weaver who has also become a painter, is working in ceramics, is learning sculpture, and is preparing for a major painting exhibition in Mexico City later this spring.  My hope is to encourage interfamily collaboration to mutually support the goals of talented young people who need community to dream big and fulfill those dreams.We say adios and hasta pronto, promising to visit again, and take a turn down the dirt road heading back to town.  It is much easier going downhill by foot.  The valley floor is beneath us, the bougainvilla is in full bloom, the sky is clear blue, a donkey brays.  In the distance, Picacho rises 1,000 feet above the village, an ancient Zapotec ritual site. It’s really hot. Feels 85 degrees and we try to stay in the shade.  Sam and Tom have their cameras out and our trek is punctuated by frequent stops to shoot a coca cola sign hanging from a 200 year old adobe building, a cactus flower, a bedspring fence, a toddler peeking out from behind a rough pine door.    

One left turn, then another right turn and down a half block, we are at the home of Panteleone and I take a chance he’s there, pull a rope coming out from the door, which rings a feeble bell.  A few minutes pass and an old man opens the door to greet me. I ask in Spanish if Panteleone is home and if we can visit. He welcomes us.  Passe, passe por favor, he says, and we enter the compound to meet Panteleone who interrupts his painting to welcome us.  He has studied and taught in Oregon, exhibited in the U.S. and just recently closed a major exhibition in Oaxaca. He is inspired by two German artists, George Varselitz and Marcos Lupertz (I need to check the spellings of their names, so this is a placeholder for now).  Panteleone brings out a canvas that he has prepared with Amate paper, varnish and a preliminary layer of oil paint and sgraffiti.  He opens a can of deep brown oil paint, dips his fingers into it and proceeds to paint with his hands, crouching, sweeping his arms over the canvas, caressing it, teasing out the images from the swathes of color … fingers, arms whirling, a profile here, a bird there,  he rises, looks, crouches again, continues to sweep paint over canvas, uses one or two fingers to define a space.  He opens a tube of red, ruby red, puts it on a finger, smudges it, dips the finger in varnish, covers over the color, softens and fills it in, the color vibrates, soothes, becomes burnished.  As the canvas emerges, layer upon layer of color, tone, a mix of media adds to its dimension.  He opens a bag of sand that has been mixed with pericone, a local plant material Zapotec weavers use to dye wool a deep golden color.  The sand is a deep golden color.  He has mixed this sand with wax and will then mix it will oil paint and varnish to help adhere it to the canvas, giving it a richer texture.  Panteleone explains that he mixes color for canvas the same way he would mix color for dyeing wool.  He will mix pericone with anil (blue) to get green, varying the intensity and shade according to the quantity of ground material used.  He is now experimenting with using linen instead of canvas and will prepare it affixing Nepal and Amate paper to the linen with varnish and wax and then it will be ready to accept the oil paint.  After a goodly number of photos documenting the process, we say goodbye.  

Sam goes off to a shiatsu massage with Annie and I go home to the Chavez family for comida. It is sunset, we pile into the big Ford RAM, Federico driving, me and Dolores in the front cab, Eric, Janet and Omar riding in the truck bed, and we go out to the Ruu Dain, meaning “mouth of the hill” in Zapotec.  The truck travels across the river bed, up the other side to the dirt road leading to the farmland where the family has broken ground on their new house and where Stephen and I will build our casita next door.  The sun is washing the mountain tops in a warm glow as it sets to the west, a full moon begins to show against the darkening sky, lights begin to twinkle along the hillsides as dusk overtakes us. Here we are, looking at the excavation for the new Chavez home made possible through three trips to the U.S. this year to exhibit, demonstrate and sell their work.  The 4-ft. deep foundation footings are substantial. There are earthquakes here. I remember last year at Las Cuevitas watching them pile the stones and wishing for a new house, and here it is in front of our eyes.  Suenos grandes. Big dreams becoming reality.

Yesterday we were on the road at 8:30 a.m., picking up the two Linda’s in the city and heading out to the big Friday market day at Ocotlan, the village of artist Rudolfo Morales, about 45 minutes by car from Oaxaca along a busy two lane road. For a while, we followed a truck loaded with cattle bound for market. The hills we climbed were grassy and dry, the color of wheat, like southern California in the summertime. The prickly pear cactus, agave and mesquite dot the horizon. It is high desert country, warm now, nearly 80 degrees in the midday sun.  Barbara spots the studio of ceramic artist Josefina Aguilar.  We make a quick u-turn, park and go in. The family lives and works there. On one side of the patio is the living area, open kitchen, dining room, bedrooms, and on the other is the low fire kiln, display and sales area.  There are stylized primitive figures of Frida in every variety and color of floral headdress imaginable, ample bosom and prominent brow accentuated. A happy couple stand side by side dressed in preparation for a wedding, never mind that they are skeletons to honor Dia del Muertos (Day of the Dead).  I buy a lovely made by hand and glazed skeletal lady paddling a flower covered boat destined for the River Styx for 100 pesos (about $10 mas or menos).  After all have made their purchases, we’re off to park and head to the big market.  Our first stop is inside the food stalls where we find the tamale vendor I remembered from the last visit.  We sit down to a lunch of fresh tamales with chicken and mole, 4 for 10 pesos ($1), fresh squeezed orange and carrot juice @ 20 pesos ($2), and then split up to wander.  At the edge of the Ocotlan zocalo is the government offices.  In one room are the bold, colorful, moving murals created by Rudolfo Morales murals of farmers  and villagers — much like those created by Diego Rivera, almost cubist in execution.  To me, they represent the fortitude and creativity of the Mexican people who have worked the earth and made it bountiful. The murals are filled with images of flowers, vegetables, fruit, an homage to the men and women who labor to give us food. Across the zocalo is the Morales museum which is contiguous to the church whose restoration he supported. The market is is cacaphony of vendors, food, live animals, inanimate objects all for sale.  Chili peppers, dried fish from the coast, gladiolas, Christmas decorations, cooking utensils, shoes, spices, cinnamon sticks so big they look like giant straws, embroidery thread, tea towels, baby clothes, shoes, copal incense, chapulines (spiced, dried grasshoppers) are piled on tables row after row. Canaries sing in their cages awaiting their next home. Ocotlan is famous for its woven “Panama” hats and an entire area of the market is devoted to their display. The latest pirated songs blare from the stall selling CDs for 15 pesos. In the center of the Zocalo, between the pairs of fountains are the vendors selling tapetes (rugs) from Teotitlan, alebrijes (carved animalitos) from Arrazola or San Martin Tilcajete, painted gourds from Guerrero, table cloths and dresses from Mitla, and woven baskets from Tlacalula (where the spectacular Sunday market is an easy competitor to Ocotlan).   Milk goats are tied to the lamp posts.  Across the street, basket vendors compete for space with the piles of cow hides waiting to be tanned.  On the way back to the car, we pass 10 turkeys are tied together, bundled and waiting to be carried off for Christmas dinner, an organic food store, money changer, and feed store. The aroma of chocolate being ground for mole permeates the air.Next stop, San Martin Tilcajete.  This is intended to be a quick stop!  Yeah.  San Martin is about 10 minutes from Ocotlan on the way back to Oaxaca City.  Jacobo Angeles, the famous woodcarver, has just built a beautiful restaurant and gallery at the crucero (crossroads).  Someone wants to stop at Ephraim Fuentes workshop, which is on the main street. There is not much on display and we leave disappointed, wondering, perhaps, if the drop in tourism has had an effect on production necessitating other types of work. Next, we stop at the workshop of Lucila Mendez Sosa and her husband. Eric remembers where she lives because of the turquoise door.  The last time we saw her she was very pregnant; now she holds a babe in arms who is about 12 months of age. When we visited her last the display table was filled with about 30 carvings.  Now there are three.  She says her husband is working construction with his father and won’t have time to carve until January. Our next stop is to the master carver Jacobo Angeles, who is on every “must see” list, and I believe, rightfully so.  He remembers us, welcomes us, takes us through the educational process of carving the copal wood, mixing the natural dyes in the Zapotec tradition, introduces us to family members who sit around the workshop tables caring and painting, and then gives us an astrological explanation of personality type based on age, birthday, and birth year.  There are few finished pieces on the gallery shelves.  Prices range from 150 pesos for small painted hummingbirds to 12,000 pesos for a large carved and painted bear.  A piece 18″ high and 12″ wide averages about $400-600 USD.  Jacobo’s pieces are very collectable.  I recently saw them in the Museum of Mexican Art in Chicago, and he goes to the U.S. at least once a year for a major exhibition at a museum or gallery.  He and his family are warm, welcoming, engaging and his desire is to educate collectors about the process of carving, the use of natural pigments, and the meaning of the symbols and designs used to paint the animalitos. Whether one purchases anything or not, this is a great experience not to be missed, even though the tour buses and private guides beat a path to this door, too! Susanna Harp at the Zocalo.  After dinner at La Olla (tlayudas, sopa de flor de calabasas, jugo de sandia) we walk to the Zocalo for a free Susanna Harp concert.  It is packed and she is already singing as we arrive. In the last year, during what the locals call “the troubles,” few people other than political activists and curious tourists (of which there were less than a handful) congregated in the zocalo.  Tonight there was a feeling of exhuberance, life, energy, future.  The Zocalo is the heartbeat of every Mexican village and city. In Oaxaca last night, I was aware that the purity and soul of Susanna’s voice as she expressed the hopes and dreams of her people resonated throughout the crowd. Her personal warmth conveyed to me a sense of calm, peace and hope that Oaxaca is recovering and healing from the psychological and physical violence of the last year and that all responsible are ready to restore peace and find other ways to resolve differences.  Here were were, the gringos from North Carolina, California, and Ohio, me, sister Barbara, the two Linda’s, Sam and Tom, arm in arm with the Zapotec Chavez family from Teotitlan del Valle, Dolores, Federico, Eric, Janet and Omar, and Elsa Sanchez Diaz, the descendant of Porfirio Diaz, strolling Alacala Macedonia, content, filled with happiness, belonging together.  Felicidades. 

I’ve been asked to compile a list of recommended books about Oaxaca weaving, dyeing, culture, art, history, archeology and food. I’ll start with this short list and then begin to add to it later.

• Blossoms of Fire by Maureen Goslin.
• 1491, by Charles Mann.
• A Perfect Red (the history of cochineal).
• Mexico South by Miguel Cabo Rubios.
• Calendaria Astrologia Tolteca Zapoteca, Coleccion Luna Roja, ISBN 968-15-1792-X.
• The Codex Borgia by Gisele Diaz and Alan Rodgers, ISBN 0-486-27569-8, Dover Publications, 1993.
• The Unbroken Thread, Conserving the Textile Traditions of Oaxaca, The Getty Conservation Institute, ISBN 0-89236-381-9, 1997 J Paul Getty Trust
• Zapotec Weavers of Teotitlan, by Andra Fischgrund Stanton, Museum of New Mexico Press, 1999, ISBN 0-8913-334-4
• Taller Flora, by Carla Fernandez, Editorial Diamantina, Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, 2006, ISBN 968-5467-08-0
• Great Masters of Mexican Folk Art, by Fernandez de Calderon, Sarmiento and Alvarez, publisher: Fomento Cultural Banamex, ISBN 968-5234-0904

I’ve got to back up two days in my mind because I didn’t do an entry for 12/21 and it’s already 12/22.  First, my impressions of the day: an old man, whip in hand, head covered with yellowed woven straw sombrero is riding a donkey down the cobbled street at a pretty fast clip. Between him and the donkey’s neck is a bundle of hay wrapped in cloth and bound with string.  He is sitting on the hind quarters of the beast. Poinsettias are in bloom everywhere, pink, deep red, fuschia–they are native to the area. Sister’s friends Linda Uno and Linda Dos arrive from Oaxaca city accompanied by Elsa.  The troupe is four gringas — me, Barbara, the two Lindas — and the two indigenas, Janet and Elsa. We hike the back alleys, the cobbled and dirt streets, to the end of Iturbide to find the casa of Alejandrina and Tito.  He is one of the finest weavers in the village but not famous like many of the self-promoters. He mostly does contract work for his cousin who is the famous one and sells Tito’s work under his own name. (This is how some families support each other here–cousins, uncles, nieces and nephews working to produce for the famous one.)  The house is cool, calm, beautiful. The altar, a feature of every Zapotec village home, is decorated for Christmas. The Virgin of Guadalupe raises her outstretched arms in blessings over the baby doll laying on the poinsettia decorated cloth table cover. The baby is Jesus.  The walls are thick adobe, floors are concrete, the kitchen is modern with sienna stained concrete countertops, the whitewashed walls are punctuated with textiles: antique huipiles from Peru and the Isthmus and intricately woven Saltillo-style bags by Tito.  We sit on the comfortable sofa and leather covered bamboo-woven chairs typical of Spanish Oaxaca and Ale displays the treasures she brought from Oaxaca to show us: a finely woven silk tapestry about 18×24″ that was the prototype for a top that Tito wove for Lila Downs, the singer.  The piece, 22 threads per inch, vibrated with color, the pattern was a feather border that was iridescent yellow, cream, rust and magenta.  There were small silk bags finished off with straps hand woven  in Santo Tomas Jalieza, a village famous for its fine work on backstrap looms.  If you go to the website: www.oaxacaculture.com I will try to post photos of this later today. The work is extraordinary. More impressions:  Dolores Chavez prepares pollo con mole negro and sopa de higadito for comida.  Here’s the recipe for the sopa:  prepare chicken broth to taste.  Scramble 6 eggs together with 1 cup of chopped cooked chicken and season to taste with salt, pepper, paprika.  Bring the chicken stock to a low boil.  Pour the egg/chicken mixture into the boiling soup.  Serve with salsa huajillo (This is a mild chile pepper.  You can use as a substitute any mild chile pepper salsa.)  We all sit around the large rectangular table that is brought out into the courtyard. We are surrounded by looms with rugs on them in various stages of completion. We stuff the chicken mole into fresh corn tortillas or flour tortillas that are possibly 18″ in diameter, ripping them apart and stuffing a piece with chicken mole and quesillo, the famous Oaxaca cheese.  After lunch, Elsa, Janet, Barbara, Linda Uno and I climb into the back of the pick-up truck for a visit to the mezcal vendor who is only in town this afternoon to do his pre-Posada sales. Eric drives and Linda Dos is in the cab beside him.  How we get into the truck bed is a hoot. I lift my skirt, put my foot on the bumper and hold on to the back of the tailgate like it was a horses mane, hoisting myself up and over in one clean swoop.  A couple of others pull the tailgate down, hoist their fannies up, do a little swirl to get from a seated to standing position to maneuver onto the truck bed.  We giggle, look at the sun setting, the 10,000 foot mountains ringing the valley, the lights of houses coming on in the dusk, and ride to the edge of the village in search of the mezcal vendor.  Of course, he got tired of waiting for us and was not there when we arrived.Next stop: Juvenal and Norma Gutierrez. He teaches English to villagers eager to learn in order to better communicate with customers from Canada and the U.S. They have a large compound behind tall walls and a big iron gate.  We go there because Norma makes magnificent aprons, checked cloth in various colors that she decorates with big, bold appliqued flowers, fantastic curlycues and zigzags. They are like the apron version of alebrijes.  Village women wear them like a uniform.  The Gringas want to buy and there is an English class in session.  Juvenal invites me and Barbara to speak to the class while the two Linda’s look at aprons (mandils).  I ask one man, Where do you live? He answers, Hidalgo Street. I ask, do you live in a big house or a small house? He says, I live in a poor house. I say, no, you live in a rich house, every house is rich. It doesn’t matter what size it is. There is silence and we look at each other.  I see him as a beautiful, strong and caring man. He looks at me with huge eyes, warm, open, accepting and appreciative. I ask him to repeat, I live in a small house on Hidalgo Street. I want to go back to teach because these are opportunities for all of us to see the world and ourselves in a different light.  At that moment, I think of the young man from Costa Rica waiting in the RDU airport to go home. He is in Duplin County, NC, one of the most rural, underserved parts of the state, teaching ESL through the Visiting International Faculty program. No doubt, he is teaching children of immigrants in the public schools yearning for education, too.The Giggling Gaggle of Girls climb back into the truck, Eric at the helm, steering us to the other side of the village, up the steep hillside, down the back alley of Calle de Fiallo, until we get to the home of Josefina Mendoza, at the outskirts of town.  From her house you can see the lights of the next village in the valley below.  It has taken me two years and five visits to discover these hidden treasures. Her house has no number, one just has to know, search, discover. Her husband is working in the U.S.  She and her daughter weave magnificent pieces using natural dyes, and they, too, contract their work out to a famous weaver to sell under his name.  I know her well enough that we hug in reunion, I ask about her sister who has recovered from cancer diagnosed last year, and the health of her mother.  I speak in halting Spanish, she speaks in Spanish with bits of English good enough for greeting and to complete a commercial transaction.  Josefina supplements her weaving income by selling frijoles in the village market during most weekdays or attending to the basket vendor’s stall when she is not there.It is late now, almost 9 p.m. and we make our plans to go to the Ocotlan market on Friday for the big market day, then go to sleep.     

Airport Melting Pot

Yesterday was a LONG travel day, starting at 2:30 a.m. eastern time.  As soon as I landed in Miami, I knew I was in the transition to Latin America.  In the airport, Spanish is the dominant language both among travelers and service people.  As an English speaker with a very rudimentary knowledge of Spanish, it is clear to me that it will be critical for future cross cultural communication in our world, we must become bilingual.  I also began to notice in the airport melting pot that we are a country of beautiful, racially diverse peoples whose origins are from throughout the Caribbean. And, then, what do I find when I land in Mexico City?  Krispy Kreme donuts and Starbucks coffee along the endless shopping mall promenade on the way to the connecting gate to Oaxaca.  Now, why am I surprised that a Winston-Salem, North Carolina, company (almost in my back yard, so to speak) has implanted itself into Mexican food culture? In North Carolina we struggle with the integration of Latino immigrants, whether to accept academically talented yet undocumented students into our colleges and universities at resident tuition rates, and how far we will go legally (or not) to expel the “other” from our midst. On the other side of the border, Mexico struggles with the Americanization of its culture, the erosion of identity through the likes of Krispy Kreme and Starbucks, Dannon competing with Lala in the refrigerator case, ubiquitous television marketing a consumer lifestyle.  

Going through “immigration” in Mexico City, I see the teenage brothers and sisters traveling in pairs, without their parents, entering the country of their cultural origin but not their birth, U.S. passport in hand.  Intuitively I know what this is about: the parents, undocumented immigrants, sending their children who were born in the U.S. “home” to visit grandmother (abuela) and tio (uncle) and primos (cousins) to keep the family connection alive.  I board the plane to Oaxaca and sit next to a beautiful 14 year old. She is traveling with her mother and sister.  Her English is impeccable, yet she looks Zapotec.  She says it is a language her grandfather speaks, but no one else in the family learned it.  She was born in Fresno, California.  They traveled by bus from Fresno to Tijuana, where they bought plane tickets to Oaxaca through Mexico City.  This must be a path that many from Mexico who live on the west coast take and I realize that there are many layers to our culture in the U.S.  – many ways of innovation and living that I am not aware of because I live in my own world. 

Eric and my sister, Barbara, pick me up from the airport in Oaxaca, and I am now back in the land I call my other home. (I am almost 62 and wonder how long it will be that I can make this lengthy journey, and then I recall my aunt who has been traveling alone to India for over 30 years.  She is now 90 and continues to make the trip–an admirable quality!)

Food Culture

We stop for dinner at El Porton before going on to Teotitlan.  This is a new diner that looks a lot like Denny’s, but what a surprise!  We had squash blossom soup and chicken flautas topped with mole, crema and avacado.  It was as good as if we were in a 4-star restaurant and the bill was under $10 per person including drinks.  

You might be wondering why I have an announcement about Oaxaca Day Trips with Elsa Sanchez Diaz — which looks more like an advertisement than a blog post.  I’m coaching Elsa about how to start and market  a visitor’s travel service.  Elsa graduated from the university in Oaxaca City in business and tourism and wants to work with people taking them to the villages rather than staying cooped up in a government office. So, this is a natural for her.  I’ve helped her developed a flyer that will outline what is in the previous entry and she plans to take it to popular tourist hotels this week to make available.  Let’s hope she gets lots of inquiries.  I’d appreciate your feedback about whether you think what Elsa is offering has value in the marketplace.  We thought that since she is local, speaks English, and is very personable, this venture could work!  She is also committed to the principles of fair trade, which means she will NOT take a commission on what tourists buy from the artists — she will earn her fees directly from the service she provides.  This is different from  typical tour guide practices.   (Most tourists don’t know it, but guides for hire also earn about 40% commission from the sales when they take clients to visit the home of a weaver or wood carver.)