The Heart Of The Day

Amy’s (son Josh’s wife) last blog post: “For the new edition of Timeout Beijing they listed the top 50 restaurants in the city. And, yes, you guessed it – One East on Third was on the list!! It was one of only 3 hotel restaurants chosen. Here’s what it said in the magazine.”

“Hilton’s swish new eatery has been transformed thanks to the culinary master of American-trained chef Joshua Goetz, who serves up a creative new breed of contemporary American cuisine, influenced by African and European flavors.”
(Timeout Beijing, January 2007, page 37).

I was so proud I started crying…makes it all worth it, says Amy!

Went to Las Vegas to spend a week with my son Greg over New Year’s. Greg and I went to bed New Years Eve at 10:30…he got called in at 1:30am for an emergency…a four year old had gotten bit on the face by the family pet Dachsund. The dog was sleeping and when the child leaned over to kiss it the dog became alarmed and bit him. Sad. Then Greg had to get up the next day at 5am to work again. New Years Day, Greg had a bunch of friends over to eat pizza and watch a Bowl game. I felt like I had entered a time warp after being in Oaxaca.

Greg in the brown shirt on the couch

Now it’s weird being back…from one galaxy to another and back again! Plane left 1am on the 5th so getting here at 11am left me pretty frazzled. Really enjoyed Greg and his friends…so high energy! But relief to get back where things are slower. Didn’t even go to one casino. They just leave me feeling vacuous. Just hung around his house…wallowing in luxury and convenience. Toilet seat didn’t even slip around when I sat down. Did some computer parts shopping…got a strobe light for my video camera…missed filming some things here over Christmas because I didn’t have one. And got a connector for my 20 inch flat screen. Now can watch movies and not lose my eyesight. Greg now has my desktop G5…just couldn’t bring it down here on the plane…plane from Houston to Oaxaca is one of those tiny two seats on one side and one seat on the other configurations…tiny overhead. Cooked some nice meals for Greg and his friend Mike who is staying with Greg until Mike lands a job…much to their delight…but mostly stuff I missed eating myself..like rack of lamb!

Have been burning and uploading videos of the last seven months of the teacher strike here. And videos of fiestas and parties…all can be accessed on “My Links” in the column on the right hand side of this web page.

Xochitl’s accounts show the disconnect between the low level of frustration, anxiety and aggression in Oaxaca, that is just below the surface, but invisible to the passerby tourists. I have heard that everything is fine and back to normal in Oaxaca, the Club Elefante is back open and people are partying again. This was written by a woman physician from Philadelphia describing her experience with two companions this month while the government was busy painting over the graffiti all over the city.

Dear friends and family,

After about a week of traveling around Mexico, on the run after our arrest, we returned to Oaxaca for a few days before leaving the country. It was a beguiling, heart-wrenching and stressful time.
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Blog
Marc Lacey, The New York Times, 28.12.06
December 28

Oaxaca: Painting Over Signs of Strife to Tidy Up for the Tourists
There is a new smell in the air here, competing with the aroma of mole sauce that routinely wafts through Oaxaca. It is the smell of paint fumes.

Work crews are everywhere, retouching the colonial facades that give Oaxaca its charm and draw tens of thousands of visitors a year. But in this politically charged city in southern Mexico, where protesting is as much a part of the culture as the distinctive cuisine, even the cleanup is causing arguments.

Just weeks ago, Oaxaca was a wreck. Graffiti marred its buildings. Burned-out vehicles blocked its roads. Angry protesters confronted riot-equipped police officers around the charming central square.

The protests, which began with teachers seeking a pay raise but grew to include an array of leftist groups and indigenous organizations, are continuing sporadically, but officials have begun trying to scrub away the evidence of what occurred.

Not everybody agrees on the best approach.
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The Christmas season begins with the celebration of Our Lady of Guadalupe on December 12 and continues until January 6…the Day of the Three Kings when presents are opened.

The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe (Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe or Virgen de Guadalupe) commemorates the traditional account of her appearances to Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoatzin on the hill of Tepeyac near Mexico City from December 9 through December 12, 1531. It is Mexico’s most popular religious and cultural image: Nobel laureate Octavio Paz wrote in 1974 that “the Mexican people, after more than two centuries of experiments, have faith only in the Virgin of Guadalupe and the National Lottery!” On Guadalupe Feast Day people wait in line for hours to enter a church and kiss the foot of the Virgin. Little children are dressed up like the indigenous Indian children to whom the Virgin appeared.

During the Christmas season there is music, dancing and expositions of all kinds in the Zocalo and all around the Centro. One evening there were three music groups going all at once in the Zocalo including a Calenda with traditional indigenous dances in one corner in front of the Cathedral and a stage full of dancers demonstrating modern Mexican dance styles in another corner. A trio of flutes played indigenous folk music in the middle! And that’s not counting the guitarist and singer in one of the cafes and the poor roving singer with long black coat who sings a horrible loud version of “Oaxaca Oaxaca” and then expects you to give him money for your trouble!
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Last week Ana, Steve and their 3 year old Oscar and I drove to Tlacalula and then west on a winding road high in the Sierra del Norte to the tiny village of Benito Juarez. I parked the car near an intersection where a pick-up was parked in front of us on the road. Along comes a truck and smacks right into the back of the pickup…just didn’t stop! Broke the taillight and dented the pickup…but no one got angry…in fact they just chuckled and looked at the rear of the pickup and took off again. I was amazed how different this scene would have been in the States.

After walking around and taking pictures for awhile we ate freshly caught trucha (trout) stuffed with cheese and herbs at a small comedor…with hand made blue corn tortillas and bowls of hot coffee with a dash of Rompope. Then back home on a much better paved road than the one we drove up on. On the way down we picked up a child and a couple women with bags of flowers who were waiting for a bus to take them to a market at the bottom of the mountain. They gave us a beautiful flower and offered to pay for the ride. No way said Ana!

The Zocalo is lovely now with Christmas events every night. Both the teachers and the police are out of the Zocalo now.

Last night the Canadian couple, Ana and Steve and their 3 year old son Oscar, and Joe from Chicago, in the other two apartments, and I “caroled” the manager’s family in the 4th apartment. Then we set up a table and chairs in the courtyard with Rampope (a kind of alcoholic eggnog with milk and almond flavoring made by the nuns here) and chocolate, cookies and Ana’s gingerbread house. We showed slides on Joe’s laptop computer of snowy northern America and wore scarves around our necks even though it was pretty warm out at 7pm. Our singing was pretty sick…there were so few of us and Joe had to print out the words to Christmas songs because we couldn’t remember them. I tried to get some video in the dark and sing too which was pretty ridiculous. Funniest part was that Joe lined up two rows of chairs facing each other…one row for them and one row for us. As only two of us spoke Spanish that was pretty ridiculous too. I had invited my friend Max along and bought him a Santa’s hat which, with his white beard and red shirt made him look almost like Santa. But he doesn’t speak Spanish either.
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December 14, 2006
More Dispatches from the War against Journalists

Before he left office on December 1, Mexican president Vicente Fox lauded big strides against authoritarianism and intolerance during his 6-year administration. Besieged by murder, violence and intimidation, many Mexican journalists are wondering what country Fox was talking about in his homilies.

“We are up to our ears hearing how freedom of the press was one of the great accomplishments,” wrote Veracruz state’s Mundo de Cordoba newspaper in a recent editorial. “In reality, what was gained was to put us in the dishonorable first place position on the list of the most dangerous countries in the Americas to exercise journalism.” Nine Mexican and foreign journalists have been murdered in Mexico so far this year, six of them since October. Three other Mexican journalists have disappeared in 2006.

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Backpacked The Hippie Trail In The 60’s? If Not It’s Not Too Late!

Taking the kids to Mexico, the grandparents to Hawaii and ourselves to Central Asia in the mid 1990’s on an 18 day trek in the Atlas Mountains had pretty much been the extent of our international travel together. Bob had climbed Mt. Rainier and Mt. Kilomanjaro and some of the lesser mountains in Nepal and Tibet but he thinks climbing mountains is a thing of the past for him. “Crossing borders and boundaries…climbing cultural mountains much less painful and ultimately more rewarding,” he says.

So in 2002, after Bob retired from 35 years as a pediatrician in Salem Oregon and I retired as an educational administrator and after raising our three sons, Greg now 41, Doug 39 and Josh 35, we rented our house and set off for a year around the world with only our backpacks. But we didn’t honestly do the “Hippie Trail.” Landing in high-rent London in February, we forged our own trail and moved quickly through France, Spain and Portugal. Looking for warm weather we finally found it in Morocco.

Then back to Southern France, Spain and Italy before moving on to Athens, the islands of Sifnos and Santorini in Greece, Cairo and Luxor in Egypt and finally to Nairobi Kenya where we took an overland truck with about 15 twenty and thirty-somethings from England, Australia and New Zealand for a month and a half through East Africa (Kenya, Tanzania, Malawi, Zambia and Botswana) and across to Namibia on the Atlantic and down to South Africa where we, desperate to be in one place for awhile, rented an apartment for a month in the beautiful Cape Malay district of Capetown.

After a few days in a bed and breakfast in Soweto, the Black township near Johannesburg, we flew to Mumbai, India…in hot July…which, after Rajistan and New Delhi, made Bangkok Thailand feel luxurious! After backpacking through Thailand, Burma, Laos and Vietnam and Cambodia we spent two months in a cold wintery China with no central heating and gratefully ended the year on a beach in the Philippines.

A year eventually became four years. A few months after we returned home, Bob took off for Argentina, Chile and Uruguay.

When Bob returned home, and with our then unmarried sons living in Las Vegas, Thailand and New York, we found ourselves ready to hit the road again. So in July 2004 we rented the house again, flew to Frankfurt Germany, traveled across Eastern Europe including my maternal ancestral home, Poland, and on to home stays in St. Petersburg and Moscow. Then we took the Trans-Siberian Railway across Asian Russia and through Mongolia to Beijing…spending two more months in China before going on to Southeast Asia again (Burma, Viet Nam, Thailand, Cambodia and Laos). After a month driving around the island of Bali we returned to Thailand.

In the meantime, our son, Doug married his Thai girlfriend so we spent several weeks in Krabi Province visiting them…Doug and Luk having barely escaped the tsunami with their lives the day before we arrived! They now live in a little Thai-style bungalow on the island of Koh Samui and welcome visitors.

We emailed our renters to not pack up anytime soon, however, and we sublet a furnished apartment from September 2005 to January 2006 in Brooklyn so we could be near our son Joshua who was a chef at the Tocqueville Restaurant near Union Square in Manhattan at the time. Upon arrival Josh and Amy, who was getting her PhD in history and was teaching at Rutgers University, surprised us with wedding plans that would take place at the Brooklyn courthouse in two days!

Our oldest son Greg who is an anesthesiologist in Las Vegas, visited us later in New York.

January 2006 saw us in Thailand again…I spent a month in Bangkok getting dental and medical work completed and then to Koh Samui Thailand to spend a month with Doug and Luk while Bob disappeared somewhere in the Thai environs. After Bangkok I went to Chiang Mai in Thailand for a month and on to Laos for the rain festival in April.

With the renters out of the house by this time, Bob flew back to Salem on March 29, 2006. I flew back to Bangkok to catch a flight to the States at the end of April. I visited my son Greg in Las Vegas before continuing on to Salem to pack up my stuff for my move to Oaxaca Mexico June 1 2006. Bob rented the house in Salem for two more years and returned to Thailand with a year-long visa in August 2006.

Josh and Amy and about a dozen friends celebrated their “real” wedding on Poipu Beach Kauai Hawaii in July. Josh then took a position as Chef de Cuisine of the new “One East On Third” restaurant at the Hilton Hotel in Beijing China. Amy followed at the end of her term teaching at Rutgers in September 2006. She taught history at an international school in Beijing.

A year became 6 years. I obtained a one-year Mexican visa to live in an apartment in Oaxaca City. Oaxacan teachers were striking and had been camped out in the Centro for a month when I arrived June 1 2006…at once educational and harrowing. They have been striking every year for the last 26 years. They were finally driven out of the city on November 25 2006 by Federal Riot Control Police using tear gas and arrested and beat scores of people…many were innocent bystanders.

I drove nearly 4000 miles from Oaxaca to Salem, Oregon in August 2007. Being in my house in Oregon felt like I was on vacation.

I returned to Asia in February of 2008 for Chinese New Year and visited Josh and Amy in Beijing China for 12 days. It was unearthly cold so I went south to Kunming and then Jinghong China.  Next was Bangkok Thailand in March for unending dental/medical care. In May Doug, Luk and I flew to Kuala Lumpur Malaysia to renew our visas.

Josh and Amy since moved to Hong Kong in August 2008  where Josh is the Executive Chef at the American Club and Amy taught school at the HK campus of the same school where she taught in Beijing.

Bob and I separated in 2005 and he is living in Thailand in Jomptien, south of Pattaya. He returned to the States in May 2008 to visit our oldest son Greg in Las Vegas and his mother in Portland, Oregon and take care of some business.

I returned to Oregon in June 2008 to spend the summer and fall of 2008 in Oregon.  I rented out the house in Salem and  returned to Oaxaca Mexico on November 1, 2008 where I live in a beautiful apartment in the Centro with a veranda overlooking Conzati Park.  I returned to Salem on December 17th, in the middle of an ice storm, to pack up some kitchen and personal belongings on December 29…via Las Vegas where I spent Christmas with my son Greg. After returning to Oaxaca, I then took a short journey through mountain villages in Guatemala for two weeks…returning to Oaxaca through San Cristobal Chiapas.

The end of September 2009 I joined Greg’s father in Las Vegas and then up to Salem Oregon for a month to see son Doug, some friends and Bob’s 93 year old mother. Then Bob flew back to his home in Jomptien Thailand and I flew to Hong Kong to see son Josh, (newly divorced) then Thailand for 5 months…a good amount of dental work…and a month on Koh Samui with my daughter-in-law and her mother to help them set up the new beach restaurant that my son rented. Watched the demonstrators rally but left before the burning of Bangkok. Then back to Hong Kong for a week before flying back to Oregon for a couple weeks and home to Oaxaca via Las Vegas. Whew! I didn’t care if I saw another airport again!

However, I missed having a car to visit mountain villages in Oaxaca, so in September 2010 I flew to Oregon where I spent a month with my son Doug who was visiting there from Thailand, negotiated the purchase of a Nissan Xterra, and drove to Las Vegas where I spent 3 weeks with my son Greg. Then picked up a Oaxaca expat friend near Palm Springs and drove across the border at Nogales…no searches…no stops! 🙂 On to Guadalajara, Guanajuato and then Queretaro to see an old expat friend. Then took the new toll road from just south of Queretaro straight across to Puebla and down to Oaxaca.

You can view pictures and videos I made of our travel by clicking on the links under “My Links” on the right side of the screen if you scroll down a ways.

With kids scattered all over the world, thank goodness for Video Skype.

Eunice “Zoe” Goetz

Oh, I forgot. I hitch-hiked through Europe with a friend the summer of 1965.

Since I spoke to you last, I have spend one king-hell of a strange day. The morning was spent exchanging e-mails with one of the Mexican nationals who works for the sinisterly named ‘Citizen’s Benefits Office’ at our embassy in Mexico City. As you know I’ve been trying to straighten out my seriously screwed up Social Security account for the last four or five months.

Now, Eunice, before I moved down here I would have laughed out loud at anybody who told me there was any more hide-bound, ineffective, opaque, inefficient or surreal organization on the face of god’s green earth than the U.S. Federal bureaucracy. That was before I learned the Mexican ways of conducting business. They are simply incomprehensible to anyone not born and raised here. The first rule to remember is that Mañana means only one thing: “Not today.” Staffing a Federal bureaucratic department with Mexican Nationals was a strategic blunder exceeded in our lifetimes only by Bush’s Iraqi war.

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It is very quiet in Oaxaca now
For some people.
Others are in hiding.

There are only fireworks at night.
It is the Christmas season.
There is a big tree with lights in the Zocalo.
The pain of the people is buried under
Tree bark and red Chrysanthemums in the gardens.

It is very quiet in Oaxaca now.
The PFP are camped in the plaza
In the front of the Cathedral…
Sleeping, reading the papers…like the teachers
But they have big guns on their laps.

It is very quiet in Oaxaca now
For some people.
Others are watching and listening.
And waiting.

Like the Tlacuache.

A true patriot, Benjamin Franklin, said: “they that can give up
essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither
liberty nor safety.”

Last week, with friends, I attended the annual San Andreas Huayapam Fiesta about 25 minutes northeast of Oaxaca City. Very well organized with a lot of people for such a small pueblo. There was a local band that played music during the fireworks that scared the heck out of me and kept me well back from the action. Men ran up and down with with fireworks shooting out of structures built like bulls and castles. Once in awhile small boys would chase after a wheel that would spin off into the crowd.

Then a huge structure was lit with continuous fireworks shooting up and down and up into the night sky. Young men walked around giving out free copas of mescal and cigarettes. Food stands and carnival rides for the kids surrounded the band stands and dance area. I understand that each family was assessed $30 for the fiesta…a very large amount for most people. By the end of the night no one had ended up in jail as is often the case. When the fireworks were finished a great band played for the dance that began at 1am. The band played until 5am with no break.

My youngest son, Josh and his wife Amy are living in Beijing. Her entries are best read from the bottom up.

Nov 25, 01:45 AM
The first week I was here Josh had a huge dinner to put on for the Chaine Society. Originally founded in France as one of the first guilds for goose rotissieres, the Chaine Society is now a world wide society though now less focused on rotissieres in favor of hoteliers. Since Josh hosted a dinner he was invited to the next gala event – a black tie event for which neither one of was really prepared. Rather than getting a tux, Josh had a custom Chinese formal suit made – dragon brocade, Mao cut and all! I wore the one black dress that I have in China with completely inappropriate shoes and spent the night hoping that I didn’t run my pantyhose cause they’re the only pair I have! Still, I think we looked pretty good all things considered!

But what was really hilarious was the “decorations” that Chaine members wear – collars made of brass plates and fake jewels with their names on them decorated with different colored ribbons signifying their position (ie. hotelier, GM, chef, etc). I forgot to take a picture of the real thing (Josh was monopolizing the camera taking pictures of the courses) but just imagine the necklace sort of thing that foreign ministers wore in Elizabethan England.

The food was underwhelming but the people watching was great! Read more…
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It was reported on a discussion site that “Felipe Calderon took the oath of office as president of Mexico this morning in a ceremony that lasted four minutes. The house of legislators came to blows several times before he arrived, and the shouting continued throughout with a pause for the national anthem.

The PFP surrounded the building.

The video camera showed Arnold Shwarzeneger approaching the chamber, smiling as if he were about to be interviewed as a star presence. I think the whole thing ended before he got in the door.”

It has also been reported in the Mexican media that the Governor has a list of 100 foreigners they are looking to arrest that helped out the resistance here. I imagine these are mostly journalists and others from countries like Cuba and Venezuela. But some expats here are worried that their visas won’t be renewed if they have been found supporting APPO.

I want to make it clear that I have posted no articles to any foreign press nor have given any financial or other assistance to the APPO nor to anyone supporting APPO. I do scan blogs and discussion sites for information that I can use to assess my safety here. As a foreign expat I am keeping a very low profile. I don’t want to risk not being let back into the country.

I drove Lester and Max to San Pedro de Cajonos yesterday. Left at the intersection at Tlacalula and then an hour and a half up into the Sierra del Sud mountains. Beautiful drive. San Pedro hangs on a cliff above a valley. The Blas family makes Alebrijes there.

Getting back to Oaxaca City about 5pm, I drove up Guerrero St. where Max lives to find milling crowds of frantic people who were attempting to undue the effects of PFP tear gas with handkerchiefs soaked in vinegar and Coca Cola. A march had just gotten to the city and the PFP didn’t much take to having the Zocalo surrounded by APPO supporters.

Exhausted from the day’s drive, I went to bed at 8pm to find out the next morning that over 2000 people, many innocent bystanders, had been arrested and beaten and taken to jails…but not charged. I also found out that Max had a method to his madness…knowing I might have been caught in the middle of it all had I stayed in the city.

Well, I don’t know what we did to deserve our weather…we have been freezing our asses off especially at night. I wear everything I’ve got to bed…houses don’t have heat here. I have been turning on the oven and opening the oven door in the mornings…will probably hear from my landlord…

A friend who used to live in Mexico had this to say: “It is too bad you don’t have a wood stove in your apartment. But that is the curse of the middle class. Poor people have fires inside their houses if but a bit drafty. Very rich have heating. Middle class just has the appearance of luxury without the amenities.”

It’s Thanksgiving today. Have been running around a lot so will probably just hole up in my apartment and work on computer pics and videos and music…a luxury.

After getting back from Hierve el Agua last Sunday, I holed up in my apartment for two days. It has gotten really cold and windy. There is no heat in the apartment so I turn on the oven and open the oven door.

A couple nights ago, three friends and I went to a restaurant/cantina for great seafood soup with crab and shrimp and a beer. Then we sat on some bar stools in Max’s favorite bar next to the restaurant for an ultima (last one for the road) mescal where he had had an interesting “conversation” with a Mexican deaf-mute the night before…neither one knowing what the other one was intending. Max’s account was hilarious. I was the only woman there besides the female bar maid…and was introduced all around to the regulars…working class middle aged men…unlike the other cantinas I had been to where the patrons were hard-drinking young machismos.

Yesterday Sharon and I went to the Tlacalula Sunday Market…busy and full of brightly dressed indigenous people as usual. I bought some small carved coconut half-shells to serve my mescal and we both bought a petata…a large woven mat that people sleep on in the villages…from a tiny old woman with really rought hands from San Leandro…a town near Hierve de Agua. I will use it for a floor cover. We stopped in Huayapam on the way back to see Charlie and Bardo. Mica had gone to a movie.

Saturday I will go to a mountain village,San Pedro de Cajonos, (be careful how you pronounce Cajonos) to visit a family that carves Alebrijes…small painted fanciful animals. Thursday is Thanksgiving in the States.

In the middle of November there were a series of Women’s Marches protesting the dead and disappeared and the assault of some women by the Federal (PFP) who had been occupying the Zocalo.

Last weekend I took Mica, Bardo and the kids from Hauyapam, and Charlie, who used to be a coffee bean roaster in Oaxaca in the 70’s but now is a roaster in Canada and here for a few weeks, in the car to Hierva El Agua about 50 miles into the mountains. There cold water mineral springs fall over steep cliffs and solidify into rock-hard deposits forming algae-painted slabs in level spots and accumulating into what appear to be grand frozen waterfalls…shining in the sun.

The governor is building a huge glassed-in pyramid-shaped restaurant within yards of the springs…giving diners (what diners?) a spectacular view of the Sierra Sur mountains where the indigenous Mixe live…but the place is accessed by pot-holed dirt roads. The only place to eat was an empty shack…interestingly named “Alice’s Restaurant” where we were the only patrons. The first evening a good-looking young woman gave us black beans, salsa and bread and coffee while she nursed her ten-month old little boy…her two year old by her side. She says it is common here for women to have ten children…but she has had her tubes tied, she says.

We stayed in the only bungalow…with “matrimonial” bed in a loft and two sets of bunk beds below. There was no gas for the stove or water heater. The gate-keeper in the same building had spent six years in LA and wanted to practice his English.

The next day we sat next to a smoke-filled wood fire in the corner of the dirt yard of the “restaurant” while an older woman made fresh corn tortillas on a huge comal. The tomatoes for the fresh salsa were roasted in the wood ashes…giving it a wonderful smoky flavor. She amazingly was able to grind the chilis on a window sill next to the fire. We devoured the avocados and cheese memelitas with the salsa and coffee…running for cover from the wood smoke whenever the woman stoked the fire. Best-tasting Oaxacan food yet!

On the way home, we stopped at a small family-run traditional mescal factory to buy jugs of Mescal. I will buy a small oak barrel with a spigot at the market to keep the mescal from drawing the taste of the plastic jug. The maguay plants are ground to a pulp in a round concrete “trough” under a huge marble “wheel” that is pulled round and round by a donkey. The mescal I chose had been stilled and aged with several different local fruits-and chicken breasts-in addition to the magay plant! Smooth, slightly sweet and full of flavor…40% alcohol…compared to the young 100% alcohol stuff that burns the gullet all the way to the stomach.

This week, Joe, a recently retired CPA from Chicago who is living in my apartment complex and teaching English, and I will have lunch together. Joe was married and has two grown children. Has also come here for a new life. Funny and gregarious…very nice guy. A young couple has just moved into the apartment (there are four apartments) from Canada. He is a writer …they have a 4 year old little boy who is squaring it off with the little girl in the manager’s apartment…neither of which knows the other’s language. They are driving the mothers nuts!

Can’t believe I’ve been here six months already. When my visa expires in August I will go to Asia to see my son and his wife, Josh and Amy, in Beijing China and son Doug and Luk, his wife, on the island of Koh Samui in Thailand…then probably back here if everything returns to normal politically. If not I’ll just stay in Asia.

Yesterday, Charlie and I visited an American and his wife, Tony & Rebecca Raab, who have a beautiful bed and breakfast called Casa Raab about 20 minutes outside the city. Tony has built a hand-made authentic Zapateco mescal still. Some of the best I’ve tasted. Certainly worth a personal tour.

casaraab@gmail.com

google Casa Raab

I went to Santo Domingo yesterday to check out the activity there. The teachers and their supporters have moved their encampment up the hill to the streets in front of Santo Domingo Church where marches now end and speeches are given. Vendors from the Zocalo now line Alcala St. running down from the church and TVs sitting precariously on boxes run non-stop videos. Traditional and contemporary Mexican music blares loudly nearby. Vendors provide a variety of food…tacos and memelitos…unique to Oaxaca. There are information tables and a few banners fly…walkers having to duck under nylon supporting lines. What activists say that “the people” want is a deepening of democracy — fair elections, a free press, responsive government, public safety and jobs. I suspect there is lot more going on than that.

As an expat living here for six months, I have yet to explore the abundant beauty of this primarily indigenous State…cooking classes, art museums, music…and Spanish language classes!

And so goes life in Oaxaca.

At 8 in the morning the PFP advances upon the University of Oaxaca and begins firing at the radio and the university campus. Helicopters fly over and descend upon the radio university. At 9 in the morning 2 military convoys arrive as well as another convoy of PFP to help in the displacement of the radio. Throughout the morning police and tanks continue arriving. The Federal Preventative Police violently attack the people, throwing tear gas/gas bombs at the people that work inside of Radio Universidad of Oaxaca. Tear gas is also thrown from the helicopters. At 11:40 in the morning 18 people had already been detaining, including a student leader of the movement, two minors and a professor of the University of Oaxaca.

The people form a human chain in the area immediately around Radio Universidad. The radio calls out to neighbors to come out into the streets and give flowers to the military who are also in the areas around CU with their fire arms. The radio underscores that this is a peaceful resistance. They do not want deaths or injured people.

At ten in the morning the PFP severely attacks the population in the cross of five men where the barricade is located. In some areas of the city it is reported that the PRIistas are firing into the air, hoping to discourage people from leaving in the streets in solidarity with Radio Universidad de Oaxaca.

Medical help is sought. Many people are hurt as the PFP is using tear gas, a non-lethal arm, as a lethal weapon, firing it directly into people’s bodies at point blank range. The hospitals do not want to receive the injured people of the social movement.

Two of those detained were liberated. Vargas, the PFP official, was the one who had apprehended these people. They were savagely beaten before being released.

Marches in solidarity with Oaxaca, heading toward Radio Universidad, continue to leave throughout the morning.

In the afternoon, the PFP finds itself virtually surrounded by various groups who are in solidarity with the APPO and unable to leave.

At 5pm the PFP leaves the university zone after 6 hours of conflict, throwing tear gas bombs into houses while withdrawing.

The day of struggle left more than 70 injured persons and 32 detained by police, some of whom were flown away in helicopters of the federal police and army.

It is an example of dozens of videos you can buy in the street for $2.00 each. They were filmed and edited by amateur videographers, activists and/or supporters of the “movement.” To get the other side of things people can watch government controlled Televisa or TV Azteca.

Charly, Mica, Bardo, their kids and I went to a wedding today…a happy thing. Someone related to Mica. A professional couple. The wedding was in the very nice home of a relative…as is often the case the house was in a poor looking neighborhood on the side of a hill…weeds all around. Just the judge sitting at a table with the couple and witnesses standing facing him. Then we ate BBQ Chivo (goat) and drank lots of Tequila. The couple didn’t dance to the live combo…so neither did we.

This morning I took the car to the Toyota Service Agency to have the oil changed in the car…after all, I did drive it from Oregon to Oaxaca in southern Mexico…a darn long ways.

This afternoon I joined my landlord Geraldo and his mother Socorro in the Zocalo. The streets leading into the Zocalo are still blocked by police but after determining you are ok, they move aside and let you through. The place is bare save hundreds of riot-control police sitting and lying around…much like the teachers and protesters before. Sitting at a cafe having a beer, Socorro clapped and cheered, along with some others who were also sitting at the cafe…yelling Bravo at every movement of the police. They look quite young…Socorro told one he was a “baby.” He just laughed. Some of the young hip affluent Oaxacan women are eyeing the guys…once in awhile we see couples, a PFP and a local girl, walking about. I just took pictures. They asked me if I was ever frightened while I have been living here…no of course not I answered. Then they asked if the presence of the police bothered me. Of course not, I said. What I didn’t say was that I would be much happier if they weren’t here…they don’t exactly add to the esthetics of the place.

Leaving the Zocalo about 5:00pm, I walked up the hill to Santo Domingo Church where the protesters are now ensconsed. The mood here was somber…a couple musical groups playing soft music. A “garden” of ceramic human sized figures are placed right in front of the church. The hundreds of votive lights glowing in the dark will be beautiful tonight but I am too drained and tired to wait around to see it. Only about half of the teachers have returned to classes.

Late in the night of October 29, the Federal Preventive Police (PFP) took over the Zocalo with tear-gas and tanks. The next morning there was an impromptu march with marchers confronting the police at every street entrance to the Zocalo.

Went to my landlord’s home yesterday morning to make black mole…pronounced “molay” a Oaxacan specialty that is always made for the Day Of The Dead and served exactly at 11:00 on November 2 for the spirits of the dead who come back to eat with the family. It’s a relief to be away from the phone and the computer and the Zocalo that seems only to be giving me bad news the last few days.

A life-long friend of Gerardo’s, a newly minted teacher that will be teaching in the Mixtec about four hours away, was already there visiting. He majored in English which was quite good.

Joe, the other tenant in my apartment building who is here teaching English. arrived soon after. My landlord, Gerardo (another Gerardo from the one I have been hanging out with) and his mother Socorro put us all to work. She put a skinless chicken with onion on the stove to boil. Joe was in charge of charring the dried black Ancho & Pasilla Negro seeded chilis on the hot ceramic comal and putting them in water to soak. Then we fried dried French bread chunks, banana slices, garlic, cinnamon bark, some almonds, a cup of raw sesame seeds, a cup of plumped raisins, oregano, thyme, cumin and some pepper corns, cloves and salt in a bit of oil. Then fried some tomatoes and tomatillos. We put all the fried ingredients together with the chilis into a pot and drove to a nearby torilleria where they ground everything together making a thick paste. Then back to the house where we put the paste into another bit of oil in a huge ceramic pot…stirring constantly…watching the paste turn dark. Then Socorro slowly added cups of the broth from the boiling chicken…Joe stirring for about a half hour with a huge wooden spoon. At the last minute Socorro added a bit of wonderful Oaxacan chocolate.
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The car will be ready Saturday at 11…the mechanic said. Then on Sat a call came…there has to be some modification in order to set the domestic alternator. Mechanics don’t work on Sat afternoon so the car will be ready at 11 Monday morning. Eleven came and went. Car will be ready at 1pm. 1pm came and went. A call to the garage indicted that the mechanics went out to lunch and won’t return until 4:30pm. Gerardo, who has been making the calls, chewed them out…all lies…no wonder Mexico has such a bad reputation among Americans he said. They delivered the car…one cell of the battery is “boiling” the mechanic said. Now I suppose I will have to get a new battery before I end up stranded in the mountains somewhere.

To charge the battery, Gerardo and I drove to Huayapam again. We picked up Max at 5pm in the Zocalo. He was tickled to get out of town.

Bardo was not at home. His nephew had had an accident with his mother’s car and rolled it…was at the hospital with cuts and bruises…and Bardo had gone to check on him. Bardo soon returned and we sent out for pastor and asada tacos, grilled onions, limes, hot guacamole sauce and hot green sauce…adding a few tiny very hot green chiles from Bardo’s bush by the outdoor kitchen. After some of Bardo’s freshly roasted and ground pluma organic coffee, we piled Max into the car, which thankfully started up, and delivered him to his apartment.

The last thing we heard was “noon tomorrow in the Zocalo!”

Saturday afternoon, Gerardo and I went by collective taxi to Huayapam to take some cds full of Mike’s pictures he had taken of the soccer game to Bardo’s son Pavel. Returning to the city about 9pm we decided to stop by the Cucuracha for mescal…place was pretty empty for Saturday…and no live music. Walking back to my apartment we met Benito, a Zocalo troller (for free beer and food from the extranjeros-foreigners in English). The girl he was with wanted us to go with them to a club with live Mexican music & kereoke during the breaks. A bucket of six beers was 40 pesos or $4. The place was packed…people singing traditional Mexican songs along with the kareoke singer…Gerardo translating for me. A lot of culture in those songs…some putting goose bumps on me. One song was about an angry woman who had decided to put a stop to what I interpreted was the mysogyny from the males…her voice rising to amazing screaming decibles toward the end.

By 4am Gerardo walked me home through the barricades…stopping to talk to the four guards standing around a fire they were feeding with paper garbage…one older…the others young…one holding a long metal rocket launcher to give a signal if any trouble approached.

Sunday was obviously a down day with no activity on my part.

Gerardo and I were going to take Max (who in his 70’s uses a cane) to the Abasco Market Friday to find tobacco economico. The car died before we got it out of the courtyard. Needs a new alternator, the garage mechanic said. Damn…after putting over a thousand dollars in the car before coming down here. But it’s a ’92 Toyota. Max said alternators don’t last forever. Just happy the car didn’t die in the Abasco parking lot or I would have had to sleep in it to keep all it’s parts from disappearing!

Sitting in the courtyard waiting for the mechanic to come (2 hours late…this is Mexico after all, we always say) we consumed a considerable amount of beer and mescal while Max regaled us with stories about his long life.

It is creepy odd…the dirty war at night we don’t see…the bustling life of the Zocalo by day.

Monday was Mike’s last day in Oaxaca. Merilla & Peter, expats from Australia, Mike and Gerardo and I met for coffee at 1:30pm at the Terranova Cafe in the Zocalo. Benito and Jose happened by. Mike mostly entertained the small children who were vending woven wristlets and chiclets…and I was mostly trying to understand the Spanish being spoken at the table.

At 6:30pm, after beer, comida and much conversation, Merilla, Peter, Gerardo and Mike and I retired to the Casa de Mescal for mescal and a cerbeza ultimo. By 9pm we headed home.

Mike left tuesday (this morning) in the dark to catch an 8am plane for Las Vegas. Good-bye house…good-bye friends. Two cents says he will return on November 6 with my son Greg. I truly hope he does. I am ready for down time and Mike can take Greg around.

After getting home from the trucha dinner Saturday night, Gerardo had called me. He had just heard on the radio that one of the APPO guards at a barricade had been shot and killed early Saturday morning. 7am this morning (Sunday) I walked to the Zocalo to see what was happening. The family and few friends were gathered around the casket…flowers everywhere. I asked a long-haired Mexican book-seller what was going to happen next. A march, he said…and then the church funeral.

I sat for a couple of hours and watched…not feeling like taking pictures. Then I saw my friend Sharon barrelling through the Zocalo…trying to catch the people marching to the church with the casket. We headed back to the Zocalo for coffee. Then Benito showed up. Then Benito’s law professor. Then a young French woman who is working with local banks to encourage micro-lending. Then Mike appeared after working all morning on his photos in the apartment.

By 1pm Sharon drifted off to read her Spanish-language newspapers, Laura left to catch her bus for Mexico City and Benito, his professor and Mike and I headed off for the Tabula Rasa which wasn’t open yet. Found another cantina, of course. Mike took pictures of the signs on the bano (bathroom) doors…Viejas (old women) and Machos for men! What does that tell you about Mexican men’s attitude toward woman?

By 4:30pm I stumbled home for a siesta leaving Mike to take pictures in the Zocalo. Gerardo called. I begged off. Am getting too old for this! Go find Mike, I told him! Call me later tonight!

And so it continues in Oaxaca

After getting in at 3am early Saturday morning, Mike and I returned to Huayapan at 7am Saturday to take Bardo’s son’s soccer team to a tournament…all 12 of them…in my car. You can watch a soccer game just so long. So Bardo and I went back to the house for a light lunch with his wife Mica…leaving Mike to snap a few pictures of the players. Returning to pick up the kids, Mike introduced me to a gracious woman at the soccer field who had studied with Osho in India, (remember the Rajneeshies in Oregon?) who invited me to a weekend meditation retreat!

Back at the house, out came the three liter jug of mescal I had bought from a vendor in the Zocalo. By this time, Gerardo, the tourist guide friend of Bardo’s who had spent 10 years in the states, called me on the phone. I’ll be there in a few minutes, he said.

After a few rounds of mescal, beer and coffee and conversation, we all headed off to the mountains for a fresh trusha (trout) dinner. (Sorry, Charlie, we missed you!) By 8pm we were on our way back to Bardo’s after Mica and I each bought an armload of lilies…and so the days are going.

Tomorrow Thursday at 10 AM there will be a people’s consulta at Santo Domingo Plaza in front of the church, which the “international tourists” will attend, carrying their cameras and wearing a hat and sunglasses.”

Note: I will not attend…don’t want to get deported for interfering in Mexican politics.

Yesterday morning Mike and I drove 30 minutes to Monte Alban…a gigantic Zapotec ruins on top of one of the mountains surrounding Oaxaca City…passing early morning walkers along the way. We were the sole visitors this morning in this ancient ruins…meditating on the lives of this great indigenous people…looking sadly at the carvings of naked vanquished enemies. And we are surprised that the descendents of this proud people are standing up to their oppressors and shouting Basta!?

Around 500 BC ancestors of Oaxaca’s Zapotec people founded what many believe to be Americas’ earliest metropolis. They raised monumental platforms, pyramids, palaces and ceremonial courts. Encompasing 3 sq miles, Monte Alban flourished for centuries as a city with as many 40,000 at it’s height a thousand years later until an invasion of Mixtecs from the north who became the ruling class in a number of valley city-states. The blend of Mixtec and Zapotec art and architecture sometimes led to new forms especially visible at the sites of Yagul and Mitla.

Monte Alban is a UNESCO World Heritage site.

By 10 am we were drinking bad coffee with Mirella, my Australian friend and my friend Sharon in the Zocalo.

Then I walked across the Zocalo to visit Max at a sidewalk cafe. After awhile, I received a call from Gerardo. “Come to Bardo’s and bring some beer and cheap mescal,” says Gerardo. Just as I hung up, an old Mexican comes by our table selling a three-liter gas can full of mescal…smooth yellow mescal…”anejo” (aged) mescal. I bought a liter of water, dumped it out, gave Max a liter and took off for the apartment to get Mike who had collapsed in his room earlier for a nap. “Hey, Mike, get up, you want to party?” And off we went to Huayapam…of course getting lost in a small village but finding our way through dirt roads to Bardo’s house. I gave out my gifts I had brought for the family and Bardo sent out for great pastor tacos with those glorious sweet roasted onions while Gerardo regaled us with the story of his march, his hard life in Mexico and ten years in the US while poor Bardo, tired of listening to Gerardo’s untranslated (slurred by this time) English, finally retreated with his wife Mica to their bedroom to watch TV.

Dodging the burning tires and barricades through the Centro, we finally made our way home at 2am…eating left-over vegetable soup and guacamole before collapsing into our beds.

After finally getting the title and registration to the Toyota, I drove down to Klamath Falls Oregon from Salem to see my second family Bea and Sal Florez who are being well-taken care of by a couple in their home. Then took a long boring drive to Las Vegas to see my son Greg. Didn’t wait in Salem for the title to arrive in the mail so my friend Lyn said she would fedex it to Las Vegas while I was there.

When I informed him that the woman who was going to drive down to Oaxaca with me had reneged and that I was driving down alone he had a fit and called his best friend Mike in LA and asked him to please accompany me. We drove to the border at the new shiny Columbia Friendship Crossing 30 minutes north of Loredo Texas. At the crossing I discovered I had a copy of my title and registration but after all the wrangling in Salem I had left the original on the copier glass in the back of the pharmacy in Las Vegas. The friendly border guards mercifully let me through with just the copy! I immediately called Greg and had him go to the pharmacy to see if he could collect my title and registration…maybe somebody had turned them in. Lo and behold, there was the original…after 3 days…still on the glass! So with the help of my iPod and new car speakers we continued down on wide empty expensive toll roads only getting good and lost once after taking a detour through the city of Monterey.

We spent three nice days visiting my friend Patty Gutierrez and her husband Jose in their little casita in San Juan del Rio south of Queretaro…a nice break. We were all invited to dinner in the home of a broiled chicken vendor…their first real contact with American tourists and after being given two clay jars as a gift I was horrified when I dropped one which exploded on the tile floor of the courtyard.

We visited the sacred Rock of Bernal…a UNESCO World Heritage site…the largest North American monolith and the second largest in the world……soaking up the quiet soft vibes. This enormous rock is considered the encounter point between the indigenous communities of the region and the mestizo society that erected the village of Bernal below. Well-known as ‘tonalita’ the volcanic rock, at a height of 288 meters from the base to the peak, became exposed by erosion.

After ending up on a toll road going the wrong way and finding our way back in Mexico City and driving through beautiful rolling mountains back to Oaxaca I was finally “home.”

Nothing is ever easy. Came up to pick up my car and found that my name wasn’t on the title and the registration had lapsed. Had to get a new title expedited from a friend in the Governor’s office. Can’t get doc appt till Feb. Won’t bore you with the rest.

Am going to pick those glorious Elberta peaches for canning at my cousin’s house in Waldport and then take off for Las Vegas…the Mexican Columbia Friendship border crossing at Loredo TX…and then Queretaro to see my friend Patty Gutierrez…then Oaxaca.

Am reading alarming reports from Oaxaca. Who really knows what is going on…

If I don’t show up in Oaxaca by the end of the month send out the Green Angels!

2006-08-26
International Herald Tribune

Por Tek Tung – The Body Snatchers
Fighting for a Gory Prize – A Race to the Death in Thailand

They are not rewarded with money, but Karma – as many volunteers believe the work is good for their soul

BANGKOK: — Sidestepping stains of blood and car fluid on the road, Niroot Sampi crunched across broken windshield glass to survey the crumpled and steaming wrecks of two cars.

“It’s not really that bad,” Mr. Niroot said. “Nobody died.”

That’s how it goes in the world of Por Tek Tung, Thailand’s premier group of professional body snatchers.
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Went to the zocalo at 7am…burned out car half a block from zocalo on Bustamante. Wanted to go to immigration to get my visa…waited half an hour for bus on Pino Suarez…none came so I took a taxi to immigration. Edna at immigration said 5 buses were burned last night but I saw none. Their land line was down for a few hours this morning. Buses and shopping carts are blocking all streets on all sides of Gigante Market but the store itself is open and the ATM is working. . Most other businesses are closed. People are grouped at various corners. On the way back the taxi didn’t want to take me to the zocalo so I returned home to Fiallo St..

I am cranky this morning. I was up all night because of a very noisy wedding party in the courtyard below my apartment window. So I went to my favorite food stall in the Benito Juarez market where I had Spanish-English intercambio with Dulce, a 19 year old university student, while eating breakfast of eggs, beans, potatoes and milk with coffee. We will watch my bootleg copy of “Nacho Libre” this evening together…probably in Spanish. It will be fun to watch her reaction to the movie.

Bought a copy of Noticias where I struggled to read an article about the German writer, Gunther Grass, who has just admitted he was in the German SS for a few months during WWII. The press is making a big deal out of this. I spotted a long-time German expat sitting a few tables away, who I had talked to briefly yesterday, so I took my article and joined him for a short but very interesting German history lesson before he had to leave on the bus back to Mexico City. In the absence of any historical insight, we Americans see everything in black and white. And this politically correctness drives me crazy I said. Yes, he said…it’s a disease! It leaves only room for a simplistic view of things, he said. And stops dialogue, I said! With that he gave me a good handshake and left for his bus.

Last night I visited a gentle sincere Oaxacan family that lives about 20 minutes in the mountains northwest of the city in San Andreas Huayapam. The couple roasts fragrant locally grown coffee and delivers it to outlets all over.

I gave them flowers I bought at the 20 November Market and they made some of their fresh coffee…but only after insisting I have a glass of Oaxacan Mescal.

The couple and one of their best friends and my colorful Mexican translator, who spent several years meandering around the States, and I sat for hours at their outdoor kitchen table and talked…about coffee…and a hundred other things. Two other couples stopped by for a few minutes.

In Bangkok, in April of 2005 at the Thailand Foreign Correspondent’s Club I listened to a talk by Shirin Ebadi…a strong brave woman lawyer who won the 2003 Nobel Peace Prize for defending human rights in Iran. Yesterday the NY Times reported (below) that she has been threatened with arrest if she doesn’t close her Center for Defense of Human Rights in Tehran.

Ms Ebadi is a self declared human rights activist, having already been jailed once, and one of the many attorneys who are working together with many of the nearly 200 journalists who are currently incarcerated in Iran. She said that it is impossible to determine the exact number of people jailed for their human rights work because the statistics are not released by the government and families do not want to tell why their members are in jail for fear of reprisal.

Her most adamant point was that violence and war solves nothing but instead intensifies conflict. She added that Iran is not in a position to pose any danger to any of it’s neighbors. Then she continued by saying that it is left up to various Non-Governmental Organizations in Iran to go into neighboring countries with messages.

In describing her work, Ms Ebadi stressed that “the power of the pen is much stronger than the power of arms…the work of the pen can do more than an entire army,” she said.

“So human rights activists are fighting for the freedom of the pen,” she said. “All societies need freedom of expression…the first stepping stone of democracy.” Regarding Burma, she said that the role of mass media is critical and the media should demand that the democratically elected leader and Nobel Prize winner, Aung San Suu Kyi, be given her freedom from house arrest.

She said it is impossible for one person to make a complete change in a country and any change must take place through the people. “The world is a mirror that reflects the good and bad in us eventually,” she concluded.

I am afraid she will suffer reprisal.
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It’s a quiet Sunday morning…as Sundays are in Oaxaca…people home with their families.

I often think of this blog…and other blogs…and wonder what is the value of putting so many hours into writing about the myriad details of our lives…and other lives. Then I found this reply to a new blog on a favorite web site.

Will This Be Your Gift To The World?
This blog is about more than yourself, is it not? Twenty years ago…[or many more] you chose the meaning of your life – you picked a mission for yourself, did you not?

I wonder what you will make of this blog. This tribune is like no other. You are beholden neither to the story nor by the facts; here, you are just a man. You have no oath to impartiality. So I wonder – who is your master?

I cannot picture you a disciple, in belief subordinate to another man. I believe your life is your own – and to myself hope to be right. So here we face a false dichotomy: selfless and dedicated to a benevolent cause of your own making, or living in egoism, seeking for yourself a comfy niche?

Express yourself freely. Influence thoughts. Create memos. Whose lives will you touch with your words? Will you change the world by telling us how you view it?

Your words are strong, so I hope that your vision is a good and selfless one; that, guided by it, you will mark the world.

I try to see in others what I try to be myself. Odd.

Another person’s words…but articulated better than I would have. I wonder about these lines…this last has set me to thinking…another story perhaps.

Juanita, the Mexican-American woman I met at Pachote Market, will ride down here with me in my car in September…a road trip to Las Vegas to see Greg, to Phoenix to see friends and across Texas to the border at Loredo. On the way to Oaxaca we will stop in Querataro to visit my old friend Patty Gutierrez. Juanita now lives in Guadalajara, where she was born, after raising her children in LA…two blocks from where we lived in Highland Park in 68 and 69! She is in Sacramento now visiting her son and daughter and will take the bus to meet me in Portland.

Her daughter Veronica teaches English to children at the Colegio Motolinta de Antequera, behind la Iglesia de Los Pobres on Dalias Street in the Reforma section of town, where incidently she watched the attack of police on the teachers outside her building a few days ago. She met her husband when she came here for a temazcal workshop in nearby San Jose…her husband’s parents were the instructors and she often translates for norteno participants now.

A Temazcal is a traditional sweat bath. The word is Nhuatl (Aztec) in origin and means “steam” (temaz “house (calli). Temazcals were common throughout prehispanic Mesoamerica and an important component of traditional therapeutic and purifying rituals. The temazcal itself is a small, closed, domed structure traditionaly constructed of adobe. To produce the steam, rocks are heated and herbs and water thrown onto the hot stones. (Claustrophobics might want to think twice.) It has become the fashion, Veronica says, for many Europeans to come here and combine a Temazcal workshop with a traditional Oaxacan marriage ceremony performed by her father-in-law.

Yesterday morning Veronica and I met for a cup of wonderful organic fair trade coffee in the Friday/Saturday Pachote Organic Market. Elvira, a Zapotec woman I have made friends with is a part of a new women’s collective that grows and roasts their own fair-trade coffee…it is not certified organic yet…a long and costly process. Elvira also sells vanillan, pimiento (pepper) roasted pumpkin seeds, fresh strong cinnamon, panela and honey…all grown or made on her little farm. Sweet smiling Elvira comes to the city every week-end five and a half hours each way on the bus. She spends Friday and Sat nights with my friend Sharon before leaving 5am on the bus again Sunday morning.

At Pachote (and also found on the street and in the other markets) you can eat food prepared by indigenous women…tacos made from blue corn, drink atole, a hot frothy sweetened Oaxacan corn gruel drunk plain or flavored. You can eat chapulines, toasted grasshoppers…a Oaxacan delicacy. It is said that if you eat chapulines, you’ll be sure to return to Oaxaca. You can eat memelas, small soft torillas spread with asiento (rendered pork lard and bits of chicharron (called chitlins in southern U.S) and topped with crumbles of fresh cheese. If you are really hungry you can eat chicken mole, a sauce based on ground chiles and spices…sometimes with chocolate. There are 7 different moles prepared in Oaxaca, most of them referred to by color…colorado (red) coloradito (little red), amarillo (yellow) verde (green) and negro (black, plus chichilo and manchamanteles (tablecloth stainer.) You can eat quesqadillas, a corn tortila filled with cheese and squash flowes toasted on a hot comal or clay griddle. My favorite for breakfast are the tamals…corn masa filled with mole red or green often with bits of chicken…wrapped in corn husks and steamed. Or you can just drink a big cup of tejate…a traditional drink made of corn masa, cacao, mamey fruit seed and rosita de cacao flowers dipped by the tejatera from a huge wide, shallow bowl. I’m still learning to like this drink.

Veronica showed me those little round avocados that you can eat with the skin on…panela, dark sugar wrapped in corn husk made smoky-flavored after sitting around a charcoal fire…little mild round red peppers called canarios…small round sweet squash…baskets and bags made out of high-sierra pine…home-made Mescal, a Oaxaceno specialty made from the Maguey plant. It is recent (hot and strong), reposado (aged and smooth) or anejo (aged for several years in oak barrels with the flavor of cognac (expensive) and often above 50% alcohol. You can buy beautiful Oaxacan pottery fired without lead, huge purple flowers together with spindly orange flowers that remind me of the Indian Paintbrush that grows wild in Eastern Oregon…all good stuff…you see where my money goes.

Through Veronica I met Willy, a very sweet Swiss expat whose sister lived in her little casita for 20 some years. When she died a couple years ago, Willy, who had often visited, moved into her home. Willy cooked us breakfast of egg and tocino (bacon) tucked into grilled bollios (Mexican buns), cheese, fresh orange juice, and rich dark organic coffee made in his French Press coffee-maker in his little open-air kitchen with an incredible view of the surrounding valley. He showed us his “poleo” leaves, drying in the sun for tea…”la yerbo de boracho” Veronica laughs…boracho meaning “drunk.”

We talked about other local delicasies…like “huitlacoche” or what sounds like parasytic mushrooms that grow on husks of fresh corn that is fast disappearing because of pesticides sprayed on the corn. Veronica lamented that out of a thousand varieties of mushrooms only a couple hundred are still extanct because the locals pull up the “whole family” by the roots instead of leaving the “children” to grow larger in the future…destroying the plant…thinking of the “short term” need for subsistence.

Willy says he was an industrial design engineer by trade…but here he really is an artist…designing lamps made out of sticks and branches from around his home. I told him he could market that stuff in New York City…but he is not interested. He is also helping an international non-profit based in Europe to design an eco-education program in his beloved Sierra…not building buildings…but just to take people in on treks and teach them about local ecology. Willy is bilingual and is the most respectuful of local expats I have met….preferring to leave the revolution to those who know best how they want to conduct it for themselves.

And this is just the beginning of what’s to love about Oaxaca.

Took a tour of Colonial Reforma today…in the northern part of the city. Went to immigration to get my year-long visa and on the way the bus driver got into a stand-off with a car whose driver was yelling something at him at a stop-light. The bus driver gave him what-to…never heard so many madres and pendejos (assholes) in one sentence before…and he kept it up. The light turned green and the bus won…cut the guy clean off and forced him onto another road. I think I was the only passenger interested…the others have seen this before no doubt.

But on a bus going the wrong way back to the Centro…took a tour through the entire Colonial Reforma…gears grinding…brakes screeching…music blaring…and over those damn topes (speed bumps) every 50 feet, up and down the hills. The driver yells at me…where you from…in English. I know better than to say the US…that’s obvious. Oregon I said. Oh, I was there four months he laughed…strawberries I asked…yes he said…he was in Phoenix four years and Fresno for six years. You like Oaxaca? Yes, I love it! I noticed he didn’t ask me if I liked “Mexico” He asked me if I liked Oaxaca. I think he likes it too!

Have run into several young guys at the market who have picked strawberries in Oregon…their English quite good. Willamette Valley strawberries are the best in the world by the way…thanks to cheap labor by migrants from south of the border.

I was reading through some of my blog entries about India the other day and then I came upon this Slate.com article about India and laughed so hard I nearly cried. It’s really good to laugh.

Trying Really Hard To Like India

from: Seth Stevenson
Posted Friday, Oct. 1, 2004, at 2:27 PM ET

“In the mid-1970s, famed author V.S. Naipaul (of Indian descent but raised in Trinidad) came to India to survey the land and record his impressions. The result is a hilariously grouchy book titled India: A Wounded Civilization. Really, he should have just titled it India: Allow Me To Bitch at You for 161 Pages. I hear you, V.S. This place has its problems. As you point out, many of them result from the ravages of colonialism � and some are just India’s own damn fault. Still, I’ve found a lot to love about this place. For instance:

1) I love cricket. The passion for cricket is infectious. When I first got here, the sport was an utter mystery to me, but now I’ve hopped on the cricket bandwagon, big time. I’ve got the rules down, I’ve become a discerning spectator, and I’ve settled on a favorite player (spin bowler Harbhajan Singh, known as “The Turbanator”�because he wears a turban). I’ve even eaten twice at Tendulkar’s, a Mumbai restaurant owned by legendary cricketer Sachin Tendulkar. Fun fact: Sachin Tendulkar’s nicknames include “The Master Blaster” (honoring his prowess as a batsman), “The Maestro of Mumbai” (he’s a native), and “The Little Champion” (he’s wicked short). His restaurant here looks exactly like a reverse-engineered Michael Jordan’s Steak House. Instead of a glass case with autographed Air Jordans, there is a glass case with an autographed cricket bat. And in what could turn out to be a dangerous habit, I’ve begun going to Mumbai sports bars to watch all-day cricket matches. These last like seven hours. That is a frightening amount of beer and chicken wings.

2) I love the Indian head waggle. It’s a fantastic bit of body language, and I’m trying to add it to my repertoire. The head waggle says, in a uniquely unenthusiastic way, “OK, that’s fine.” In terms of Western gestures, its meaning is somewhere between the nod (though less affirmative) and the shrug (though not quite as neutral).

To perform the head waggle, keep your shoulders perfectly still, hold your face completely expressionless, and tilt your head side-to-side, metronome style. Make it smooth�like you’re a bobble-head doll. It’s not easy. Believe me, I’ve been practicing.

3) I love how Indians are unflappable. Nothing, I mean nothing, seems to faze them in the least. If you live here, I suppose you’ve seen your fair share of crazy/horrid/miraculous/incomprehensible/mind-blowing stuff, and it’s impractical to get too worked up over anything, good or bad.

(This is a trait I admire in the Dutch, as well. They don’t blink when some college kid tripping on mushrooms decides to leap naked into an Amsterdam canal. Likewise, were there a dead, limbless child in the canal� an Indian person might not blink. Though he might offer a head waggle.)

4) I love how they dote on children here. (I’m not talking about dead, limbless children anymore, I’m being serious now.) At our beach resort in Goa, there were all these bourgeois Indian folks down from Mumbai on vacation. These parents spoiled their children rotten in a manner that was quite charming to see. In no other country have I seen kids so obviously cherished, indulged, and loved. It’s fantastic. Perhaps my favorite thing on television (other than cricket matches) has been a quiz show called India’s Smartest Child, because I can tell the entire country derives great joy from putting these terrifyingly erudite children on display.

5) I love that this is a billion-person democracy. That is insane. Somehow the Tibetan Buddhists of Ladakh, the IT workers of Bangalore, the downtrodden poor of Bihar, and the Bollywood stars of Mumbai all fit together under this single, ramshackle umbrella. It’s astonishing and commendable that anyone would even attempt to pull this off.

6) I love the chaos (when I don’t hate it). Mumbai is a city of 18 million people�all of whom appear to be on the same block of sidewalk as you. If you enjoy the stimulation overload of a Manhattan or a Tokyo but prefer much less wealth and infrastructure. this is your spot. (Our friend Rishi, who we’ve been traveling with, has a related but slightly different take: “It’s like New York, if everyone in New York was Indian! How great is that!”) And whatever else you may feel, Mumbai will force you to consider your tiny place within humanity and the universe. That’s healthy.

There’s more good stuff I’m forgetting, but enough love for now. Let’s not go overboard. As they say in really lame travel writing: India is a land of contradictions. A lot of things to like and a lot of things (perhaps two to three times as many things) to hate.

It’s the spinach of travel destinations, you may not always (or ever) enjoy it, but it’s probably good for you. In the final reckoning, am I glad that I came here? Oh, absolutely. It’s been humbling. It’s been edifying. It’s been, on several occasions, quite wondrous. It’s even been fun, when it hasn’t been miserable.

That said, am I ready to leave. Sweet mercy, yes.”

Vendors with hot chocolate, atole and red and green tamales stood at each end of the Zocalo at 7am…one giving free pan (sweet bread) and chocolate to two indigenous women selling the latest edition of the Noticias de Oaxaco showing a burning bus on the front page. (The rumor was…and it happened yesterday…two buses were burned.)

No more than half a dozen people strolled about…a couple young nortenos jogging…some people still asleep on the dirty sidewalks. Blessed quiet. Not one of the zillion CD vendors blaring their music so loud in front of the Cathedral you can barely hold a conversation in the cafes nearby. Not one TV blaring the millionth repeat of the June 14 early morning police rout of the teachers. Blessed quiet. I wondered what the city was like before the teacher strike started.

Walking up toward the Zocalo from my apartment I passed only one person… solemnly reading her Noticias as she walked slowly along. The Cantina Bar on Armento Lopez was blaring rock music…still going strong from the night before…one joven leaving on wobbly legs. As it neared 8am, restaurants began raising their metal doors…opening for business…and more people appeared. Walking back down 20 Noviembre, the Jenito Juarez Market was ready to serve desayanos (breakfast). Noisy buses were running. I walked into a Miscellania that, like 7-11’s in Asia, are on every corner. Musica muy bonita I said to the woman behind the counter. She smiled broadly…Sax, she said.

Yesterday, the Election Tribunal announced that it would only recount the presidential voting ballots of 11,839 polling places�of more than 130,000 nationwide…which is nothing. I read on a U.S. media web page that people camped out in the Zocalo in Mexico City are predicting attacks on the airport and oil refineries. And so it goes in Mexico. I read in another place that the military is disappearing from northern Mexican cities…standing by Mexico City perhaps?

But today I am looking forward to meeting a friend at Llano Park and we will go to a nearby Thai restaurant…the only one in the city. An American woman recently turned her kitchen into a take-out restaurant with two tables for the lucky ones. I hear it is good.

On the e-hotelier.com web site a friend found this description of son Josh’s restaurant in the Hilton Hotel in Beijing where he is the Chef de Cuisine:

Hilton Beijing stars as Lord of The 3rd Ring
Jul 31, 06 | 1:57 am
Catch Hilton Beijing this month as it shines at the premiere of The 3rd Ring. The critics and glitterati alike have been eagerly awaiting the opening of this new, multi-outlet dining and entertainment concept. If sneak previews are anything to go by, it�s clear that The 3rd Ring will consistently perform to sell out crowds – keen to catch a glimpse of the stunningly made-over restaurants and bars that line the tri-level ringed atrium at Hilton Beijing on the Third Ring Road.

A hush falls over the crowd. The music starts up � this tune definitely has a toe-tapping ring to it. Saucy Ring Masters hit the screen first, leading the way to fresh and innovative cuisine as well as signature cocktails and superlative wines. An award winning performance from all of the new restaurants, bars and cafes. The excitement builds to the tantalizing grand finale, with dancers, musicians and DJs and stealing the limelight. There�s no doubt about it, Hilton Beijing truly is Lord of The 3rd Ring.

“One East On Third: Without a doubt the luminary of the show, it�s hard to fault The 3rd Ring�s signature Western restaurant. The a la carte menu offers modern American cuisine, with a twist. Order individual dishes, or opt for the tantalizing six and eight course Tasting Menus � delicious creations complemented by exquisite wines.

Showcased in the glass encased �Vintage Bank,� replete with an area for private tastings, One East on Third features an extensive list of new and old world wines, including the largest selection of US varieties in town, which you can enjoy at the restaurant�s bar before or after your meal.

But despite all the attention and praise, One East on Third remains remarkably down to earth, with an inviting southern mansion interior not dissimilar to the original Louisiana Restaurant. A difficult act to follow.”

Enough to make a mother proud.

When I was in China a couple years ago, I met a lovely British woman in her 30’s using an internet next to me in the bar at the Camellia Hotel in Kunming. We have kept in touch while we each have traveled our separate ways…she spending the last year in South America and Mexico.

She is back home now…an artist printmaker by profession. But she had told me about Alejandro, a long-haired artist who dresses all in white that she spent time with in Oaxaca City. And I had seen his picture she had posted on a photo web site. One day as I was sitting in a cafe on Alcala St. near the Zocalo, I swore I saw Alejandro walk past. I emailed Hester who told me to go up to him next time I saw him and tell him hi for her…which I did yesterday! I emailed her again, saying that he is beautiful, and this was her description of him:

Dear Eunice,
That’s funny about Alejandro. He is beautiful. He is also very interesting to talk to. He is really insightful and we used to just sit and tell each other stories. Good for my spanish….good for his patience! His artwork is really interesting too. I kind of felt we had a teacher and muse thing going on. He liked the fact I was lively and emotional and flitting around (geographically and mentally) and I loved his insights, wisdom and his peaceful self-fulfilled nature.

I am still hoping to make it to Oaxaca round Christmas time. Will keep you posted. Wouldn’t it be great to meet up again after all this time. I really did enjoy our short time getting to know each other in Kunming.

Are you enjoying living in mexico? How do you find life in Oaxaca? Your blogs have been great. It has been so nice for me to keep up to date on everything that is happening there politically and socially and also to hear about the people you meet and friends you’ve made. I felt sort of homesick even though it isn’t my home.

Serendipty friends!

I have almost finished my application for a Mexican FM3 year-long visa. Forms have to be filled out exactly right…with copies…and money paid to a bank. About $200 for the visa and another $40 for them to examine the forms. I have to show an income of $1000 a month. Four pictures, side and front. Two Mexican references, a letter of invitation (I’ll use my landlord) and a copy of his “credential” which is usually the voting card. And a copy of my rental contract. All this monkey business has taken a lot of time but my initial 90 day tourist visa I got at the airport upon arrival expires the end of August so I have some time.

At the CREATE alternative education program in Hillsboro/Forest Grove, I worked with two Mixtec indigenous cousins (see “One Oaxacan Family” entry). The parents are back in their village here.

Catalina says in yesterday’s email: “I wanted to talk to you on exactly where you are located. The reason why is because maybe you can visit my parents in Juxlataxca, Oaxaca. My mom and my dad are there now as we speak and I am not sure how far away you are from them. I know they would love to have you visit them. I know that there is hardly any tourist where they are at and my mom was saying that a few years ago they had a lot of asian tourist which was suprising.”

I am excited about the prospect of visiting the parents in their village, but can’t find it on my Oaxacan map. I will call Catalina, who is like the daughter I never had, on Saturday. She is working, going to school at Portland Community College, living with her significant other and has a little 2 year old that I haven’t seen yet. If I go back to Oregon to pick up my car as I am hoping to do I will definitely see her and her family.

Then I will be returning again to Oregon in January or February to attend to the sale of the farm in Salem.

Last night I talked to my son Doug and his wife Luk who are living in an isolated beach area of Koh Samui Thailand. They are planning on moving to the small town of Lamai. It will be better for them there…closer to things to do and they won’t have to ride his motorcycle so far in the wind and rain during the monsoon season to get to the market. A week ago, a palm tree fell on some electrical lines and shorted out their electronics and fans so hopefully they can get it all repaired.

Josh has been busy opening the “One East On Third” restaurant in the Hilton Hotel in Beijing China so don’t expect to hear much from him for awhile. Josh and Amy will be in China for at least three years so when my year is up here in Mexico I will return to Asia for a year…traveling back and forth between Thailand and China…taking an apartment somewhere as a base.

I found a great mail service in Oaxaca. Mailboxes Etc. has arranged to have U.S. postal mail go to an address in Miami and then to Oaxaca…bypassing the lousy Mexican postal service.

Update 12/2016: Mailboxes is no longer in Oaxaca