La casa de Frida (& Diego... but no one really cares about that)

On my last day in Mexico city I went to see the Museo de Frida Kahlo. A little back history on my obsession with Frida Kahlo: I fell in love with Frida's work in highschool when I had the opportunity to go to the Seattle Art Museum with Senor Smith and other students to see both Diego and Frida's paintings. The museum exhibit also included extensive biographical information, and Frida really had quite an interesting life. Then later my Auntie Phyl gave me a copy of the Frida Kahlo movie and I watched it a million times. I remember staying up late painting while watching the Frida movie in my dorm room. Inspirational. This all went hand in hand with my love for dia de los muertos art, the colors and adorable skeletons were really what made me interested in painting. So with this in mind, my trip to Frida's house was like a pilgrimage.

One whole section was the doodles and sketches she had done on envelopes, on pages of books, everywhere. I really liked this section because it is a good reminder that the greatest of artists also do little scribbles like I do in my notebooks. I stood in the room where Frida was born, now dedicated to letters to and from Frida and Diego. One letter in particular was really inspiring. Alejandro Gomez Arias (I think?), a boyfriend of Frida's, wrote her a letter in which he was talking about her talents and personality and he told her that she was an "uncommon woman." I am not sure if I can adequately describe my reaction to this statement, but it struck me that this was not only very true of Frida, it was also something that I hope will be true of myself. To me, being an "uncommon woman" is to be independent in thought, creative in expression, and to live inspired and passionate about all that one does, among so many other things.

Moving on, I was really just shocked that I was walking through her home, seeing her childhood toys, her mirrored bed, her cast that she painted on after the traumatic accident. After the museum I went to the Coyoacan post office to send my mask and a few other things to my parents. What an interesting experience that was. My initially reaction was "why the heck are these people being so nosy?!?" I really wasn't annoyed by the situation, it was just very different than the overall 'ignore everyone around you in public institutions' attitude that there is in the city. The idea that certain things are and are not ones business. They probably thought nothing of openly staring at everything I did, everything I put in the box and asking questions. Jen was helping me figure out how to send the mail and she said that she felt like the other post office patrons (upper class mexicans who tend to be lighter) looked shocked when she spoke to me in english, as if they didn't think a brown person would ever speak perfect english. I am sure both Jen and Rafa have had very interesting experiences being mexican-americans back in mexico. I thought I was almost out of the place when I didn't have brown paper to wrap the box, after a few moments of me looking totally confused a guard/postal worker wrapped the box for me which was really kind.

I am behind in the blog because I haven't had much time to be on the internet and haven't had a chance to upload photos. I have been going back and adding pictures to old blogs, something I will probably do from time to time... So be on the lookout for more pictures. This seems like a good time to announce that I am in Nicaragua, the land of lakes and volcanos! I am currently in Managua (which so many people have noted is a city without a center...very interesting that this is so often mentioned), but I will be flying to the atlantic coast on monday morning. I am really not sure if I will have internet access for the next week or so but I will be back in full swing with pictures and stories soon (I hope).

The pyramids and I

Dad: this guy reminds me of the never ending story movie you videotaped for me and watched a billion times with me when I was little. I promise I appreciate the figures more than their resemblence to creatures on my favorite childhood movies, I just couldn´t help myself.
The most impressive element to me was the different colors of the stones and the detail work of pressing smaller stones into the mortar. Beautiful.

...
Can you believe it!?!That´s the moon pyramid behind me. I got time to sit and sketch it in my journal. My journal sketches serve as a better reminder of experiences than actual photographs, maybe I´ll take pictures of my scribbles and post them here sometime. Thanks auntie hellen for the fancy scarf/buff wear, I was bound to get an earache from the wind but this kept my ears happy.

Rafa and I on top of the world. It´s a breath taking view looking down from the pyramid and we had already lost our breath hiking up the stairs. So we were especially confused by the people that walked all the way up just to light a cigarette at the top.

Mexico City is Crackin'

I am in Mexico city, I took the bus overnight and arrived here Monday morning. My friend Rafa met me and we spent the day 1) dropping off my stuff, 2) going to Coyoacan (a colonial area that is probably the closest thing to Oaxaca here), 3) going to the Zocalo and seeing the Catedral Metropolitana and other major sight-seeing areas. Outside of Palacio Bellas Artes I got the lovely view above. Turns out we had caught the "tail end" of a protest, I am pretty sure it was about the elections.

Then we went to walmart. Yes I went to Walmart in mexico. shame on me. It was really interesting though to see some of the differences. Having to hand over my little back pack to the attendant, to prevent theft. The demographics of people shopping were different. I suppose you would consider them "middle class" if there is a middle class. Walmart is more expensive than markets and street vendors so it attracts a wealthier crowd. Rafa reminded me to tip the baggers because they are unpaid teenagers.

The subways here are quite an experience. My first day here Rafa and I tried to take the subway from the bus station, but it was way too packed with people from northern mexico city heading to southern mexico city to work. We split up so I could use the womens car, and kind of stood there dumbfounded as I watched women struggle to get out of the subway car as packs of women shoved the women infront of them onto the car. I mean physically pushing and cramming as many people as possible into the car. I believe all the cars were that way at that time and trying for the womens cars was a better idea than being groped on the regular cars. We ultimately took a taxi to Reforma and walked through zona rosa (the capitol hill/broadway of mexico city) to take the subway to Rafa's from there.

When we visited the Zocalo I really enjoyed seeing the churches and buildings that are crumbling to bits. Catedral Metropolitana seems to be standing strong, although I hear that different parts of the structure are sinking at different rates which seems problematic. I have a very mixed reaction to these colonial churches on any given day, but Monday I really was disgusted by the Catedral. The very walls of the place include stones removed from the Aztec Templo Mayor. For me, the Catedral is the poster child of the physical and spiritual genocide that took place on this once sacred ground. These are things I will be thinking about througout latin america, it's just as challenging for me to understand the religious syncretism in this context as it is for me to sort out my own conflicting views between my identity as a Native person/traditional ways of knowing and my experiences with Christian churches. I have a feeling I will be writing more about this soon. For now I need to hand the lap-top back over to Rafa and work on my plans for tomorrow, which I have pretty much decided will be "Diego Day".

Just one little thing

There was really just one little thing that really upset me during my time in Oaxaca. In one of my Spanish lessons there was an activity where we were with partners making orraciones or Q & A conversations using information listed on a handout. When it came time to read them out loud, I read our first sentence: "Quien hacer las tortas?" and the teacher ofcourse corrected me because I left out the "va" between Quien and hacer. This is all good and useful, but then she went on to say (in spanish, Spain Spanish with the thhhhhhh sounds) that when I leave out the va I sound like an Indio. She then proceeded to repeat the sentence in the same voice that people use in the U.S. when they structure sentences and words into racist crap like: "Chief likum go big huntum."

I couldn't believe what was happening. Worse though, was that I couldn't explain in Spanish that I was offended that she would say such a thing (she doesn't speak English), so when my face fell she just went on to explain further. After a little of the shock wore off I was able to ask her why she used the word Indio, if that was a joke to her, and basically that I was offended. She apologized... I switched classes... problem solved? As it becomes more and more popular to be less and less politically correct I am sure more (white) people will tell me that I am too easily offended by this sort of thing. Part of me tells myself I am too easily offended sometimes. I cannot accept that perspective. It saddens me that behavior like this is considered acceptable, especially in an atmosphere that I assumed to be more professional. For anyone who doesn't know, Indigena is the appropriate and favored term by indigenous people in Latin America, Indio is a term that comes with many negative connotations.

This was really nothing compared to the racist verbal assault I experienced in Arizona over the summer, but it reopened some of the same wounds.

Last week or so in brief or not so brief:

Part of my time in Oaxaca has been dedicated to improving my Spanish skills. I took some Spanish lessons at a place that happened to have a few really good events planned around the Dia de los muertos celebrations. The mask making for example. The picture I posted before is a mask I made with plaster-y gauze, toilet paper and glue. I was lucky I brought my own small paintbrushes (wait...I might need to add those to the inventory list) so I could do some detail work on my "mascara". We made masks to where in a procession of our very own on November 1st, which took place after rounds of mezcal were poured and the band showed up. A truly hilarious site, bunch of gabachos dancing around in the street with a procession. When we made it back to the school there was pan de muerte and hot chocolate for all. There was mezcal for all as well, but the sight of it being poured from plastic jugs that resembled gas cans was kind of a turn off for me.

The school had an event organized for the night before (halloween), a trip to Xoxotlan cemeteries to see the celebrations and gatherings. But they wanted 250 pesos... which is way more than I was willing to pay. So instead I went with Mike and Vica on my first Oaxacan public transporation bus for 3 pesos and got the rest of the way to the cemeteries riding in a three-wheeled death trap taxi that I am sure my mother warned me to never use before I left. We arrived at the old cemetery at 8 pm, and got to see the beautiful sand paintings and offerendas outside. We walked through the cemetery, the graves were carefully decorated and families were either decorating, sitting quietly near the grave of their relative, or having conversations... We moved on to the newer cemetery and looked at the vendors and displays along the way. On one hand it was a very interesting thing to see, on the other hand I had the conviction of being a total intruder and an extension of the insensitive tourism industry that is leeching off of Oaxacano traditions. The reactions received from those with more legitmate reasons to be at the graveyard were mixed. One little abuelita sitting alone near the decorated candle-lit grave smiled and struck up a conversation, others ignored the gringo ghosts that were floating around and taking pictures.

A very different reaction that I cannot shake was from a young girl. She gave me a look, a look that I know very well. The same look that I would give (white) people who would pull over their car or come out of their houses to watch my dad and I dig for roots traditionally when I was her age. Unwelcome spectators with unnerving stares. That was it for me. I was done trying to justify taking photos (it's okay if I don't use the flash right? -wrong).

It's very different to go see and take pictures of the offerendas in the Zocalo and at family businesses... Which I enjoyed doing throughout the day along with taking more graffiti pictures. The evenings on the 31st, 1st, 2nd and even the third were full of processions and music and little children in costumes running up with sacks or plastic jack-o-lanterns hoping for spare pesos.

On November second I watched a day of the dead performance that told the history of the day of the dead celebrations in dance/music/drama. It was really an incredible performance set up outside Santo Domingo church with some unexpectedly large fireworks as the grand finale. Later I was at Nuevo Babel, a bar that serves some decent quesidillas and yummy hot chocolate AND is covered inside with work by the same graffiti artists/resistance artists that I have been looking out for. I really like spending time there knowing that it is a place of business that visibly shows support for resistance, for appo, for asaro, and for really really good music. Leo: you are the best tea-drinking, grin-wearing, guitar-playing man in Oaxaca!

Dia de muertos: Pictures now, stories later.

Instituto Cultural de Oaxaca

Nuevo Babel

I'd rather be dead than... hehe

The mask I made this week for dia de muertos! This is the best picture I have of it right now.
Getting ready for the processions!
Took the bus to XoXo
One of the smaller but very beautiful alters I have come across

Monte Alban en domingo pasado

I went to Monte Alban the on my second day in oaxaca (sunday). I spent a large part of that day wandering around the Zocalo and the historic center visiting the mercados, getting a free map and really great advice (the parts I could understand atleast) from two girls at an information desk, and taking pictures off graffiti while passersby looked at me like I'm crazy. I ended up at the internet cafe near where I was staying at about two en la tarde. I enjoyed seeing the historic center but I felt a little disappointed that I hadn't planned out what I wanted to do with the day. I tried to ask the man who runs the internet cafe if it was too late to take a bus to Monte Alban. My spanish is, well, awful really and he spoke no english... so I resorted to opening freetranslation.com on the computer and we typed back and forth to translate. He told me that he lives near Monte Alban and that he could take me. I know what your thinking. This sounds super fishy. So I told him when I needed to be back here and basically straight out said that my mom would not want me to take risks like this. Ultimately, my instinct told me that he is a good person. I went to grab my sweater, came back and we were off.

This is the kind of situation where, in retrospect, you wonder what it is that motivates a person to go out of their way for you. At the time, part of me (the careful-fearful-paranoid part of me) thought that the scenario in general seemed like the motivation could be a very awkward better-to-be-avoided one. But as soon as we got in the car it became clear that Javier is very proud of his identity as both a Oaxacano and Mextico. He deeply loves oaxaca and monte alban and was really excited to tell me about dia de los muertos, foods of oaxaca, his mextico background, and point out places of interest along the way. The neighborhood he lives in is right below Monte alban, he pointed it out as we passed the large clusters of buildings painted in cool blues, vibrant oranges and reds. At Monte alban he tried to get me in for free, and I probably could have passed if I were wearing jeans and just less touristy stuff in general... but instead I paid the small fee and Javier and I started walking to the tombas. Monte alban was built mostly by zapotecs, but the tombas (tombs) were later used by mixtecos and it was so much more appropriate to visit this sacred place with Javier rather than a clump of tourists. As we walked around Javier was able to point out what things were originals or replicas and showed me his favorite viewpoints. From that elevation we could see oaxaca and the surrounding villages/pueblos and he told me where to go for alibres, for other specialties and also told me about Mitla. He added that in his opinion Monte alban is much more beautiful than Mitla, in such a way that also conveyed that this bias is intentional and due to his ties to the land in oaxaca and monte alban.

Javier is also an architect, I wonder if & how his studies as an architect affected the way he sees monte alban. I just stood there in awe of the hand built structures. A beautiful sacred place. I reminded myself as I was walking that this is sacred ground, because I think that is something that is easy to forget after so many years of tourism and postcards and guidebooks and archaeologists "discovering" what many of their ancestors intended to destroy. And it is strange to be there with tourists that chose to wear "traditional" attire that they purchase in boutiques in town...

On the ride back Javier continued my lesson in oaxacan culture by telling me that it offends him when men whistle and act machismo towards women, and that it is best to ignore them. He also taught me some oaxacan spanish, expressions and such. The ride back to the internet cafe went by quickly with our laughter and attempts to converse. I was really amazed that we could communicate as well as we did. I could almost forget that we didn't speak the same language at some points, which sounds ridiculous now that I write it down. When he said good bye he taught me one final word: cuidate.

After my conversations with Javier, I went to see more of the areas surrounding the zocalo with a confidence that I could communicate. And with my confidence in my communication skills and overall presence in Oaxaca came my appetite (funny how that happens) so I was very happy to find a street vendor selling grilled elote before heading back to my comfy bed.

My parents and my physical therapist Amber (hi amber!) would be happy to hear that I climbed up and down the steps of the ruins without knee problems. hurray!

incredible.
Earlier that day I had Champurrado y pan muerto at the mercado de novembre 20. Champurrado is a hot chocolate drink with maize in it, so it had a soup-like quality. Oscar from the Mexico City airport said I had to try it, thanks Oscar!