December 24, 2007 - Oaxaca

This is one of those odd occasions when I stay "home" to write my journal and prepare a dispatch. Last night was la Noche de los Rabanos (the Night of the Radishes). It was quite cold and windy, and the queue to view the radishes was around the block, so I’m glad I went to see them early in the afternoon. Also, the zócalo was full of police. I didn’t know whether it signified anything or not, but I have no intention to get caught up in a revolutionary situation that I do not even understand yet. In my current situation, my “activism” is focused on learning to speak Spanish well enough to have some level of meaningful dialogue with the people of Oaxaca.

I arrived in Oaxaca last Monday (December 17th) at 2am, after an 11-and-a-half hour bus trip that I thought would only take five hours. (If you’re traveling in Mexico, and if travel time matters to you, it would be a good idea to check, since the trip can take anywhere from five or six hours to 12.) According to some, the longer trip is easier. The shorter route goes straight up into the mountains from Pochutla, on the Pacific coast near Puerto Escondido – a bumpy ride on bad roads. The bus I took stopped in Salina Cruz -- still on the coast after 5 hours. And then we began to ascend. We passed pueblos where the only entrance is through an ornate arch inscribed with the name of the place; and others that consist of a few houses, maybe a hundred people, an unpaved promenade (instead of a zócalo) and a roadside snack bar with a couple of white plastic tables and chairs advertising coca-cola.

Mostly there was farmland, with farmers working in the fields with horses and burros. Every so often the bus slowed down at a military checkpoint, where a few soldiers were milling around in the heat of the day (which was almost hot enough, I imagine, to make a gun go off by itself). They looked bored and tense. As far as I know, none of them got on the bus. They may have, closer to Oaxaca de Juárez; but once it got dark and there was nothing left to see, I went to sleep. Arriving at the beautiful Oaxaca bus terminal so late at night, with the hostels probably closed, I thought I would probably have to sleep in the bus station until daybreak.

But, as usual, I had good luck. A man approached and asked me (in English) if I speak English. At that moment all I could say was, “¡Si, si, si!” He asked where I was staying. When I told him I would be going to Hostel Paulina in the morning, he told me I could probably get a room for the night at the hotel where he was staying and offered to phone to reserve one for me. This is how I met Juan Sandoval, a research librarian at the University of Texas, El Paso, and also a noted collector of Mexican art.

And so, I spent my first night in Oaxaca at a hotel. For $35, I got a comfortable bed for a few hours and a warm shower in the morning. But it was still a hotel room, which has a very different atmosphere than a hostel dormitorio. In my notes I have many anecdotes about my hostel experiences, mostly involving other hostellers. Many of these will be included when I write a summary of my trip in the spring. As I’ve mentioned before, I meet the most interesting people in hostels. It goes without saying that hostellers have a greater sense of adventure than those who opt for the familiar, as-it-is-back-home environment of even a moderately-priced hotel.

Juan is an exception to my rule that hotel tourists are usually quite boring – although he does travel with more luggage that I’ve ever seen anyone traveling with. (He brings his own sheets, pillow and duvet, as well as his own coffee maker, an assortment of teas, etc.) Now visiting Oaxaca for the ninth time, Juan has been invaluable in providing me with an introduction to some of the sides of Oaxaca that tourists with itineraries don’t often get exposed to. He’s very gregarious, and if he doesn’t know everyone in the city, he knows quite a few people who represent a real cross-section of Oaxaqueños – from artists to café-owners to Federales (Federal Preventative Police). We run into each other every couple of days and spend time browsing in the shops and galleries, meeting artists and drinking margaritas at La Biznaga. It is Juan who introduced me to the Café Nuevo Mundo Coffee Roaster, which serves – I think – some of the best coffee in Oaxaca. It also has wireless internet.

On my first full day in Oaxaca I found the Plata/Galeteria, a hostel on Av. Independencia, about two blocks east of the zócalo. It is a real “resort” hostel – as in “the last resort” – in a dark, dreary, decrepit building, with no lockers in the rooms, no toilet seats and no internet. Of course, Hostal Shalom had no lockers in the room, no toilet seats in the sanitarios outside the habitaciones, and no internet; but it was a great place to stay and well worth 80 pesos a night. (Hostal Shalom does have lockers in one of the breezeways, and wireless internet is available for five pesos a day at the Mini-Super on the Rinconada.) I only stayed in the last resort hostel three days before moving on to Paulina International Youth Hostel.

Hostel Paulina exceeds the standards of any hostel I’ve ever stayed in. It’s a little more expensive (125 pesos a night), but the place is beautiful and clean. A huge breakfast is included, and an internet connection is available at the desk. Although I prefer to use the wireless connection at the Café Nuevo Mundo Coffee Roaster, it’s nice to know that an internet connection is available at the hostel.

From the beginning, Oaxaca has been my primary destination in Mexico. This is the Mexico I’ve been looking for. I’ve fallen completely in love with Oaxaca. Juan told me he knew I would from my first day when he took me on a guided walking tour. There is magic in the air here. People are happy and friendly, despite the grinding poverty that so many of them are living in. The poverty is the most difficult part for me. I would like to help, but what I’m able to do (or any tourist is able to do) is only a drop in the ocean. I have been working as a volunteer two mornings a week at the Oaxaca Street Children Center, which helps over 500 desperately poor kids. One of the most important things they do is organize support for children attending school. Education is not free here. It costs only $150 US per year to send a child to primary school, and $225 a year for secondary school. It’s the best gift, and the best investment you can make in the life of a child. Many children who should be in school are, instead, making the rounds of the zócalo from morning until night selling “chicles” (gum), necklaces, scarves, toys, wooden combs and whatever else they can turn around for a few pesos. And, unless they can receive an education, the chances are they will spend the rest of their lives doing whatever they can to get by.

After a few quiet months, tourists are beginning to come back. Oaxaca’s heavily tourist-dependent local economy is beginning to recover from the shut-down of the city during the APPO uprising last year. As usual, the poorest continue to suffer the most; but almost everyone has suffered. People were killed, including Brad Will, an Indymedia video-journalist from New York (without whose death hardly anyone north of the Mexican border would even have heard of APPO), and an estimated 30 Mexicans. The whereabouts of many others is unknown. Many are still in hiding. Many are still in prison. Some who were arrested were tortured, including many women who were raped. According to people I've spoken with who were there, 50 to 70 thousand APPO supporters occupied an area extending three or four blocks in every direction from the zócalo. The zócalo itself is huge, taking up the equivalent of several city blocks (except for the corner where the cathedral stands). According to the people I spoke with, The whole area was filled with tents. Vendors were offering their wares. But nothing was coming in or going out, and so food was scarce. The toilet facilities available in the restaurants around the zócalo were completely inadequate for the number of people depending on them, and so backed-up toilets and sewage overflows became a problem. Federales, various police forces and paramilitaries fighting to take the zócalo were confronted by burning vehicles blocking the streets leading to it. One person told me that about 30 buildings were burned. While the uprising was quelled last year, the movement that gave rise to it has not been crushed. APPO has announced that more actions can be expected.

feral@renegaderesearch.org