February 26, 2008

The bus arrived in Juchitán around 10 pm last night. Rather than ask a taxi to take me to a hostel, I took a room at the Hotel Mallo, beside the bus station. No es malo. It’s actually quite nice. It was 220 pesos a night – more than a hostel would have been; but some of the difference would have gone to taxi fare. The rest goes for sheer convenience. Since the bus leaves for San Cristóbal de las Casas at a quarter past midnight, I paid for two nights. In the meantime, I’m watching TV and enjoying the air-conditioning. I’ll take a nice hot shower and write this post, and then I’ll be travelling again.

This morning I went to the tourist information centre, about three blocks from the hotel. I’m so glad I did. Otherwise I might not have wandered in the direction of the heart of a very interesting city – the mercado. That’s where I discovered how really special Juchitán is. Michel Lopez at the tourist centre told a local story about how Juchitán came to have its unique character: God was moving over the land, carrying two bags. In one bag were the men and women with whom he was populating the world. In the other were homosexuals. As God was passing over Juchitán, the bag holding the homosexuals broke and they fell into Juchitán. Gays are not tolerated here: they are esteemed and considered to be very special. (It gives a whole new meaning to Guelaguetza.) The Zapotecs of Juchitán are a matrilineal society. Businesses are owned by women and passed on through their daughters. To have a gay son assures a woman that she will have companionship and be cared for in her old age. (I remember a man telling me once that if women ruled the world, men would “turn gay” – and now I can answer with assurance, “And what would be so bad about that?") In Juchitán, in contrast to other places I’ve been in Mexico, women are highly visible and very self-assured. While men are friendly, they are not overtly macho. After the pathetic displays of machismo I’ve seen elsewhere (and not just among Mexican men – many gringo males feel quite at home with machismo) it was refreshing. It’s something that must be experienced - especially if you’re a woman. From my perspective, it felt right. I imagine it’s like the way men generally feel comfortable living in patriarchal societies.

Not many tourists come to Juchitán. And so, being recognizably Caucasian, when I hear a woman’s voice (it’s always a woman) calling out, “¡Güera, ven, mira !” I know she has to be referring to me, wanting me to come and look at what she is selling – and buy something. I heard it a lot today. It’s funny to be called the equivalent of “Whitey.” It’s not necessarily a pejorative term. Mexicans often identify people by skin colours: negrito / negrita, moreno / morena, güero / güera (among others), as well as by ethnicities and places of birth. Güeras (like me) come from Güerolandia, which is also called Gringolandia. It’s fascinating.

While I was in the zócalo today I met some wonderful people. As I sat just enjoying watching all the activity there, a woman with a baby girl sat beside me and started a conversation. It was obvious that she was curious to know something about the new gringa in town. We talked about children mostly. I find that being a mother and a grandmother opens the way for many good contacts with people (women mostly). I was surprised when the woman asked me if I’d like to hold the baby, whose name is Naomi Fernanda. Well, of course I did.

A little later I went to the Mercado and bought beautifully embroidered huipils for my granddaughters, and then went to the Foro Ecológico to see displays of regional plants, turtles and iguanas. While I was there, one of the workers asked me if I speak Zapotec, as if it were normal to expect visiting gringas to speak his language. He translated some of the signs in Zapotec for me and suggested I get a book and learn Zapotec. I told him that it would be very difficult to learn Zapotec without being able to hear the sounds of the words in the book. But I was so impressed with his friendliness and his desire to share his language with a foreign visitor.

I can’t begin to describe the friendliness of the overwhelming majority of the Mexicans I’ve met in my travels. I think it’s something that most North Americans seldom experience in our home countries. It’s even more impressive when you consider that gringos, in general, have never given Mexicans much in the line of positive experiences. Once in a while I meet someone who openly shows a dislike of gringos in general, but it’s rare. Mostly I meet people who are curious about my life in Canada and are open to the possibility of meeting one who isn’t in Mexico to drive a hard bargain, or who doesn’t look down on Mexican people. Today I met one woman who definitely didn’t want to do business with a gringa. She was selling medicinal herbs. She told me that a particular bunch of leaves was epazote, which is used to cure intestinal parasites. (They are very common here, as I came to know by personal experience.) When I asked her, “¿Cuenta cuesta?” (“how much is it?”), she gave me a stern look and shook her head. I said, "Gracias" and walked away.

As I was returning to the hotel, I saw a woman sitting on the steps beside the street. She was wearing a t-shirt that read: “My mom says I’m a real catch.” I translated it for her (like most Mexicans who wear shirts with messages in English, she had no idea what it said.) We sat and talked for a few minutes, and then she showed me some old Mexican coins she had bought. I admired them – but not too much, because I figured she was probably trying to sell them, and I wasn’t interested in buying them. But no … she wanted to give them to me. She said, “No, es un regalo.” In return I gave her the necklace of flowers I’d bought earlier.

I didn’t mention that Marcel arrived back in Puerto Escondido a couple of hours before I left. We just had time for lunch and to catch up on news. He had to pay a “fine” for overstaying his visa, and then spent a couple of days in Tapachula, sick and unable to send an email.

I’ll always have special memories of Juchitán. And now I’m off to San Cristóbal de las Casas.