January 1, 2008

Last week was a busy one. On Thursday, December 27, Lisa, one of my roommates at Hostel Paulina, and I went to Monte Alban. Life as it was experienced by people in those ancient times still has threads woven into the tapestry of the present. For example, the market stalls that crowd many of Oaxaca's streets today are a vestige of this ancient past, when the open areas in the midst of Monte Alban's temples, palaces and dwellings were vast marketplaces.

On Friday, Lisa and I traveled by local bus with Marcel, a Swiss national, to a nature preserve in San Felipe del Agua, one of the suburbs of Oaxaca. The area is also San Felipe's watershed. There is a checkpoint where visitors are supposed to sign in; but there was no one there, so we just walked on through. Marcel has lived in Oaxaca for six years and knows the trails well, so we forged ahead. As we climbed the mountain on which San Felipe del Agua is situated, we saw animals - horses and goats - grazing in small meadows against a backdrop of mountains. Higher still, on a path that looked like a well-dug ditch (as though someone had taken the time to square the corners with a shovel) we suddenly found ourselves face to face with several burrows treading the path toward us, laden with firewood and accompanied by a sad-eyed campesino. A while later, on the same path, we were confronted by a bunch of bulls ( maybe six to ten of them). To our relief, they seemed peaceful. At one point we had to slip by one of them in a very small clearing in order to continue on the path. Again, no reaction. As we reached what seemed like a tropical desert forest (if such a thing exists), we met up with a tarantula crossing a rock. After a while we reached the foot of a waterfall and had some magical Mexican time there just luxuriating in the tranquility.

Coming back to the city after the quiet of the mountain, I became intensely aware of the sounds of Oaxaca. There's a traffic cop on nearly every corner, and from the roof of the hostel you can hear their eardrum-shattering whistles from several different corners at once as they try to keep the traffic moving. Not that this solves the problem of traffic jams. In Oaxaca, the idea of leaving the intersection free when the light turns red does not seem to have occurred to anyone.

Mexicans have a wonderful tolerance for confusion. They seem to be able to sort out the sounds that pertain to them or that interest them, and to ignore the rest. I don’t know that all Mexicans like fireworks, but fireworks – and not just the “official” kind provided by the government or the church for special occasions, but those set off by children who would be deemed way too young to handle fireworks on el otro lado (of the border) seem to be an integral part of any celebration. Maybe it's just "bread and circuses" for the poor, but Mexicans don't need a big excuse to celebrate anything.

La Noche de los Rabanos here in Oaxaca is a good example: According to legend, it was started 350 years ago by Dominican priests to help local farmers market their produce. In 1897 it was taken over by the Oaxaca Municipal Government, and draws many tourists (and many more locals) every December 23 to view enormous radishes carved into fantastic forms – from Gueleguetza dancers to la Juquila (one of the Mexican pantheon of "virgenes" whose feast days are celebrated throughout the year) to nativity scenes.

Mexicans' tolerance for chaos is also visible on the narrow sidewalks, where people do not keep to the right as is customary north of the border. I was walking on a crowded street with a friend a couple of weeks ago when he expressed annoyance at the way people walk wherever they find an opening on the sidewalk instead of keeping to the right, or stop to chat with a group, completely blocking the way and forcing others to walk in the street to get around them. Suddenly my friend stopped, face to face-to-face with a man walking toward him on "his" side of the street. The man looked at my friend as though he were loco, just stopping there for no apparent reason, blocking the flow. I had to laugh. There's no way anyone will change the way things are done here. It's like trying to herd cats - and not too different from walking on Ste. Catherine Street in Montreal, except that the streets here are narrower.

Crossing the street in Oaxaca is another experience. Usually you have to wend your way among the cars blocking the intersection, but on some corners there is a pedestrian crossing light, similar to those chirping lights common on el otro lado. However, instead of the flashing static figure of a person crossing the street, this one is moving. At first the figure is shown walking at a normal pace. As the seconds remaining before the light changes are digitally counted down, the figure begins to run faster and faster, until the light changes. It's not as though pedestrians are completely powerless in the face of traffic – although cars do have the upper hand generally. Where there are no lights or cops, a pedestrian or two venturing to cross the street during the smallest break in the bumper-to-bumper traffic can stop the flow and give cars moving in the other direction a chance to go.

Last night Marcel and I went to the zócalo to celebrate the New Year. It was fantastico. There was an 8-piece band playing Latin music. Entire families were out to celebrate together. Everyone was dancing. As the band counted down the seconds to midnight, the crowd began to prepare for the big moment with firecrackers, sparklers and shaving cream (for squirting at people). At the stroke of midnight Marcel and I smashed eggs (emptied of their chicken contents and filled with confetti) on each other's heads. Everything is just fine with me, and so the only wishes I have for the New Year in Oaxaca are for Oaxaqueños and Oaxaqueñas: that they will be rid of their odious governor, Ulises Ruiz Ortiz; that the political prisoners taken from the uprising of 2006 will be released and the "disappeared" ones will be returned; and that the people of Oaxaca will begin to enjoy the kind of prosperity and tranquility that seems impossible under the current regime. As things stand, people are not even receiving the minimal provisions one should expect from a government. There should be no hungry people begging in the street; no handicapped people selling nuts and fruits on the sidewalk, and no children selling chicles in the zócalo when they should be in school.



feral@renegaderesearch.org