The Juquila Library and Miscellaneous Cool Stuff
We go to the library in Juquila, just briefly, Julia needs to take back a book. It is, as you would expect, one large room, with books lining the walls. And I don’t try to take pictures to show you how small it was ~ I think that would have been kind of rude.
In many ways, it is just what we would expect from a library in the summer.
There’s are kid activities and a colorful bulletin board.
And they’ve been doing projects.
See them up above the shelves? Here’s some flowers in a different part of the room:
And my favorite, the Don Quixote’s.
There were probably 20 of them. I particularly like these two.
When I win the lottery, I think I’ll donate a new room of books for the Juquila library. Wouldn’t that be fun?
Along the same lines of “just cool stuff,” here are some of the wood carving that Conan’s friend’s father does.
Here’s Conan’s friend, holding a baby Jesus his Dad made.
Yes, that’s Julia in her cute cap in the corner…
Here’s the wood carver himself, with a crucifix he’s made.
Pretty amazing, huh?
Nothing particularly poignant or different today. Just cool stuff I saw.
Here’s some coconuts in a tree.
Well, I guess that’s a little different from what you see in Kentucky…
In Oaxaca City, as I’m drinking my morning coffee, I look up to see hundreds of bike riders turning the corner into the square. Don’t know what they were doing.
National Bike Day, maybe?
Also in Oaxzca City, we go to a little store that sells mezcal, and sample a number of varieties. The display of their wares looks like this.
It looks like a shrine, doesn’t it? Yes, of course I bought some.
Compare it to this:
Ok, that’s not really a shrine, they’re selling souvenirs too. Maybe it’s just the shiny colors that made me think of this, which is at the shrine.
I’m downloading the pictures off my camera in the next day or so, so I’ll be back to talk about the roads and some stuff about the beach we went to in Rio Grande. But today, I’m going to the State Fair with my sister. We’ve been doing that every year for ~ well, just about forever.
I LOVE the fair!
Food in Oaxaca
I am not the type of person who looks at unfamiliar food and says “Ewwwww…” My mother was a “try three bites of everything” kind of parent, so I’m not afraid of experimenting.
And I already have a “food in Mexico” story from when I was nine. We spent a month in Mexico then, and I remember going to a nice restaurant , where I ordered fish.
When it arrives, the waiter presents it to me with a flourish. In an oval dish ~ at one end, the tail almost hangs over it. At the other end, is the head ~ the eye staring straight up at me.
I gulp.
The waiter sets the plate down, beaming.
My mother waits til he walks away to explain that in many cultures, the head is left on while cooking because it enhances the flavor of the fish.
I just keep looking at the eye, which is looking back at me.
And then Mom asks me if I want them to remove the head before I eat it.
With great relief, oh, yes, please, and thank you very much!
She says something to the waiter about people in America being funny about things like the head, and asks him to remove it. He is clearly a bit surprised and baffled, but very nice about it.
I eat the fish, head removed, and it was delicious ~ I still remember that too.
So I’m not surprised when Senor Reforma serves fish fresh from the ocean with head and tail still attached. He serves it battered and fried one day, baked in the wood burning oven the next.
His wife, Senora Reforma, makes fresh tortillas for each meal,
She places the batter in a wooden press,
presses them flat
removes them carefully
and bakes them on the wood-burning stove.
We serve ourselves the fish, from platters. It is not filleted either time, and this is not a surprise either. You just open it, remove the backbone, other visible bones, and eat carefully.
I deftly avoid taking any of the head.
It is delicious. Absolutely delicious. Forks are optional. We eat by tearing off pieces of fresh tortillas, still warm, and wrapping them around pieces of fish, making our own tiny tacos. They are better at this than I am, managing to eat daintily, while I eat more like a five year old.
We can eat our salad the same way. The salad is lettuce, tomato, lots of avocado, and onion. Rather than salad dressing, we squeeze fresh lime over it. I watch Senor Reforma unwrap the limes from the green leaves around each one ~ that’s how fresh they are.
Unlike Mexican restaurants here, not every meal comes with beans and rice. Sometimes that’s part of it, often not. Meat is a big staple though ~ chicken, pork, beef, and so on. Senor Reforma serves seafood, Paulina serves meat from the local farms, or Arturo brings her some from places he goes that have good meat.
We have meatballs at Paulina’s, that her sister comes over to make for us.
Pasta and potatoes are not staples. Everything is served with tortillas, tostadas, empanadas or tacos. A friend of Conan’s stops by with some creviche for us to try.
It’s in the plastic cups with spoons – ignore the flowered cup with my coffee. I’m familiar with shrimp creviche, so I learn that “creviche” refers to the way it’s fixed. It’s a little spicy, but not too hot, even for me, and I like it.
The afternoons we spend at the beach include snacks ~ tortillas with melted cheese, then you can add bits of other food to ~ shrimp, meat, diced tomato, onion, avocado. Lots of avocado, which I love.
I have shrimp cocktail, which is cut-up shrimp, mixed with onion, maybe, and some avocado, I think, and served in a glass cup with a kind of cocktail sauce. Delicious.
Everything is fresh. I don’t know if Paulina has a can opener. There are no cans in sight.
Here’s Emmanuel with some sugar cane.
You can peel it and slice it, and chew on a piece, sort of sucking the sugar out of it. That’s what he has in his mouth.
In Puerto Escondido, I order shrimp soup. It’s very tasty, and comes with probably 10 or 12 whole shrimp in it.
Yes, whole. With the head. I hadn’t thought about it, but realize it when they bring it and I see the thin, red feelers from the one of the heads hanging over the side of the bowl.
For just a minute, I sigh. Damn.
But that’s ok. I scoop each one out, remove the head, peel it, and enjoy some delicious, fresh from the ocean, shrimp. Life is good.
Paulina tells a story about Emmanuel that amuses us all. He was eating some fish, with the head on, and she says to him, “Hey, Emmanuel, are you going to eat that eye?”
He grins and says, “No, because I want him to see me eating him.” Or something like that.
I laugh, even though I’m pretty sure I don’t know get the context of why they think that’s funny. I laugh because it’s the exact opposite of the way I felt at nine, confronted with that fishy eye looking up at me. It reminds me that so many things we think are “the way things are,” are really just the way we’re used to things being.
Celebrations
Warning: This is about celebrations, but it’s not necessarily a “feel good” post.
Lots of celebrations in Juquila. In all of Mexico, I suppose, but I mostly know Juquila.
Of course, girls have a quinceañera, ( Spanish: “fifteen years celebration”) also called quince años. According to the on-line Encyclopedia Britannica:
“…this is the Mexican celebration of a girl’s 15th birthday, marking her passage from childhood to adulthood. The traditional quinceañera is both a religious and a social event that emphasizes the importance of the family and society in the life of young people.”
I didn’t go to any quinceaneras. Conan described them to us, and they sound like a huge big deal. I’m not sure how I feel about celebrating a 15 year old girl’s transition to adulthood, but am not going to worry about that today.
I saw this celebration outside the church, with dancers:
I don’t know what they were celebrating. It kind of reminded me of World Fest ~ isn’t that funny? And the dance was similar to Irish clogging, at least to my untrained eye.
What I remember best from that part of the afternoon is watching a group of children playing. They get a ball stuck in a tree. Several adults try different strategies to get the ball down, while others of us watch hopefully.
A stick is not long enough. Another man is not able to shake the tree limbs enough to get the ball down. A third man has a package of some kind. He throws the package at the ball, and succeeds ~ in getting the package stuck in the tree too.
We move on then, and I wonder if the ball and the package are still up there, even now.
Here is another celebration. I hear the music from Paulina’s house and come out to take some pictures.
It goes on for a long time. After it is almost gone, I ask Conan what the celebration is. He hesitates a minute ~ shrugs, “I don’t know,” then says ~ “Wait! Yes, I do. It’s the three year birthday celebration! ‘Coz look – here she comes with her parents.”
I missed the picture, you’ll have to imagine it. At the end of the parade, a cute three year old girl dressed in a long pink dress, with a full skirt, walking along holding her mommy’s hand on one side, daddy on the other ~ presumably, anyhow.
“Wow,” I say. “That’s a big birthday party for a three year old.”
Conan nods, frowning a little. “Yes,” he says, “that’s because three years, I think, is considered some kind of cut-off, like if you make it to 3 years old, the parents are grateful and have a special party because you’re probably going to live.”
I’m not sure what to think of this ~ that’s why I miss the picture, standing there pondering.
But I decide it makes perfect sense. In fact, I kind of wonder why we don’t do it.
Surely everywhere the early years are the most risky for losing a child. Do we just prefer not to think about it? I can’t think of anything we do that is this kind of recognition or celebration.
Of course, the easy answer would be if the mortality rate were lots higher for children under 3 in Mexico than in the U.S. But when I consult the World Bank information, I’m not convinced that’s it.
I don’t find data for under three years old, but there are statistics for deaths under 5 years old per 1000 live births. And there is a difference ~ in the U.S. it’s 8 per thousand, in Mexico, it’s 17, as of 2011. And that seems significant.
The CIA “The World Factbook” ranks countries by rate of death of infants under one year, estimating for 2012. By this standard:
Mexico is ranked 104th with 16.77. The U.S. is ranked 174th with 5.98.
If that sounds like a big difference, consider that Afghanistan is first, with over 121 deaths per 1000.
France,(212) Spain (213) and Italy (214) each have about 3 deaths per 1000.
Japan is 221 with 2 deaths, and Monaco is last with only 1,8 deaths of infants per 1000 live births predicted in 2012.
I think it’s interesting that the U.S. number drops from 8 deaths for the under-5 category to about 6 for the under 1-year old, while Mexico’s number is about the same. I don’t think it’s a straight comparison, but if the U.S. had 8, we would be in the 150’s, along with Bosnia and Latvia. And does that suggest that we have a higher rate of infant mortality than Mexico between one and five years old?
I know, you can’t compare different sets of data like that. It’s just something to think about, right?
But I don’t think the answer to this cultural difference lies in the data.
I think the difference ~ maybe ~ is in our tendency, in this country, to want to avoid thinking about death. We don’t want to talk about it or think about and really, we’d prefer for nobody to do it. Ever. Which would be interesting, wouldn’t it? Imagine family reunions with 10 and 12 generations…
Ok, that’s silly, but you know what I’m saying ~ or if you don’t, it would take me a whole other blog post (at least) to explain it.
I don’t like thinking about death either. Particularly the deaths of children under the age of 5. But they happen. We can’t prevent them all.
In Mexico, when this particular bad thing doesn’t happen, they celebrate.
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Data sources:
* http://data.worldbank.org/indicator/SH.DYN.MORT
** https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/rankorder/2091rank.html
Meet Emmanuel
The first time I take Emmanuel’s picture, he is too thrilled for words.
He is four. His mother, an older brother, younger brother, and younger sister live next door to Paulina. His mother is expecting another baby.
Emmanuel, however, has adopted Conan’s parents, Paulina and Arturo (Conan’s step-dad.)
Emmanel started just spending time there, when he was younger. Hanging out with Arturo in the store that Paulina owns, below where they live.
He watches for a while. Just hangs out. At some point, he begins to climb into Arturo’s lap, and falls asleep. When it’s time for bed, Arturo would carry him home.
I don’t have a good picture of Arturo downloaded yet, but here’s a picture of them together with Lucia.
Arturo has a good aura, and a gentle way with him. Paulina is warm and nurturing.
After a while, Emmanuel begins to ask for food.
When Arturo goes away for the day to collect and sell coconuts, Emmanuel sometimes goes with him. They get home late, but Emmanuel’s mother doesn’t mind.
When people talk about Emmanuel’s mother, there is a lot of tsking. I won’t do that here. I don’t know her, but I’d guess that, for whatever reason, she’s overwhelmed and not able to take care of her kids as well as they need, probably not as well as she’d like to.
Emmanuel is welcome with Arturo and Paulina. Paulina feeds him and makes him take a bath and go to bed at a reasonable time, and when he falls and bangs his head really hard, she takes him to the hospital.
Arturo is a role model. Emmanuel wants to grow up to be just like Arturo. He plans to work with him when he’s old enough, and refers to him as his papa.
One day, Emmanuel picks up a knife and is trying to cut something, Paulina takes the knife from him, saying, “Do you want to end up like Arturo?” referring to the work accident that left Arturo missing a finger.
“Si!” says Emmanuel passionately, “Si! I want to be just like Arturo,” as Paolina gently takes the knife from him and deftly cuts the bread he was hacking away at.
Paolina gets him an activity book and he carefully writes the numbers and does the elementary math with great pleasure. He doesn’t like school, he says, but he’s thrilled with the coloring book I bring him.
Little by little, he spends more and more time at Paolina’s house.
One day, he brings a little bag of clothes over. He uses the kind of bag potato chips come in.
Then another.
It takes him 3 trips with his little bag, but he brings all his clothes to Paolina’s house and stows them under the bed he sleeps in.
That night, when Paolina tells him, “It’s time to take a bath, go home and get your clothes,” he says, “No ~ look!! I have them right here already.”
He begins sleeping in an extra room. Paulina talks to his mother, who is ok with it.
Here he is with us at the shrine of Juquila, holding the flower I bought to leave there.
With Julia and Conan at the shrine.
He calls Conan “mi hermano,” my brother. He was a tad worried about Lucia at first, but is content now that he’s sure he won’t lose his place in the sun, and greets her happily in the morning – Lu-tia!” which amuses everyone.
Here he is when we go to visit some people – a man who does some wonderful wookwork, which I’ll show you later. Emmanuel finds a little tricycle and rides around happily.
Here, he decides to insert himself into the picture I’m taking at the shrine.
But by the end of the trip, I’ve taken so many pictures of him that when I pull my camera out again, he flops on the hammock and moans a bit, as if to say, “Really? Again?” Just like my kids used to do.
Resilient children. Children who are born into difficult situations and manage to thrive anyhow.
Often, they have a feeling, early in life, that they don’t belong in their family. And they have at least one other adult in their life who is a positive influence, who is there for them.
Emmanuel certainly has both of those. As he told Paulina, having successfully transferred his belongings to her house, “Soy arriva!”
“I have arrived.”
A Trip to the Dentist ~ in Juquila
I have been having a slight dental problem – with my gum, actually. I won’t go into detail, cause who needs to hear all that, right? Suffice to say, I had a pretty good idea what the problem is, and have been treating it myself, but have been worried that it would get worse.
It hasn’t actually hurt, it’s just a little annoying. And a bit worrisome.
Conan and his mother both offered to call his cousin, who’s a doctor, and see if he would look at it or see what he recommended. Or there’s a dental clinic down the street I could go to.
But I don’t like going to the dentist at the best of times.
So I put it off.
Today, I decided to be a big girl and get it checked out. Conan made the phone call to his cousin, who recommends the dentist down the street.
No appointment, no phone call, we walk down the street (in the rain. It is Juquila.)
Office hours are 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. – every day, I think. There’s no receptionist, but the man in the pharmacy next door, which is connected by an open door, makes a quick phone call. He advises Conan that the dentist isn’t there, but will be in about 40 minutes if we want to wait.
My Seven Counties friends will recognize this as “just-in-time” scheduling. I was glad they’d see me without an appointment, and didn’t mind having to wait.
We decide to walk home and come back a bit later, which we do.
Here’s the street we walk down:
I actually took that earlier from his mother’s 2nd floor balcony. It’s the street at it’s busiest, because there’s a full size bus right in front of the house and a truck and a van behind it. The other cars are parked.
Here’s the street a few minutes later:
Yes, that’s a burro next to the taxi. He was in the picture before, next to the white truck, eating grass on the side of the road, before he decided it was time to mosey on.
Here, a woman passes with a tray of desserts balanced on her head, like the Kizito cookie lady, only it’s not uncommon here.
When we go back to the clinic, it’s another five or ten minutes til the dentist arrives. He is young (to me, anyhow) and soft-spoken. Of course, he doesn’t speak English, and poor Conan has to translate for me.
It’s an odd feeling, being at the dentist and not being able to communicate. I was worried. I couldn’t imagine not being able to talk to my dentist, and I worried about what I would do if he wanted to pull a tooth or something radical.
But Dr. David is gentle. He goes slowly, and puts me at ease. He is reassuring.
Some of it doesn’t need translation ~ he tells me he’s going to lean the chair back, which he does slowly, and gestures for me to open my mouth. He examines my mouth, talks to Conan, Conan translates. What the dentist says confirms that what I thought was the problem, is indeed the problem.
He assures me it’s nothing to worry about, and says he thinks my distress about it may be making me feel worse. He makes some reasonable suggestions about what I can do to resolve the issue, at least until I get back home. Recommends a particular mouthwash and continued Ibuprofen.
I’m sitting up by then, and I ask ~well, Conan asks for me ~ how much I owe him. He smiles and shakes his head, responds in a few words.
Conan translates, “He says, ‘Nothing, he didn’t have to do anything, and we had to wait a long time.”
I say, “But you did, you looked at my mouth, and told me what to do, and it wasn’t long to wait.” I feel bad, that’s not reasonable, he came in to see me and it did help… but he just smiles and says no, there is no charge.
So I tell him I will come back to the United States and tell everyone I know what a wonderful dentist he is ~ because really, what else can I do? It is not just that he didn’t charge me, although that was kind, but everything he did was considerate and ~ intentional. I felt that he was present for me, was focused on me, if you know what I mean.
I buy the special mouthwash and a package of 800 mg. ibuprofen for about $8 American dollars at the pharmacy. No prescription necessary for the 800 milligrams.
Dr. David, that’s his name, and if you’re ever in Juquila, and you need a dentist, look him up.
The Kindness of Strangers
We go to visit the Reforma’s – friends of Paulina and Arturo, Conan’s mom and step-dad.
The Senor Reforma and his wife live near a place called Rio Grande, out in the country. We visit a lagoon while we’re there, and spend time relaxing at the beach, and it is an adventure in many ways, but just one story for now.
{As I write this, I’m waiting for someone else to wake up so they can find the matches so I can light the stove and make coffee. The matches are usually in a lovely little bowl by the stove – but not this morning. And my best searching skills didn’t uncover them. I know there are more somewhere, I just don’t know where.}
Anyhow, we visit the Reforma’s, where we eat the best fish ever, and have a wonderful time. The first night, we stay in this hotel that’s very nice. The people who own it are friends of Arturo and Senor Reforma, and the rooms are very nice, and there’s coffee in the morning, and it’s lovely.
But, it’s about a 15 minute drive from the Reforma’s house. And there’s another hotel that is just up the road from them. So the second night, we leave the Reforma’s place, full and happy and tired, and decide maybe we want to stay at the closer hotel.
So we stop and check it out. In many ways it’s beautiful. And it has air conditioning. But it’s so close to the lagoon that there are lots of mosquitoes and other flying creatures, and we decide, no, better to go back to the first hotel.
So we make that drive – this is part of the road:
I’m taking these from the car window as we drive along – slowly. Not that night, because it was dark then. Um, obviously.
Anyhow, Arturo, and people who live there, know when the water’s too high to cross by certain rocks at either end ~ if they’re covered, you can’t pass.
So it’s perfectly safe, and it’s just a small part of the road, and really beautiful. This isn’t at night either, it’s just real shady in the middle part.
Back at the hotel, they’re all just about ready for bed themselves, I think, but they get up and make sure our rooms are ready, and we all have a beer to celebrate, and go to bed.
I take a shower, which feels wonderful even though it’s cold water. It’s very hot in Rio Grande. When we left Juquila it was maybe 65 or 70 degrees, but an hour later, it’s at least 90. Quite suddenly, like passing through a doorway and WHOOSH, it’s hot.
So I’ve been living in 90 degrees for two days now, and am getting used to it, but a cold shower is a wonderful thing. I go to bed feeling safe and cozy and content.
The next morning, I get up and dressed, and am trying to do something with my hair {don’t ask me why, it’s really hopeless. Fortunately, the water is soft, so it’s not as bad as it could be.}
Anyhow, I brought a curling brush, and am pretending there’s some point to using it, when I hear this odd noise. It’s a kind of ~ thumping?
I look over, and it’s ~ it’s some kind of CREATURE crawling across the floor. Ir’s so big, I can hear it walking.
OH MY GOSH!! WHAT IS THAT?
I don’t know what it is! It might be ~ is it a huge crab? Maybe, I guess it could be. I don’t know!
As I watch, it makes its way across the room and begins to climb the wall.
Do crabs climb like that? What if it’s not a crab? Omigod, what if it’s a spider? Dee said that Alix had asked him if I’d had any trouble with spiders ~ what if this is it? My first one!! Omigod.
I scoot over to the door, keeping my eye on the creature, and look out in the hallway, but no one’s up yet.
Omigod, omigod. What am I going to do now? It’s all the way up in the corner of the ceiling, by the curtains. It’ll probably disappear into some crevice or something, and no one will even believe it happened.
No, wait, I’ll take a picture of it! Then they’ll believe me!
So I grab my camera and shoot this:
Do you see it? It’s up in the corner. I didn’t crop it down because I wanted you to have the perspective of the curtains and the wall. But it’s huge.
So I think, no it’s too big for a spider. But I’ve seen some huge spiders out in the country in my Mom’s basement, what if it’s some kind of killer Mexican spider? What if it starts a web by swinging down from there, and OMIGOD, what will I do then???
And I go back out in the hall, and this time, there’s a woman out there, she’s knocking gently at someone’s door, apparently trying to wake them up. I think at first she’s one of the owners, but she really wasn’t, she was just a neighbor.
At that point, I’m not even worried about it, I approach her and start trying to tell her about the killer creature in my room.
She thinks maybe I want a tortilla?
I’m like “No, No, non tortilla, es ~ es ~ AH!” And I make the universal sign for “Wait,” and rush back to my room for my phone camera. Triumphantly, I show her the picture of the killer creature on my ceiling, which at that point is crawling behind the curtains.
“Donde?” She says, which ~ aha ~ I know means “where is it?” And I gesture and she follows me and of course it’s disappeared behind the curtain.
Fearlessly, she moves the curtains, and finds it clinging to the back of the curtain. Smiling, she peels him off and shows him to me.
I know, it’s weird lighting, but there it is. It is, indeed, a crab, not a killer creature at all. And I was so scared!
Well, not totally scared. Just a little anxious. Right?
And thanks to the nice lady, I’m totally reassured. By that time, the owners are up, and I give up on my hair and go downstairs to find coffee.
People are awake here too now ~ that means matches… and coffee! Yay!
The Road to Juquila
Early morning in Oaxaca City, I’m drinking a really pretty cappucino in a clear glass cup and watching the city wake up. People walk briskly, dressed mostly in jeans and a wide variety of tops. Sweaters, hoodies and boots are not unusual.
I wander around the square a little, careful to stay within sight of my hotel. Drink another cappuccino in another cafe. Finally, connect with Conan and Luis (in the middle of a third cappuccino) collect my luggage, and load Luis’s SUV.
Then we go shopping. A big store first, like a Meiers. There is a Walmart, but Conan says things are more expensive there. Julia has sent a list, Luis has a list, we shop and shop.
Then a department store, we look at cribs and other things, Luis picks out some clothes for his infant daughter. More stuff to load in the SUV.
Lunch at a little cafe type place ~ not sure what it was, but it was tasty.
Finally, we go pick up the flowers Luis’ mother had asked him to get. When we are through loading, the SUV looks like this:
And like this:
And at last, we are on the road to Juquila.
It’s off there in the mountains somewhere…
Juquila is a town of about 5,000 people. It’s a tourist town, not for foreigner so much as for Mexican people. The Virgin appeared to some children here, and continues to perform miracles. So people who have a request for a miracle make a pilgramage to Juquila, where there’s a special church and shrine, all of which I’ll talk more about later.
According to google maps it’s about 100 miles and takes about 2 and a half hours to get from Oaxaca City to Juquila. This is a joke.
Even on a map, here’s what the last part of the road looks like.
All those little jagged edges are curves, many of them hairpin turns.
There are special obstacles too – REDUCTOR is a warning for the speed bump. And they’re frequent.
Luis, experienced on this road, knows exactly where each one is ~ even the ones that aren’t marked. This is a very good thing.
I wasn’t able to catch a picture of the two dogs, trotting merrily down the middle of the road, but that’ll slow you up a bit. And the ones who sleep in the road wait until the last moment to get out of the way. As soon as we pass, they go back and lie down in the same spot, as if to say, “This really is my road, you know.”
So it is a five, five and a half hour drive, for sure. On a good run, we hit 30 or 40 kilometers an hour, about 20 or 25 miles an hour. Google maps, hmpf.
We pass “wild” horses and cows and an occasional pig.
We pass small town after small town.
We stop often.
We stop for food or drinks.
Or to use the bathrooms. Conan keeps a close eye on me, which is good. Culture shock abounds.
The bathrooms cost three pesos.
In fairness, I remember when public toilets were pay toilets in Italy, although I don’t know if they still are. And I have a vague recollection of some bathrooms in department stores here that cost a dime to enter the stall. So I don’t feel too superior or anything, this will change here in time, I’m sure.
But. I don’t have any small change, so I have to ask Conan for the three pesos. I enter, with only a little fumbling, head to the stall ~ oh, wait, no toilet paper. I move to the next one ~ no, no toilet paper in any of them. Not even a roll where it would be.
I go back to see if there’s a roll of paper towels by the sink, and I see it. Toilet paper – for a peso.
Laughing, I call to Conan, on the other side of the barrier, “Can I get another peso from you, please?”
Luis hears me, and says, with a grin, “What for ~ does it cost two pesos to get back out? Welcome to Oaxaca!”
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In reality, I have to say that I haven’t felt like I was getting victimized by tourist stuff ~ or not any more than you would anywhere else. Probably less…
Welcome to Oaxaca
After the rainy landing at the airport, I stand in line with every one else to turn in my papers and have my passport stamped, which doesn’t really take vary long.
I collect my luggage and manage to move it to the conveyor belt, where they scan it. I pull it all back off the conveyor belt (yes, all hundred and fifty pounds) and an official comes over and helps me with the last one. Then ~ I have to push a button.
If it’s green, I’ll get to go on right away.
If it’s red, they’ll have to go through my luggage.
Drum roll ~~~~ what will it be, what will it be?
It’s GREEN! Yay!
In the meantime ~~ when I made the reservations for my hotel, I also made arrangements for a shuttle to the hotel. We didn’t know what the plan to get me to Juquila would be exactly. We knew that Conan and his friend Luis would pick me up, but it was all kind of vague in terms of timing. So I reserved the shuttle.
The day before my flight, Julia let me know that Conan and Luis would meet me at the airport. But it was too late to get my money back for the shuttle, so I didn’t cancel it. I figured that way, if something happened and Conan and Luis couldn’t make it, the shuttle would be my back up plan.
So when I get off the plane, and make my way through customs, Conan and Luis are waiting for me ~ and I’m glad to see them.
The man from the shuttle is waiting too. He’s not so happy. I’m his only reservation tonight, and Conan has already told him that I’m going with them. I’m not sure why he cares, since I’ve already paid, but I figure maybe HE only gets paid if he delivers.
Conan suggests that we send the luggage with the shuttle. I’m fine with that, the driver seems ok with it, and it saves us from having to load the bags. So we set off, me in Luis’ SUV, my luggage in the van with the not-so-happy driver.
It’s not real far to the hotel, maybe 15 or 20 minutes, and the driver arrives just about the same time. He unloads the luggage. As he’s doing it, I have a quick consult with Conan about tipping.
Fifty pesos is the smallest bill I have, so even though we agree that might be excessive, I give it to him.
He takes it, looks at it, and his whole face lights up. With great warmth and enthusiasm, he says, “Welcome to Oaxaca!!”
Luis is {perhaps inordinately} amused by this. Later that evening, as we’re having a little bite to eat at the restaurant next door, he repeats the story with delight, acting out the shift from glum-faced driver to happy-happy greeter. I have to laugh too, although I don’t regret the five dollars.
Quick ups and downs of the evening ~ on the upside ~ the hotel was simple outside, beautiful inside, as you can see.
The room was large, clean and the bed comfortable enough.
Downside ~ when Conan and Luis start to go up with me, the desk clerk says, “No. They cannot go up.”
I’m taken aback, not sure what to think. My only thought~ don’t laugh ~ was that he thought I’d picked them up, or they’d picked me up, for some immoral activiity, and he wasn’t having any wild cougar stuff going on in his hotel. Really, that’s what I thought, and I was a bit offended, and maybe embarrassed, but too tired to do anything about it.
Their staff person manages to get all my luggage up to the room, (and wouldn’t take a tip) and I didn’t think too much about it. But Conan and Luis advise me later that it was because they weren’t tourists. I’m still a little confused about it all ~ there were other Mexican people staying there ~ but apparently they think it was a class thing, I’ll take their word for it.
If I’d known that at the time, maybe I’d have reacted differently, but they didn’t tell me that til much later.
In any case, we eat, I fall into bed and sleep like a log.
Next morning, I get up craving coffee, of course. But it’s too early, the restaurant next door doesn’t open til 7. So I take a shower.
A cold shower.
I can’t believe it’s cold. I’m sure the water just needs to warm up a minute. Or I’m turning the wrong knob.
But no.
There’s no hot water.
By the time I realize, really, there is not going to be any, I am already soaped up, and it’s a little late to go complain. Brrrrrr. NOT my favorite way to start the day.
When I tell them later, they are appropriately appalled and go immediately to fix it. Yeah, whatever. I figure that’s what they do with all the one-nighters. Saves on hot water.
When I tell Conan and Luis about it, Luis just grins. “Welcome to Oaxaca,” he says.
Day 1 – Louisville to Oaxaca
The adventure begins.
5:00 a.m at the United Airline Gate. I don’t know where the confirmation number is, I don’t know why my ticket reservation isn’t showing up. The kind woman trying to check me in assures me we’ll figure it out.
Two bags to check, crammed with stuff Lucia and Julia and Conan couldn’t fit in their 5 bags. Carefully weighed at home a half dozen times, one is under 50 pounds by a few ounces. The other is three pounds over.
I move the Dominos set to my carry on. Two pounds down. I debate ~ do all their socks weight a pound or ~~ ok, sadly, I hand Dee my shampoo and conditioner. That does it. But ~
“Oh! Your flight originates at American Airlines, not here,” says the smiling attendant. “No wonder I couldn’t find it in our system!”
Dee and I schlep the 100 pounds of luggage to-be-checked, plus the carry-on and backpack with all my stuff, to the American counter. And whoosh, bags checked, boarding passes in hand and I’m off.
Assuming the position to be x-ray strip-search viewed through security is a little icky, but they let me through {always a relief} and i reward myself with Starbucks, only because there is no Highlands Coffee or Heine Brothers in the airport.
On the plane at last, I lift my carry-on bag up into the storage area ~ where it doesn’t fit. Bulging with shoes in the front pocket, it’s just too fat to slide under the bar.
No problem, quickly, I whip the shoes out of the bag, stow the bag, and cram the shoes into my backpack. There. Of course the back pack won’t zip now, but I stuff it under the seat. Hopefully, in case of a wreck, my tennis shoes won’t actually be the debris flying around.
The plane makes some funny noises at take off, but we make into the air and back down safely. Dallas!
The flight attendant reads off gates for some upcoming flights. Houston – B-10. I say it to myself about 30 times.
Off the plane, I rearrange my luggage and start walking. Understand, I have the carry-on. the backpack, both about to burst at the seams, a hoodie over my arm, and a thick guidebook to Mexico in my hand, which I had to take out of the backpack to make room for the shoes. I look like I should be pushing a shopping cart.
Just as I’m wondering how far it is to Gate B10, I realize the sign is actually directing me to the Skylink. I laugh at myself ~ almost out loud. This is not Standiford Field, this is a massive complex. And the Skylink is pure Jetsons.
They run every two minutes. Up in the air, with automated doors and an almost friendly automated voice that warns us, “Hold on, the train is about to start,” and it does, with a jerk and a whoosh. It almost does wheelies around the corners, zips up and down hills, and then floats to a stop with the reminder to “hold on, the train is stopping,”
I’m delighted.
Until I discover that I’m at the wrong terminal. Lousville girl here, never thought there might be more than one flight to Houston leaving Dallas.
No problem. Plenty of time ~ back to the Skylink, which still makes me smile ~ and on the right terminal. And more Starbucks.
Another pleasant flight, my luggage fits the space exactly, my seat-mate and her young son are pleasant, and I enjoy the lift-off.
Houston is even bigger. I start this blog post in Houston, thinking “I’m going to be here for a long time. I’ve been here days already – ok, 5 hours, and three more to go”.
I get some money changed, wander around a bit. Can’t find my flight on the displays for a long time, but it finally shows up, and I get to take their version of Skylink.
Check the duty free corner – not much to get excited about. If i still smoked, i could get Marlboro’s for $35 a carton – this is a deal? Sheesh.
Eat a Bluebell ice cream. Wander. Work on blog post.
Realize I don’t have my cell phone.
OMG! Instant panic. I’ve been carrying it attached to my waist, in the little nerdy carrying holster. It’s gone.
Not in my hoodie pocket – one empty, one has water bottle.
Ok, trying not to panic. The dark-haired woman working the duty free kiosk shows me where to call lost and found. While I’m waiting for them to answer, I say to her, “But I really need someone to call my phone, maybe someone has found it and I can meet them and go get it.”
Nodding understanding, she whips out her own phone and calls the number I give her – in the meantime lost and found answers and I start to explain what happened when ~~
I hear it. I hear my phone ringing. Music to my ears.
I look around ~~ where? ~~ how??? OH!
In my pocket.
My hoodie pocket. With the water bottle.
I apologize to the Lost and Found woman, and laugh with the nice woman who’d called me, my laughter is joyful relief and a touch of feeling foolish.
She smiles, and says with a nod at my phone, “Remember that number, the number I called you from, I’m going to call you from time to time and just check on you, see if you have your phone. We all need someone to check on us sometimes.”
With those wise words to take with me, i wait some more, and check email, and wait and read and wait and eat dinner and wait and then they say the flight is delayed half an hour for weather, and the gate changes, and i wait and at last ~
We board the tiny plane for Oaxaca. YAY!!
The longest flight of the trip, 2 hours and 12 minutes. I have coffee and skip the $8 snack. i’m so excited, and nervous and glad to almost be there!
It’s dark and pouring down rain when we land, but I don’t care. I pull out the hat that Dee has lent me for the trip and pop it on my head. At least my hair will be dry.
I’m in Oaxaca.
Yes, I’m Going to Mexico
I found this great quote this morning:
“But that’s the glory of foreign travel, as far as I am concerned. I don’t want to know what people are talking about. I can’t think of anything that excites a greater sense of childlike wonder than to be in a country where you are ignorant of almost everything. Suddenly you are five years old again. You can’t read anything, you have only the most rudimentary sense of how things work, you can’t even reliably cross a street without endangering your life. Your whole existence becomes a series of interesting guesses.”
― Bill Bryson, Neither Here Nor There: Travels in Europe
It’s a great quote, not because it expresses how I feel about travel, but because it casually highlights the things that scare me.
First of all, I have no desire to be five again. None.
Yes, I know, sense of wonder, beginner’s mind, all that. But hey, have you noticed that we do NOT let five-year-olds take trips by themselves?
That’s because they can’t read, don’t understand how things work, and can’t even reliably cross the street alone.
Despite knowing better, on Thursday, I will get on a plane and land three times ~ once in Dallas, no problem, couple of hours layover. Once in Houston, still no problem, 8 hour layover is a little excessive, but apparently unavoidable. But then ~
Omigod ~
~ then, all tired and frumpy from hanging out in airports, I’ll get on a plane that lands in Oaxaca City, Mexico.
Don’t misunderstand me. I can do this. Of course I can do this.
I’m not really a five-year-old.
Ok, I don’t speak Spanish, but that’s not a big deal. I’ve got a few days to master key phrases. Isn’t there an app I can download?
I’ll have hotel reservations, a shuttle to get there, and Conan and a friend picking me up in the morning. All will be well.
The grown-up in me knows that I can manage this just fine. It is the five-year-old who’s kicking and screaming, “NO! I don’t wanna go!!”
I didn’t much like being five back when I was a kid. Like Wendy, in Peter Pan, I “…was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than the other girls.”
So I have no desire to feel like a five year old again.
On the other hand, I think this second phase of life is when we get to revisit all those issues still unresolved from our early years. In that case, maybe I’ll like being a five year better the second time around.
A Story to Tell 