Veracruz: Part 1

This past weekend we were blessed with the opportunity to visit the delightful town of Jaltipan de Morelos, Veracruz to attend a huge ninth birthday party for our sweet cousin, Luz Estrella.  We set off on the 10+ hour bus ride from Oaxaca City on Thursday night, with Harold's mom, Lupita, aunt Consuelo, and two friends of theirs, Anita and Beti.  H and I brought some extra clothes and our electronics and documents with us, thinking we were going to stop by Mexico City on the way back to do some paperwork.  It was, as always, an exercise in patience to withstand the barrage of dramatic exclamations about QUE TAN PESADISIMOS (how heavy!) we were traveling, and other assorted comments about "los gabachos" (Americans).  But patience would be a topic for another blog post, or ten....  


Bundled up in our fleeces against the frigid air conditioning, we began our bus ride, which was thankfully fairly straight in nature, chatting with our fellow travelers.  Anita is a retired accountant who enjoys frequent bus trips around the country with her fellow Mexican retirees, and Beti is an Argentine expat who arrived in Oaxaca nine years ago and never left: she and I formed a dynamic duo of foreigners for the weekend.

We stumbled in to Uncle Miguel's sprawling residence at ten to six the next morning, exhausted and sweating buckets in the 95 degree F, 85% humidity.  Having barely slept a wink, Harold and I downed several cups of rich, dark local shade-grown coffee.  There to greet us were Harold's dad, his uncle Miguel and his super- hospitable wife Liliana, his deceased grandfather's second wife, Irma, and of course, the birthday girl Luz Estrella, who promptly told me she loved my hair (it was quite curly and huge in that weather) and showed me around the estate and the neighborhood.  A couple hours later, the property began to buzz with activity, as the workers arrived to construct bee boxes and other items to support the family's honey business, and the tables, decorations, and stereo equipment arrived for the next day's party.  

The parrot that cried like a baby, giggled, and muttered swear words.

A red and gray squirrel that looks like a monkey!

Luz Estrella with her pet spotted deer.

A pet peacock!

Parrot house below, play house above.

Another pretty tropical flower....

The family's honey business, which exports its products to Germany, and distributes them around Mexico.

Harold helps rake the expansive lawn before the birthday party.

The pig has been slaughtered; now come the pork skin tacos and chicharrones (fried pork skins).  Then come the barbacoa and manteca (lard) for use in tacos and tamales.

Laptop fest! Harold shows his uncle Victor photos of his exquisite carpentry, while Victor catches him up on  photos of sis Montserrat's university graduation from seven years ago!  Victor lives in the port of Veracruz and will be hosting us for several days sometime in the next couple weeks.

Aunt Liliana and Harold's dad package the huge quantity of meat gleaned from the pig slaughter.

Freshly fried pork skins, to be slathered in salsa verde.

A bizarre photo of me, Harold and Luz Estrella, for your viewing pleasure.

An amazingly well-posed photo of the four siblings present at the event; Victor, Lupita, Consuelo and Miguel.

A display honoring the late Raymundo Hernandez Juarez, Harold's grandfather and the original "bee-whisperer" of Jaltipan.  Seen by the community as stark-raving mad, he was once called upon by the government to control a city-wide infestation of aggressive African bees.

The outdoor dining area fills with folks engaged in a range of conversations and activities.

A house on uncle Miguel's property, with a dipping pool out front.

We present Luz with her birthday gift, a roomy pink Jansport backpack.

Balloons!  Let the fun begin.  Anita and Beti concentrate on the tedious (and pointless?) formation of balloon chains.

The guy hired to coordinate the decor elected to form this balloon arrangement.  Hmmm.

We attempt to affix a balloon arrangement to the bumpy post.

Whoops- it popped!  After all our hard work, a lot of the balloons popped due to over-inflation in the heat.  Darn it!

Harold's uncle holds a later sustaining his dad, who is attaching a tarp to the outdoor event area, while Harold rigs up one of the lovely balloon chains.

Victor blows up a balloon.

Siblings have fun with balloons and salsa music!

H and A fill the pinata with candy and get it ready to hoist.

I take a swing at it.

The party starts with a much-needed pina colada.

The brincolin!  Highlight of the party for some kids.

Luz in front of the face painting station.

The bar; serving up pina coladas and ginebras, mixed beverages with fresh coconut water.

The three clowns.  The audience concluded they were not very funny, but here they are.

The videographer.

A little boy who looked at this photo and concluded he looked "ugly" and proceeded to remove his face paint.

A little rabbit.

Harold has a dance-off with the winner of the kids' dance contest. 

Children converge on the fallen pinata, which was eventually beaten down by a ten-year old boy.

Pastel and multi-colored gelatina.  Jello, rather than ice cream, is commonly served with cake at parties in Mexico.  

The vocal parrot takes a joyful bath in the cooling rain.  

Laugh of the Day

Found this in a Mexican home decor magazine from 2002. Love it!

Last Night's Dinner

Last night I could finally eat solid food, other than corn flakes and plain tortillas.  And I could walk more than a block without feeling like throwing up or collapsing!  
Did I mention I LOVE Mexican food (as evidenced by my cheerful expression in the photos below)?  Especially the street food at night.  Around these parts, one can find tacos, quesadillas, tostadas, taquitos, and tlayudas (huge tortillas stuffed with melty local cheese, lettuce, beans, and meat) frequently on offer on front patios or small establishments, often accompanied by an agua fresca (thin, watery juice made with fresh fruit- tastes much better than I'm describing it here).  So many permutations of the corn tortilla with cilantro, lime, chiles, cheese, and meat.  That's one yummy din-din!  

 Harold patronizes one of his high school friends' dinnertime dining establishments.  "Lili" prepares all of the above mentioned items at astonishing speed for dozens of neighborhood residents on a nightly basis.  This is after she gets home from her day job and goes for a run.  Oh, and she has two kids.  Whew!  


People try to patronize their neighbors' food stands not only to support them financially, but to ensure greater accountability for hygienic food preparation.  The toppings pictured above include red chile salsa, Oaxacan cheese (crumbly, not melty like that served in US Mexican restaurants), Oaxacan sausage, which is bright red, guacamole, refried black beans, cilantro, lime and onion.  Food is made fresh every day from the raw ingredients.  The mere mention of jars, cans, and especially "comida congelada" (frozen food), will elicit a cringe or scoff from many Oaxacans, who are residents of the most renowned state in Mexico for its culinary tradition.  

 These are tacos al pastor.  Tacos as served at Mexican fast-food chains or family-style Mexican restaurants in the US are nowhere to be found in Oaxaca.  Neither are flour tortillas, with the exception of "gringas", which consist of a flour tortilla and cheese, a little more like Taco Bell, I guess.  (Of note, somebody here said there was actually one Taco Bell in the entire country, in Mexico City.)  The owner of this establishment, seated behind me, exhibits the less-than-enthusiastic service common in this area and many other places I have visited over the years.  Oh, well. 
Anyway, the meat comes from the apparatus pictured below.  It is extremely flavorful, and somewhat orange in color from the seasonings.  It is sliced off and served with mini- tortillas, cilantro, salsa, pico de gallo, guacamole and lime.  I ate five!
 Five were left for Harold to eat before moving on to the next stand...

Want to come and hang out in Oaxaca?

Some of you might be wondering when we are moving on to our next destination.  So are we.  You may be aware that we are applying for permanent residence in Canada, and our application is being processed in Mexico City, a six-hour drive from where we are staying in Oaxaca City.   This is a nice place to be stuck doing paperwork!  Don't mind if we do gallavant around, going to beaches, ruins, museums, meeting tons of people with interesting perspectives on life, eating delicious food all the while, and gaining inspiration for our future.  And the exchange rate rocks!  Come and join us if you feel like taking a tropical vacation- we should be here for a couple more months.  Otherwise, keep following our blog to learn about our experiences in a country I am convinced is among the most dynamic, complex, and interesting in the world.

Reina de la Noche

I have achieved little in the past week, as Montezuma decided to pay me a visit filled with vengeance, accompanied by his friends: nausea, vomiting and migraines.  It was a blast!  But my good friends Gatorade, Pepto and ciprofloxacin backed me up in the battle....  and here I stand.

Anyway, several nights ago, I had the privilege of watching this beautiful flower, the name of which is the title of this blog post, bloom in Harold's mom's back yard.  Found in the tropics, the "night queen", Epiphyllum oxypetalum, blooms once a year in the heat of the summer, in the middle of the night, and releases an intoxicating perfumey aroma.  Worth staying up for....

Harold the Gringo

"Guero, guero"!  The food vendors shouted as we arrived at the Mexico City airport.   "Whitie, whitie, what are you going to eat?"  We looked around for the nearest white male.  The women were pleased to have finally captured Harold's attention, offering him further breakfast options.....


A week later, Harold stopped by an old friend's house to say hi.  As she was unavailable, he asked her daughter to convey his greetings.  We subsequently found out she had told her family a "foreigner" had come by, looking for her mom.  


"Hello, my friend!", shouted the middle-schoolers on break from class in Puerto Escondido, as we passed on our way to the beach.  Harold responded in Spanish, and they looked surprised, and kept shouting English phrases in our direction.  


Harold, not having previously identified as white, light-skinned, Caucasian, or the like, simply chuckles at these potential instigators of an identity crisis.  In the "where are you from" section of hotel registration forms, he sometimes puts "Oregon".  Taxis and restaurants try to overcharge him.  Oaxacans, bewildered at his lack of familiarity with his homeland after a thirteen-year absence, ask him to confirm he is indeed "from here".  One senora, when asked where she thought the two of us were from, simply scratched her head and said "I have no idea".  


There are not many Americans around here, so my nationality is not obvious to locals.  This is beside the fact that I have historically been mistaken for Russian, Slovakian, Italian, French, Argentine, etc, throughout my life, depending on my company, attire, hairstyle, and tan.  As a teen in Mexico, Harold was often mistaken for a European backpacker.  People essentially look at us and go "WTF"?  But we like it.  Perhaps it bodes well for our future travels, as we wear our respective nationalities in a subtle manner, thereby inviting curiosity. 


The anthropologist in me reflects on "nature vs nurture" (points go to nurture on this one), and the relationship between ethnic stereotypes and nationality.  "Mexican" and "American" are nationalities, after all, and do not describe Harold's mixed Zapotec/Maya, African, Spanish, and possibly Italian ancestry, or my German, Dutch, Irish, English, French, and Cherokee heritage.  Where, ultimately, do we come from?  Guess it's time to do one of those mail-in mitochondrial DNA tests, because this stuff is fascinating.  I leave you with this somewhat nerdy post for now, as I gear up for some more photo sharing tomorrow.

Life's a Beach! (Sorry, couldn't resist...)

"Check yourself before you wreck yourself...", the lyrics of a popular 80s pop song advise me, as I type this post over a "family size" Victoria cerveza at a patio outside of a convenience store with an internet connection.  Sounding dodgy?  It's actually a paradise of a work space here in Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca, Mexico.  "Where are the peanuts?" asks Harold, as I hand him the popular chili and lime flavored snack purchased last night at a Spanish supermarket chain.


We have been looking forward to coming to Puerto Escondido for about two years, ever since we started planning this trip and decided to make Mexico our first stop. It all started when we informed Harold's dad of our plans to visit this tourist destination popular among Mexicans and some Europeans.  Aware of our budget-consciousness, he advised us to make the six-hour journey in an Urvan instead of the massive, air-conditioned, TV-equipped bus, for half the price.  "Chido!", we exclaimed.  Awesome! Why pay US$35 when you could pay $15?  Saves us the equivalent of two to three meals out!  But what the hell was an Urvan?  


Harold and I, having spent the last 13, and 8, years outside of Mexico, respectively, are completely out of touch with current modes of transportation utilized in the country, as Mexico is a rapidly-changing, complex place.  Anyway, an Urvan is a diesel Mercedes-Benz van decked out with 16 seats, providing about the same amount of personal space as an airplane.  Our huge backpacks crammed into the tiny storage space in the back/ in front alongside the driver, and our valuables on our laps, we set off to the beach as the only foreigners in the vehicle.  


There are no toll highways to the coast from Oaxaca City, so the old road took us through curve after curve of tiny highland indigenous villages set amid misty mountains and pine forests, often with little indication of the Spanish Conquest.  On this path, some of the thirty percent of Oaxacans who are members of indigenous groups could be observed herding livestock, building ecological cabins, operating rest stops including convenience stores, bathrooms, and showers, and warming up tortillas over open fires.  Birds of prey cruised overhead.  We passed a patch of field burning, traditionally used to prepare the land for the next siembra, or planting.  The bus driver stopped by the side of the road as all of the passengers dutifully got out and peed, one by one, behind the bushes.  


As we decreased in elevation in the last couple of hours of the journey, we passed the turnoff for Juquila, a town housing the temple of the Virgen de Juquila, famous for many miracles granted as a reward for those who make the journey by foot or bicycle from Oaxaca City.  Pilgrims request their wishes come true via clay models representing whatever it is they desire.  Harold requested a truck at age ten, and by golly, it came true (ten years later)!  We just sold the thing, and it never gave us a bit of trouble!  Sold it for a good price, too!  As she appreciates a return visit to give thanks for her favors, we owe Juquila a pilgrimage, which is something else we are trying to make happen on this trip.


Anyway, shortly after the Juquila turnoff, the hours of curvy roads took their toll on my queasy, probably already Salmonella-infected stomach, and I wretched and wretched as I vomited all over the delicious pan dulce we had purchased for the journey, filling the plastic bag with puke. People opened windows and fanned their faces, waiting for the fetid odor, which fortunately never came, as I had managed to avoid puking on any surface of the vehicle or myself!  Now that's a miracle!


We pulled in to Puerto Escondido shortly after 11pm, a couple hours after we planned, and promptly flagged down a taxi to take us to Harold's mom's friend's house, the address of which the driver was unfamiliar.  Awesome!  We failed to identify said house after driving around for a half an hour, so we asked to be dropped off at the Hostal Shalom, which we had been told had camp sites available for $7.  Closed.  Hmmm, what better option than to stay in the "Hotel Hostal"  (Is it a hotel, is it a hostel?  Kept us guessing...), up the street about a kilometer?   After all, I was still queasy and we were both exhausted as the clock reached midnight.   The promising grand entrance led to none other than a refrigeration company, behind which was the dilapidated Hotel Hostal, charging $25 a night for moldy walled, grimy-cornered, stained-blanketed rooms.  Looking like something out of The Addams Family, rotting mangoes graced the poorly kept hotel grounds, a skinny cat rested on some faded chairs, and a few sheep roamed around near the surprisingly sparkling swimming pool.  We were served water in a dirty pitcher.  Daring to use the sink to wash up, we promptly collapsed into bed, rising the next morning to head to the Hostal Shalom.


The Hostal Shalom is about the cheapest lodging option in town, as far as we know.  It has rooms, dorms, cabanas, and campsites, with access to a super-relaxing beach, Playa Carrizalillo, a 2km walk away.  There's a bar, snack shop and wireless internet, with tasty restaurants and coffee shops surrounding it.  Would be perfectly idyllic, were it not for the security factor.  We trustingly had the owner lock up our valuables in the food storage room and left to go swimming.  We returned to find that she had left for the day, taking the only key with her, thereby cutting us off from any money, debit cards, cameras, computers, passports, and medications until the following day.  I decided the best option was to throw a fit.  Harold threatened to break in.  It was a one-two punch that resulted in the owner making a special trip in to unlock the storage area for us.  As if it was such a favor!!! The pothead staff has rubbed us the wrong way, and we will aim to avoid staying here again, even though we did appreciate the opportunity to use our discount backpacking tent, which served us well. 


I leave you with some pictures, with more to come.....

The aforementioned cat.

There it is...

His and hers rotten/rusty lounge chairs.

Harold showcases the ancient air conditioner- worked better than we expected!

Below, caught 'em just as they were trying to escape.  Lil buggers.  Nice rusty tractor in the background.

Puerto Angelito fishing fleet and swimmers.

Downtown fishing boat.

Same ol' @#%^, says the dog.

The less manicured part of Puerto Escondido.

Chacos!  A little taste of Portland in Oaxaca.

Mexican cola- the best!

Note my attempts at sun protection: whitish cast to face, floppy hat.

Beach where we swam today.

Getting vitamins via a jugo fresco in the market eating area.