Random Observations

No pix to add at the moment, or rather, the pictures I do have are all of insects and may not need to be loaded. Bugs figure prominently in our Oaxaca experiences, from the tiny harmless ants that indefatigably locate and swarm our honey jars no matter how high the shelf, to the enormous cockroach that just marched across the living room to its death in a cloud of Raid. Yesterday afternoon Crispin discovered a truly gorgeous spider spinning a web near his hammock. It had a brilliant chartreuse body, red eyes, and bony-looking legs that started out mustard yellow near the belly, turning slate blue at the "knees"; about an inch and a half wide from toe to toe. We must have gazed at it for 15 minutes, but at the end knew little more than we did at the beginning, "hey, there's a gorgeous spider!"

Our experience with the spider pretty well encapsulates our interactions with Oaxaca thus far, in this way: You observe something unusual, fascinating, and usually incredibly beautiful, and you wonder about it together. For example, pre-Columbian style fretwork on the stone bridges crossing a creek near the major street, Ninos Heroes de Chapultepec. You watch it for a while, pointing out the theatrical faces to the kids as you drive past, taking a photo if time allows, maybe mentioning it to your deskbound spouse at the end of the day, "Hey, have you noticed how the public monuments here incorporate those Zapotec faces like the ones on the pyramids...?"

The next stage is that you suddenly realize everything you don't know. For example, in what era was this bridge built? It LOOKS old, but Oaxaca's infrastructure is notoriously underfunded. Maybe it was just built in the nineties, but pervasive graffiti and poor quality concrete is to blame for their current state of disrepair. And who decided to use those Zapotec pyramid styles? Is that common in public works here, or was this bridge used to celebrate an anniversary, or special location, or just some self-important politician? Are the images really Zapotec, the majority of local indigenous peoples, or do they date to the time of the Aztec rulers, or are they just a builder's free interpretation of precolumbian design?

The third stage is that you make plans. "Okay, we've got to spend more time at the archaeological sites/remember to bring our guide book next time/make sure the kids have a big meal beforehand so they're not cranky and we can take time to read the interpretive panels/OH, let's be sure to bring the Spanish dictionary too since not many sites include English text." Resolutions, resolutions.

Saturday arrives. You figure you can finally take the family to Monte Alban, the first genuine city in all of North America; or Mitla, its mysterious sister in the eastern valley, still bearing the original red stucco walls from its years of Zapotec habitation, where the Spanish built a cathedral on top of the main temple to assert the arrival of Christianity. But first you want to run by Plaza del Valle, the "little America" south of town with an Office Depot, Sam's Club, Burger King and Sears--which is the only store where you can definitely buy Legos to reward the kids for surviving their first week of Spanish immersion. And on the way, 20 minutes from home, you have to pass the University, where students have blocked the streets with a protest about rising course fees.

18-wheeler trucks have been parked across all 8 lanes of the major intersection. Cars are heading the wrong direction down one-way streets to get past the protests. You sit for 30 minutes in one little alley, watching a city bus attempt to turn the narrow corner without scraping a warehouse wall. You and your spouse mutter to one another, "do you think it's dangerous?/Nah, just another Oaxaca demonstration; they're big on those here." "Look, that guy is about to nose his car right in front of the bus!/Oh good grief, we're going to be here another hour!" Motorcycles and scooters bearing entire families jet right past the delay. You dream of retirement; resolve to buy motorcycles when the kids have all graduated college; notice a nursing mother squatting on the sidewalk beside her tienda, watching all the commotion, and reach back to squeeze your youngest child's still-chubby leg. The kids are fighting; you let them decide whether to keep pressing on toward Sears, which could take another hour and then some, or abandon the journey--including the archaeological site--and head to the zocalo for ice cream. Ice cream wins.

You sit in the lovely zocalo AGAIN with your kids. You think to yourself, "this is wonderful, this is amazing, we are living in Mexico, I need to just go slower and appreciate every minute." You think to yourself, "I am DYING to get out of the city and see more of the historical sites. I want to understand what was here before the Europeans arrive and I still can't believe that my expensive, high quality education allowed me to reach age 41 without really understanding the significance of Mesoamerican civilization." You think to yourself, "oh, I could see and do so much more if I had some time to myself," "How can I make sure that one of my kids grows up to be an archaeologist?" "When can we go to (X, Y, or Z amazing local craft village) to see the people making (carved wooden animals, wool rugs, smooth black pottery, Spanish style knives and swords)???" Then you feel guilty for wanting to ditch the husband and kids and go exploring all alone.

Everyone has finished their ice cream and the kids are exhausted from running around the square beneath the 300-year-old cathedral towers, popping balloons at one another. You all decide to go back home and take Chica, the new puppy, for a walk. On the way home, you drive over the Ninos Heroes bridge, wonder about the crazy faces, and start the cycle all over again...