Alvin Starkman M.A., LL.B.
Every Sunday Gloria awakens at 3 am, and begins preparing tejate, a frothy, tasty corn and cacao based drink, which she will offer for sale in the Tlacolula market. A couple of hours later her sister-in-law María and Maria’s daughter Luci follow suit, but in preparation for their own day of vending pre-Hispanic-style figures and masks, comals, and an assortment of other fired clay bowls, cups, plates and containers. Sundays, the women laugh, is their day of rest, when they don’t have to worry about scrounging for firewood, tending fields, lugging raw material for kneading into clay --- the lifeblood of their economic existence --- and in the case of María, looking after preparing breakfast for Luci and her older brother and getting them off to school.
The family of four lives in a modest yet fair sized dirt-floor compound in San Marcos Tlapazola, a Zapotec village about an hour outside of Oaxaca. Nearby Tlacolula is known by tourists and native Oaxacans alike for the pageantry of its Sunday marketplace, its bakeries’ wonderful chocolate-filled buns, the church, proximity to fields of agave and mezcal factories, and products offered for sale by the women of San Marcos.
Gloria, María and Luci are 40, 38 and 12 years old respectively. While in the market, their traditional dress, consisting of brightly colored and embroidered taffeta dresses and head-dresses, easily sets them and others from nearby villages apart from the rest. Luci confesses that she also likes wearing regular clothing.
In her lifetime, only once has Gloria been to Oaxaca. The mere thought of venturing into the big city intimidates her.
Clumps of hard earth are soaked. On a concrete floor in an almost barren dark room, María kneads the then softened mud with water and a bit of sand, while kneeling and working her magic, until a buttery smooth clay is ready to be fashioned into a vase. With her hands raised to just about head level, she molds a cone, pounds out the inside to create a funnel, then places it on a small hard piece of plastic atop a flat stone, with a bit of sand as a buffer. The sand enables her to spin the form into a sphere. She uses rolls of clay to build up it up. A piece of corn cob is used to make the outside surface even, and another piece of plastic to cast the inside. A small round segment of hardened gourd assists in producing the desired, final exterior shape. A strip of soft leather facilitates the creation of a smooth finish. Then onto the next one.
Gloria is sitting a few feet away, beginning to burnish a small bowl she has removed from under a cloth covering several others. She’s using one of two almost golf ball sized highly polished river stones given to her by her grandmother. She has already coated the series of bowls with a mixture of a different, much redder clay, and water, so as to create a terra cotta colored paint tone. Once hard and dry, all that Gloria and María have produced over the course of days, is ready for baking.
Some alfareros in the town of Atzompa use above-ground brick and cement ovens. Others in San Bartolo Coyotepec and Ocotlán use below-ground brick-lined pits. Manuel Reyes in Yanhuitlán constructed his own twin kilns out of clay brick, lengths of re-enforced steel, and mud. But the women of San Marcos, each and every time they want to bake their clay pieces, build a makeshift enclosure at ground level, made variously of discarded bed spring, pieces of rusted through wheel barrow, bent bicycle tire rim, old sections of otherwise unusable laminated metal, and broken pieces of pottery which have not survived a prior firing.
A cousin sometimes comes by in a truck to sell Gloria and María a load of twigs, branches and rotted out logs, for anywhere between 400 and 1200 pesos, depending on the load size. Sometimes he brings by dried agave leaves, stock, and pieces from the heart or piña which have for some reason not been harvested for mezcal production. The women themselves often gather up similar pieces of potential fuel while in the course of walking the hills outside of their village, and tie them up to both sides of their mule before heading back home.
A day of baking can usually proceed smoothly if there is no rain, and any earlier precipitation has not left the wood wet; if it’s not too windy; and of course if there is a sufficient supply of burnable product on hand, and not too much of the scrap metal has been rendered unusable through the beginning stages of decomposition / disintegration.
Typically, María is in charge of process, while Luci assists, and Gloria divides her time between doing other household chores such as cooking tortillas and being called upon when María tires or has been affected by the intense heat, or a stage in production is time-sensitive.
All the pottery to be baked is assembled outside, in close proximity to the area where the “oven” will be built: a series of rustic clay pots --- an order for a client who makes and sells piñatas; three comals which were not sufficiently fired on a previous occasion; numeral clay figures of different sizes and forms, for the Tlacolula tourist trade; and an assortment of functional pots, bowls and plates, as well as a few small spoons and tiny colanders.
A circular base approximately two meters in diameter is created, using preferably bed spring placed atop a couple of staggered layers of brick, since such a foundation provides for aeration. Broken pots, old metal receptacles, roofing tile, and whatever else is close at hand creates a confining perimeter. Small twigs and pieces of agave heart are placed underneath. María cuts agave leaves with a machete. With the aid of an extremely heavy, meter-and-a-half long crow bar known as a barreta, Gloria pitches in by splitting log pieces and lengths of dried agave stock. María and Luci build a flammable base atop the spring. With gingerly proficiency, María both directs and assists in placement of the pieces. From her years of experience she knows how to best achieve even firing and avoid breakage.
More of each class of burnable, as well as dried tumbleweed, is carefully placed on top of the clay pieces. Hot ash from making tortillas is shoveled into crevices to facilitate incineration, while a couple of matches set to a few special added twigs, a natural kindling, assures a quick light. A fairly strong wind fuels an initially fledgling fire, and within seconds the blaze is raging and smoke is billowing. More branches and died agave parts are tossed on, with the upmost care since multi-directional wind tunnels have been created. Gloria must fully cover her head to ensure that spark does not ignite her hair. Each takes a turn extricating herself from the swirling, seemingly out-of-control flames. Finally, sheets of rusted metal are strategically placed alongside, and atop, to control the entry of air being drawn to the inner portions of the enclosure.
The morning’s work completed, flames are left to dissipate, while Gloria, María and Luci sit, have a drink of fresh fruit juice, and rest. After about 45 minutes baking will have been completed. The area will be left to cool, while Gloria and María return to their simple work room, add a bit of water to their drying clay, and begin kneading before once again beginning production of another diverse lot. Later in the day the oven will be disassembled, pottery removed with hopefully a minimal amount of breakage, ash dusted off. The women of San Marcos Tlapazola will then wrap and box their merchandise in preparation for their next trip to market.
Most Sundays María can be found sitting on the ground with Luci, with an array of rustic clay figures and masks, as well as a selection of traditional Zapotec cooking and serving utensils displayed in front of them, on one side of an outside aisle in the Tlacolula marketplace. Gloria will be directly across from them, pouring cups of tejate to thirsty passersby.
Alvin Starkman has a Masters in anthropology and a law degree. Now a resident of Oaxaca, Alvin writes, tours travelers to the sights --- including excursions to visit San Marcos Tlapazola --- and owns Casa Machaya Oaxaca Bed & Breakfast ( http://www.oaxacadream.com ), a unique Oaxaca bed and breakfast experience providing Oaxaca accommodations which combine the comfort and service of Oaxaca hotels with the personal touch of quaint country inn style lodging.
3/02/2009
FESTIVAL INTERNACIONAL DEL ORGANO HISTORICO DE OAXACA
LA ACADEMIA MEXICANA DE MUSICA ANTIGUA PARA ORGANOPRESENTA LA AGENDA DE LOS CONCIERTOS PARA ESTE 2009, EN LA BASILICA DE NUESTRA SEÑORA DE LA SOLEDAD, EN EL MARCO DEL FESTIVAL INTERNACIONAL DEL ORGANO HISTORICO DE OAXACA.
El Festival Internacional del Órgano Histórico de Oaxaca que año con año realiza la AMMAO, es el pionero en su tipo en México, inicio en febrero del 2001, con conciertos en la Basílica de la Soledad presentándose todos los sábados primeros de cada mes. Desde esta fecha la AMMAO ha presentando numerosos conciertos ininterrumpidamente.En este sentido el Festival es un foro donde organistas internacionales, nacionales y locales ofrecen un repertorio que va de la música gótica a la contemporánea, es un espacio para todos y todas, en pro de la recuperación de la cultura del órgano en Oaxaca. Por ello el Festival se ha caracterizado por el nivel de excelencia que siempre se ha intentado mantener, así como la gratuidad que se ofrece en los conciertos.En este marco se presenta la agenda del Festival Internacional del Órgano Histórico de Oaxaca para este año ofreciendo un extraordinario programa, que inicia este sábado 3 de enero a las 17:00 horas, en la basílica de Nuestra Señora de la Soledad.
Estos conciertos se realizan con el apoyo de la autoridades eclesiásticas de la Basílica de Nuestra Señora de la Soledad, así como el de diversas instituciones como: el Instituto Nacional de Desarrollo Social (INDESOL), el Centro Nacional de las Artes (CENART), la Escuela Nacional de Música (ENEM-UNAM), Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes (CONACULTA), la Embajada de Portugal, Embajada de Polonia en México y Fomento Musical. En este sentido expresamos nuestro agradecimiento a todos los colaboradores y a las entidades patrocinadoras que hacen posible que se lleve a cabo el Festival Internacional del Órgano de Oaxaca.Basilica de la Soledad. Deseamos que este programa sea de su interés y agrado.
CONCIERTOS PARA EL 2009:
- Sábado 3 de enero, 17:00 horas Héctor Cruz y Elizabeth Castañeda (Oaxaca)
- Sábado 7 de febrero, 17:00 horas José Martín Panting (Estado de México)
- Sábado 7 de marzo, 17:00 horas Ana Laura Cerón y Tonatiuh Gonzáles (ENM-UNAM)
- Sábado 4 de abril, 17:00 horas Javier Estrella y Eric Omar (ENEM-UNAM)
- Sábado 2 de mayo, 17:00 horas José Manuel Tapia (Michoacán)
- Sábado 6 de junio, 17:00 horas Soledad Hernández, Ricardo Vargas e Hildeberto Jiménez (Oaxaca)
- Sábado 4 de julio, 17:00 horas Angélica Guerrero y Hernán Cortes (Michoacán)
- Sábado 1 de agosto, 17:00 horas Gustavo Delgado Parra y Ofelia Gómez Castellanos.
Oaxaca to San Cristóbal de las Casas and Palenque, and more: a driving tour
Alvin Starkman M.A., LL.B.
Introduction
This 2,000 kilometer driving tour serves the needs of vacationers to Oaxaca who also want to take in the sights in central Chiapas, as well as those who want to at least consider visits to the Pacific coastal resorts in Oaxaca and the Gulf beaches and cultural sights in the state of Veracruz … all without foreclosing a side trip to Puebla. The south central circuit of Mexico provides travelers with a leisurely and culturally diverse driving segment within the context of a two or three week vacation, with virtually no backtracking.
For this particular trip, our first day took us from Oaxaca to Tuxtla de Gutiérrez, then to Chiapa de Corzo. After visiting the impressive lookouts at the Parque Nacional Cañón del Sumidero the following morning, we carried on to San Cristóbal de las Casas where we spent two days in the city and visiting nearby villages. The following morning we drove to Agua Azul, and then on to Palenque, touring the ruin the following morning. That afternoon we continued through Tabasco, then Veracruz, spending our final night at Orizaba. Our sojourn concluded with a return home to Oaxaca, via Puebla. As a result of personal time constraints the excursion lasted only six days. It easily could have been extended by a week or more, taking in many additional sights and cities. Accordingly, while we saw many of the highlights noted in the tour books, a close examination of all that is available is highly recommended, in particular for those with time to spare.
For most of the drive the highways were excellent. We passed through 14 toll booths and nine military checkpoints, at the latter having been stopped, questioned and required to pop the trunk, only once. We did experience, however, one disturbing incident involving state police, in Acayucan, Veracruz, noted as an Addendum. It convinced us to deviate from our otherwise steadfast rule against night-time driving.
Distinct from Oaxaca, in Chiapas there is signage encouraging drivers to use the paved, wide, right hand shoulder; warning that physical abuse of women is met with jail time; cautioning that the fine for littering is ninety times your (daily) wage; and along many stretches of two lane highway there are small home-made signs indicating where gasoline is for sale (from householders; sometimes in plastic 10 or 20 liter containers out front as your notification). In addition, one encounters checkpoints aimed at regulating and policing the transport of animals.
Oaxaca to San Cristóbal de las Casas
The drive from Oaxaca to San Cristóbal takes about 8.5 hours, but is best done in two segments, with an overnight, assuming you want to visit more than one sight en route.
As you leave Oaxaca for the drive towards Mitla along Highway 190, fill up with gas, since there are lengthy stretches of highway without stations after you turn off and head towards the coast. You’ll approach that first interchange after close to a half hour of proceeding along straight, essentially flat highway. Take the 190 cut-off to Tehuantepec / Matatlán. After about five kilometers of rolling hills, you’ll reach the “world capital of mezcal,” Matatlán, with production facilities and shops peppering the roadsides for about three kilometers. The billowing smoke is from deep pits being readied for baking agave, and to a lesser extent the stills fueled with firewood.
For the next hour and a half you’ll be climbing, at times considerable inclines, then descending into fertile river valleys, along curvy, well-paved yet at times repaired highway. If you hadn’t filled up for gas earlier, do so just beyond the first military checkpoint, an hour into the drive, at San Pedro Totalapan.
The predominant vegetation is agave under cultivation --- occasionally on the steepest of hillsides --- and mixed brush, with pole cactus and palm interspersed. Towns are encountered, with small stores, restaurants, pharmacies, mechanic shops, and even a guest house at about the two hour mark, in San José de Gracia. In the area around El Camarón you’ll one again encounter a few fábricas de mezcal.
Your final descent towards the coast begins at about three hours into the drive, when you’ll finally find yourself speeding along straight-aways. Once you reach Marilú, you’ll feel you’re in the tropics, with signs offering fresh fish (mojarra) and cold coconut milk.
You’ll then have the option of heading up the coast to Huatulco, or down towards Salina Cruz, Juchitán and Tehuantepec.
The new toll road to Chiapas, along Highway 200, has an interchange which can potentially create a bit of confusion. At kilometer 240 of the trip, more or less, you’ll encounter a traffic circle with signs which do not assist in terms of reaching your destination. Take the exit which includes the words María Romero, and then ask to ensure that you have the right highway. Traffic and pedestrian activity, at least as of early 2009, are sparse. You’ll be heading towards La Ventosa, so when you see a sign so directing you, you’ll know you’re on the right road. At about four hours into your trip, near kilometer 270 of your day’s drive, you’ll pass through the La Ventosa toll booth, with clean washrooms and a gas station close by. From this point, until your arrival at Tuxtla, you’re home free.
For the next 60 kilometers you’ll be driving across flat winding plains. There’s a stretch of 15 kilometers with two sets of large white windmills, very unusual and impressive to the eye, the second set with power generating equipment apparent. There are thereafter a couple of provisional checkpoints along sections of new, and then old and badly pot-holed road in the process of being repaved.
Your arrival at San Pedro Tapanatepec follows along good highway traversing mango orchards, with a bit of ranching. In town you’ll find a gas station, Banamex, etc. After passing through the next military checkpoint, once again you’ll begin your climb into the mountains, arriving in Chiapas approximately six hours into the drive.
The approach to Tuxtla is uneventful, marked by continuing periods of ascent and descent, stretches of plains, and traveling through a couple of small cities. Upon arriving you’ll encounter a traffic circle, easy enough to navigate. You are not required to enter the city, but rather, will be traversing a number of overpasses in the course of about 20 minutes. You’ll be passing high above and to the left of the city, then descending towards the fork in the road leading you to Chiapa de Corzo. Note that the cut – off is not well marked, so when you see the choice to veering to the right or left, turn off to the right.
The two main attractions which you may find at Tuxtla and / or Chiapa de Corzo are the zoo and the Cañon del Sumidero. Both are easily accessible via Chiapa de Corzo, but could require a bit of backtracking. The advantage of staying in Chiapa de Corzo is that it’s quaint, you do not have to enter the metropolis of Tuxtla de Gutiérrez, and it makes for an easy morning beginning for a boat tour of the canyons. However, if you wish to take the boat trip as opposed to driving through the national park, you may have to wait an hour or two in the morning until there are sufficient tourists to fill up one of the many waiting vessels. It all depends on the time of year in terms of level of tourism. We arrived at the docks shortly after the 8 am opening, only to be told that we’d likely have to wait at least an hour. We therefore hopped back in the car and drove to the lookouts in the Parque Nacional Cañon del Sumidero. The site, via boat or drive, should not be missed.
The highway from Tuxtla to San Cristóbal de las Casa is perhaps the best quality stretch of roadway and most pleasant to navigate on the whole trip. Unfortunately the drive takes only about 35 minutes. It begins immediately after you pass through the toll booth as you leave Chiapa de Corzo. Almost all of the drive is ascent with easy curves. You’ll descend to San Cristóbal over the final five minutes of the brief ride. “Must” visits while in the area of San Cristóbal, preferably with a guide notwithstanding that you’ll have your own vehicle, include Chamula and Zinacantán.
San Cristóbal to Palenque
Although along the basically good, two-lane highways descending from San Cristóbal to Palenque there are several homes and businesses offering gasoline for sale, and at Ocosingo you’ll find gas stations, it’s best to fill up as you leave San Cristóbal. Don’t worry about your departure time, since with stops en route you’ll probably be too late to take the tour of the ruin, and in any event it’s best to visit the site during the early morning hours before the afternoon sun and heat preclude enjoying your visit to the maximum. Without stops, the trip takes about 4.5 hours, over the course of about 200 kilometers.
About 11 kilometers into the drive you’ll find a cut-off to the left, onto highway 186 to Ocosingo. Take it, even though there is no sign for Palenque or Agua Azul. Notwithstanding several ascents, you’ll gradually descend into the hot jungle environment characterizing Palenque, a stark contrast to the relatively cold climate of San Cristóbal you’ve just left
You’ll pass through pine forests and lumber mills, ranches, quaint roadside eateries, and stalls offering local produce for sale. At about 65 kilometers into the day’s drive, a “don´t miss” stop is at one of the two or three amber outlets, in an area where the mineral is mined and then worked into predominantly silver accented jewelery. If you’re in the market for amber, wait until your arrival here. You will have likely visited the Amber Museum in San Cristóbal, so by the time you’ve reached these workshops you will have learned how to detect the real thing from the glass and plastic imitations. These stalls boast true amber, and for the asking you’ll be shown pieces in the rough, how to identify the fakes, and how raw amber is fashioned into fine jewelery.
On the approach to Ocosingo you’ll have an opportunity to also stop at craft and coffee outlets. In the course of the decent you’ll encounter cultivated bromiliads used as impressive garden borders, and produce changing to tropical varietals such as bananas, coconut palms, sugar cane, and perhaps surprisingly, still some corn.
Almost immediately you’ll then begin to encounter more switchbacks and peaks and valleys, with once again a net descent into a lush, green forest environment with streams, waterfalls and even a water park and an ecotourism site. After the military checkpoint just over 100 kilometers into the drive, your descent will be characterized by predominantly straight-aways for close to 40 kilometers as you arrive at the cut – off to the left, for Agua Azul, another “must” on your trip. Don’t be surprised to find that you have to pay two separate tolls or entrance fees. In the parking area, you’ll be asked by a youngster if he / she can guard your car. We declined. Later we found that our car aerial had gone missing. Give the kid 10 or 20 pesos, both here and at Palenque.
The ride from Agua Azul to Palenque takes about two hours. A few kilometers into the drive you’ll pass through a stretch of stalls on both sides of the highway, selling hand embroidered skirts, blouses, dresses and shirts. From here on, until Palenque, the highway descends, with easy curves and lengthy straight-aways, featuring corn, sugar cane and plantain.
Get an early start to your day at the ruin. The gates to the park open at 7:30 am, with tickets to the site available for purchase at 8 am. You can secure a guide while waiting to buy tickets. Suggest that you wait for a group of about eight people to make the cost more reasonable. You’ll be given a per person rate on the basis of eight or ten in the group. In our case, the guide decided to take us for his per person rate for eight, with only six of us, presumably anticipating that it would take a fair bit of time to get the other two, and preferring to finish the tour before the hottest time of the day … or perhaps anticipating being able to fit in another tour if he finished with us early enough.
Palenque to Orizaba, or other stopovers in Veracruz
If you intend to spend the night in Córdoba or Orizaba, you might want to consider leaving Palenque early the following morning because of the driving time involved. Of course if you intend to head to the city of Veracruz, another plan might be in order. Between Palenque and Orizaba you’ll encounter at least three cut – offs leading to Veracruz, and at one point you’ll only be about 50 kilometers away from the city.
Choose carefully from your various lodging options, if for no other reason than to reduce the likelihood of encountering the problem which beset us … feeling compelled, at dusk, to change our plan regarding where to spend the night, and as a result having little choice but to drive at night, not the optimum way to enjoy any trip through Mexico.
Leaving Palenque along route 186 you’ll immediately encounter palm and sugar cane under cultivation as well as cattle, on both sides of a good, two lane highway with flat curves and straight-aways. After about 25 kilometers, immediately after passing through your first checkpoint you’ll turn left. During 2009, the highway was being converted from one lane in each direction, to a lane and a half, quite common throughout southern Mexico. As noted earlier, this wide shoulder is perfectly legal to drive on, and in fact speeds up traffic flow as long as drivers are prepared to yield to the right. Aside from this construction, the highways for the rest of the trip back to Oaxaca, or to Puebla, are excellent.
Within an hour or so the highway will be solid four lane, minimum. It will be basically toll road for the rest of the journey. About 125 kilometers into the day’s trip you’ll have the option of staying at an impressive Hilton Hotel & Conference Center, easily visible from the highway. Just before that complex you’ll see a large underpass where there’s a gas station. About 25 kilometers further, as you enter Villahermosa, take the Cárdenas cut off and proceed along highway 180. You’ll be continuing along a highway with plantations of bananas, coconuts and sugar cane, and fields of familiar tropical flowers. Consider a brief stop at La Venta, a small town known for its Olmec ruin. But the site closes at 4 pm, so keep that in mind if interested in a visit to the site.
After about a half hour, roadway curves will once again begin, and less crops will be apparent, now with more herds grazing. You’ll pass through river plains and over a large suspension bridge. Based upon the recommendation of at least one tour book, we had planned to spend the night in Acayucan, Veracruz, but as noted earlier felt compelled to continue on to Orizaba, after dark (see Addendum). The saving grace, at least in our minds, was somewhat of a comfort in passing through four toll booths over the next 2.5 hours, between Acayucan and our ultimate stop for the night, Orizaba. The cut – offs are clearly marked and leave little room for error. From Acayucan, just continue along the highways marked for one or more of Puebla, Mexico City, Oaxaca, since it’s well after Orizaba that you’ll actually be turning off for Oaxaca.
For those interested in floriculture, plants, cactus and succulents, consider a stopover at Fortín de Las Flores, perhaps as a taking – off point for a diversion to Veracruz. Córdoba is a reasonable option for spending the night, close to Fortín de Las Flores, and with many more hotel options as well as daytime sights. But Orizaba also has a number of interesting options worthy of consideration for a stopover, and a visit to its tourist office makes for a good start for a short, pleasant visit to the city before continuing on to Oaxaca.
Orizaba to Oaxaca
The drive from Orizaba to the Oaxaca / Puebla interchange is extremely scenic, climbing dramatically for all but the final few minutes. The snow-capped peak of Orizaba is particularly impressive. You’ll pass by areas of large, ornamental agave, used as property boundary lines. Simply follow the signs indicating Puebla / Mexico for about 30 - 40 minutes, until you finally see the Oaxaca cut – off, at which point you’ll either carry on to Puebla, or return to Oaxaca.
The home stretch of your journey should take about 2 ½ hours, without stops other than to rest and gas up. However, there are couple of worthwhile sights to consider. Unless you want to spend time in Tehuacan, your first stop will be at the onyx / marble village of San Antonio Texcala. Take the second Tehuacan exit (after the Tehuacan toll booth), onto highway 125 leading to Huajuapan. After 6 km you’ll arrive at the village, with several factory outlets where you can by almost anything into which onyx and marbel can be shaped --- tequila sets, plates, sinks, lamps, tables, bowls, boxes, unicorns, fish, hash pipes, and of course a number of diverse ornaments with religious imagery. Prices are about half of what you’ll pay elsewhere.
Next is the Museo de Agua, or water museum, actually a misnomer because it is so much more. Take the well-marked next exit after your return to the toll road, for Sangabriel and Chilac. There will also be signage for the museum. You’ll be given a tour (in Spanish) in the main building, and of the outside surrounding landscapes. You’ll learn how progress is being made to teach villagers in desolate regions where water is scarce and soil fertility is lacking, to conserve and recycle water; to use compost, worm culture and other techniques to enrich the land; and to grow and market nutritious produce such as amaranth.
In terms of the land use and sights, near Tehuacan you’ll see long narrow white-topped buildings where poultry is produced and then trucked throughout the state of Puebla and other nearby states. There will be a couple of lookouts demarcated as stops for tourists to pull over and appreciate and photograph the deep valleys and high mountaintops. Long, well-marked expansion bridges showcase the valleys and mountains. You’ll pass over a geological fault. There will be several kilometers of impressive pole cactus. Close to the approach to Oaxaca you’ll see vendors on each side of the highway selling brightly colored miniature wooden trucks.
The last of several toll booths is Huitzo. About 15 - 20 minutes later you’ll approach Oaxaca. A few minutes after entering the city, you’ll be given two opportunities to turn to the left (one of the signs is difficult to interpret), but unless you’ve been provided with specific instructions to get to your hotel or B & B, and know it’s in a northern suburb, best is to just keep driving straight, eventually entering onto a one-way street which will lead you to the core of the downtown area and the zócalo.
Addendum
We had planned to spend our last night in Acayucan, Veracruz, having noted three hotels, one of which piqued our interest because it appeared to be the only middle-of-the-road and acceptable option, at least for us. Immediately upon entering the town, at about 6:30 pm, we were pulled over by two state troopers, and asked to produce some type of sticker about which we knew nothing. I produced license and ownership without a request to do so. The more belligerent of the officers, Taurino Santiago Ramas (Santiago) insisted he would phone for a tow truck, and did pull out his cellular and make a call.
After ten minutes of heated banter, I told me wife to just ask him “how much?” Santiago said he didn’t want money. This was a shock, since my initial assumption was that it would just be a matter of how long, and how much. He became more testy, almost as much as we had become.
Out of the blue, Santiago’s mood suddenly changed. He asked us about our plans for the night. We indicated that we intended to stay in town. He immediately mentioned his hotel recommendation and how to get there. It was the same hotel at which we had planned to stay. We assured him we would indeed lodge there, whereupon he told us that we would have to pay a 1,000 peso fine the next day. In the same breath, in a softer tone, he proposed “but since I’m a nice guy, and have a kind heart, if you like, instead you can pay something to me.”
I pulled three fifties and a twenty peso bill from my pocket, and offered him one hundred pesos. Santiago demanded, “I’ll take them all.” So 170 pesos lighter we got back in the car, hearing Santiago’s loud laughs, directed at his partner, us, and anyone else on the crowded street within earshot.
But I think we got the last laugh. Santiago certainly assumed that we were going to stay at his suggested hotel, and in fact we drove off in that direction with he and his sidekick watching. He had probably called not for a tow truck, but the hotel, and advised that we’d be coming by, and confirmed the amount of his commission for the referral. Otherwise, he probably would have demanded a bigger bribe. Of course we did not want to stay anywhere he suggested. We were concerned that overnight our belongings might be snatched from the car. We decided it would not be prudent to stay in Acayucan at all, so we high-tailed it out of Dodge, and drove a further 2 ½ hours, during the night, until bedding down in the city of Orizaba.
Alvin Starkman received his Masters in Social Anthropology in 1978. After teaching for a few years he attended Osgoode Hall Law School, thereafter embarking upon a successful career as a litigator until 2004. Alvin, a good-standing member of the Law Society of Upper Canada, now resides with his wife Arlene in Oaxaca, Mexico, where he writes, leads small group tours to the villages, markets, ruins and other sights, is a consultant to documentary film companies, and operates Casa Machaya Oaxaca Bed & Breakfast ( http://www.oaxacadream.com ), providing the comfort and service of lodging in a Oaxaca hotel, with the personal touch of a small country inn.
Introduction
This 2,000 kilometer driving tour serves the needs of vacationers to Oaxaca who also want to take in the sights in central Chiapas, as well as those who want to at least consider visits to the Pacific coastal resorts in Oaxaca and the Gulf beaches and cultural sights in the state of Veracruz … all without foreclosing a side trip to Puebla. The south central circuit of Mexico provides travelers with a leisurely and culturally diverse driving segment within the context of a two or three week vacation, with virtually no backtracking.
For this particular trip, our first day took us from Oaxaca to Tuxtla de Gutiérrez, then to Chiapa de Corzo. After visiting the impressive lookouts at the Parque Nacional Cañón del Sumidero the following morning, we carried on to San Cristóbal de las Casas where we spent two days in the city and visiting nearby villages. The following morning we drove to Agua Azul, and then on to Palenque, touring the ruin the following morning. That afternoon we continued through Tabasco, then Veracruz, spending our final night at Orizaba. Our sojourn concluded with a return home to Oaxaca, via Puebla. As a result of personal time constraints the excursion lasted only six days. It easily could have been extended by a week or more, taking in many additional sights and cities. Accordingly, while we saw many of the highlights noted in the tour books, a close examination of all that is available is highly recommended, in particular for those with time to spare.
For most of the drive the highways were excellent. We passed through 14 toll booths and nine military checkpoints, at the latter having been stopped, questioned and required to pop the trunk, only once. We did experience, however, one disturbing incident involving state police, in Acayucan, Veracruz, noted as an Addendum. It convinced us to deviate from our otherwise steadfast rule against night-time driving.
Distinct from Oaxaca, in Chiapas there is signage encouraging drivers to use the paved, wide, right hand shoulder; warning that physical abuse of women is met with jail time; cautioning that the fine for littering is ninety times your (daily) wage; and along many stretches of two lane highway there are small home-made signs indicating where gasoline is for sale (from householders; sometimes in plastic 10 or 20 liter containers out front as your notification). In addition, one encounters checkpoints aimed at regulating and policing the transport of animals.
Oaxaca to San Cristóbal de las Casas
The drive from Oaxaca to San Cristóbal takes about 8.5 hours, but is best done in two segments, with an overnight, assuming you want to visit more than one sight en route.
As you leave Oaxaca for the drive towards Mitla along Highway 190, fill up with gas, since there are lengthy stretches of highway without stations after you turn off and head towards the coast. You’ll approach that first interchange after close to a half hour of proceeding along straight, essentially flat highway. Take the 190 cut-off to Tehuantepec / Matatlán. After about five kilometers of rolling hills, you’ll reach the “world capital of mezcal,” Matatlán, with production facilities and shops peppering the roadsides for about three kilometers. The billowing smoke is from deep pits being readied for baking agave, and to a lesser extent the stills fueled with firewood.
For the next hour and a half you’ll be climbing, at times considerable inclines, then descending into fertile river valleys, along curvy, well-paved yet at times repaired highway. If you hadn’t filled up for gas earlier, do so just beyond the first military checkpoint, an hour into the drive, at San Pedro Totalapan.
The predominant vegetation is agave under cultivation --- occasionally on the steepest of hillsides --- and mixed brush, with pole cactus and palm interspersed. Towns are encountered, with small stores, restaurants, pharmacies, mechanic shops, and even a guest house at about the two hour mark, in San José de Gracia. In the area around El Camarón you’ll one again encounter a few fábricas de mezcal.
Your final descent towards the coast begins at about three hours into the drive, when you’ll finally find yourself speeding along straight-aways. Once you reach Marilú, you’ll feel you’re in the tropics, with signs offering fresh fish (mojarra) and cold coconut milk.
You’ll then have the option of heading up the coast to Huatulco, or down towards Salina Cruz, Juchitán and Tehuantepec.
The new toll road to Chiapas, along Highway 200, has an interchange which can potentially create a bit of confusion. At kilometer 240 of the trip, more or less, you’ll encounter a traffic circle with signs which do not assist in terms of reaching your destination. Take the exit which includes the words María Romero, and then ask to ensure that you have the right highway. Traffic and pedestrian activity, at least as of early 2009, are sparse. You’ll be heading towards La Ventosa, so when you see a sign so directing you, you’ll know you’re on the right road. At about four hours into your trip, near kilometer 270 of your day’s drive, you’ll pass through the La Ventosa toll booth, with clean washrooms and a gas station close by. From this point, until your arrival at Tuxtla, you’re home free.
For the next 60 kilometers you’ll be driving across flat winding plains. There’s a stretch of 15 kilometers with two sets of large white windmills, very unusual and impressive to the eye, the second set with power generating equipment apparent. There are thereafter a couple of provisional checkpoints along sections of new, and then old and badly pot-holed road in the process of being repaved.
Your arrival at San Pedro Tapanatepec follows along good highway traversing mango orchards, with a bit of ranching. In town you’ll find a gas station, Banamex, etc. After passing through the next military checkpoint, once again you’ll begin your climb into the mountains, arriving in Chiapas approximately six hours into the drive.
The approach to Tuxtla is uneventful, marked by continuing periods of ascent and descent, stretches of plains, and traveling through a couple of small cities. Upon arriving you’ll encounter a traffic circle, easy enough to navigate. You are not required to enter the city, but rather, will be traversing a number of overpasses in the course of about 20 minutes. You’ll be passing high above and to the left of the city, then descending towards the fork in the road leading you to Chiapa de Corzo. Note that the cut – off is not well marked, so when you see the choice to veering to the right or left, turn off to the right.
The two main attractions which you may find at Tuxtla and / or Chiapa de Corzo are the zoo and the Cañon del Sumidero. Both are easily accessible via Chiapa de Corzo, but could require a bit of backtracking. The advantage of staying in Chiapa de Corzo is that it’s quaint, you do not have to enter the metropolis of Tuxtla de Gutiérrez, and it makes for an easy morning beginning for a boat tour of the canyons. However, if you wish to take the boat trip as opposed to driving through the national park, you may have to wait an hour or two in the morning until there are sufficient tourists to fill up one of the many waiting vessels. It all depends on the time of year in terms of level of tourism. We arrived at the docks shortly after the 8 am opening, only to be told that we’d likely have to wait at least an hour. We therefore hopped back in the car and drove to the lookouts in the Parque Nacional Cañon del Sumidero. The site, via boat or drive, should not be missed.
The highway from Tuxtla to San Cristóbal de las Casa is perhaps the best quality stretch of roadway and most pleasant to navigate on the whole trip. Unfortunately the drive takes only about 35 minutes. It begins immediately after you pass through the toll booth as you leave Chiapa de Corzo. Almost all of the drive is ascent with easy curves. You’ll descend to San Cristóbal over the final five minutes of the brief ride. “Must” visits while in the area of San Cristóbal, preferably with a guide notwithstanding that you’ll have your own vehicle, include Chamula and Zinacantán.
San Cristóbal to Palenque
Although along the basically good, two-lane highways descending from San Cristóbal to Palenque there are several homes and businesses offering gasoline for sale, and at Ocosingo you’ll find gas stations, it’s best to fill up as you leave San Cristóbal. Don’t worry about your departure time, since with stops en route you’ll probably be too late to take the tour of the ruin, and in any event it’s best to visit the site during the early morning hours before the afternoon sun and heat preclude enjoying your visit to the maximum. Without stops, the trip takes about 4.5 hours, over the course of about 200 kilometers.
About 11 kilometers into the drive you’ll find a cut-off to the left, onto highway 186 to Ocosingo. Take it, even though there is no sign for Palenque or Agua Azul. Notwithstanding several ascents, you’ll gradually descend into the hot jungle environment characterizing Palenque, a stark contrast to the relatively cold climate of San Cristóbal you’ve just left
You’ll pass through pine forests and lumber mills, ranches, quaint roadside eateries, and stalls offering local produce for sale. At about 65 kilometers into the day’s drive, a “don´t miss” stop is at one of the two or three amber outlets, in an area where the mineral is mined and then worked into predominantly silver accented jewelery. If you’re in the market for amber, wait until your arrival here. You will have likely visited the Amber Museum in San Cristóbal, so by the time you’ve reached these workshops you will have learned how to detect the real thing from the glass and plastic imitations. These stalls boast true amber, and for the asking you’ll be shown pieces in the rough, how to identify the fakes, and how raw amber is fashioned into fine jewelery.
On the approach to Ocosingo you’ll have an opportunity to also stop at craft and coffee outlets. In the course of the decent you’ll encounter cultivated bromiliads used as impressive garden borders, and produce changing to tropical varietals such as bananas, coconut palms, sugar cane, and perhaps surprisingly, still some corn.
Almost immediately you’ll then begin to encounter more switchbacks and peaks and valleys, with once again a net descent into a lush, green forest environment with streams, waterfalls and even a water park and an ecotourism site. After the military checkpoint just over 100 kilometers into the drive, your descent will be characterized by predominantly straight-aways for close to 40 kilometers as you arrive at the cut – off to the left, for Agua Azul, another “must” on your trip. Don’t be surprised to find that you have to pay two separate tolls or entrance fees. In the parking area, you’ll be asked by a youngster if he / she can guard your car. We declined. Later we found that our car aerial had gone missing. Give the kid 10 or 20 pesos, both here and at Palenque.
The ride from Agua Azul to Palenque takes about two hours. A few kilometers into the drive you’ll pass through a stretch of stalls on both sides of the highway, selling hand embroidered skirts, blouses, dresses and shirts. From here on, until Palenque, the highway descends, with easy curves and lengthy straight-aways, featuring corn, sugar cane and plantain.
Get an early start to your day at the ruin. The gates to the park open at 7:30 am, with tickets to the site available for purchase at 8 am. You can secure a guide while waiting to buy tickets. Suggest that you wait for a group of about eight people to make the cost more reasonable. You’ll be given a per person rate on the basis of eight or ten in the group. In our case, the guide decided to take us for his per person rate for eight, with only six of us, presumably anticipating that it would take a fair bit of time to get the other two, and preferring to finish the tour before the hottest time of the day … or perhaps anticipating being able to fit in another tour if he finished with us early enough.
Palenque to Orizaba, or other stopovers in Veracruz
If you intend to spend the night in Córdoba or Orizaba, you might want to consider leaving Palenque early the following morning because of the driving time involved. Of course if you intend to head to the city of Veracruz, another plan might be in order. Between Palenque and Orizaba you’ll encounter at least three cut – offs leading to Veracruz, and at one point you’ll only be about 50 kilometers away from the city.
Choose carefully from your various lodging options, if for no other reason than to reduce the likelihood of encountering the problem which beset us … feeling compelled, at dusk, to change our plan regarding where to spend the night, and as a result having little choice but to drive at night, not the optimum way to enjoy any trip through Mexico.
Leaving Palenque along route 186 you’ll immediately encounter palm and sugar cane under cultivation as well as cattle, on both sides of a good, two lane highway with flat curves and straight-aways. After about 25 kilometers, immediately after passing through your first checkpoint you’ll turn left. During 2009, the highway was being converted from one lane in each direction, to a lane and a half, quite common throughout southern Mexico. As noted earlier, this wide shoulder is perfectly legal to drive on, and in fact speeds up traffic flow as long as drivers are prepared to yield to the right. Aside from this construction, the highways for the rest of the trip back to Oaxaca, or to Puebla, are excellent.
Within an hour or so the highway will be solid four lane, minimum. It will be basically toll road for the rest of the journey. About 125 kilometers into the day’s trip you’ll have the option of staying at an impressive Hilton Hotel & Conference Center, easily visible from the highway. Just before that complex you’ll see a large underpass where there’s a gas station. About 25 kilometers further, as you enter Villahermosa, take the Cárdenas cut off and proceed along highway 180. You’ll be continuing along a highway with plantations of bananas, coconuts and sugar cane, and fields of familiar tropical flowers. Consider a brief stop at La Venta, a small town known for its Olmec ruin. But the site closes at 4 pm, so keep that in mind if interested in a visit to the site.
After about a half hour, roadway curves will once again begin, and less crops will be apparent, now with more herds grazing. You’ll pass through river plains and over a large suspension bridge. Based upon the recommendation of at least one tour book, we had planned to spend the night in Acayucan, Veracruz, but as noted earlier felt compelled to continue on to Orizaba, after dark (see Addendum). The saving grace, at least in our minds, was somewhat of a comfort in passing through four toll booths over the next 2.5 hours, between Acayucan and our ultimate stop for the night, Orizaba. The cut – offs are clearly marked and leave little room for error. From Acayucan, just continue along the highways marked for one or more of Puebla, Mexico City, Oaxaca, since it’s well after Orizaba that you’ll actually be turning off for Oaxaca.
For those interested in floriculture, plants, cactus and succulents, consider a stopover at Fortín de Las Flores, perhaps as a taking – off point for a diversion to Veracruz. Córdoba is a reasonable option for spending the night, close to Fortín de Las Flores, and with many more hotel options as well as daytime sights. But Orizaba also has a number of interesting options worthy of consideration for a stopover, and a visit to its tourist office makes for a good start for a short, pleasant visit to the city before continuing on to Oaxaca.
Orizaba to Oaxaca
The drive from Orizaba to the Oaxaca / Puebla interchange is extremely scenic, climbing dramatically for all but the final few minutes. The snow-capped peak of Orizaba is particularly impressive. You’ll pass by areas of large, ornamental agave, used as property boundary lines. Simply follow the signs indicating Puebla / Mexico for about 30 - 40 minutes, until you finally see the Oaxaca cut – off, at which point you’ll either carry on to Puebla, or return to Oaxaca.
The home stretch of your journey should take about 2 ½ hours, without stops other than to rest and gas up. However, there are couple of worthwhile sights to consider. Unless you want to spend time in Tehuacan, your first stop will be at the onyx / marble village of San Antonio Texcala. Take the second Tehuacan exit (after the Tehuacan toll booth), onto highway 125 leading to Huajuapan. After 6 km you’ll arrive at the village, with several factory outlets where you can by almost anything into which onyx and marbel can be shaped --- tequila sets, plates, sinks, lamps, tables, bowls, boxes, unicorns, fish, hash pipes, and of course a number of diverse ornaments with religious imagery. Prices are about half of what you’ll pay elsewhere.
Next is the Museo de Agua, or water museum, actually a misnomer because it is so much more. Take the well-marked next exit after your return to the toll road, for Sangabriel and Chilac. There will also be signage for the museum. You’ll be given a tour (in Spanish) in the main building, and of the outside surrounding landscapes. You’ll learn how progress is being made to teach villagers in desolate regions where water is scarce and soil fertility is lacking, to conserve and recycle water; to use compost, worm culture and other techniques to enrich the land; and to grow and market nutritious produce such as amaranth.
In terms of the land use and sights, near Tehuacan you’ll see long narrow white-topped buildings where poultry is produced and then trucked throughout the state of Puebla and other nearby states. There will be a couple of lookouts demarcated as stops for tourists to pull over and appreciate and photograph the deep valleys and high mountaintops. Long, well-marked expansion bridges showcase the valleys and mountains. You’ll pass over a geological fault. There will be several kilometers of impressive pole cactus. Close to the approach to Oaxaca you’ll see vendors on each side of the highway selling brightly colored miniature wooden trucks.
The last of several toll booths is Huitzo. About 15 - 20 minutes later you’ll approach Oaxaca. A few minutes after entering the city, you’ll be given two opportunities to turn to the left (one of the signs is difficult to interpret), but unless you’ve been provided with specific instructions to get to your hotel or B & B, and know it’s in a northern suburb, best is to just keep driving straight, eventually entering onto a one-way street which will lead you to the core of the downtown area and the zócalo.
Addendum
We had planned to spend our last night in Acayucan, Veracruz, having noted three hotels, one of which piqued our interest because it appeared to be the only middle-of-the-road and acceptable option, at least for us. Immediately upon entering the town, at about 6:30 pm, we were pulled over by two state troopers, and asked to produce some type of sticker about which we knew nothing. I produced license and ownership without a request to do so. The more belligerent of the officers, Taurino Santiago Ramas (Santiago) insisted he would phone for a tow truck, and did pull out his cellular and make a call.
After ten minutes of heated banter, I told me wife to just ask him “how much?” Santiago said he didn’t want money. This was a shock, since my initial assumption was that it would just be a matter of how long, and how much. He became more testy, almost as much as we had become.
Out of the blue, Santiago’s mood suddenly changed. He asked us about our plans for the night. We indicated that we intended to stay in town. He immediately mentioned his hotel recommendation and how to get there. It was the same hotel at which we had planned to stay. We assured him we would indeed lodge there, whereupon he told us that we would have to pay a 1,000 peso fine the next day. In the same breath, in a softer tone, he proposed “but since I’m a nice guy, and have a kind heart, if you like, instead you can pay something to me.”
I pulled three fifties and a twenty peso bill from my pocket, and offered him one hundred pesos. Santiago demanded, “I’ll take them all.” So 170 pesos lighter we got back in the car, hearing Santiago’s loud laughs, directed at his partner, us, and anyone else on the crowded street within earshot.
But I think we got the last laugh. Santiago certainly assumed that we were going to stay at his suggested hotel, and in fact we drove off in that direction with he and his sidekick watching. He had probably called not for a tow truck, but the hotel, and advised that we’d be coming by, and confirmed the amount of his commission for the referral. Otherwise, he probably would have demanded a bigger bribe. Of course we did not want to stay anywhere he suggested. We were concerned that overnight our belongings might be snatched from the car. We decided it would not be prudent to stay in Acayucan at all, so we high-tailed it out of Dodge, and drove a further 2 ½ hours, during the night, until bedding down in the city of Orizaba.
Alvin Starkman received his Masters in Social Anthropology in 1978. After teaching for a few years he attended Osgoode Hall Law School, thereafter embarking upon a successful career as a litigator until 2004. Alvin, a good-standing member of the Law Society of Upper Canada, now resides with his wife Arlene in Oaxaca, Mexico, where he writes, leads small group tours to the villages, markets, ruins and other sights, is a consultant to documentary film companies, and operates Casa Machaya Oaxaca Bed & Breakfast ( http://www.oaxacadream.com ), providing the comfort and service of lodging in a Oaxaca hotel, with the personal touch of a small country inn.
2/22/2009
ENDUROAX2009
ENDUROAX 2009
EN TEOTITLAN DEL VALLE SE LLEVO ACABO
LA PRIMERA COMPETENCIA NACIONAL DE
ENDURANCE ECUESTRE EN LAS CATEGORIAS
DE 40, 60 Y 80 KM EN LA QUE HUBO PARTICIPANTES
DE VARIOS ESTADOS DE LA REPUBLICA
2/14/2009
Nuptials and Baptism in Rural Oaxaca: The Mandate of Tradition
Alvin Starkman M.A., LL.B.
We usually think of weddings and baptisms as rites of passage we attend on separate occasions. But November 27, 2008, marked the celebration of both in San Lorenzo Albarradas: the nuptials of a couple in their early twenties, and the baptism of their three-year-old daughter. What resulted was a melding of highly organized custom characterized by extremes of indulging, giving, and all-out merriment.
San Lorenzo Albarradas (“San Lorenzo”) is a village with about 1,900 inhabitants of Zapotec ancestry, located 60 kilometers east of the city of Oaxaca. It’s accessed by a paved highway which, beyond Mitla, winds as it ascends foothills of the Sierra Madre del Sur. San Lorenzo has the usual municipal building housing the office of its presidente municipal (mayor) and local police, a health clinic, school, marketplace, and of course Catholic church and cemetery. Residents engage in predominantly subsistence economic activity: cultivating corn, beans, squash, palm leaf and agave; tending sheep and goats; gathering firewood; and servicing the local population as well as tourist vans en route to and from San Isidro Roaguía (“San Isidro”). San Isidro, designated a marginal community by the federal government, is home to the bubbling springs and petrified waterfalls known as Hierve el Agua. San Lorenzo, San Isidro and environs are home to seven small, rudimentary yet wonderfully functional fábricas de mezcal (mezcal factories).
The marriage of Gladis and Eli and the baptism of their daughter Lexy were planned in early autumn. Santos and Lupita were selected as padrinos de la boda (godparents of the wedding), and long-time grade school friends Daniel and wife Alma as padrinos of the baptism.
If not through blood or marriage, then through compadrazgo (fictive kinship), most people are related one way or another in small Oaxacan towns and villages. On this occasion about a quarter of the residents were invited to partake in at least some of the festivities. Many have relations in nearby San Isidro. But as a result of a longstanding dispute between the villages regarding the right to exact a fee from tourists visiting Hierve el Agua, only recently resolved after years of Hatfield and McCoy antics, invitations were extended to only residents of San Lorenzo, apart from that extended to me and my wife Arlene.
As custom normally dictates, we arrive in town for the mass shortly after the designated 12-noon start time. Daniel and Alma, and Daniel’s parents Hilarino and Sara, had counseled that we would be expected to remain until the madrugada (middle of the night, generally until just before sunrise), and to thus be prepared. We really didn’t take the advice to heart. As once again custom normally dictates, we were just as clear that we would arrive fairly early on, with no guarantees regarding the duration of our visit.
We’d known Hilarino, Sara and family for about four years, initially as a result of purchasing mezcal from Hilarino’s roadside palenque (mezcal facility), and subsequently from eating and imbibing in Sara’s adjoining eatery. We’d broken bread in their home, and they in ours. We’d laughed and traded stories of differences in our respective cultures, and cried over the death of their forty-day-old grandson. They’d missed our 25th anniversary, and we Daniel’s wedding. But for this occasion they required our assurance that our attendance at the festivities would not be pre-empted.
Booming bottle-rocket fireworks direct us to the standing-room-only church service. Guests cram the entranceway and sit under the shade around the courtyard. Dress ranges from Sunday best to workday usual. Gladis, Eli and Lexy emerge about a half hour after our arrival, shockingly early based upon our prior attendances at functions with a religious component. But perhaps ritual was rushed in anticipation of more important local custom to follow. In rural Oaxaca there is often not very much to rejoice, so when the opportunity arises, no expense is spared, figuratively and literally.
As rice showers the honored celebrants, and candies the rest of us, the six piece brass and percussion band begins with upbeat traditional song. I spot a familiar face, Santos the palenquero, competitor of Hilarino:
“Hilarino invite you? He’s my cousin you know.”
“And what about you and your wife?,” I ask.
“Lupita and I are the padrinos de la boda, so you have to come to our home with the procession. Hilarino’s coming too.”
I’ve yet to see Santos without his stiff, off-white cowboy hat, and this occasion is no different. Others wear the softer felt-like version in beiges, greys and blacks, many adorned with peacock feather. The groom, Eli, is dressed in a smartly tailored, very formal light olive suit with all the trimmings, while his bride is in a traditional white strapless gown with long train. Their daughter’s dress is equally appropriate, and yes, predictable. Several downtown Oaxaca retailers have found their niche marketing dresses for weddings, quince años (celebration when a girl turns 15, similar to the Bat Mitzvah in the Jewish faith), baptisms and confirmations. Clearly in San Lorenzo they go all out. In fact the young family, aside from being in this physical environment could have passed for urban Oaxacans of much greater means.
As the band, bride and groom leave the church grounds, Hilarino informs me that I’ll accompany him and others to Santos’ house, my wife Arlene will stay with the rest of his family at theirs, and we will reunite in a short while. Arlene and her group trail off. Close family members stop at the bride and groom’s residence to make final preparations for later festivities. Our procession walks about a mile further, to the padrinos’ home at the end of a meandering potholed roadway.
During 2005 – 2007, pavement of the main street through town was completed. However with few exceptions the rest of the roads are dirt, connected by narrow pathways. Land ownership is in the process of reform, with privatization on the way and promised for 2009. Homes range from extremely modest adobe construction with laminated metal roofing, to a number of large, contemporary-styled two storey clay brick and block abodes. Foundations are often made of locally mined limestone, known as cantera. The padrinos’ compound is somewhere in between, with a couple of buildings composed of brick and adobe, plastered and brightly painted, and a few outer structures for cattle, cooking and storage. The mezcal trade has been good to them.
Our arrival is greeted with fireworks. Without missing a beat the band takes its place aside a manger. About 15 of us are now inside a room with couches facing an altar where Gladis and Eli are kneeling. Additional seating is brought in, along with mezcal and then beer. I take both, as is now my custom, not unlike that of many others. I follow the lead of the elder to my right, pouring a few drops of mezcal on the floor, a sacrament in this village. I think back to the past 57 years of annually spilling ten drops of wine at Passover Seders, recalling the plagues heaped upon Moses’ people by Pharaoh. Chuckling ensues as I then knock over and spill Hilarino’s beer to my left. At first I decline a second beer, but after convincing I accept. After all, the bottle had already been opened for me. Where custom dictates, I rarely decline.
Beer and mezcal are the most typical alcoholic beverages served at rural celebrations in and around the central valleys of Oaxaca. Urbanites of the middle classes tend more towards tequila and scotch, usually Johnny Walker Red Label, simply referred to as whisky. But we all have our favorite mezcals, usually produced in small mom-and-pop operations peppering roadsides in specific regions of the state, usually much better than the commercial labels.
The presidente municipal, Hilarino’s brother, mistakes me for a priest acquaintance of his … a Spanish guëro (white person) with moustache and grey hair. “Not even close,” I answer to laughter. A couple of children begin rhyming off numbers in English. I inform that Arlene gives private English lessons. The ears of each in attendance perk up, since while learning English is valued, aside from very limited instruction in the local school there is no one to teach:
“I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Mayor,” I say. “Once privatization arrives, you find me a small plot of land or very modest home for Arlene and me to buy so we can spend the odd weekend in San Lorenzo, and I’ll make sure she gives free lessons to the kids.”
More chortling, and of course the obligatory “salud!” as we toast the idea.
Someone spots a bull seemingly charging towards the house, having broken loose from its tie. “No es bravo,” we’re assured, so we re-take our seats and continue with levity and further small talk.
After the better part of an hour, following the lead of Santos and the newlyweds we move outside to the covered dining area, taking our seats on benches accommodating about 20 of us. The band continues. More family has arrived and is milling about along with those involved in meal preparation. A large bowl of traditional hot chocolate is placed before each of us, together with two loaves of bread, one small and the other the size of a regular unsliced rye. This is pan de yema, a type of egg bread, similar to challah, the bread that accompanies many Jewish celebrations and Friday night dinner.
Pan de yema is a Oaxacan tradition, served at many rite of passage fiestas as well as for yearly celebrations such as Day of The Dead, when it’s known as Pan de Muertos. Many villages are known for the distinctiveness of their bread, some baked with cinnamon, others anise, and so on. Hot chocolate, a customary beverage in the state, is almost always accompanied by the challah-like bread. Oaxaca is known for its chocolate, made in small mills in virtually all towns and villages. Oaxacan chocolate is made from toasted cacao beans, sugar, usually a bit of cinnamon stick, and at times a small quantity of almonds. Many Oaxacans have their own recipes of stipulated percentages of ingredients, and so instruct the mill operator. Witnessing the simplicity of production is fascinating, and as a non-native Oaxacan, having one’s own chocolate made, even more so.
Barbacoa de chivo (BBQ goat) in a broth with vegetables arrives in deep ceramic soup bowls, along with tortillas and platesful of chopped onion, cilantro, cabbage, fresh chili and radish. “The radish will give you twice as much stamina,” I’m assured, to the amusement of all. More mezcal follows, this time pursuant to statewide custom because of its tendency to cut the grease of barbacoa, whether goat, sheep or beef.
Raw chopped vegetables and greens are traditionally served alongside barbacoa, enabling you to control level of spice and type of flavor, on your own. Another typical Oaxacan dish, pozole, is similarly served with accompaniments on the side, in this case including small dishes of chopped dried oregano and chili powder.
While we’re seated a teenage girl distributes clear plastic bags for carrying home the leftover bread. Some have eaten not a bite, while others have broken off chunks to use as dippers in the chocolate. None, however, comes close to putting a dent in all that has been given. We get up, and the next shift, including band members, takes its turn.
“Who decides who gets to eat first?,” I inquire, needing to know that I did not take someone else’s place. Hilarino enlightens:
“Everyone knows. That’s just the way it is. Those who stay sitting down near the band are aware that their turn will come later on, and that we eat before them.”
I am anxious to compare notes with Arlene about our respective comidas, so Hilarino agrees to drive us back to his house in an old pick-up. Arlene was sitting with eight women and children in a tiny dark living-room jam-packed with sofas and an entertainment unit crammed with electronic equipment … eating peanuts, drinking tequila, and watching Bambi II … for the second time. All unfolds while Alma, whose infant had died some eight months earlier, watches her 40-something-year-old mother nursing her own newborn.
Arlene whispers: “I’m starving. They didn’t feed us anything except this. It’s already three o’clock. We’re supposed to be waiting for the procession to arrive, and then we’ll all be going to the fiesta for comida.”
“Well I’m stuffed, and the barbacoa was great,” I respond, to her mild disgust.
“Have some of this bread. It was great with the hot chocolate,” I continue to tease.
We wait, and we wait, until I get bored with Bambi. To pass the time I go out to son Daniel’s adjoining pool hall to play snooker with him and a couple of friends:
“I just opened the place a couple of months ago. There’s nothing in town for kids to do at night except drink and have sex, so I figured that with a pool table, card games and dominos, and pizza and other snacks, it would be a winner.”
I would later learn to better appreciate Daniel’s motivation.
At long last fireworks resume, signaling that the procession is once again departing. We hear the band starting up far off in the distance. The procession has finally begun to retrace its tracks, heading back to the couple’s homestead, its outer fence now draped with white ribbon and floral bouquets. Earlier in the day we had noted two other homes duly decorated with white banners and streamers. We had been told that those residences were to be the focus of later festivities, but uncertain as to when and why.
We walk to the newlyweds’ home to await their arrival. The fiesta will take place in an open, dirt floor courtyard facing the village’s main street. Tables are set, adorned with flower arrangements. Smoke billows from the two, primitive in-ground BBQ ovens. Women are busy coming and going to and from two close-by buildings sheltering food and storing stacks of ceramic dishes and pails of plastic spoons. I spot another palenquero I’ve known for a few years, already mildly inebriated, sitting at a table holding court with his friends. But familiarity breeds comfort, so we join them, and there we continue to drink, more beer and more mezcal. At this household the latter is not of particularly good quality, so after downing a small plastic cupful I stick to seconds of the former. “How do you know the gringos?,” I overhear. I pipe up with the answer, correcting that we’re Canadian.
In Oaxaca most use the word “gringo” in a non-derogatory way, yet are usually sensitive to its common connotation. While always setting the record straight, I make it clear that I know that no offence is intended and none is taken, and that I simply want all to be aware that we’re Canadians, and not gringos. Gringo is a term coined during the revolutionary wars, when the American soldiers in their green uniforms were shouted down, “green go home,” or simply “green go.”
The procession arrives just as I’m finishing another hot chocolate (Arlene, her first), and contemplating what to do with four additional loaves of bread, two for each of us. This time all are super-sized. Once again I hear the ripping off the roll of plastic bags.
But the band and revelers pass right by the house. We hurriedly join in, stopping a block down the road to bring back baptismal godparents Daniel and Alma and everyone else still at their home. By now the pyrotechnics have become continuous and the music is at a feverous pitch. Some 50 well-wishers arrive back at the party. Slowly another 100 or so arrive and seat themselves. A rose bush is placed on each table, two on ours pursuant to the instruction of Sara: “You’ll take this one, so don’t forget. I’ll take the other, and someone else can take home the centerpiece.”
Hot chocolate No. Three is placed before me, along with two more loaves and a bag. And then more beer, followed by mezcal yet again, foreshadowing another heavy comida for me, and the first, at long last, for Arlene.
Mezcal in the pueblos is served from either a multi-liter plastic gasoline container (purchased new for selling and transporting the spirit), or a 2.5 liter plastic coke bottle. Purists, upon arriving home after purchasing in such receptacles immediately transfer their liquor into glass, the fear being that leaving it in plastic may taint the subtle nuances.
Barbacoa de res (beef BBQ) arrives, similar in presentation and with the same cut-up legumes and leafy herb as I had enjoyed only three hours earlier. But it’s not often one gets to indulge in such proportion. The band continues, the number of musicians somehow having grown to 10.
Bands are an extremely important part of Oaxacan society, cultures and the multitude of micro sub-cultures. Musicians are highly respected because of not only their training and talent, but because of what they offer the community: familiar tunes; an opportunity to dance ranchera, cumbia, danzon and the pinotepa; and more generally a medium for advancing the celebration.
Towards the end of the comida, Tupperware-style containers are distributed to everyone, marked “Recuerdo de nuestra boda, E y G, 27/11/08” (Souvenir of our wedding, etc.). In goes the leftover beef and broth. We decline to take home tortillas. We’re then showered with an array of gifts commemorating the baptism, each personalized with particulars of the event: a wooden basket containing suckers and other assorted sweets, adorned with pink ribbon and a small pink baby doll; a plastic bowl; a frilly, pink cotton doll blanket; children’s birthday loot bags. Everyone packs up his bounty. I walk back to our vehicle to stow away umpteen bags and containers, as well as the rose bush. I return with our wedding gift, placing it in a designated room.
Very few gifts at rural Oaxacan functions arrive in a wrapped box or gift bag with card affixed. Instead they are fashioned so that all in attendance will know who is giving what. The present, be it a set of dishes or mugs, a blender, clothing, linens or even a lamp, is taped or glued to a piece of decorated particle board, then shrink wrapped with cellophane. The gift can then be proudly paraded in front of everyone as it’s put in its proper place. Hence, often guests do not even include a card. Of course this makes it difficult for the recipient to know who gave what, unless he or she has a keen memory. But there are no worries, since thank you’s are not the norm, and sending a note of appreciation is unheard of.
Tables are quickly cleared. When they’re then folded, it signals that guests had better stand up. At the same time an 11-tier wedding cake is being assembled, along with a somewhat more modest cake in honor of the baptism. At first the taking down and setting up all seems rather incongruous, but only until the band takes to the street and guests follow behind, once again signaled by the commencement of fireworks.
By now it’s nightfall. We’re clearly a spectacle as we march through the town’s main thoroughfare, picking up more celebrants as we proceed, turning onto a dark dirt road, and then into an alleyway, followed by a right, continuing up a steep dusty gradient, and finally some 20 minutes later arriving at the home of the bride’s godparents from her own baptism. Tradition dictates that on the occasion of her wedding, they present her and the
groom, in the presence of the throngs, with a large wooden wardrobe. But not before prayer and advice. All the while the band’s tempo picks up and dancing begins on a large makeshift patio.
“Don’t you remember me?,” I’m asked by a young girl toting a four-year-old. “I used to work for Sara in the comedor, but now I can’t because I have to take my son to school every day. I’m already 21. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” She appears closer to 16, slight, short and moderately attractive, clearly pretty enough to attract the attention of a local suitor. “I live with my parents and sister.”
The bride, groom, her godparents and other honored guests emerge from the well-wishing, together with four men holding up the white ribbon adorned wardrobe, and yes, dancing with it. We’re showered with candies. More beer. I accept, only reluctantly since it’s getting late and the thought of the drive back to Oaxaca begins to weigh on my mind. Next time perhaps I’ll opt for the bottled fruit drink being offered. If it’s good enough for young mothers to feed their infant children, then maybe it’s okay for me.
An older man passes out unfiltered cigarettes, in singles, from a plate: “It’s a tradition, so take one.” I comply, and get a light. More mezcal, this time much smoother. I decide that soft drinks can wait until a little later. The band continues, as do the four friends dancing with the closet. It looks heavy to me, but they persevere for perhaps 15 minutes. The merriment builds. Bags of goodies are distributed to the extraordinary number of young children, most supervised by teenaged moms.
The band leaves its designated playing area, and begins to trace its steps. The wardrobe follows, along with the rest of us. We stop at the bottom of a hill for more deliberate and formal dancing. Then at the residence of the bride’s godparents of her confirmation, tradition once again prevails: more drink, more candies, more cigarettes (this time filtered), and more milling about, but this time in a large, poured concrete floor courtyard of a relatively lavish looking home. And of course dance. These hosts are required to present the couple with a metate, the large grinding stone used for hand-milling corn for tortillas and tamales.
The metate remains a common and highly appreciated gift for special occasions, at least in towns and villages. It’s usually painted with brightly colored flowers along the sides, with a dedication such as “Souvenir of my wedding” followed by the year, or other wording appropriate to the occasion. At all weekly town marketplaces there’s at least one metate vendor, and at the large Abastos Market in downtown Oaxaca there are several metate stalls. Metates were traditionally as important to a Oaxacan family as a car for most Americans and Canadians today. Even though blenders are now a more common wedding gift, the tradition of gifting a metate in this and other villages remains well entrenched. And why not … its use probably dates back some 3,000 years, albeit in simpler form.
A man is dancing with the 135-pound metate strung across his back. A woman is parading a large galvanized aluminum wash basin, another gift. Someone else is entrusted with carrying a huge clay cooking vessel with a petate (palm leaf mat) rolled up inside. About 40 others are dancing, accompanying those who are presenting these additional gifts.
Now more under the influence than before, our third palenquero acquaintance takes me over to his wife for a chat. His daughter is also present, clutching her infant son.
“Our son’s getting married December 29, and we want you to come, so I’m going to give you a special invitation the next time you’re at my palenque.”
It’s common for people to give last-minute or unexpected invitations to rite of passage celebrations in both rural and urban Oaxaca, even, perhaps surprisingly, for the middle classes. Especially in the villages, extra tables are set up if necessary to accommodate additional guests, and there’s always an abundance of food and drink on hand. It’s a custom with which most North Americans are not familiar, and when confronted with such an 11th hour offer or request to attend, we usually feel insulted or at minimum a little uncomfortable. But the intention is generally to honor and show respect and friendship.
We are now back on the street, once again with music, dance, fireworks, and upwards of 300 in the procession, having picked up invitees from the last two stops, and undoubtedly others along the way. The furniture-foursome continues, joined by metate-man and others, strolling with the most recent gifts.
We finally arrive back at the party site. The band repositions itself off to a corner. But now, with the last of the endowments having arrived, it’s time to take notice of the riches being heaped upon Gladis, Eli and Lexy. All presents are brought out, and each is given to a different person, to rejoice and dance with above the head. A spectacle of potlatch proportion ensues, with baskets, dishes, small appliances and every other class of gift hoisted to the starlit sky and spun around as the band plays on. Those not directly participating clap in unison.
Many are in the street, oblivious to the odd passing vehicle. Children are playing, men and women imbibing. A municipal police pick-up stops out front. The mayor goes over for a chat. All is under control.
Oaxacans returning from the United States to their rural Mexican roots, in the course of expressing their reasons for coming back home, frequently comment about the excessive regulation and control exercised by the American government over its residents:
“Why shouldn’t I be able to have a beer in the street out in front of my home as long as I’m not drunk?”
“Why can’t I keep the music turned up until midnight if I have a party only once a year?”
“If I can’t afford to keep my car’s catalytic converter functioning well, it’s not fair to pull my vehicle off the road.”
The bride and groom are getting more advice, and providing all assurances that they will be faithful and remain together, be good Catholics and lead forthright honest lives, always supporting one another. A conjunto, the more contemporary musical group with amplifiers, electric guitars, singer and MC, is setting up just as the band packs up. It’s after 9 pm. Chatter continues, now about the upcoming waltz, la culebra (snake dance), toast, and other traditions. Many comment that they’re ready for dessert. Dancing with a live turkey is not a custom in this village as it is in many others.
A young girl approaches, yet another former employee of our friend Sara of roadside eatery fame. She’s 20, with a two-year-old. But she’s holding her 15-year-old sister’s three-month-old. Her sister also has a two-year-old:
“So she had her first at thirteen?”
“Yes, I guess that’s right.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No, I don’t like boys, and I don’t think they like me now.”
“My parents are very strict. They never want us going out with boys, so we have to sneak around.”
“But don’t you see how it hasn’t worked? Look at your sister now.”
She looks confused. She doesn’t get it. In a flash the wisdom of Daniel’s one room billiard parlor strikes home. Giving young people something to do might just have an impact on the youth of his village.
There are class distinctions in the village of San Lorenzo Albarradas. But fiestas seem to transcend economic distinctions in terms of the guest list, at least for the middle and lower classes. Those with barely a skill set are noteworthy: the youngsters getting pregnant at 13, working for Sara for perhaps $6 - $8 a day, appearing to be going nowhere, and barely subsisting. Then there are Hilarino and Sara, and Santos and Lupita, with drive and motivation. Their children, while having families when relatively young as compared to current North American trend, aspire to be in long-term monogamous relationships, learn trades and attend higher education. They aim towards a future, while others seem to not. It’s perhaps never even entered the realm of their worldview.
But neither San Lorenzo nor San Isidro has a school beyond junior high. There is no preparatoria (high school) in the area. The closest are in the towns of Mitla and Tlacolula. It costs approximately $20 a week to get there and back by public transit, money that most don’t have. And if a family does send a son or daughter to high school, apart from the cost of doing so, there’s one less income earner in the household.
Arlene is whisked away to the waltz, forming a ring with young women and female children, arm in arm, while Gladis and Eli begin to dance. They hadn’t taken dance lessons. The circle moves ever so slowly to the right. Arlene catches on pretty quickly. The MC begins to call out names of guests to be honored by being invited to dance with bride or groom. Every other surname called out is Martínez.
A half hour goes by, with more drink, talk and laughter. Daniel asks me to participate in the long awaited snake dance. He instructs me to remove my glasses. I initially decline, but then recall from prior experience what it entails, so off they come. The bride and groom each stand on a chair about three yards apart, Eli holding onto the end of Gladis’ train. I and four other men grab onto the bride’s chair, holding it firmly, while another group does likewise with the groom’s. Women begin circling around the main attraction in the center, bumping into us and trying to topple us over, and consequently the bride and groom from their chairs. As the pace of the music picks up, likewise the movement of the snake … the women circling. So does the fervor in trying to knock us over. It’s a draw. Next the men do the same, but the bumps and grinds are more deliberate and severe. We are firm in our resolve to protect Gladis by ensuring that our feet remain firmly planted on the ground and our hands are not dislodged from her chair. Those hanging onto Eli are similarly steadfast. The second snake slithers away as the music dissipates, both newlyweds still standing.
By now, Hilarino and Sara have left for home to put their other son, a two-year-old, to bed. The village’s main street remains alive with drinking, coming and going, and of course sporadic bottle rockets going off. The conjunto is now playing in full swing as the next ritual unfolds. The groom, suit jacket removed, is being ushered around the courtyard by Daniel, so as to enable guests to write a congratulatory note on the back of his shirt, and then affix a peso bill to it with a safety pin. At the other end, Alma is similarly assisting Gladis. Gladis is approaching guests with a crystal slipper, inviting each to fill it with coins or bills. Alma, trailing, periodically empties the slipper’s contents into a decorative wooden box.
The expense involved in throwing a wedding in Oaxaca can be significant, and while most cannot afford much of the pomp and ceremony involved, they nevertheless pull it off. It’s tradition. There’s a saying that most people in Oaxaca have two jobs, one to meet their normal day to day expenses, and the other to fulfill their social obligations. Asking for direct contributions assists in defraying the cost. Honoring specific friends and relatives by asking them to be godparents of a particular aspect of the function further reduces the outlay; godparents of the music, the cake, the wedding rings, and so on.
It’s now 10:30, and it’s a long drive home over dark winding roads. Gladis and Eli continue to solicit contributions. Cider has been distributed in small plastic cups in anticipation of the toast, but no one knows when it will occur. And still to come are the cutting of the cake, the bride or groom having his or her face smashed into it, and other longstanding traditions, not to mention dancing to familiar song … sure to continue throughout the night.
To a person, our friends and acquaintances are shocked at our “premature” departure, Daniel ready to burst into tears, Alma pouting. Weeks earlier we had indeed spoken about spending the night and sleeping over, but not without qualification. I do a quick calculation of the number of drinks I have had over the past
10 ½ hours, to assure myself, and Arlene, that we’ll be safe for the drive home. I had been conscious of my intake all day and evening long, for that very reason.
A week later I see Alma at her mother-in-law’s comedor. She is clearly still disappointed, as well as angry. Many partied until six in the morning. Others closer to our age called it a night at about two or three. But there’s always an opportunity for us to redeem ourselves, perhaps at the next wedding in a month’s time, now that we are much better acquainted with the customs and traditions of San Lorenzo Albarradas.
Alvin Starkman received his Masters in Social Anthropology from York University in Toronto in 1978, taught for a few years, and subsequently attended Osgoode Hall Law School. From 1986 to 2004 he was the litigation partner at Banks & Starkman, specializing in family law. Although a frequent traveler to Oaxaca since 1991, it was not until he ceased practicing law that he took up permanent residence in the state capital in 2004. In his spare time Mr. Starkman takes couples and families on personalized tours to the craft villages, towns on their market days, ruins and other attractions including more off-the-beaten-track sights. He also writes articles about life and cultural traditions in Oaxaca, translates from Spanish to English for a Oaxaca-based website, writes a legal column for a Canadian national antiques magazine, is occasional consultant to documentary film production companies, and together with wife Arlene operates Casa Machaya Oaxaca Bed & Breakfast ( http://www.oaxacadream.com ). The Starkmans’ Oaxaca bed and breakfast experience is unique in that their accommodations combine the comfort and service found in a downtown Oaxaca hotel, with a lodging style characterized by quaintness and personal touch.
We usually think of weddings and baptisms as rites of passage we attend on separate occasions. But November 27, 2008, marked the celebration of both in San Lorenzo Albarradas: the nuptials of a couple in their early twenties, and the baptism of their three-year-old daughter. What resulted was a melding of highly organized custom characterized by extremes of indulging, giving, and all-out merriment.
San Lorenzo Albarradas (“San Lorenzo”) is a village with about 1,900 inhabitants of Zapotec ancestry, located 60 kilometers east of the city of Oaxaca. It’s accessed by a paved highway which, beyond Mitla, winds as it ascends foothills of the Sierra Madre del Sur. San Lorenzo has the usual municipal building housing the office of its presidente municipal (mayor) and local police, a health clinic, school, marketplace, and of course Catholic church and cemetery. Residents engage in predominantly subsistence economic activity: cultivating corn, beans, squash, palm leaf and agave; tending sheep and goats; gathering firewood; and servicing the local population as well as tourist vans en route to and from San Isidro Roaguía (“San Isidro”). San Isidro, designated a marginal community by the federal government, is home to the bubbling springs and petrified waterfalls known as Hierve el Agua. San Lorenzo, San Isidro and environs are home to seven small, rudimentary yet wonderfully functional fábricas de mezcal (mezcal factories).
The marriage of Gladis and Eli and the baptism of their daughter Lexy were planned in early autumn. Santos and Lupita were selected as padrinos de la boda (godparents of the wedding), and long-time grade school friends Daniel and wife Alma as padrinos of the baptism.
If not through blood or marriage, then through compadrazgo (fictive kinship), most people are related one way or another in small Oaxacan towns and villages. On this occasion about a quarter of the residents were invited to partake in at least some of the festivities. Many have relations in nearby San Isidro. But as a result of a longstanding dispute between the villages regarding the right to exact a fee from tourists visiting Hierve el Agua, only recently resolved after years of Hatfield and McCoy antics, invitations were extended to only residents of San Lorenzo, apart from that extended to me and my wife Arlene.
As custom normally dictates, we arrive in town for the mass shortly after the designated 12-noon start time. Daniel and Alma, and Daniel’s parents Hilarino and Sara, had counseled that we would be expected to remain until the madrugada (middle of the night, generally until just before sunrise), and to thus be prepared. We really didn’t take the advice to heart. As once again custom normally dictates, we were just as clear that we would arrive fairly early on, with no guarantees regarding the duration of our visit.
We’d known Hilarino, Sara and family for about four years, initially as a result of purchasing mezcal from Hilarino’s roadside palenque (mezcal facility), and subsequently from eating and imbibing in Sara’s adjoining eatery. We’d broken bread in their home, and they in ours. We’d laughed and traded stories of differences in our respective cultures, and cried over the death of their forty-day-old grandson. They’d missed our 25th anniversary, and we Daniel’s wedding. But for this occasion they required our assurance that our attendance at the festivities would not be pre-empted.
Booming bottle-rocket fireworks direct us to the standing-room-only church service. Guests cram the entranceway and sit under the shade around the courtyard. Dress ranges from Sunday best to workday usual. Gladis, Eli and Lexy emerge about a half hour after our arrival, shockingly early based upon our prior attendances at functions with a religious component. But perhaps ritual was rushed in anticipation of more important local custom to follow. In rural Oaxaca there is often not very much to rejoice, so when the opportunity arises, no expense is spared, figuratively and literally.
As rice showers the honored celebrants, and candies the rest of us, the six piece brass and percussion band begins with upbeat traditional song. I spot a familiar face, Santos the palenquero, competitor of Hilarino:
“Hilarino invite you? He’s my cousin you know.”
“And what about you and your wife?,” I ask.
“Lupita and I are the padrinos de la boda, so you have to come to our home with the procession. Hilarino’s coming too.”
I’ve yet to see Santos without his stiff, off-white cowboy hat, and this occasion is no different. Others wear the softer felt-like version in beiges, greys and blacks, many adorned with peacock feather. The groom, Eli, is dressed in a smartly tailored, very formal light olive suit with all the trimmings, while his bride is in a traditional white strapless gown with long train. Their daughter’s dress is equally appropriate, and yes, predictable. Several downtown Oaxaca retailers have found their niche marketing dresses for weddings, quince años (celebration when a girl turns 15, similar to the Bat Mitzvah in the Jewish faith), baptisms and confirmations. Clearly in San Lorenzo they go all out. In fact the young family, aside from being in this physical environment could have passed for urban Oaxacans of much greater means.
As the band, bride and groom leave the church grounds, Hilarino informs me that I’ll accompany him and others to Santos’ house, my wife Arlene will stay with the rest of his family at theirs, and we will reunite in a short while. Arlene and her group trail off. Close family members stop at the bride and groom’s residence to make final preparations for later festivities. Our procession walks about a mile further, to the padrinos’ home at the end of a meandering potholed roadway.
During 2005 – 2007, pavement of the main street through town was completed. However with few exceptions the rest of the roads are dirt, connected by narrow pathways. Land ownership is in the process of reform, with privatization on the way and promised for 2009. Homes range from extremely modest adobe construction with laminated metal roofing, to a number of large, contemporary-styled two storey clay brick and block abodes. Foundations are often made of locally mined limestone, known as cantera. The padrinos’ compound is somewhere in between, with a couple of buildings composed of brick and adobe, plastered and brightly painted, and a few outer structures for cattle, cooking and storage. The mezcal trade has been good to them.
Our arrival is greeted with fireworks. Without missing a beat the band takes its place aside a manger. About 15 of us are now inside a room with couches facing an altar where Gladis and Eli are kneeling. Additional seating is brought in, along with mezcal and then beer. I take both, as is now my custom, not unlike that of many others. I follow the lead of the elder to my right, pouring a few drops of mezcal on the floor, a sacrament in this village. I think back to the past 57 years of annually spilling ten drops of wine at Passover Seders, recalling the plagues heaped upon Moses’ people by Pharaoh. Chuckling ensues as I then knock over and spill Hilarino’s beer to my left. At first I decline a second beer, but after convincing I accept. After all, the bottle had already been opened for me. Where custom dictates, I rarely decline.
Beer and mezcal are the most typical alcoholic beverages served at rural celebrations in and around the central valleys of Oaxaca. Urbanites of the middle classes tend more towards tequila and scotch, usually Johnny Walker Red Label, simply referred to as whisky. But we all have our favorite mezcals, usually produced in small mom-and-pop operations peppering roadsides in specific regions of the state, usually much better than the commercial labels.
The presidente municipal, Hilarino’s brother, mistakes me for a priest acquaintance of his … a Spanish guëro (white person) with moustache and grey hair. “Not even close,” I answer to laughter. A couple of children begin rhyming off numbers in English. I inform that Arlene gives private English lessons. The ears of each in attendance perk up, since while learning English is valued, aside from very limited instruction in the local school there is no one to teach:
“I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Mayor,” I say. “Once privatization arrives, you find me a small plot of land or very modest home for Arlene and me to buy so we can spend the odd weekend in San Lorenzo, and I’ll make sure she gives free lessons to the kids.”
More chortling, and of course the obligatory “salud!” as we toast the idea.
Someone spots a bull seemingly charging towards the house, having broken loose from its tie. “No es bravo,” we’re assured, so we re-take our seats and continue with levity and further small talk.
After the better part of an hour, following the lead of Santos and the newlyweds we move outside to the covered dining area, taking our seats on benches accommodating about 20 of us. The band continues. More family has arrived and is milling about along with those involved in meal preparation. A large bowl of traditional hot chocolate is placed before each of us, together with two loaves of bread, one small and the other the size of a regular unsliced rye. This is pan de yema, a type of egg bread, similar to challah, the bread that accompanies many Jewish celebrations and Friday night dinner.
Pan de yema is a Oaxacan tradition, served at many rite of passage fiestas as well as for yearly celebrations such as Day of The Dead, when it’s known as Pan de Muertos. Many villages are known for the distinctiveness of their bread, some baked with cinnamon, others anise, and so on. Hot chocolate, a customary beverage in the state, is almost always accompanied by the challah-like bread. Oaxaca is known for its chocolate, made in small mills in virtually all towns and villages. Oaxacan chocolate is made from toasted cacao beans, sugar, usually a bit of cinnamon stick, and at times a small quantity of almonds. Many Oaxacans have their own recipes of stipulated percentages of ingredients, and so instruct the mill operator. Witnessing the simplicity of production is fascinating, and as a non-native Oaxacan, having one’s own chocolate made, even more so.
Barbacoa de chivo (BBQ goat) in a broth with vegetables arrives in deep ceramic soup bowls, along with tortillas and platesful of chopped onion, cilantro, cabbage, fresh chili and radish. “The radish will give you twice as much stamina,” I’m assured, to the amusement of all. More mezcal follows, this time pursuant to statewide custom because of its tendency to cut the grease of barbacoa, whether goat, sheep or beef.
Raw chopped vegetables and greens are traditionally served alongside barbacoa, enabling you to control level of spice and type of flavor, on your own. Another typical Oaxacan dish, pozole, is similarly served with accompaniments on the side, in this case including small dishes of chopped dried oregano and chili powder.
While we’re seated a teenage girl distributes clear plastic bags for carrying home the leftover bread. Some have eaten not a bite, while others have broken off chunks to use as dippers in the chocolate. None, however, comes close to putting a dent in all that has been given. We get up, and the next shift, including band members, takes its turn.
“Who decides who gets to eat first?,” I inquire, needing to know that I did not take someone else’s place. Hilarino enlightens:
“Everyone knows. That’s just the way it is. Those who stay sitting down near the band are aware that their turn will come later on, and that we eat before them.”
I am anxious to compare notes with Arlene about our respective comidas, so Hilarino agrees to drive us back to his house in an old pick-up. Arlene was sitting with eight women and children in a tiny dark living-room jam-packed with sofas and an entertainment unit crammed with electronic equipment … eating peanuts, drinking tequila, and watching Bambi II … for the second time. All unfolds while Alma, whose infant had died some eight months earlier, watches her 40-something-year-old mother nursing her own newborn.
Arlene whispers: “I’m starving. They didn’t feed us anything except this. It’s already three o’clock. We’re supposed to be waiting for the procession to arrive, and then we’ll all be going to the fiesta for comida.”
“Well I’m stuffed, and the barbacoa was great,” I respond, to her mild disgust.
“Have some of this bread. It was great with the hot chocolate,” I continue to tease.
We wait, and we wait, until I get bored with Bambi. To pass the time I go out to son Daniel’s adjoining pool hall to play snooker with him and a couple of friends:
“I just opened the place a couple of months ago. There’s nothing in town for kids to do at night except drink and have sex, so I figured that with a pool table, card games and dominos, and pizza and other snacks, it would be a winner.”
I would later learn to better appreciate Daniel’s motivation.
At long last fireworks resume, signaling that the procession is once again departing. We hear the band starting up far off in the distance. The procession has finally begun to retrace its tracks, heading back to the couple’s homestead, its outer fence now draped with white ribbon and floral bouquets. Earlier in the day we had noted two other homes duly decorated with white banners and streamers. We had been told that those residences were to be the focus of later festivities, but uncertain as to when and why.
We walk to the newlyweds’ home to await their arrival. The fiesta will take place in an open, dirt floor courtyard facing the village’s main street. Tables are set, adorned with flower arrangements. Smoke billows from the two, primitive in-ground BBQ ovens. Women are busy coming and going to and from two close-by buildings sheltering food and storing stacks of ceramic dishes and pails of plastic spoons. I spot another palenquero I’ve known for a few years, already mildly inebriated, sitting at a table holding court with his friends. But familiarity breeds comfort, so we join them, and there we continue to drink, more beer and more mezcal. At this household the latter is not of particularly good quality, so after downing a small plastic cupful I stick to seconds of the former. “How do you know the gringos?,” I overhear. I pipe up with the answer, correcting that we’re Canadian.
In Oaxaca most use the word “gringo” in a non-derogatory way, yet are usually sensitive to its common connotation. While always setting the record straight, I make it clear that I know that no offence is intended and none is taken, and that I simply want all to be aware that we’re Canadians, and not gringos. Gringo is a term coined during the revolutionary wars, when the American soldiers in their green uniforms were shouted down, “green go home,” or simply “green go.”
The procession arrives just as I’m finishing another hot chocolate (Arlene, her first), and contemplating what to do with four additional loaves of bread, two for each of us. This time all are super-sized. Once again I hear the ripping off the roll of plastic bags.
But the band and revelers pass right by the house. We hurriedly join in, stopping a block down the road to bring back baptismal godparents Daniel and Alma and everyone else still at their home. By now the pyrotechnics have become continuous and the music is at a feverous pitch. Some 50 well-wishers arrive back at the party. Slowly another 100 or so arrive and seat themselves. A rose bush is placed on each table, two on ours pursuant to the instruction of Sara: “You’ll take this one, so don’t forget. I’ll take the other, and someone else can take home the centerpiece.”
Hot chocolate No. Three is placed before me, along with two more loaves and a bag. And then more beer, followed by mezcal yet again, foreshadowing another heavy comida for me, and the first, at long last, for Arlene.
Mezcal in the pueblos is served from either a multi-liter plastic gasoline container (purchased new for selling and transporting the spirit), or a 2.5 liter plastic coke bottle. Purists, upon arriving home after purchasing in such receptacles immediately transfer their liquor into glass, the fear being that leaving it in plastic may taint the subtle nuances.
Barbacoa de res (beef BBQ) arrives, similar in presentation and with the same cut-up legumes and leafy herb as I had enjoyed only three hours earlier. But it’s not often one gets to indulge in such proportion. The band continues, the number of musicians somehow having grown to 10.
Bands are an extremely important part of Oaxacan society, cultures and the multitude of micro sub-cultures. Musicians are highly respected because of not only their training and talent, but because of what they offer the community: familiar tunes; an opportunity to dance ranchera, cumbia, danzon and the pinotepa; and more generally a medium for advancing the celebration.
Towards the end of the comida, Tupperware-style containers are distributed to everyone, marked “Recuerdo de nuestra boda, E y G, 27/11/08” (Souvenir of our wedding, etc.). In goes the leftover beef and broth. We decline to take home tortillas. We’re then showered with an array of gifts commemorating the baptism, each personalized with particulars of the event: a wooden basket containing suckers and other assorted sweets, adorned with pink ribbon and a small pink baby doll; a plastic bowl; a frilly, pink cotton doll blanket; children’s birthday loot bags. Everyone packs up his bounty. I walk back to our vehicle to stow away umpteen bags and containers, as well as the rose bush. I return with our wedding gift, placing it in a designated room.
Very few gifts at rural Oaxacan functions arrive in a wrapped box or gift bag with card affixed. Instead they are fashioned so that all in attendance will know who is giving what. The present, be it a set of dishes or mugs, a blender, clothing, linens or even a lamp, is taped or glued to a piece of decorated particle board, then shrink wrapped with cellophane. The gift can then be proudly paraded in front of everyone as it’s put in its proper place. Hence, often guests do not even include a card. Of course this makes it difficult for the recipient to know who gave what, unless he or she has a keen memory. But there are no worries, since thank you’s are not the norm, and sending a note of appreciation is unheard of.
Tables are quickly cleared. When they’re then folded, it signals that guests had better stand up. At the same time an 11-tier wedding cake is being assembled, along with a somewhat more modest cake in honor of the baptism. At first the taking down and setting up all seems rather incongruous, but only until the band takes to the street and guests follow behind, once again signaled by the commencement of fireworks.
By now it’s nightfall. We’re clearly a spectacle as we march through the town’s main thoroughfare, picking up more celebrants as we proceed, turning onto a dark dirt road, and then into an alleyway, followed by a right, continuing up a steep dusty gradient, and finally some 20 minutes later arriving at the home of the bride’s godparents from her own baptism. Tradition dictates that on the occasion of her wedding, they present her and the
groom, in the presence of the throngs, with a large wooden wardrobe. But not before prayer and advice. All the while the band’s tempo picks up and dancing begins on a large makeshift patio.
“Don’t you remember me?,” I’m asked by a young girl toting a four-year-old. “I used to work for Sara in the comedor, but now I can’t because I have to take my son to school every day. I’m already 21. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” She appears closer to 16, slight, short and moderately attractive, clearly pretty enough to attract the attention of a local suitor. “I live with my parents and sister.”
The bride, groom, her godparents and other honored guests emerge from the well-wishing, together with four men holding up the white ribbon adorned wardrobe, and yes, dancing with it. We’re showered with candies. More beer. I accept, only reluctantly since it’s getting late and the thought of the drive back to Oaxaca begins to weigh on my mind. Next time perhaps I’ll opt for the bottled fruit drink being offered. If it’s good enough for young mothers to feed their infant children, then maybe it’s okay for me.
An older man passes out unfiltered cigarettes, in singles, from a plate: “It’s a tradition, so take one.” I comply, and get a light. More mezcal, this time much smoother. I decide that soft drinks can wait until a little later. The band continues, as do the four friends dancing with the closet. It looks heavy to me, but they persevere for perhaps 15 minutes. The merriment builds. Bags of goodies are distributed to the extraordinary number of young children, most supervised by teenaged moms.
The band leaves its designated playing area, and begins to trace its steps. The wardrobe follows, along with the rest of us. We stop at the bottom of a hill for more deliberate and formal dancing. Then at the residence of the bride’s godparents of her confirmation, tradition once again prevails: more drink, more candies, more cigarettes (this time filtered), and more milling about, but this time in a large, poured concrete floor courtyard of a relatively lavish looking home. And of course dance. These hosts are required to present the couple with a metate, the large grinding stone used for hand-milling corn for tortillas and tamales.
The metate remains a common and highly appreciated gift for special occasions, at least in towns and villages. It’s usually painted with brightly colored flowers along the sides, with a dedication such as “Souvenir of my wedding” followed by the year, or other wording appropriate to the occasion. At all weekly town marketplaces there’s at least one metate vendor, and at the large Abastos Market in downtown Oaxaca there are several metate stalls. Metates were traditionally as important to a Oaxacan family as a car for most Americans and Canadians today. Even though blenders are now a more common wedding gift, the tradition of gifting a metate in this and other villages remains well entrenched. And why not … its use probably dates back some 3,000 years, albeit in simpler form.
A man is dancing with the 135-pound metate strung across his back. A woman is parading a large galvanized aluminum wash basin, another gift. Someone else is entrusted with carrying a huge clay cooking vessel with a petate (palm leaf mat) rolled up inside. About 40 others are dancing, accompanying those who are presenting these additional gifts.
Now more under the influence than before, our third palenquero acquaintance takes me over to his wife for a chat. His daughter is also present, clutching her infant son.
“Our son’s getting married December 29, and we want you to come, so I’m going to give you a special invitation the next time you’re at my palenque.”
It’s common for people to give last-minute or unexpected invitations to rite of passage celebrations in both rural and urban Oaxaca, even, perhaps surprisingly, for the middle classes. Especially in the villages, extra tables are set up if necessary to accommodate additional guests, and there’s always an abundance of food and drink on hand. It’s a custom with which most North Americans are not familiar, and when confronted with such an 11th hour offer or request to attend, we usually feel insulted or at minimum a little uncomfortable. But the intention is generally to honor and show respect and friendship.
We are now back on the street, once again with music, dance, fireworks, and upwards of 300 in the procession, having picked up invitees from the last two stops, and undoubtedly others along the way. The furniture-foursome continues, joined by metate-man and others, strolling with the most recent gifts.
We finally arrive back at the party site. The band repositions itself off to a corner. But now, with the last of the endowments having arrived, it’s time to take notice of the riches being heaped upon Gladis, Eli and Lexy. All presents are brought out, and each is given to a different person, to rejoice and dance with above the head. A spectacle of potlatch proportion ensues, with baskets, dishes, small appliances and every other class of gift hoisted to the starlit sky and spun around as the band plays on. Those not directly participating clap in unison.
Many are in the street, oblivious to the odd passing vehicle. Children are playing, men and women imbibing. A municipal police pick-up stops out front. The mayor goes over for a chat. All is under control.
Oaxacans returning from the United States to their rural Mexican roots, in the course of expressing their reasons for coming back home, frequently comment about the excessive regulation and control exercised by the American government over its residents:
“Why shouldn’t I be able to have a beer in the street out in front of my home as long as I’m not drunk?”
“Why can’t I keep the music turned up until midnight if I have a party only once a year?”
“If I can’t afford to keep my car’s catalytic converter functioning well, it’s not fair to pull my vehicle off the road.”
The bride and groom are getting more advice, and providing all assurances that they will be faithful and remain together, be good Catholics and lead forthright honest lives, always supporting one another. A conjunto, the more contemporary musical group with amplifiers, electric guitars, singer and MC, is setting up just as the band packs up. It’s after 9 pm. Chatter continues, now about the upcoming waltz, la culebra (snake dance), toast, and other traditions. Many comment that they’re ready for dessert. Dancing with a live turkey is not a custom in this village as it is in many others.
A young girl approaches, yet another former employee of our friend Sara of roadside eatery fame. She’s 20, with a two-year-old. But she’s holding her 15-year-old sister’s three-month-old. Her sister also has a two-year-old:
“So she had her first at thirteen?”
“Yes, I guess that’s right.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No, I don’t like boys, and I don’t think they like me now.”
“My parents are very strict. They never want us going out with boys, so we have to sneak around.”
“But don’t you see how it hasn’t worked? Look at your sister now.”
She looks confused. She doesn’t get it. In a flash the wisdom of Daniel’s one room billiard parlor strikes home. Giving young people something to do might just have an impact on the youth of his village.
There are class distinctions in the village of San Lorenzo Albarradas. But fiestas seem to transcend economic distinctions in terms of the guest list, at least for the middle and lower classes. Those with barely a skill set are noteworthy: the youngsters getting pregnant at 13, working for Sara for perhaps $6 - $8 a day, appearing to be going nowhere, and barely subsisting. Then there are Hilarino and Sara, and Santos and Lupita, with drive and motivation. Their children, while having families when relatively young as compared to current North American trend, aspire to be in long-term monogamous relationships, learn trades and attend higher education. They aim towards a future, while others seem to not. It’s perhaps never even entered the realm of their worldview.
But neither San Lorenzo nor San Isidro has a school beyond junior high. There is no preparatoria (high school) in the area. The closest are in the towns of Mitla and Tlacolula. It costs approximately $20 a week to get there and back by public transit, money that most don’t have. And if a family does send a son or daughter to high school, apart from the cost of doing so, there’s one less income earner in the household.
Arlene is whisked away to the waltz, forming a ring with young women and female children, arm in arm, while Gladis and Eli begin to dance. They hadn’t taken dance lessons. The circle moves ever so slowly to the right. Arlene catches on pretty quickly. The MC begins to call out names of guests to be honored by being invited to dance with bride or groom. Every other surname called out is Martínez.
A half hour goes by, with more drink, talk and laughter. Daniel asks me to participate in the long awaited snake dance. He instructs me to remove my glasses. I initially decline, but then recall from prior experience what it entails, so off they come. The bride and groom each stand on a chair about three yards apart, Eli holding onto the end of Gladis’ train. I and four other men grab onto the bride’s chair, holding it firmly, while another group does likewise with the groom’s. Women begin circling around the main attraction in the center, bumping into us and trying to topple us over, and consequently the bride and groom from their chairs. As the pace of the music picks up, likewise the movement of the snake … the women circling. So does the fervor in trying to knock us over. It’s a draw. Next the men do the same, but the bumps and grinds are more deliberate and severe. We are firm in our resolve to protect Gladis by ensuring that our feet remain firmly planted on the ground and our hands are not dislodged from her chair. Those hanging onto Eli are similarly steadfast. The second snake slithers away as the music dissipates, both newlyweds still standing.
By now, Hilarino and Sara have left for home to put their other son, a two-year-old, to bed. The village’s main street remains alive with drinking, coming and going, and of course sporadic bottle rockets going off. The conjunto is now playing in full swing as the next ritual unfolds. The groom, suit jacket removed, is being ushered around the courtyard by Daniel, so as to enable guests to write a congratulatory note on the back of his shirt, and then affix a peso bill to it with a safety pin. At the other end, Alma is similarly assisting Gladis. Gladis is approaching guests with a crystal slipper, inviting each to fill it with coins or bills. Alma, trailing, periodically empties the slipper’s contents into a decorative wooden box.
The expense involved in throwing a wedding in Oaxaca can be significant, and while most cannot afford much of the pomp and ceremony involved, they nevertheless pull it off. It’s tradition. There’s a saying that most people in Oaxaca have two jobs, one to meet their normal day to day expenses, and the other to fulfill their social obligations. Asking for direct contributions assists in defraying the cost. Honoring specific friends and relatives by asking them to be godparents of a particular aspect of the function further reduces the outlay; godparents of the music, the cake, the wedding rings, and so on.
It’s now 10:30, and it’s a long drive home over dark winding roads. Gladis and Eli continue to solicit contributions. Cider has been distributed in small plastic cups in anticipation of the toast, but no one knows when it will occur. And still to come are the cutting of the cake, the bride or groom having his or her face smashed into it, and other longstanding traditions, not to mention dancing to familiar song … sure to continue throughout the night.
To a person, our friends and acquaintances are shocked at our “premature” departure, Daniel ready to burst into tears, Alma pouting. Weeks earlier we had indeed spoken about spending the night and sleeping over, but not without qualification. I do a quick calculation of the number of drinks I have had over the past
10 ½ hours, to assure myself, and Arlene, that we’ll be safe for the drive home. I had been conscious of my intake all day and evening long, for that very reason.
A week later I see Alma at her mother-in-law’s comedor. She is clearly still disappointed, as well as angry. Many partied until six in the morning. Others closer to our age called it a night at about two or three. But there’s always an opportunity for us to redeem ourselves, perhaps at the next wedding in a month’s time, now that we are much better acquainted with the customs and traditions of San Lorenzo Albarradas.
Alvin Starkman received his Masters in Social Anthropology from York University in Toronto in 1978, taught for a few years, and subsequently attended Osgoode Hall Law School. From 1986 to 2004 he was the litigation partner at Banks & Starkman, specializing in family law. Although a frequent traveler to Oaxaca since 1991, it was not until he ceased practicing law that he took up permanent residence in the state capital in 2004. In his spare time Mr. Starkman takes couples and families on personalized tours to the craft villages, towns on their market days, ruins and other attractions including more off-the-beaten-track sights. He also writes articles about life and cultural traditions in Oaxaca, translates from Spanish to English for a Oaxaca-based website, writes a legal column for a Canadian national antiques magazine, is occasional consultant to documentary film production companies, and together with wife Arlene operates Casa Machaya Oaxaca Bed & Breakfast ( http://www.oaxacadream.com ). The Starkmans’ Oaxaca bed and breakfast experience is unique in that their accommodations combine the comfort and service found in a downtown Oaxaca hotel, with a lodging style characterized by quaintness and personal touch.
2/05/2009
Upcoming 2009 Culinary Tour of Oaxaca
The Annual "Culinary Secrets from Oaxaca's Kitchens", a seven-day gastronomic extravaganza and tour, is scheduled for April 25 - May 1, 2009. The theme of this year's tour is "The evolution of Oaxacan cuisine." The itinerary, designed for both the novice with a keen interest in Oaxacan cookery, as well as the seasoned chef, includes: 3 days of class at different venues, each lead by an internationally renowned culinary expert; native market tours; exploring important sites contributing to UNESCO's designation of Oaxaca as a World Heritage Site; keynote speaker; tastings of traditional regional foods, sweets and beverages; and select comidas in critically acclaimed restaurants. Participating chefs include Pilar Cabrera of BB Sabores Cooking School, and Alejandro Ruíz, owner of Casa Oaxaca Restaurant. Members of the Oaxaca Bed & Breakfast Association, sponsor, will be offering discounts, and a number of restaurants are expected to follow suit. Send inquiries to tours@oaxacabedandbreakfast.org, where you can also request the provisional tour calendar. Alvin Starkman - Casa Machaya Oaxaca Bed & Breakfast
1/29/2009
Should I rent a car in Oaxaca?
Alvin Starkman M.A., LL.B.
Driving a car in Oaxaca has always been dangerous, be it using your own or a rental vehicle (see my earlier article entitled Driving in Oaxaca: Rules of the Road). But with a dramatic change in the law respecting obtaining a driver’s license, it’s now more precarious, and scary, than ever.
Until recently, to obtain a license you had to either take a written test, or pay a small bribe to avoid having to do so. In either case there was no road test and no eye examination. But now the state has done away with virtually all licensing requirements relating to safety: no written test, no road test, no eye test. The new law is advertized as “more secure.” However, the fact of the matter is that drivers, passengers and pedestrians are much less secure on the roads, curbs and sidewalks.
As long as you’re at least 18 years of age you can apply for licensing for two, three or five years. For the longest period, the cost of obtaining a license to drive a car or light truck is 552 pesos (about $42 USD using early 2009, exchange rates). Add a further 66 pesos ($5) and you can obtain a chauffeur’s license, enabling you to drive a tractor trailer. And with a payment of only 375 pesos ($30), you’re off on your Harley Davidson roaming the roads for a half a decade.
Those 16 and 17 years old must produce an original certificate confirming that they’ve taken a driver training course, but naturally producing such a document has nothing to do with how you’ve performed on the road while taking your lessons. If you can’t afford the lessons, or if your road skills are so bad that driving instructors refuse to teach you out of sheer fear for their own lives, all you have to do is wait that extra year or two, until your eighteenth birthday, and then there are virtually no hoops to jump through.
The requirements with which you must comply are:
1) You must be able to sign your name, which of course does not preclude placing your mark (i.e. an “X”) instead;
2) You must produce proof of residence, such as a water, phone or hydro bill;
3) You must have identification in the form of a voter registration card, or in the case of non-Mexicans, a visa and passport;
4) You must have the name and minimal contact information for a next of kin;
5) You must provide fingerprints of all of your digits, but it’s not clear if this requirement means that those missing one or more fingers simply have to ink up those, if any, that they have;
6) You must be able to pose for a photo.
It appears that if you are legally blind, you can still be licensed. You are simply asked if you need eyeglasses to drive, with no mention of the nature or strength of prescription. It appears that you must be able to speak so as to enable you to comply with the fourth requirement noted above, but if you bring along a piece of paper with the name and contact information of your next of kin, or attend with someone assisting you who can speak, this possible prerequisite may not apply at all. And of course if you read lips when being addressed by the application officer, the ability to hear becomes irrelevant. It appears that you must have at least one arm, or portion thereof enabling you to sign, but there is no suggestion that you must have a lower limb.
So why is it so dangerous for those of us driving in Oaxaca with years of experience and not a single traffic violation on our record? Think about it; the lane to your left could be occupied by a fully licensed sixteen-year-old blind youth who has rarely been behind the wheel or even a passenger in a car, trying to make a right hand turn in his three ton cube van, all the while oblivious to you honking your horn in sheer fright.
Alvin Starkman has a Masters in anthropology and law degree from Osgoode Hall Law School. Now a resident of Oaxaca, Alvin writes, takes couples and families to the sights, and owns Casa Machaya Oaxaca Bed & Breakfast ( http://www.oaxacadream.com ), a unique Oaxaca bed and breakfast experience, providing Oaxaca accommodations which combine the comfort and service of Oaxaca hotels with the personal touch of quaint country inn style lodging.
Driving a car in Oaxaca has always been dangerous, be it using your own or a rental vehicle (see my earlier article entitled Driving in Oaxaca: Rules of the Road). But with a dramatic change in the law respecting obtaining a driver’s license, it’s now more precarious, and scary, than ever.
Until recently, to obtain a license you had to either take a written test, or pay a small bribe to avoid having to do so. In either case there was no road test and no eye examination. But now the state has done away with virtually all licensing requirements relating to safety: no written test, no road test, no eye test. The new law is advertized as “more secure.” However, the fact of the matter is that drivers, passengers and pedestrians are much less secure on the roads, curbs and sidewalks.
As long as you’re at least 18 years of age you can apply for licensing for two, three or five years. For the longest period, the cost of obtaining a license to drive a car or light truck is 552 pesos (about $42 USD using early 2009, exchange rates). Add a further 66 pesos ($5) and you can obtain a chauffeur’s license, enabling you to drive a tractor trailer. And with a payment of only 375 pesos ($30), you’re off on your Harley Davidson roaming the roads for a half a decade.
Those 16 and 17 years old must produce an original certificate confirming that they’ve taken a driver training course, but naturally producing such a document has nothing to do with how you’ve performed on the road while taking your lessons. If you can’t afford the lessons, or if your road skills are so bad that driving instructors refuse to teach you out of sheer fear for their own lives, all you have to do is wait that extra year or two, until your eighteenth birthday, and then there are virtually no hoops to jump through.
The requirements with which you must comply are:
1) You must be able to sign your name, which of course does not preclude placing your mark (i.e. an “X”) instead;
2) You must produce proof of residence, such as a water, phone or hydro bill;
3) You must have identification in the form of a voter registration card, or in the case of non-Mexicans, a visa and passport;
4) You must have the name and minimal contact information for a next of kin;
5) You must provide fingerprints of all of your digits, but it’s not clear if this requirement means that those missing one or more fingers simply have to ink up those, if any, that they have;
6) You must be able to pose for a photo.
It appears that if you are legally blind, you can still be licensed. You are simply asked if you need eyeglasses to drive, with no mention of the nature or strength of prescription. It appears that you must be able to speak so as to enable you to comply with the fourth requirement noted above, but if you bring along a piece of paper with the name and contact information of your next of kin, or attend with someone assisting you who can speak, this possible prerequisite may not apply at all. And of course if you read lips when being addressed by the application officer, the ability to hear becomes irrelevant. It appears that you must have at least one arm, or portion thereof enabling you to sign, but there is no suggestion that you must have a lower limb.
So why is it so dangerous for those of us driving in Oaxaca with years of experience and not a single traffic violation on our record? Think about it; the lane to your left could be occupied by a fully licensed sixteen-year-old blind youth who has rarely been behind the wheel or even a passenger in a car, trying to make a right hand turn in his three ton cube van, all the while oblivious to you honking your horn in sheer fright.
Alvin Starkman has a Masters in anthropology and law degree from Osgoode Hall Law School. Now a resident of Oaxaca, Alvin writes, takes couples and families to the sights, and owns Casa Machaya Oaxaca Bed & Breakfast ( http://www.oaxacadream.com ), a unique Oaxaca bed and breakfast experience, providing Oaxaca accommodations which combine the comfort and service of Oaxaca hotels with the personal touch of quaint country inn style lodging.
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