Mexico Travelogue

The Merida Carnival

2007-03-01T08:33:00.001-06:00

So we were counting down the days until we could leave Merida. Our beachfront rental in Progreso wouldn’t be ready for another week and after a month of heat and noise in the city we were anxious for a change. Not that noise was a character flaw of Merida, it was more the fact that our apartment fronted on a busy street. We just couldn’t escape the car horns, train whistles, buses and trucks.

Suddenly the weather turned very cool which apparently is a signal in Merida for the start of Carnival. We knew it was coming. You couldn’t escape the ads and signs posted everywhere in town. Preparations were well underway. The city workers had erected bleachers in the median the length of Paseo Montejo. Beer and beverage tents, food kiosks and itinerant merchandise stores crowded the sidewalks. Bandstands were erected at every intersection

There was to be a parade. In fact, there was to be a parade everyday for five days. I anticipated the usually trouping of boy scouts and girl guides, a fleet of half ton trucks with waving dignitaries and pretty girls, a fire truck or two and a plethora of boring speeches. The reality was quite different. Merida puts on a world class parade; perhaps not as elaborate as the Rose Bowl Parade but first class nonetheless. Depending on the day and the pace of the marchers, the parade takes two hours more or less to pass. The major beer, food and soft drink companies enter elaborate floats. They are adorned with the most attractive young women that Merida can muster. All are clad as sparsely as possible. The Sol ladies are very appealing and are crowd favourites.

As each float passes, the viewers are bombarded with T-shirts, beer company hats, candy, plastic beer glasses, bags of chips and other miscellanea. There is a constant frenzy in the crowd as this manna rains down from above. In between the floats were troops of students representing most every school in the city. All of the students were in elaborate costume with Mayan headdresses being a consistent theme. Many were eight to ten feet in diameter and extended to the ground where they were supported with little wheels. They looked more like butterfly wings. With the wheels, the marchers could swirl majestically, garnering enormous cheers from the crowd. One participant had a headdress the full width of the street. It was so large, there were attendants to help him in his maneuvers.

Stilt walkers were very popular as they strode down the avenue without fear and with extraordinary skill. They were accompanied by puppet people who thrilled the little children with their cartoon antics. After a while, you lost all sense of the size of this parade. The participants must have counted in the thousands and yet the viewers out-numbered them by the tens of thousands. The crowds were simply enormous.

Once the parade had passed, the streets filled up with excited revelers. The crowds were as thick as grapes at harvest time. The usually quiet and staid people of Merida were in a frenzy of celebration. In a city where the police kept people on a tight rein for 51 weeks, freedom reigned for this one week of celebration. The police were more plentiful than ever but were mainly disarmed. Empty holsters were the style of the day.

The beer vendors kept the party going by offering six packs poured into one giant plastic beer bottle which was carried like a badge by many of the young initiates to hard core drinking. Food was being consumed by the truckload. French fried potatoes topped with cut up and deep fried wieners seemed to be the favourite along with corn on the cob. All the usual carnival foods were available including candy floss and hot roasted peanuts.

The biggest crowds concentrated at the band shells where popular and skilled bands played music non-stop until one in the morning. Between songs, a manic announcer who must have trained with the WWF kept the crowds engaged with a litany of enthusiastic nonsense. These guys love the sound of their voices and often take longer to introduce a song than it takes to sing.

To get past these band shells, people form impromptu conga lines and push one another like a wedge through a stubborn block of wood. Finally you spit out the other end, have a little freedom of maneuver for a block before entering the next band stand crowd.

After one in the morning, the crowds thin out and the scope of the party becomes all too evident. A cornucopia of debris covers virtually every inch of Paseo Montejo and the sidewalks. Styrofoam trays, beer bottles, corn cobs, confetti and pop bottles lie in despair having served their useful life. The next morning, there is no evidence that a party had ever taken place. The streets and sidewalks are spotless. By seven in the evening, the process begins again and repeats itself for six tiring days.

The Merida Carnival must be one of the great celebrations in all of Mexico. For its size and the enormity of the participation and drinking, it seems to go off without a hint of trouble. Virtually the entire city gets caught up in the spirit(s) and that carries it forward day after day till the people just wear themselves out.

NOTES:
The Merida Carnaval is held on the third week of February.

Habla Inglese

2007-02-15T12:33:00.001-06:00

For more than 25 years, my wife and I have been visiting Mexico to escape the northern chill. Typically our trip was two or three weeks at a tourist resort surrounded by English speaking people. Almost every Mexican we encountered had some command of the English language. Communications was never an issue. For the last four years, we have been spending three months in Mexico in cities somewhat or very much removed from the mainstream tourist destinations. Almost every Mexican we encountered had little or no command of the English language and we were equally competent in Spanish.

The experts in these matters tell us that we will never get to know the real Mexico until we can speak the Spanish language with fluency. We will always be on the outside looking in so to speak. Heeding that advice, we enrolled in beginner Spanish lessons but after a month of spending the better part of the day cooped up in an overheated classroom with a dozen or so other incompetents, we had all the Spanish we ever wanted. I am old enough to know the steepness of my language learning curve. Besides, we were desperately missing our holiday in Mexico and over-taxing our brains. We had other ways of communicating with the people of Mexico and the results were much more fun.

Experience tells me that conversations relating to food are the most perplexing. If you are in a city like Morelia with a tiny expatriate population and very little tourism, the restaurants don’t cater to English speaking people at all. Menus are entirely in Spanish and the waiters are highly skilled if they can say “good afternoon”. One soon tires of ordering hamburgesa even though it is the only word on the menu besides Sol that we recognized. No problemo! We merely looked around the restaurant and tried to pick out something in front of another patron that looked appetizing and pointed. This worked so well we tried ordering from the menu without reference to the dining preferences of others..

We were in an outdoor café in a nameless city with good friends who were devoted to learning the Spanish language and had four years of training under their guayabaras. The menu was pretty basic but the word “pizza” stuck out like a neon sign. There were about fifteen different toppings and not one was known to us. It was agreed that we wanted pepperoni. The young waiter had a smattering of English and assured us we could get a pepperoni pizza. He must also have been an ardent listener of music videos since he said “you da man” as he left the table.

About half an hour and many Sols later our pizza arrived. It was a thin crust version which was my favourite. The pepperoni, however; had a rather unusual shape. It wasn’t round. It was elongated and lumpy. The first bite explained the difference. The pepperoni took the form of red-hot chile peppers.

A few years back, I was cruising the meat department at the Gigante in San Miguel de Allende. This little city is almost an English language bastion but all the products in the grocery store are labeled in Spanish. I was contemplating a frozen package of something called “pavo” when a charming gringa came alongside looking for chicken breasts. There were wings, legs, whole chickens and half chickens but no breast. She caught the attention of the butcher who greeted her with “puedo ayudarle” (may I help you). She said “ Pollo, por favor, BREASTS.” The butcher pointed to the array of chicken products in the display case and the lady kept repeating “BREASTS, BREASTS”. From the look on the butchers face, we were both able to read the universal language saying “lady I don’t know what you’re talking about.” In sheer exasperation the woman clutched her own breasts and said loudly “pollo BREASTS”. Without missing a beat, the butcher said in absolutely perfect English “Oh, you want chicken breasts. There are none out. I’ll have to cut them for you.” While he worked at the butcher’s table, I swear I could almost see him grinning through the back of his head.

While in Merida. I was in the beverage department of Wal-Mart perusing the six packs and was asked by another gringo if I knew where they kept the straws or if I knew the Spanish word for straws. Negative on both counts. It was obvious that this man was also a graduate of beginners Spanish since she posed the same question to a nearby senora. This time however, he used his limited Spanish and said to her “quiere straws?” instead of “quiero straws.” In translation he said “do you want straws” rather than “I want straws.” There was no sign of understanding on the woman’s face and so the man reverted to mime. He held his fingers in front of his lips and proceeded to make exaggerated sucking noises followed by the same question “quiere straws?” Now the senora in question had a pretty dark complexion and I swear she almost turned burgundy. She fled back to the other end of the aisle and related the sordid story of the gringo and his proposition. As she fled down the aisle, I definitely saw a wide grin through the back of her head..

So to all you devotees out there who insist that we spend the rest of our lives studying Spanish, I say bah humbug. I am having a heck of a lot more fun just being plain stupid.

Merida

2007-02-15T12:32:00.001-06:00

They told us she could be a fiery mistress, this city of Merida, and we came to her uneasily. At first, she wooed us gently and seduced us with overcast skies, occasional warm drizzle and pleasing evening temperatures. We walked her beautiful boulevards; admired magnificent hundred year old mansions built for long-dead land barons and toured her countryside. The natives of this sprawling city scurried about in sweaters and merchants brought out inventories of parkas while we paraded about in sandals and shorts.

Perhaps we underappreciated her many virtues: but oh did she turn on us. Sudden winds blew from the southeast; perhaps a sirocco from Africa fueled with moisture from the Gulf of Mexico. Steadily her fiery reputation was manifest under a glaring sun. By the end of our first week the daytime temperature was 97 degrees and the humidity higher. The locals were happy again.

To venture out of doors during these hot periods is sheer recklessness. A walk of ten blocks, even with the tree-lined shade of Paseo Montejo, causes an unending torrent of sweat to precipitate into eyes and under pectorals. The women are aghast at their own public perspiration. We take intermittent shelter in air-conditioned stores and feel light headed with the change of climate. We reel back to our air-conditioned apartments with the vigour of an aging octogenarian. On these days, our lives are different. We become nocturnal; our siestas start earlier and end later. Shades are drawn all day. Excursions during the hot days are for emergencies only. In due course we adapt and take advantage of overcast skies to explore this capital of the Yucatan.

Merida is a sprawling, flat landscape that is home to over one million people. If you really want to see the city and its surroundings, hop on almost any city bus near the Zocalo and just go for the ride. Pick a destination like Plazas Las Americas or Grand Plaza and the bus will meander through new sub-divisions with attractive homes before you arrive at ultra modern shopping centres. You will find excellent shopping in Merida with a blend of Mexican retailers like Liverpool, Chedraui, VIPS, and Sanborns along with the familiar names from the USA like Wal-Mart, Costco and J.C. Penny. There are also plenty of artisan shops selling Mayan masks and clothing, obsidian and jade ornaments, hammocks and the famous Panama Hats. Be sure to bargain but not too hard. If you want to venture further afield, catch buses or collectivos near the Zocalo for almost any outlying community. A trip of forty kilometres to the beaches of Progreso costs $1.30 by air-conditioned motor coach or fifty cents by collectivo. Just flag them down as they go by.

In the city proper, visit the Zocalo with its historical church and palaces. Certainly, the Paseo Montejo, without the traffic, is one of the more beautiful streets in all of Mexico. Go to the Museum of Anthropology to see the Mayan exhibits which are housed in one of the grandest of the former mansions. Beyond these, there is not a lot for a tourist to see and do in the city. It does offer many musical shows at the Teatro de Merida and there is a performing arts theatre presenting plays in Spanish. The city also has an enthusiastic jazz and Cuban rhythms culture.

Merida is a most un-Mexican city. It feels more European; more reserved in a middle class sort or way. The streets are spotless and municipal services function flawlessly. Clean water always comes out of the tap. Superb arterial roads abound and the buses are frequent and cheap. There is obvious wealth; at least on the main boulevards and in the large shopping centres. The city teems with Audi, Porche, Mercedes and Volvo name-plates. There is efficiency in Merida that underscores a different mindset from the rest of Mexico. Our apartment building, the Suites del Sol, is managed with the utmost care and diligence. Everything works! The quality of the apartments is excellent. If we have a problem, it is attended to immediately and not manana. The staff is solicitous of our needs in an almost Florence Nightingale manner. This doesn’t seem like Mexico. Hotels in this city are also plentiful and of very high quality. The Fiesta American, the Hyatt and the Conquistador, to name a few, are outstanding.

The city is reputed to be the safest in all of Mexico and there are state and local police virtually everywhere. Don’t even think about parking illegally. There will be a cop all over you in seconds. There are motorcycle cops, foot patrol cops, cops in cruisers, cops in half-ton trucks and cops at every building of substance. If you cannot feel safe in Merida, you can’t feel safe anywhere.

Mosquitoes are the biggest danger in this city. You don’t see or hear them like Canadian mosquitoes but they leave an itchy welt on your hide about half and inch in diameter that lasts for a week. A few too many attacks and you start to look diseased. Friends love to travel with me when mosquitoes are around. Mosquitoes love me. My friends call me bait.

The amount of English spoken in Merida is surprising. It is not a tourist centre like San Miguel de Allende, Oaxaca or the resorts yet the schools are producing a stream of bilingual residents. Young people love to show off their language skills if approached by a tourists seeking advice or direction. They also want to practice their English skills and show no reluctance in approaching tourists and starting a conversation. Certainly, Merida is a Spanish city and most store personnel don’t speak English. However, it is not a hard city to have yourself understood or you will have a lot of fun trying.

As in any large city, restaurant choices are almost limitless. The Yucatan menu is actually very good and local dishes are quite inexpensive. You will love the local taverns which cater to the working class. They are open only for lunch and dinner and are usually closed by 7pm. Order a beer and you also get an unending supply of appetizers called botanos. These consist of small plates of cut vegetables, cerviche, meat and fish salads along with bowls of corn chips and salsa. For the price of a beer, you get a full meal.

Merida is basically a good jumping off point if you have a profound interest in Mayan culture and history or want to tour the hinterland. You could probably see all the sights and lights of the city in a day or two. Tourism lies beyond the city limits at Chichen Itza and the coast. Be sure to visit a nearby henequen hacienda and swim in a cenote. Henequen was the economic lifeblood of Merida until the 1920’s and created much of the opulence still seen today. There is a never ending list of day trips to interesting villages and historic sites. It would be nice to have a car but the public transit system will get you to most spots at little expense or trouble. Return to Merida in the evening when the temperature is perfect for outdoor dining. Otherwise, Merida is just too darned hot.

2007-01-22T07:07:00.000-06:00

The Haciendas of Merida

2007-01-21T08:18:00.000-06:00

January 19, 2007

There is a beautiful, tree-lined boulevard in Merida, Yucatan called Paseo de Montejo. It provides four lanes for traffic separated by a wide median planted with shrubs and flowers. The sidewalks are wide enough for two further lanes of traffic each way and are interspersed with statuary, benches, conversation chairs and trees. Notwithstanding its charm, the street is not the equal of the mansions that face it. There are dozens of stately homes dating from the beginning of the twentieth century; most of which are in impeccable condition.

Naturally the presence of such opulence begs the question: what gives? In a country as poor as Mexico, why is there so much extravagance in Merida and why does it all date from 100 years ago? The answer is found in an American invention and a plant called henequen.

Around the middle of the nineteen century, a work averse American invented a machine that could mechanically bale and wheat and hay. It became an instant but short lived success. The only available method of tying the bales was with steel wire which, when ingested by the cows, immediately caused their demise. A less lethal binding agent was of utmost importance and henequen was the answer. Henequen is a member of the agave plant family and looks much like the top of a pineapple except the leaves are roughly six feet long. It grows wild throughout the northern Yucatan and is quite an amazing plant. It can thrive in the rocky limestone ground of the Yucatan with virtually no water or fertilization. This is a good thing since the Yucatan is totally devoid of any surface water. There are no lakes, rivers or ponds. Any rainfall quickly seeps through the limestone surface and is contained in underground rivers known as cenotes. Henequen has a cousin that is used to produce tequila and another cousin that is the source of aloe vera. Henequen’s virtue is its yield of a fibre that can be spun into rope.

The Maya produced fibre from the henequen plant since the time of Christ. They carefully peeled off the outer green covering of the leaf and mashed the pulpy interior to get at the fibre. Only five percent of the leaf was fibre and the rest was waste pulp and water. The plant grows wild in the areas surrounding Merida and demand for the fibre led to a budding new industry. Unfortunately, the demand was insatiable and the old Mayan extraction methods couldn’t keep up. The Americans needed more and more. (Does oil come to mind?) The Yucatan government initiated a contest of sorts to develop a mechanical means of extracting the fibre and soon a sophisticated but simple machine was developed that removed the skin, the water and the pulp from the leaves in a single process and churned out the fibre. The industry took off and roughly 650 families were fortunate to have henequen ranches and the concomitant fortunes. Not content to live on ranches far removed from the bright lights of Merida, these barons of henequen brought their money to the city and built lavish French style mansions. They lived lives of magnificent opulence and, by the beginning of the twentieth century; Merida had the distinction of hosting more millionaires per capita than anyplace on the face of the earth.

Alas, the industry is no more. In 1915, it fell victim to the Mexican revolution of 1910. As the Yucatan came late to Mexico, the Mexican revolution came late to the Yucatan. A general from the new government rode into Merida with the intent of implementing land reforms by breaking up the hacienda system. Productivity dropped dramatically and the price of henequen fibre for export rose 400%. The Americans were unwilling to pay this price and promptly found an alternative source of fibre in Brazil. The industry went into steep decline and by 1950 the countryside was littered with abandoned henequen haciendas.

Today, with renewed interest in natural fibres and the high cost of petroleum, henequen is enjoying resurgence. A very few of the old haciendas have been restored to their former glory. The 100 year old equipment is operational again and pounding out henequen fibre. As an intentional time warp, the employees dress and work just as their great grandfathers resulting in old industry revival and a new industry as tourists flock to see history replayed.

The haciendas are remarkable living things. In their day, they were essentially company towns. To attract workers, the owners supplied housing, churches, medical care and the infamous company store where employees has to spend their hard earned wages. Before long, the employees were deeply in debt and in reality were indentured slaves.

Men either worked in the fields or in the production plants. The workers took great pains to cultivate the henequen plants in straight rows over hundreds of acres. A henequen plant takes seven years before it produces leaves with fibre content. It will live a total of twenty years, after which a huge spike like trunk emerges from the centre of the plant and it dies. In its death throes, it produces seven off-springs which are duly planted to keep the process going. Each year, only five to seven leaves can be cut from a mature plant for processing at the plant.

To get the leaves from the fields to the plant, extremely light gauge rail, very reminiscent of a Lionel train set, was installed throughout the fields. Wagons full of leaves are hauled by mules which skitter from one side of the track to the other in a show of exertion. The sight gives an entirely Mexican meaning to the term mule train. Today, the same wagons do double duty hauling tourists around the hacienda.

The leaves are taken to a two storey production plant that is not much greater than 20’ by 40’. The equipment is on the second floor. Leaves are placed on a mechanical ladder which takes them to a conveyor belt where four men ensure that they are right side up before entering a processor which is probably no more than two feet wide. Whatever happens in that short distance, I have no idea but the only thing to emerge at the other side is a bundle of sopping wet fibre which is bound and dropped down a railing to the ground level. The pulp is disbursed out of the bottom of the machine and drops into a hopper car for transfer to the largest compost pile you will ever see. The water is also captured and sent to a sprinkler system that blesses a small patch of grass.

The fibre cannot be processed until dry and a team of men on the ground floor hang it on iron rails. Picture a million blonde witch’s wigs on clothes lines. Once dry, the “sisal” is sent to a baling plant for preparation for shipment to plants that make rope, shopping bags and other assorted product.

I have to confess that the history of the henequen industry was fascinating to me. The wealth, the opulence, the rise and the fall and the hardships of the working families have the makings of a great novel or a TV series like Dallas. Surely someone will take up this challenge.

POST SCRIPT
A highlight of visiting an operating henequen ranch in Merida is a visit to a cenote. A community as large as a hacienda needs a reliable water supply. This is provided by underground rivers and lakes that exist throughout the northern Yucatan. At the particular ranch we visited, a set of stone stairs descended about 20’ to a small opening in the roof of a cave. The bottom of the cave was filled with crystal clear water which had a depth of 6’ – 22’. Wooden stairs took us to the waters edge and we were permitted to swim. Towels, goggles and life jackets were provided. The cave was lit with low ambient electric lights. Stalactites descended from the ceiling although most had been cut to prevent injury to visitors. The water was an absolutely perfect temperature and the eerie silence of the cave provided a really special sensation.

Oaxacan Magic

2006-02-17T09:49:00.000-06:00

Oaxacan Magic

February 11, 2006

We have been in Oaxaca for six weeks and are still delighted and fascinated with the place. I always ask fellow tourists why they come here and most say it is for economic reasons. They can afford Oaxaca. Many say they actually save money while wintering in this city over staying at home. It is a nice concept and I think it is true but I am not sure that would qualify as a great marketing slogan. Perhaps the best, but most abstract, answer was by a Parisienne who was visiting Oaxaca for her eighth straight year. “I find this place so magical” she said and I had to agree with her. But first, I had to climb down this “ladder of abstraction” and spell out the reasons.

Perhaps the most magical setting in Oaxaca is the town centre or Zocalo. The Zocalo is a car free, pedestrian oasis covering an extensive part of the downtown. It is heavily shaded by giant trees that provide a canopy of peacefulness. It is far and away the place to be. I certainly don’t mean that in the sense of being seen and seeing others. There is that element but it is such a small part of the Zocalo. If you feel like doing nothing at all and yet being engaged by the senses, just head to the Zocalo. Early any morning, when there is still a chill in the air, grab a copy of the Miami Herald, sit at a table in an open-air café and read while the morning sun slowly heats your body. Take an hour or as many as you want reading cover to cover while sipping coffee and eating bowls of fresh fruit with your fingers. It is so utterly decadent and purposeless that it feels just right.

Look around and marvel at the Mexican families. The degree of family affection is simply astounding relative to Canada and the United States. The whole family is here, from great grandparents to babes in arms. Teenage children hold their parents’ hands in public. Even sisters and brothers hold hands. I think it would be perfectly justifiable to kidnap a few of these Mexican matriarchs and give them a special chair in family values at our greatest universities.

If you feel like sprucing up a bit, settle into a chair at one of the dozens of shoe shine stands. It takes twenty minutes to have your shoes thoroughly buffed in Oaxaca. Shoelaces are removed and your shoes are vigorously brushed to remove dust. The shoes are washed with soapy water and dried, liquid polish is applied and buffed, hard wax polish is applied with a brush and then again with fingertips. The shoes are then buffed with a brush and again with a polishing cloth. Next, the shoelaces are cleaned, re-installed and expertly tied. All of this costs one dollar and is probably worth twenty just in the peaceful relaxation it affords plus the benefit of watching people go by in an endless parade. They range from brown-eyed toddlers to beautiful young ladies to the wizened but still delightful and proud elderly. Tourists also drift by but they are vastly out-numbered by Mexicans.

Unlike San Miguel de Allende of Ajjijic and Lake Chapala, which are dominated by Americans and Canadians, Oaxaca is still a Mexican city. The Mexicans fill most of the restaurant tables, most of the park benches, certainly most of the pews in the cathedral. You are made to feel right at home in their city, at their festivals and in their restaurants. Simply put, Oaxaca is a comfortable home for a guest

February is the busiest tourist month in Oaxaca but the foreign presence is, as yet, a mere bubble in a lake. I feel reluctant to sing the praises of this city too much lest that bubble starts erupting and changes the Mexican character of the city. The activities and music in the Zocalo are not geared to tourists. Symphony orchestras, mariachi bands, brass bands and individual musicians play the tunes most enjoyed by Mexicans. And while the music plays, people often dance in the streets. Sometimes, young people who are experts in traditional dance will perform for the crowds of onlookers. They do this of their own volition hoping to make a few pesos. Bands vying for the same pesos will quit their quest to provide accompaniment for the dancers. The Mexican audience is more thrilled than the tourists since there is great pride in their Mexican traditions. You can enjoy this all for free or throw a coin or two into the hat when it passes.

Going to the Zocalo never gets tiresome. With the upcoming presidential elections, there are often political rallies, sometimes fundraisers are held, oftentimes there are protests. In the next week, Comandante Marcos, the leader of the Chiapas rebels will appear in full facemask. You never leave the Zocalo feeling the visit was anything but eventful.

Into this mix of people and place, one sometimes encounters a hint of anti-American sentiment. It usually erupts from a mouth fed too many cervezas and it usually relates to a man named Bush. As far as I can tell, most Mexicans are fond of Americans if not their government’s attitudes to Mexico. Interestingly enough, these isolated outbursts never lead to confrontation since the American tourists in Oaxaca are more vociferous in voicing such opinions than the Mexicans. As a Canadian, who also knows the sting of US foreign policy in our country, I like to rub a little salt in the wounds of the Americans just to feel superior.

I try not to be too nasty with our American friends since I like them. They, and other tourists we have met in Oaxaca from France, Germany, Switzerland, Britain and Canada, are a breed apart from the tourists you meet in places like Cancun or Acapulco. They are more engaged in worldly affairs, they have travelled extensively, they are bright and interesting, they have focus and they have a lot of time to holiday. Generally speaking, Oaxacan tourists are very young or retired. The young people are surprisingly interesting and well spoken. Talking with them is fascinating and they have absolutely no fear of the open road. It amazes me the number of young women travelling alone and just going where the wind blows.

The retirees are here for extended holidays, typically three to six months. It gives them not only the time but also the desire to make friends and this is another of the magical things about Oaxaca. All you need do is get involved in something or other and you will meet a group of interesting folks much in the same stage of life as yourself. It is a short distance from there to friendship. On occasion, it isn’t even that difficult. On our second day here, a vivacious American lady approached us on the street and said, “You look like nice people. We are having a little get-together tonight. Would you like to come?” You bet.

Simply put, the tourists and expats have a community of interest in one another. There are not millions of us roaming around and it is difficult to make friends with the Mexicans since there is a language barrier. The small, permanent expatriate community in Oaxaca has made the process of meeting new friends a lot easier through their support of the growth of an English library. This library, which boasts 30,000 books and virtually every book on the current best sellers lists, has become the clearinghouse for all things social in Oaxaca. You are actively encouraged to join the family. The library hosts bridge contests, Spanish lessons, has guest speakers and helps tourists find housing. Here, everyone, tourist or expat, gets to come to the party. And, a surprising number of young Mexicans, wanting to learn English, have also joined.

Oaxaca offers so many things to see and do. There is a little bit of magic around every corner or just over the next mountain. Within the city, there are museums, historical buildings and churches, mercados, art galleries, musical events and guided tours. The restaurants are abundant and excellent as are the Internet cafes. There are many opportunities to study Spanish, art or painting, ceramics, yoga and writing.

Outside of Oaxaca city limits are scores of small communities with big attractions. Zapotec and Mixtec ruins abound. Monte Alban and Mitla are the best known but there are many others. Santa Maria del Tule has its monstrous tree while Teotitlan de Valle offers the finest in hand woven woollens and cottons. Puerto Angel has its turtle hatchery. Many villages produce gorgeous pottery. You can travel in any direction from Oaxaca and find fascination. If you weary of sightseeing and just need to chill out in the heat, the beaches of Oaxaca are only six hours away by car or thirty minutes by air.

The weather in Oaxaca is very much to my liking. It is cool overnight and yet hot, but not oppressive, in the daytime. You don’t experience the January frosts common in the inland, expatriate villages north of Mexico City. You will be perfectly comfortable if you walk on the sunny side of the street in the morning and the shady side in the afternoon.

Eating is always an enjoyable pastime in Oaxaca. Mexico has its own food culture and Oaxaca has its own sub-culture. I haven’t yet become a big fan of Mexican cooking but I am sure that will change after our cooking class. What I do delight in are the fruits and vegetables in this area. Oaxaca is a major agricultural centre and produce, ripe from the vine, arrives everyday in this city. The cucumbers are so crisp and crunchy; you think you are eating potato chips. The strawberries, peaches and pears are so flavourful and inexpensive that they round out every meal.

It is not all magical however. From my experience, there is a severe shortage of furnished, rental apartments for those planning a long-term stay. The product that is available in the central part of the city is a cut below what Americans and Canadians expect. Rental rates for one bedroom apartments range from $300 to $800 but most fall in the middle. If you have a car, you will find greater and higher quality choices in the suburbs but don’t expect much tourist activity unless you drive into town.
Interestingly enough, many tourists take great delight in bragging about the cheapness of their accommodation although I can’t imagine wanting to be the grand champion in this category. Owing to rental costs, Oaxaca can be a very inexpensive place to spend a winter if you are can accept a reduction in the creature comfort index.

My pet peeves concerning Oaxaca are holes in the sidewalks, aggressive drivers and noise. I am thinking of running for mayor of Oaxaca on a simple three-point platform. I will put cement in all sidewalk holes, I will pull the horns and alarm systems out of every car and I will sentence any motorist who runs down a pedestrian to ten winters in Canada. I should win by a landslide. I know that Oaxaca has more pressing problems like a serious water shortage and a lousy sewage system but, as mayor, I will blame those on my officials.

I think my Parisienne friend was right in her description of Oaxaca. This is a magical place. It is still a Mexican city with typical Mexican problems but just being here is a delight. It is no longer a wonder to me why so many tourists keep coming back again and again.

A Trip to Puerto Angel

2006-02-17T09:48:00.000-06:00

A Trip to Puerto Angel

© John McClelland 2006

A massive mountain range known as the Sierra Madre del Sur (mother range of the south) isolates Oaxaca City from the Pacific coastline of Oaxaca State. To get from one to the other is an adventure on a road of indifferent condition and engineering. The distance is only 150 miles but the trip takes the better part of 7 hours. Sierra Madre del Sur is a tall mountain range with peaks over 12000 feet and the trip takes us to elevations approaching 10000 feet. The road follows the line of least resistance around and up the mountains and contains so many twists and turns that travellers are advised to take seasickness medicine. It hugs the edge of the mountains and one side or the other is an open vista of sky. Sudden abrupt turns prevent an Evil Kneivel launch into space. Absolute attention to driving is mandatory since portions of the road often succumb to gravity and completely vanish. Avalanches are known to engulf the road as boulders and gravel seek the valley bottom below. The sheer drama of this road implies lunacy on the part of anyone driving at night or with speed.

The dangers of the road combine incongruously with the beauty of the terrain to keep you in a constant state of surprise. Valleys lie thousands of feet below on one side of the pavement and mountains ascend higher on the other side. From dry and sparse vegetation when first leaving Oaxaca City, the landscape grows greener as we ascend. Before long, pine forests begin to appear. At the peak of the climb, the temperature drops dramatically from the high eighties to the mid fifties. At the very crest, we stop at a cliff side restaurant. Here, in sheer wilderness where waiters wear parkas, we are able to check email on high-speed wireless Internet.

Once the pinnacle of the climb is breached, there is a dramatic drop to the Pacific Ocean and you witness an amazing transformation from pine forest to tropical jungle. At some points, these two forest zones absurdly intertwine.

Along the route are a number of small villages and many hamlets of just a few homes. In the valleys far below, larger communities and farms appear as tiny toy buildings. Wood is abundant and there is a rudimentary logging industry. On the Pacific side of the mountains, agriculture is more visible with an abundance of bananas, melons, coffee beans and tropical fruits.

After about six and a half hours on the road, we catch a glimpse of the mighty Pacific and shortly thereafter, entered the city of Pochutla, the largest community in these parts. Nine kilometres further on, we arrive at the coastal town of Puerto Angel, a place that could never be accused of giving a good first or last impression.

The town was founded in the 1850’s when the government installed a wharf in the horseshoe shaped harbour as a means of creating trade between this isolated region and the rest of the country. By 1870, Puerto Angel was purported to be the busiest port in Mexico. Government interest lagged thereafter and the town was nothing but an afterthought until the 1960’s when tourists began to take interest in this most southerly point in Mexico. At that time, access was by the same highway we drove but its condition was far less hospitable than the serpentine track we travelled. The opening of the Pacific coast highway through the 70’s and 80’s added to tourist interest. Gradually, small-scale hotels were built to serve the tourists’ needs.

Geographically Puerto Angel consists of a small horseshoe bay protected at its entrance by craggy outcrops of rock. From the point where the ocean hits the land, there are roughly a couple of hundred yards of flat ground before the terrain rises precipitously up the Sierra Madre. Much of the flat land is dedicated to the main road running parallel to the beach and it is likely the only paved road in town. The east side of the bay contains the town wharf and is dedicated mainly to fishing and a small naval base. It has a nice sand beach onto which the fishing boats are run aground. Rotting fish entrails provide a distinct aroma. Children cast lines off the wharf and have little difficulty catching fish the size of speckled trout but the shape of tuna. The other side of the bay is known as Playa Pantheon. This is where most of the tourists convene. The beach is grittier but the waves and undertow are not as rough or dangerous as the east side. Most of the tourists are Mexican with only the occasional gringo for colour.

We looked at a couple of hotels in Puerto Angel but were not impressed enough to rent. Our experienced colleague suggested that we travel a further two miles to Zipolite Beach where he had arranged accommodation that would take him and his rottweiler. Zipolite is one of the few nude beaches in Mexico and is renowned for its Bohemian atmosphere.

The beach at Zipolite is fabulous. It runs for over a mile from east to west and has beautiful, soft sand that packs hard at the waterline for easy walking. Facing the beach is the most ragtag collection of hotels I have ever seen. It is apparently vastly improved as a result of a recent hurricane. I can’t imagine! We took a room in the best hotel we could find which was a four-storey masonry structure overlooking the beach. A single room, quite small, with two double beds, a private bathroom and large balcony was $30 per night. The hotel, like all others, did not offer hot water. Other hotel rooms along the beach could be had for $6-$20 per night or you could just rent a hammock on a roof or in a courtyard. Some hotels were nothing but rickety wooden structures built on stilts and wouldn’t qualify as fit for human habitation in most countries of the world. These cheaper hotels had common baths and showers. However, if you want to enjoy an almost perfect beach and have little or no money, then $6 per night might be the perfect price.

The tourists at Zipolite were decidedly young although there was a generous smattering of old hippies who seemed to be the more ardent practitioners of nudism. The crowd was almost entirely foreign with many Europeans and a lot of Canadians. Most surprising was the quiet on the beach. For a February and considering the large supply of “hotel rooms”, this place was massively under-populated. Of the scant crowd, most were either sunbathing or strolling. Virtually no one was swimming since the ocean is treacherous. Dangerous waves roll in day and night with a roar that is deafening. Six or so men were exercising their right to return to Mother Nature and these were strictly exhibitionists. They positioned themselves spread-eagled beside the main walking paths or strode or jogged in various stages of arousal. The true nudists were at the farthest end of the beach in an area secluded by rock outcroppings. I never saw one naked female and was told that I wasn’t looking closely enough. I must admit that the sun and the heat contribute immensely to the desire to be liberated from your inhibitions.

By early afternoon, the beach is almost deserted due to the intensity of the sun and heat. Patrons reappear again around 4PM to soak up the last rays and view the glorious Zipolite sunset at 6:30. The sun sets in the notch of a massive rock outcrop at the edge of the ocean. The effect is quite remarkable and creates a starburst quality to the final rays of the day.

With darkness, we settle into plastic chairs set in soft sand at a seaside restaurant. The food is surprisingly good with a wide selection of seafood ranging from tuna to shrimp and octopus. Adding to what little ambience this restaurant possessed was a man seated next to us. After his dinner, he rose from his chair, stripped butt naked and casually walked out of the restaurant to the beach for a swim. Bon appetite!

In the evening, various bands entertain in the hotel courtyards playing jazz and reggae music. The scent of marijuana wafts overtly through the crowd. The entertainment doesn’t last much beyond eleven by which time most people are exhausted by sun, sights and swilling.

Evening is a good time to meet and talk to others and we heard of a resort only two blocks inland. For $3 per day you could swim in their large pool. You could also rent luxury accommodation. After our first night at the beachfront hotel, my princess was up at the crack of dawn tracking down “the resort”. Finding it was simple enough and it was undoubtedly the Zipolite equivalent of dying and going to heaven. The contrast of this artistically developed, 100-acre palm grove with the tawdriness of the rest of Zipolite was otherworldly. For $100US per night, we rented a three-storey, detached house with kitchen, dining room, livingroom, one and a half baths, two bedrooms and a very private, rooftop deck. It was air-conditioned, had toilet seats and offered cold-water showers.

The attention to detail in this house exceeded anything seen at five star resorts. The windows were custom built in oval shapes; the doors were of inlaid panels with rounded corners that meant all the doorjambs and casings had to be hand carved. The patio doors leading to the decks were reminiscent of a Darth Vader mask with triangular venting on the sides. Surrounding the house was a shallow moat built of stone. Fish swam in its clear waters amidst lush tropical vegetation. Only fifty feet from the front door was an Olympic sized pool that we shared with daily visitors. Guinea hens, ducks, roosters and chickens resided on the grounds and walked about the pool apron picking up crumbs and other stray bits of food. Overhead, eagles searched for prey, palm trees rustled and tropical birds played their screeching melodies.

We spent most of our time poolside or on the rooftop deck in a hammock and would go to the beach twice daily for strolls and for dinners. We left the compound by a rear exit that took us past the homes of some of Mexico’s poorest. The living conditions are absolutely appalling. Rough wood-plank homes with thatched roofs and dirt floors were the norm. Cooking was done outside on wood fires. Laundry was washed by hand in old tubs of unknown origin and there was little evidence of sanitation judging from the smells. I am not convinced that the Mexicans at Zipolite are a happy lot. It is hard to get rich from tourists spending $6 per day for a hotel room. They’re not the type to be big tippers. I have also heard that the Mexicans take great offence at the nudity on their beach and this may explain some of the indifferent behaviour of store clerks, particularly women old enough to have families.

We spent four days at Puerto Angel and Zipolite Beach and genuinely enjoyed ourselves. The beach is truly marvellous as is the food. Blatant nudity is offensive at times but being naked in the heat is a cathartic experience if done discreetly. The town is very poor and run down and there is little to see and do beyond the beach. One old hippie, who comes here yearly for extended vacations, escapes to civilization every three weeks lest he “goes brain dead.” However, Zipolite may be just perfect if you want a bizarre and cheap vacation or if you just want to let it all hang out.

Mountain route to Puerto Angel

2006-02-13T20:52:00.000-06:00

Our Palace at Zipolite

2006-02-13T20:51:00.000-06:00

Mountains leading to Puerto Angel

2006-02-13T20:50:00.000-06:00

Moat and tropical flowers around our Zipolite home

2006-02-13T20:49:00.000-06:00

Pounding surf at Zipolite Beach

2006-02-13T20:48:00.000-06:00

$20 per night hotel at Zipolite Beach

2006-02-13T20:47:00.000-06:00

Sunset at Zipolite Beach

2006-02-13T20:46:00.000-06:00

Hotel at Zipolite Beach-$6 per night

2006-02-13T20:45:00.001-06:00

Playa Pantheon, Puerto Angel

2006-02-13T20:45:00.000-06:00

Playa Pantheon at Puerto Angel

2006-02-13T20:44:00.000-06:00

Fishing boats at Puerto Angel

2006-02-13T20:43:00.000-06:00

Harbour at Puerto

2006-02-13T20:42:00.000-06:00

The Tule Tree

2006-02-05T15:16:00.000-06:00

Church dome in Teotitlan del Valle

2006-02-05T15:15:00.000-06:00

Exposed Stucco shows source of church building materials

2006-02-05T15:14:00.000-06:00

Church in Teotitlan del Valle

2006-02-05T15:13:00.001-06:00

For sale on the main street of Mitla

2006-02-05T15:13:00.000-06:00

Mitla business area

2006-02-05T15:12:00.000-06:00

Mitla Church Interior

2006-02-05T15:11:00.000-06:00

Catholic Church built by destroying ancient buildings

2006-02-05T15:10:00.000-06:00

Interior rooms at Mitla

2006-02-05T15:09:00.000-06:00

Roof columns needing a roof

2006-02-05T15:08:00.000-06:00

Detailed fret work

2006-02-05T15:06:00.000-06:00

Main building at Mitla

2006-02-05T15:05:00.000-06:00

Exploring the Hinterland of Oaxaca

2006-02-05T15:02:00.000-06:00

Exploring the Hinterland

February 3, 2006

The hinterland surrounding the city of Oaxaca provides weeks of opportunities to go exploring. Travel in any compass direction and you will come across scores of little villages with big attractions. With the end of our Spanish lessons, we decided to start touring. Most tourists rely on travel agencies, tour guides or the intercity bus system to get them to and from points of interest. Since there were four of us to split the expense, we chose travel by taxi as a more convenient option. It was a good choice since we could explore at our own pace and soak up as much or as little as we wished.

Thus, on this Friday morning we hired a cab to drive us 50 kilometres to the town of Mitla, a well-known archaeological site dating from about 400AD. We had previously visited Monte Alban and were able to compare developments of indigenous architecture from different time periods. We were also able to get a sense of the impact of the Spanish conquest on the native culture.

There are two striking features of Monte Alban that contrast with Mitla. Monte Alban is huge and it was never discovered by the Spaniards since it had long before been abandoned to mother nature. Mitla was a thriving town at the time of the conquest and was quickly put under the control of the conquistadors and the Catholic Church. Much of the old city was destroyed to eradicate native religious influences and as a quick way to provide building materials for Christian churches and other Spanish style buildings. Fortunately enough of the old city remains to provide a dazzling display of pre-Columbian architecture.

Though lacking in size and quantity, Mitla has a substantial charm flowing from inlaid stone panelling that covers the exterior and interior walls and of the buildings. These panels are extraordinarily intricate and none are the same. The buildings also appear to have much greater functionality to the extent that they contain usable rooms. The Monte Alban buildings were fundamentally monuments of pyramid proportions that were used for ritualistic purposes. Perhaps the Catholic Church destroyed similar buildings at Mitla leaving only commercial and administrative buildings that could serve the purposes of the Spaniards equally well.

Plunked right in the middle of the Mitla ruins is the original Catholic Church built with the stones of demolished native structures. It is a very substantial building and towers over the rest of the site. It is in excellent condition and has obviously been restored in recent years.

Mitla is worth a visit just to see the detailed friezes on the few restored building. It lacks the awe-inspiring grandeur and isolation of Monte Alban. Mitla is not in an isolated spot. It is completely contained within the still living town of the same name. Immediately upon leaving the site, you walk into the central business district of the town. It is a vibrant little place of about 5000 surrounded by high mountains. We spent an hour exploring the streets and shops before eating a traditional Mexican lunch (comida corrida) at a local restaurant.

After lunch, we found another taxi and headed for Teotitlan de Valle, a dusty little village of 5000 people famous for the weaving of woollen rugs and cotton goods such as bedspreads, table cloths and shawls. We exited the cab at the crossroads of the two main streets and wandered towards the stores offering goods for sale. There were three or four shops of some substance but most of the merchandise was being sold from crudely constructed three sided huts all attached one to the other.

For the quality and variety of the merchandise available in this town, the marketing was atrocious. It had the feel of a country circus with hustlers at each stall. Nobody spoke any English and there was no literature on the origins, the manufacturing process or the quality of the goods on offer.

From my readings on Teotitlan and its weavers, I had learned a great deal about the gargantuan efforts of the people making these products. The dyes are obtained from nature in the form of flowers, roots, berries and worms. The bright red dye is manufactured from hundreds of thousands of small worms that are picked off maguey plants, dried, ground and then added to water. A hundred thousand worms may yield a pound of dye. The water used to mix the dye has to be pure and hundreds of people head into the hills every couple of days to find pure water and haul it back to the village. The weaving is done on old-fashioned looms introduced by the Spaniards some 500 years ago. At the end of this process an exquisite wool rug of 6 feet by 3 feet may sell at an asking price of $50US. A beautiful cotton shawl will go for $20 without any haggling. On top of this, tour companies that bring groups to artisan stores demand and get a forty percent commission on everything sold to their group.

In our visit to Teotitlan, we never did see any of the productions process. We never saw anyone weaving, or making dye or carding wool. I, personally, would be fascinated to see the process and would gladly pay someone to show me around. There was no such service offered. Here were world-class products being marketed with Stone Age methods. For a very small investment by the government, the services offered by the Teotitlan weavers and their incomes could be greatly enhanced. Even a simple handout that gave translations for important words like rug or shawl as well as colours would help immensely. If you go into a shop looking for a rug, you might be shown a shawl or a table spread. If you want blue you will end up being shown every colour in the rainbow. Products would be strewn all over the floor.

How simple it would be to have a translation service, an audio-visual display of the production process, a little lecture on knowing the difference between artificial dyes and natural dyes. In Oaxaca last week, I attended the 6th annual Rural Tourism Fair. It was designed as a means for rural artisans to communicate with the business community and the buying public in order to enhance their marketing skills. I was overwhelmed by how boring and useless this fair was. The displays by the artisans, who offered a wide variety of products, were pretty basic given the limited space available but I couldn’t communicate with any of these people. There was an essential disconnect between the objectives of the artisans to sell some product and the organizers intent on creating a forum of communications to enhance marketing. I know that it is highly democratic to involve everyone in discussions, but ultimately someone has to take the toro by the horns and do something constructive.

Consider this. It costs $2 per person to go by cab from Oaxaca to Teotitlan for a party of four. If the merchant weavers offered the same cab service daily from a central location with a full tour of the production process for $10, they could make an extra $8 per person or $40 per cab and I bet those customers would buy more products. The customers would be in town longer and would need more services like food and beverages and on top of that, the weavers wouldn’t be paying a forty percent commission to tour guides. With just a little imagination, so much could be achieved with little effort. Perhaps there is a marketing expert who would enjoy a vacation in Oaxaca while volunteering to design and implement a basic marketing program for the weavers of Teotitlan. Great strides in economic development can be achieved without initiatives of a World Bank scale.

After our brief tour of the weaving shops, we ambled around town looking at other sites. There is quite an interesting little museum that offers a history of the weaving industry, a pictorial display of social customs and some artifacts from the pre-Spanish era. For a small town, it is well done and is a good example of an initiative to bring more money to the community.

Uphill and behind the weavers market we found a large Catholic Church dating from 1751. The building was in the restoration process with half of the work completed. The interior and exterior walls of the church were finished with a white stucco that had been exposed in several places to reveal the stonework beneath. It was clear that the stone had been taken from pre-Columbian buildings. Intricate carving details similar to those found at Mitla where fully exposed. The local residents were genuinely proud of their ancestral heritage and I was reminded of the Mexican understanding that BC means “before Cortez.”

Beside the church was a large mercado in the early stages of set-up for the Saturday market. A cornucopia of fruits and vegetables were already on display and we purchased a few bananas to tide us over until our next feeding. While eating, we discussed going into the upper reaches of the mountains that flanked the south side of the village. According to a topographic map in the museum, there were several towns located at the ten thousand foot elevation and accessible by a very serpentine roadway. The villages appeared to be roughly five miles as the crow flies but more than likely twenty miles based on the twisting and turning shown on the map. We hailed a cab but were left with no doubt as to the driver’s interest in trekking to the upper reaches of Mexico. The proposed cab fare included the replacement of his vehicle that was more than we wanted to spend. Thus, we headed to Santa Maria del Tule to have a second look at the great Tule tree.

Santa Maria del Tule is a very pretty town essentially built around its famous tree. Owing to arid conditions at this time of year, it is unusual to see carefully manicured lawns in any park area but Santa Maria has an abundance as well as deftly carved topiary. It offers a pleasant walk but by this time we were much in need of liquid refreshments in a place without sun. We found a nice restaurant but the noise from some chap selling CDs outside the door forced us to seek refuge elsewhere. We ended up in a covered market, sat on wooden benches, watched the sights and inhaled a couple of Corona each before catching a cab back to Oaxaca.

In total we were on the road for seven hours, had spent $40 on cab fares, had a thoroughly good time and were ready for siesta. We can now look forward to exploring the other points on the compass as the weeks go by.

Random Thoughts on Oaxaca

2006-01-29T13:42:00.000-06:00

Random Thoughts on Oaxaca

January 29, 2006

----When we first arrived here, the street system drove us batty. As we tried to orient ourselves to the Historic Centre, where we lived, the names of the streets kept changing. Rayon Street was suddenly Aldama. Arteaga became Mina, Bravo became Abasolo, Fiallo became Reforma and so forth. Now that we have become accustomed to this oddity and of course carry a map at all times, we find this ever-changing name pattern quite fascinating. The Historical Centre is not that big and measures only 19 blocks by 17 blocks at its extreme boundaries. Perhaps there weren’t enough streets to honour all of the heroes, politicos and grandees who once graced this city and the streets had to be carved into pieces so that each and everyone could be equally rewarded in posterity. No doubt, if you took a street map to the library, you could find the full history of the city by searching every name.

----The families of Oaxaca always seem to be out together in the evenings. Toddlers, babes-in-arms, boys and girls, teenagers, mom and dad can all be seen in the zocalo, particularly on weekends. They sit and enjoy the free entertainment, they play games, they eat in open-air restaurants or they just stroll about. This is such an alien experience north of the border and yet such a wonderful thing to see. Perhaps we have a lot to learn.

----The police presence in Oaxaca is extraordinary. Being from Canada, I find it very extraordinary. There are police of every variety. There are traffic police, tourist police, regular police, military police and some that looked like ninja police. The traffic police are the most prevalent. You will find them on foot directing traffic with their high-powered whistles, patrolling in small Nissan Sentras with emergency lights always flashing or roaming the streets on motorcycles. These fellows are omnipresent. They don’t seem to be armed and they don’t seem to enforce any traffic laws should such things exist. Motorists run red lights with impunity, double-park wherever they please, never yield to pedestrians and create general mayhem. In the month I have wandered through the Historic Centre, I have never seen a motorist stopped for any infraction.

The Tourist Police mostly inhabit the area around the Zocalo. Typically, they are nicely uniformed young women who congregate together to chat. I haven’t the slightest idea what their job is. I have never seen them speaking to anyone that looked like me and I look like a tourist.

The regular police are also pretty visible. They carry guns and nightsticks.

Another group of police look more like army regulars. They dress in camouflage fatigues and are heavily armed. They are usually found in groups of four at large gatherings such as the Zocalo on weekends. One of the four will be carrying a machine gun and the others have lesser armament. Other than shock effect, I can’t imagine what their function is. What is the use of a machine gun in the Zocalo with a crowd of thousands of children and their families?

Finally, there are the ninjas. These guys are right out of the movies. They are dressed entirely in black including black silk headscarves. They wear full body armour and they carry side arms and machine guns. I don’t know if they have anything to do with the government. The last two I saw where guarding a site where two men where digging a ditch. Perhaps they were looking for Mexico gold. These chaps don’t look warm and cuddly. They don’t smile, they don’t like being stared at and god forbid you take their picture.

----The Mexican people seem awful gracious to their less fortunate neighbours. There are not a lot of people begging for money in Oaxaca. It is not like San Miguel de Allende at all. There are enough, however, and they congregate around the churches. It is amazing the number of ordinary folks from this town who give a peso or two as they pass by.

----Tourists in Oaxaca are not at all like the tourists in places like Acapulco, Cancun or the other Mexican hotspots. Those tourists tend to blow in for a week or two and fry their bodies on the beach and their brains in the bars. The Oaxacan tourists seem a more introspective and mature group. They seem intent on finding a new experience and not forgetting an old one. They tend to stay for much longer periods of time and as a result tend to be retired or the very young without work commitments. They come from every corner of the world. Although Americans and Canadians predominate, we have met large groups from France, Germany, Holland, South Africa, Britain and New Zealand. Some travel in packs and are likely on organized tours and some are alone or twosomes. I am amazed by the number of young women who are traveling Latin America on there own and simply going where the wind blows them. These are bright, attractive and articulate women who have wonderfully interesting stories to tell in the most carefree and welcoming fashion.

----Oaxaca is a great place to be a sinner. I am often at the Internet Café and usually order a cup of tea while going about my business. I am surprised that a spot of tea costs $1.40 or forty percent more than in Canada. By the same token, a bottle of beer costs $1.40 compared to $5 or $6 in Canada. Social engineering hasn’t yet reached Mexico and the taxing authorities don’t give a hoot if you drink beer or tea. What a novel idea.

For all you sinners out there, you might be amazed to know that a carton of cigarettes costs $18.20 and a 750ML of vodka runs just over $5. If you insist on drinking imported scotch or Bombay gin, you will pay the same prices as in Canada but, hey, that’s your choice. It is of course necessary to drink more down here since it can be quite hot in the daytime and it is absolutely necessary to drink before bedtime to dull the noise of the traffic and firecrackers. Drinking can dehydrate you so you are advised to mix your vodka with orange flavoured Gatorade.

----For a country that spends so heavily on public security, there is almost a wilful disregard of public safety. A great adventure can be had just walking down the sidewalk. Infrastructure such as phone lines, hydro, and street lighting is often installed under the sidewalks. Sometimes metal covers are built into the sidewalk to provide access to services. Other times it is necessary to dig up small sections of the sidewalk to get at the desired service. Public works must be highly fragmented in Mexico to satisfy union rights. A group of men may arrive one day and cut open a sidewalk accessing some pipe or wire. Two weeks later another group may arrive to connect the service and two weeks after that another group will appear to fill in the hole and re-pour the cement. (I am not sure if the last group has yet been formed) Regardless, the gaping hole in the sidewalk remains open and unprotected. There is a never-ending supply of such surprises throughout Oaxaca. I think it would be a great service to mankind if the tourist police were re-armed with wheelbarrows and bags of cement and assigned the task of filling in all the holes in the sidewalks.

----It has been reported to me that Mexicans are quite a modest race. This observation is based on the premise that you will never see a Mexican wearing shorts. It is such a well-entrenched cultural norm that even tourists are reluctant to be seen in such attire. By contrast, the young women of Oaxaca wear the latest fashions in hip hugging jeans and rib tickler tops permitting me to become more than an expert on the anatomy of the female belly button.

The Mexican modesty in dress is not as evident in personal relations. Mexicans are a touchy feely group and this is most evident among teenagers. There is no end of hugging, kissing and caressing on public benches, on church steps and under the lamplight. I guess there is not the same access to dad’s car as north of the border and they get their fun wherever they can. Oh, to be forty years younger again.

----If the sun is up it is a good day for a protest in Oaxaca. Never a day passes that some group with a bullhorn is not calling the faithful to a rally. The groups are not large; maybe fifty or less. The message is unclear to me but the enthusiasm is not. There is always a plentiful supply of Bristol board signs that are hand-written and available to the committed and there is invariably a short parade down some main street producing enough horn honking by frustrated drivers to drown out the message proffered by the protesters.

----I have commented before on the character of Mexican drivers. As a rule, Mexicans on foot are the most gracious and unassuming people. Put them behind the wheel of a car and they are Caligula re-incarnate. It is much easier to run a pedestrian down than wait one second longer. Heaven forbid the driver can’t advance a further twenty feet in the congested traffic.

Whenever I must cross the street I put on my best imitation “Dirty Harry” sneer and my eyes bore into approaching drivers saying, “go ahead and make my day”. If you bounce me over the hood of your car, I’ll rip off your windshield wipers on the way by.

----Don’t leave home without a Skype account. If you are not familiar with that service, it is voice-over-Internet-protocol. That’s right, you can telephone from your computer and it costs next to nothing. Phone costs in Mexico are outrageous; especially long distance calls. A twenty-minute call to Canada will cost thirty dollars. Skype will bring the Mexican phone bandits to their knees before long.

----When you’re on an extended holiday, it is normal to talk about the things you miss back home. Marie and I have gone through the list carefully. She has concluded that the only thing she “really” misses is her Jacuzzi bath. I miss the casino. The conclusion is that we both need a good soaking every once in a while.

Detailed herringbone pattern

2006-01-26T10:27:00.001-06:00

Spines lead the rest of the work

2006-01-26T10:27:00.000-06:00

Spines set surface elevation

2006-01-26T10:25:00.000-06:00

Hauling stone to the masons

2006-01-26T10:24:00.000-06:00

Hand shaping paving stones

2006-01-26T10:23:00.000-06:00

Hand leveled road bed

2006-01-26T10:22:00.000-06:00

Mexican Road Building

2006-01-26T10:21:00.000-06:00

Mexican Road Building Techniques

January 26, 2006

For the past few years, the Mexican government has been investing heavily in the Oaxacan infrastructure. Late last year the rebuilding of the Zocalo was completed and by my eye, the results are outstanding. I never did see the original so I can’t say whether it is better or worse but many people wrote to the forum at Mexconnect.com with strong reservations on the final product.

Shortly after our arrival in Oaxaca, reconstruction began on a street two blocks from our apartment. Since I have some experience with subdivision servicing in Canada, I had more than a passing interest in Mexican construction techniques relative to those north of the border. This particular road is just beyond the Zocalo boundaries and the government was converting an asphalt surface to one with cut stones to create historical character. In addition, the sewer and water lines were being replaced.

The first order of business was the removal of the existing asphalt. The equipment used in this process consisted of a small John Deere backhoe/loader, a smaller Bobcat and a pneumatic jackhammer. The jackhammer operator created an opening so the backhoe could begin the process of pulling up the asphalt that was an amazing ten inches thick. The debris was pushed into piles and subsequently loaded into trucks for disposal. Surprisingly quickly the dirt road-base was all that remained.

The next major undertaking was the laying of new sewer and water lines. The John Deere was back at work again digging a trench to lay the pipes. Strangely enough, lines were installed on both sides of the street. The lines were of plastic with the sewer being 8 inches and the water four inches in diameter. Standard manholes were installed every hundred feet for the sewers; however, they were not pre-cast but were manually built with clay brick. Once the piping was done, the trench was backfilled with granular material that was passed through a sieve on site to remove any large stones that could damage the pipes. Except for the trenches being less than four feet deep and the use of more manual labour, the process was not overly different from the Canadian experience.
The reconstruction of the road surface marked a significant departure in the Mexican and Canadian construction techniques. The bobcat was used to scrape the road surface deep enough to accommodate the thickness of the paving stones. This is a pretty rough and ready method since this small machine would bounce over boulders and thus only hint at a final grade. The real work fell to an army of workers equipped with picks, shovels and wheelbarrows. A supervisor strung several chalk lines from one end of the street to the other at the finished grade of the road. The rough grade had to be 12 or so inched lower than the chalk line over the entire surface. Whereas this job would be completed in Canada, in less than half a day by a skilled man in a grader, the process in Mexico involved at least thirty men and took the better part of a week. The final results were about the same but the effort expended in Oaxaca was certainly greater.

It was at this stage that the very interesting task of installing the paving stones began. Dump trucks arrived with loads of quarried granite that was unceremoniously dropped in the middle of the road. The stones had a relatively consistent thickness and were smooth on one side. Otherwise, they were jagged and broken pieces of rock that required cutting and shaping before they would be of any use. About ten men, each with a straight edge, a steel chisel and a maul hammer, took on this arduous task of making useful paving stones from this mass of rubble. It was really quite disconcerting to see the working environment on this job site. There were no hard hats, no work boots and worst of all no eye protection. Shards of broken stone were flying in all directions and you can see by the presence of the lady in the picture, civilians were free to wander the site. You will also note the finished stone at the bottom centre of the photo.

A team of two or three men with wheelbarrows collected the finished stones and hauled them up to the masons as the other end of the job site. Their other task was to collect the debris left by the stonecutters and place it in piles for future removal by truck.

The really interesting part of the road building was the actual laying of the stones. Engineers or supervisors restrung the chalk lines setting the final elevation and crown of the road. Five spines, spaced about four feet apart ran the length of the street. The spines were built with fairly large stones of consistent dimensions and I presume that this job was handled by the master masons. Other masons were employed to fill the spaces between the spines.

The laying of each stone was a laborious task. The stones weren’t merely placed on the ground since the bottoms were too irregular. Rather, they were bedded in mortar mix just as in bricklaying. While one team of men was engaged in laying the stones, another group was busy mixing mortar on sheets of plywood and another team delivered the mortar to the masons. Amazing to me was the consumption of a five-gallon pail of mortar for every stone. The place was a human anthill and I counted 26 men engaged in this task in a thirty-foot length of road.

The design of the road surface was not a simple horizontal pattern but a herringbone and this required more cutting of the stone by the masons at the point of placement.
It was fascinating to go past the site each day and see the entire pattern begin to take shape. These men were excellent craftsmen and very hard working. The task was very time consuming by Canadian standards but I expect this road to have a useful life of a hundred years or more.

Hand leveled road bed

2006-01-26T10:20:00.000-06:00

Evening at the Circus

2006-01-26T10:19:00.000-06:00

Evening at the Circus

January 25, 2006

Yesterday we went to the circus. If you are thinking animals, acrobats and clowns, you have the right idea. I haven’t been to a circus since the 1950’s when the Shrine Circus came to town. Such events may now be rare north of the border with the advent of animal rights and the Cirque de Soleil, but they are still alive and well in Mexico.

The Ayade Circus was held on the outskirts of the Oaxaca where they have shopping centres, multiplex cinemas, Sam’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Burger King. “Wow, Todto, this must be Kansas.” We had taken a rush hour bus to get to the event for 6 PM. The bus ride was almost as exciting as the circus. The bus was packed and we were in the standing group. We knew immediately that the driver wasn’t paying for maintenance on this bus. All stops were done on a peso while take-offs were the types that usually follow bank robberies. My body was swaying so much that my trick hip went back into the correct position again.

We knew the name of our stop but had not the slightest idea how far we had to travel to find it. Every second minute, I would ask some fellow standee “Is this Plaza de Valle?” Nope and they would point further ahead. At last we saw a sign indicating our destination and off we hopped. Unfortunately we didn’t see anything that resembled a circus, only a shopping centre. Naturally we asked passers by in broken English if they could tell us where the circus was. As is the norm in Oaxaca, I was greeted by vacuous stares. Not to worry; out came the handy dandy electronic translator. “Donde esta el Circo?” Ah, ayi, ayi – over there. And so it was. We could see fluttering flags atop a tent across a twelve lanes of rush hour traffic but with perfectly flexible hips were able to play dodge ball with insane Mexican drivers to reach the other side.

The circus was actually in a tent, a perfectly round tent as a matter of fact. I hoped we could get good seats close to the action and hurried to the ticket wicket. Prices were $20, $15 and $10 US. I wondered how many Mexicans can afford this. I soon found out as the place was darn near empty. We got the front row seats in rows 1 and 2. In other words, we were about to become best friends with every performer, human and animal in the entire circus. To get to our seats, we had to go through three sets of ticket takers. Finally a gentleman dressed in tuxedo escorted us to the correct seats. Nice cushions were placed on the seats but they quickly disappeared when I declined to pay an extra $2 each.

The show began right on Mexican time and was pretty entertaining. There were the usual array of animal acts involving camels, llamas, ponies, dogs, horses and elephants. I have never been as close to an elephant’s ass and it is very large. In fact the beast was having a bladder control problem which was most alarming considering the unnatural positions the animal was forced to take only four feet removed from our seats.

The gymnasts were the most fun. They were very skilled and light hearted in their approach giving the audience a steady stream of laughs. There was a hire wire act that was excellent and several attractive ladies performed extraordinary feast on a thick rope hanging from the ceiling.

In between acts, a clown entertained the crowd and this fellow was a real pro. He involved as many people as possible in his act always seeking some poor soul to humiliate, but always in good fun. If you were a good sport you were given a sucker and everybody went home with one.

So now when people ask me what I did in Mexico, I can say I saw an elephant’s ass up close and had chiropractic treatments on a city bus during rush hour. I will again be treated to vacuous stares and once again think I am back in Oaxaca.

Native Woodcrafts

2006-01-22T16:07:00.000-06:00

Tule Tree Towers over Church

2006-01-22T16:04:00.000-06:00

The Tule Tree-over 150' in diameter

2006-01-22T16:03:00.000-06:00

January 19 2006

2006-01-22T16:01:00.000-06:00

January 19, 2006

Today was an unhappy day. At noon we received a telephone call announcing the death of my mother. We left Canada fully expecting that we would not see her again. I had flown to Thunder Bay to see her in early December and could tell that she was seeking a way to escape this life. Like many her age, she just stopped eating and gently faded away. Nonetheless, it is still hard to deal with the finality of it and even though I was prepared, the news was and still is hard for me. I find myself crying quietly each time I think of her.

Our communication system her is still pretty bad. We don’t have access to a phone other than public pay phones and they have to be chosen carefully to avoid the noise from the street. I purchased a couple of phone cards and went to the traffic free zocalo and called my sister. She agreed not to cry on the phone and get me doing the same, thus making a fool of myself in a public place. According to Irene, Mom went very peacefully with my sister at her side.

Irene had been Mom’s constant companion for the past twenty years and Mom’s death was hardest on her. She deserves our everlasting gratitude for taking on this labour of love. It is not easy dealing with situations like this and since Mom had completely lost her hearing, time with her passed very slowly. If she could have carried on normal conversations, then we could reminiscence, which is so important to the elderly. To the end, Mom had her wits about her but could not get the words out. It would have been wonderful to talk about her life and her youth; two things that children fail to do until it is too late.

In the evening, I was grateful for a visit from Bill and Mary, two new friends from Illinois. We went for dinner at an Italian restaurant and ate and drank much later than usual. It was the perfect thing to get my mind off of today’s sad news.

January 20, 2006

I spent the better part of today writing a eulogy for my mother. It is to be read at the funeral by one or all of my children. It was very emotional writing since there was no relief from thinking about my loss. I asked Marie to give me some of her thoughts and they were very helpful.

We did a little grocery shopping to break up the process and also decided to buy a cell phone so people could contact us more easily. Kate called to make sure it worked and it did.

In the evening, we sat around with the neighbours for a couple of hours just getting to know one another.

Dont Leave Home Without an

2006-01-18T19:26:00.000-06:00

Don’t Leave Home Without an Apartment

January 17, 2006

Last year, we negotiated the lease of a home in San Miguel de Allende over the Internet and paid up front for the entire duration of our stay. It was a big mistake. The location and condition of the home were terrible and we were forced to cut our vacation short just to relieve ourselves of the problems. This year in choosing Oaxaca, we weren’t going to be fooled twice and leased only for the first month of a three-month stay. If the house wasn’t to our liking, we could endure for the month but then find something more to our liking. It was a big mistake.

The accommodation we selected turned out to be just fine. The location was excellent, the landlady was excellent and we were very content. Therefore, it was an easy decision to ask for a two-month lease extension. “In my dreams” was the answer. The place was booked through to the end of April. Oh well, we will just find something else.

For over a week, we scoured this city from one end to the other. My new shoes need imminent replacement. We recruited every friend we knew, we searched on line, we read the classifieds in every paper and finally, we hired a cab for three hours to drive us around in search of rental options. The net results were discouraging. We could find a selection of nice properties to the north of the city in San Felipe del Agua. These homes were quite new, in excellent condition, had terrific amenities but, you essentially needed a car to function. We found a couple of apartments closer to the centre of the city. The first had the feeling of a concrete bunker and the other was a casita attached to a lovely home. It has some nice features like a pool and high-speed wireless Internet, but it was very small, poorly furnished and well off the beaten track.

Many of our friends came to the rescue with phone numbers but little information. Calling these leads is not as simple as you would think. Phones in homes are a rarity in Oaxaca. There was no phone in our current apartment so I went to a store and bought a calling card for a pay phone. These are ubiquitous in Oaxaca but there are two problems with this process. First, the pay phones are on the street and the streets resonate at just under a thousand decibels. Secondly, the folks answering the phones don’t speak English and I don’t speak Spanish. After a little coaching, I was able to say quite well the following.

Hola, habla Englise.
Oh
iene unu departemento disponsible con servicio?
Slow down please, er por favour
Click.
No worries. I recruited my Spanish teacher to do the phoning and help out screening places. Results, NIL.

By now I am starting to get concerned. Will I be a street person in my retirement? It would be apt since I was already doing my banking with Bancomer which literally translates as the “food bank”. My wife and I were beginning to have restless then sleepless nights. This can’t be happening to us. We have American dollars. Some enterprising Oaxaquenian must want them enough to give us a roof over our heads. Fat chance chucko; everything is booked.

After five days we are able to find some nice properties but they are all available for March first. We start to make contingency plans to travel to other centres for a month. How about a week in Puerto Escondido, a week in San Cristobal, a week in where ever?

Today, our depression grew deeper. We had hired a lady about town, with strong real estate connections, to find a long list of options. She knew the people and the places and she promised results. After giving her four days to produce a list, she found nothing and so I continued to pound the pavement. Exhausted and frustrated I returned to our house and crashed on the bed; unable to face this task again. I lay there for the next hour and a half knowing that I would have to pull myself together to get to Spanish lessons at two.

Knock, knock, knock, there is a knock on the door. It is the landlady. The people, who had rented our place for the next two months, can’t come. Would you consider staying longer? Let me think about it for a couple of days. Okay.

And so, our anguish ended. It wouldn’t have been that bad if Oaxaca was a dump of a city. But, it is delightful. The people of Oaxaca are delightful, the city is a marvel, the friends we have met have been real friends, the sights we had seen were extraordinary and we just plain didn’t want to go.

So let that be a lesson to all of us. If you plan to stay in Oaxaca for a long period of time and don’t want to pay hotel rates for the privilege, make sure you have a place booked for the duration. Also, don’t expect to find the quality of homes available in places like San Miguel de Allende. Some of our friends are living in places that would make you cringe. They don’t care; they are in Oaxaca.

a

Chickens for Sale at the Merced

2006-01-15T20:18:00.000-06:00

Hats at the Merced

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Butcher Shop at the Merced

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Merced

2006-01-15T20:15:00.001-06:00

Visit to the Market

2006-01-15T20:15:00.000-06:00

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Today we met Jan and Dave Rooney at their apartment in the west end of Oaxaca to visit the Merced de Abastos, the largest outdoor marketplace in Oaxaca. In size, this place compares to the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul without the order or organization.

Perhaps a thousand merchants sell every imaginable product under an innumerable assortment of tin roofs and tarpaulins. Joining them is the humanity of Oaxaca intent on driving the best bargains for their household needs. By noon, it is near impossible to move down the improvised aisles.

Merchants of similar products seem to coalesce in the same area. Thus, you will encounter dozens of booths selling pottery. It strikes me that this is the same pottery than would be pictured in anthropology textbooks. In fact, I am quite sure that people have been making this very same product for the last thousand years. The Oaxacan Valley is famous for a certain black pottery which forms a natural sheen when fired. There is also a green variety that is quite attractive. To me, this pottery may be purchased in a limited quantity for decorative purposes but the massive supply on hand this morning suggest a broader use by the local population.

Adjoining the potters, were the cabinetmakers who were not only selling product but were manufacturing at the same time. The product was fairly rudimentary in quality reflecting the tools at hand. Picture household furnishings from three hundred years ago and you will see this same quality of furniture at the Merced.

One need not move far to encounter the livestock. Live pigs and goats are on display awaiting a new owner. Right next to the goats was a broad selection of mattresses and chesterfields neatly arrayed down the length of a city street that had been closed for the day. After a day at the market, a nice new bed maybe the perfect acquisition.

The food stalls covered a large part of the market and they were the most intriguing to me. The quantity of foods available in Mexico is just enormous. Each vendor seems to have a booth roughly ten feet square surrounded on three sides by display tables and on the fourth by the next vendor. The vendor is contained within the confines of her tables and virtually all vendors are women. Every inch of the tables is covered with pyramids of produce. Some vendors specialize in produce such as string beans, potatoes, tomatoes, radishes and cucumbers. Other merchants specialize in chiles and display huge sacks of dried varieties totally unknown to me. We spend no time at these booths negotiating any purchases.

The variety and freshness of the fruit at other stalls was truly mouth watering. The strawberries and bananas caught our attention and we quickly stocked up. Across from the fruit vendors was the butcher with a dozen or so carcasses hanging from the front of his booth. Skilled butchers were busy carving the thinnest veneers of beef and pork for waiting customers. Chickens were sold by a separate group of merchants. Naked corpses lay in piles in the open air with stiffened feet pointing outwards. The chickens in Mexico have a peculiar yellow cast compared to the white skinned chicken more familiar in the U.S.A. and Canada. This peculiar coloring can’t be from eating corn, since Mexican corn is decidedly white.

Cheese is a popular product at the mercado. If you like cheese, you get only once choice here. It is a white cheese, stringy in consistency and very salty. It must be very popular since no end of merchants had it on offer.

My favourite area was reserved for the bakers. I have never seen so many breads and pastries convene in one place before. Mountains of breads and rolls bury acres of tables. The pastries, of every imaginable variety, taunt us with imagined sweetness. We succumb and realize that Krispy Kreme and Tim Horton’s have a lot to learn.

For a couple of hours, we wander randomly through this maize never once finding a perimeter. Does this place never end? I decide to find a washroom and leave my friends at an outdoor restaurant. The washroom, I am told, is just around the corner to the left. I can’t find it so ask someone else. “Just around the corner to the left”. I can’t find it so I ask again. “Just around the corner to the left”. By now, I fear never finding my friends again so give up the quest and double back. It was like been in a forest where every tree looks the same. I should have remembered to grab a loaf of bread and spread crumbs along my route. Fortunately, after numerous false starts, familiar faces appeared.
In addition to the merchandise already noted, we saw coins, raw sugar, machetes, motorcycles, straw hats and baskets, toys, videos, tools, clothing, rugs, woven blankets, drugs, mole sauces, nuts, religious artifacts, kitchen appliances, leather goods and trading cards. Except for automobiles, I am sure I saw every imaginable consumable at this mercado. Surprisingly, I doubt that I saw even twenty percent of the offerings.

Merced

2006-01-15T20:14:00.000-06:00

January 13 2006 Mon

2006-01-13T20:16:00.000-06:00

January 13, 2006 – Monte Alban

Today we made a special outing to Monte Alban: a spectacular ruined city of the Zapotec people who established their own empire between the Aztecs to the north and the Mayans in Guatemala. It is perched on the very top of one of the highest mountains in the area and offers a commanding view of the Oaxacan valley and countryside.

It is estimated that only ten percent of the former city of 40,000 people has been excavated and yet the visible portion is massive and staggering in its significance. The Mexican government has done a marvellous job of restoration. There are not enough words in me to describe the buildings and facilities so I will let you draw your own inspiration from the attached pictures.

Oaxaca is an ideal base camp from which to see much of what Mexico has to offer. Hundreds of smaller villages and towns, many archaeological sites, rare geological and ecological areas and numerous sites of historical significance surround the city. The vast majority of the villages and sites are from fifteen minutes to two hours from Oaxaca. Monte Alban is the best known and also one of the closest properties. It can be reached on a short but adventurous fifteen minute bus ride from central Oaxaca. The bus from a hotel on Calle Mina costs thirty pesos per person or roughly $3US.

The small tourist bus climbs a few thousand feet on a swithback road to reach the summit that houses Monte Alban. Although paved, the road is no more than 18 feet from mountain side to disaster. We cling to the mountain like a gekko to a ceiling while we meander higher and higher. Approaching vehicles take to the roadside swale in order to let us pass. It is a path of wisdom on their part. As we ascend, wonderful views of the city in the valley begin to emerge as well as sights of poverty in homes that stick incredulously to the side of steep and arid hills.
A large pavilion heralds our arrival at the site and we along with twenty other tourists disgorge to see this purported marvel. We have two hours and I wonder what we will do with the second one. Interestingly, our group consists of a lovely young woman from Switzerland who is travelling from Mexico City to Rio De Janeiro on her own, an even more lovely and towering gal from the Peoples Republic of China, a retired couple from Washington, formerly with USAID and a few Mexicano who are here to see their heritage.

The entrance to the site is truly beautiful. A broad staircase is surmounted by two enormous Indian laurel trees space perfectly to signify the stateliness we shall soon behold. You can’t see much of the site at this point. It just sneaks up on you and it is massive and breathtaking. My first impulse is to find the nearest tall structure to climb. This is a good plan since it affords the first opportunity the vastness of what lies ahead.

Monte Alban is essentially a quadrangle with large structures abutting the perimeter and an immense open field in between. According to the literature, this field was used as a market and a gathering place for special functions. There is one building in the centre of the field which was apparently necessitated by the impossibility of removing a massive rock. Thus a structure was put around it and decorated to commemorate the numerous victories by the Zapotec over area rivals.

It is hard to imagine much functionality of the buildings erected on this site other than the purely ceremonial. They are monumental in size and their principal attribute is the staircase. Stairs, stairs, everywhere there are stairs. I climbed every staircase where permitted. At the top of a few of them I was looking for the oxygen bottles. Unlike other similar sites that we have visited, the stairs at Monte Alban are quite broad with steep risers. Each step is fifteen to eighteen inches high. So, although you really have to lift your knees, there is a nice platform to plant your feet. Perhaps the Zapotec had much larger feet and longer legs than the Aztecs.

Besides the much too strenuous climbing, Monte Alban was taking its toll on us from the heat of the afternoon sun. The site is totally exposed and there is no shade whatsoever. Visitors are at the very pinnacle of a mountain with an almost desert-like environment. The grassy field in the centre of the quadrangle is mostly sand bound together with yellow strands of grass. Normal logic would suggest to visitors to this site that a big sombrero would be an ideal head ornament. This logic escaped me and I found that my bottled water was quickly gone and no oasis was in sight.

As the rounds of the property continued, I couldn’t help but notice the serenity of the visitors. Except for one young fellow trying to impress a young lady, everyone was transfixed in a sort of incredulous wonder. Many people sat for the longest time on some elevated pedestal gaping at one building or another as they tried to absorb the history, the grandeur, the intelligence of the Zapotec people. Here was evidence of a race that lived 2500 years ago and yet had the mathematical and astrological abilities to erect structures that would confound most modern minds. In a sense, the architecture was plain but it was true and it was bound together by techniques still used today.
This site has yielded many artifacts of great value and beauty. Most, however, are housed at the National Museum in Mexico City. There is a small museum at the entrance to the site holding a variety of stone carvings, many pieces of pottery and more than an adequate supply of skulls. These skulls show evidence of boreholes and other forced entries, indicating an early interest by the Zapotecs in brain surgery.

Monte Alban collapsed as a viable community some 800 years ago. Nobody knows why or how. The people may have depleted the soils or the available wood supply. A competing tribe may have overrun it but if so, the conquerors did not remain. The city just vanished into the environment only to be resurrected as a museum to bewilder and awe its visitors.

Awe does have its limits, however, and those limits were set by the hordes of peddlers that roam this site, pestering the pilgrims, offering crass artifacts as genuine and for the most part giving a black eye to the Mexican tourism authorities. There is an extensive artisans area at the entrance to Monte Alban where curios of all kinds can be purchased as a memento of the visit. But, the peddlers should not be allowed on the site. They are an annoying interference with a reverential experience. I am all for letting people earn a living but there is a time and a place for everything.

By the way, I did buy a hat when I left the property. It was a perfectly nice straw hat and it cost me all of $2.50. We did consume the entire two hours and were fortunate that the bus was running on Mexican time.

Monte Alban Ball Field

2006-01-11T20:26:00.000-06:00

Monte Alban

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Monte Alban

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Monte Alban

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Monte Alban

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Monte Alban

2006-01-11T20:22:00.000-06:00

Monte Alban Entrance

2006-01-11T20:21:00.000-06:00

Santo Domingo Convent

2006-01-11T20:18:00.000-06:00

Santo Domingo Pulpit

2006-01-11T20:17:00.000-06:00

Daily Diary 1

2006-01-11T20:11:00.000-06:00

Daily Diary (1)

January 9,
The dawn of another beautiful day and we were off to a slow start. This is one of the great advantages of being on holidays for a long time with no necessity to be out and about so as not to miss anything of note. Marie and I went separate ways: she to buy baby wool and I to get some money from the bank. The cash flow this week will be very high with the need to pay our landlady for the rent and pay for language lessons. Another fear was put to rest as the automatic teller delivered to me the requested amount of money.

With cash in hand, I found the landlady to settle up but not without first extracting my own pound of flesh. I wanted new bedding, new pots and pans, batteries for the TV remote-even though we don’t watch Spanish shows, towels changed twice a week instead of once and a light-bulb replaced in the bathroom. Oh, if all things in life should be so easy. All of my requests were met with positive response without the slightest argument and all matters were fully corrected by days end. When we left the building about one hour later, we encountered some people trying to arrange an appointment with the landlady. We overheard the landlady’s daughter tell these folks that her mother was not available since she was out buying new pots and pans for “those people”.

Our first Spanish lesson was held at the English language library. The teacher was Flor Bautista, a vibrant young woman of about 28. She was a very good teacher forced to work with very poor students. If she was getting frustrated with our stupidity, she certainly didn’t show it.

Class ended at 4pm and we had a 5:30 dinner engagement at the other end of the city. We were invited to the apartment of Dave and Jan Rooney, he a retired dentist and she the epitome of Anne Shirley from “Anne of Green Gables”. Jan was a little spit of a woman and as lively and vivacious a person as you would ever want to meet. Their apartment could in no way be described as luxurious. It was on the third and top floor of a rambling tenement with a large courtyard that also served as a parking area. You walk up three flights of exterior stairs and across a variety of suspended walkways to reach the apartment. It consisted of a single room with a double bed at one end, a kitchen in the middle and livingroom cum bedroom at the other end. There was a bathroom behind the kitchen. The apartment did have a huge deck that offered fabulous views of the skyline and the mountains surrounding the city. The singular purpose of the get together was to observe the sunset, which while nice was nothing approaching spectacular. I had to presume that living in Boston as they did, sunsets, spectacular or otherwise where not all that common.

It is worth remembering that Jan had approached us on the street and invited us to her home out of the blue. Another couple joined the gathering shortly thereafter who had been invited in the same fashion. The man was a professor of English from an Indiana university and his wife of thirteen years was a Mexicana from San Cristobel. A young woman, also an American, then joined the crowd. She was a soldier of fortune in the field of foreign aid and travelled the world. Her most recent assignment has been to Guyana. After graduating from university, I had been the Guyana desk officer with the Canadian International Development Agency so she and I were able to share stories on the then and now. Finally, an elderly American of German heritage joined us. He was a small man with a shock of white hair and a decided accent although he had lived in Chicago since 1939. He was scheduled to leave for Puerto Escondido the next day for a month on the beach. Although he gave no evidence to the effect, Jan told me quietly that he was gay to the bone. (no offence intended).

It was a most pleasant evening and we managed to consume a huge supply of home made guacamole, cheese and cerveza. Since we had a long walk ahead of us we left around nine and walked into a still bustling city. The evening was warm and the walk was pleasant. We will meet again with Jan and Dave on Wednesday for a regular dance session at the zocalo.

January 10, 2006

Up at the crack of dawn, we actually got on the road by nine thirty. Other than getting Marie registered for yoga classes, we had the morning free to explore the some of the sites for which Oaxaca is famous. Our destination was the church of Santo Domingo and the adjacent convent (monastery). They are both state properties now and have been turned into a museum. The church dates back to the sixteenth century although it has been modified and rebuilt as a result of earthquake damage. It and the convent are in impeccable condition. This church is justifiable famous for the baroque interior that has enough gilding to pay off the Canadian national debt. The church also has a magnificent ceiling depicting the tree of life in the growth of the church. The monastery is more like a palace and has a strong Moorish influence in its design. It is huge with numerous wings and courtyards. A wall of cut stone, approximately fifteen feet high, surrounds the entire property. Besides the building, there are huge grounds dedicated to the growth of indigenous plants: mainly cacti.

A fee of $4.50US is charged to get into the nunnery but people over 60 or under 14 years are admitted free. I was very happy to take full advantage of this benefit and will leave it to you to guess the category I fell into.

We stopped in the zocalo for lunch on the way home and had hamburgers at the world’s most expensive hamburger restaurant. We did meet up with an acquaintance from the jazz evening who was busy getting advertisers for a magazine he edits.

We had to get home quickly after lunch so as to be at Spanish lessons on time. I confess to being really tired from the outing and the sun and would sooner have napped. I literally dragged myself to class and found it was refreshing to just sit for a couple of hours. We went home and rested until about 7 when we headed out for supper. Our first stop, however, was to see Luu Luu who had an apartment to rent. We liked the apartments but the only one she had was right on the street and a bit noisy for our liking. Also the possession date was indeterminate. We decided to look further before deciding. We still have twenty days to go.

We headed off to Macedonia Alcala, the main tourist strip in Oaxaca and found an Italian restaurant offering pizza. This sounded perfect to Marie who loves pepperoni pizza. I decided to go along with this choice for health reasons since I am sure my system was lacking in salts which could be the only reason to explain my fatigue. The pizza was excellent as was the Corona.

One of the more interesting aspects of being a foreigner in a foreign land is our willingness to seek out strangers who are like ourselves: foreigners. Today we joined in conversation with Ron. He was a good-looking kid of 23 from Arizona. He has finished his pre-meds at the University of Pennsylvania and is planning on entering medical school in New York. He is in Oaxaca for the next two months shadowing a Mexican surgeon to learn Spanish medical terminology and he is paying for the privilege. He already speaks Spanish fluently and will probably end up in practise serving the burgeoning Mexican community in the USA. Based on our short meeting with Ron, I am certain he will be very successful.

January 11, 2006

Today we made a special outing to Monte Alban: a spectacular ruined city of the Zapotec people who established their own empire between the Aztecs to in the north and the Mayans in Guatemala. The archaeological site is only a short drive from Oaxaca; perhaps fifteen kilometres. It is perched on the very top of one of the highest mountains in the area and offers a commanding view of the Oaxacan valley and countryside.

It is estimated that only ten percent of the former city of 40,000 people has been excavated and yet the visible portion was massive and staggering in its significance. The Mexican government has done a marvellous job of restoration. For me to describe the buildings and facilities would not do justic

Oaxaca zocalo

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You could mistake this for Vienna in the summer

Countryside leading to Oaxaca

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Countryside leading to Oaxaca

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cathedral

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babe in the woods

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in the Zocalo

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Poinsetia and me

our home in Oaxaca

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Oaxaca First Impres

2006-01-08T18:54:00.000-06:00

Oaxaca – First Impressions

Pleasure is sometimes a direct function of low expectations. From what I had read about Oaxaca, I didn’t expect the grandeur, the friendliness or the cleanliness that was encountered. You can be certain that this is still Mexico. The drivers are nuts here too and the noise from honking horns and diesel trucks and storefront boom boxes are just as prevalent in Oaxaca as in any other Mexican city. You take your life in your hands crossing any intersection and you best have the address of a chiropractor to correct the spinal twists occasioned by potholes in the sidewalks.

But, the surprises on the positive side far outweigh the negatives. Oaxaca dates back to the earliest days of the Spanish conquest. Cortez heard of the Oaxacan valley from native allies and quickly dispatched his troops to gain control of the area, roughly five hundred kilometres from Mexico City. In our bus ride from Mexico City to Oaxaca, my thoughts were focused on the difficulty of that journey through an arid plateau and finally through the roiled up landscape where the two branches of the Sierra Madre Mountains converge just north of Oaxaca. (image placeholder)Cortez was enthralled with this area and spent many years lobbying to have the area declared his personal fiefdom.

Before long, the Spaniards developed a new colonial city replete with splendid buildings, a palace for Cortez and the usual array of churches, convents and residences for church dignitaries. In spite of numerous destructive earthquakes, the city of Cortez still stands and has been designated a United Nations cultural treasure. And it really is quite a treasure. The city is laid out on a north-south grid with a central square called the zocalo. This is a traditional Spanish concept of three concentric squares. The inner square is a park with gardens, trees, shrubbery, park benches and a band shell. Roads or wide boulevards surround it as the second square. The outer square consists of the most important buildings of the community such as churches and government buildings. For the size of this city, roughly 300,000 people, the zocalo is enormous. By comparison, it swamps the zocalo in San Miguel de Allende. The park area seems to be ten times the size and the boulevards are massive. The city has extended the area of the zocalo in many directions and removed all vehicular traffic; making for wonderfully easy
walking.(image placeholder)
The above picture may resemble Vienna in the summer but it is really Oaxaca.
The park is a little arid and Spartan at this time of year but is does offer plenty of shade from huge trees and colour from poinsettias.

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So far, we have only managed to get a little acquainted with the city. The friendliness of the expatriate community in Oaxaca has made this a very simple task. This community is small in number but huge in enthusiasm. On our first night in Oaxaca, we went to the zocalo to grab some food. I overheard the name of an email friend and spent the next hour in conversation with some locals. The next morning, we met with a local activist who provided so much information; we’re not sure where to start our little adventure here. There is no doubt the English speaking community solicits and encourages community involvement. The focal point is the English language library that boasts of having a collection of 30000 books. In fact, we brought with us 10 of the latest best sellers and every one was available in hard cover on the library shelves. The library is also the clearinghouse for all activities of interest to the gringos. Language training, yoga classes, tours, concerts and housing can all be accessed at the library. We have already signed up for most and our social calendar is getting so full, I have had to resort to using a day timer. I certainly don’t anticipate too many moments of boredom. Today, we head to a band concert at noon, a jazz concert in the late afternoon and a piano recital in the evening. Tomorrow, we start Spanish lessons. In between we have to see the sights.

Housing is a bit of a concern since we only managed to get accommodation until January 31st and we are staying until April 4th. We are currently staying in a one bedroom, single-storey apartment close to the centre of the city. It is part of a sprawling home owned and operated by a sixty-year old widow. To get to our apartment we must go through the kitchen and laundry-room of the owner so it is somewhat like living in a rooming house. The place is spacious enough but leaves a bit to be desired in terms of amenities and general care. The bed sheets have lost so much thread count that they would be the envy of a harem girl. The water supply is a little erratic and the sewer system doesn’t allow for TP to be flushed. Another novel thing to enjoy.

The apartment is set well back from the road and has its own little courtyard surrounded by two apartments and several rooms that are rented in B&B fashion. We are nicely buffered from the street noise and that is an extra special bonus.(image placeholder)

That’s it for first impressions.

Test

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Test
We are in Mexico and this is just a test of the system.

Parish church

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Botanical garden

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Pretty child

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Animal house

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Modern homes

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Local delivery service

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Narrow sidewalks and cobble streets

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2005-12-23T09:24:00.000-06:00

Pictures from San Miguel de Allende

THIS MEANS WAR

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THIS MEANS WAR

In any discussion about visiting Mexico, somebody always pipes up with the comment “Don’t drink the water”. For committed devotees of Mexico, such remarks are very tedious. Nonetheless, the comment is unfortunately all too true. In the twenty-five years that I have been visiting Mexico, it took fifteen years to realize that the purgative effects of Montezuma’s revenge weren’t an essential part of the holiday. A combination of wisdom and bottled water have made latter day holidays much more enjoyable.

Water is a hot topic in Mexico these days. In March 2006, Mexico City will host the fourth annual World Water Forum. Up to 25,000 delegates are expected to attend said Cesar Herrera, Technical Secretary of the Forum. In addition, recurring water shortages in Mexico City and the physical sinking of that city due to overuse of the groundwater aquifers have brought water to the fore of public attention. The situation is serious enough that President Fox has declared water “a strategic resource of national security”.

According to Herrera, there are still 11 million Mexicans, out of 106 million, without clean water. Herrera is referring to residents without piped water to their homes. Most telling of Herrera’s comments is that only 30 per cent or drinking water in the country is treated. That explains why you can turn on the taps in San Miguel or the Mayan Cancun and get abundant clean water that you can’t drink. The municipality may call it potable water but it hasn’t been processed to kill all of those nasty little bugs that make you sick. Cristóbal Jaime Jáquez, director general of the National Water Commission, estimates that Mexico will need to invest around 30 billion pesos annually, for the next 25 years to satisfy the water and sewer needs of the population. That is the equivalent of $75 billion U.S.
The financial impacts of poor water quality on Mexico are nothing short of staggering. Its health costs were estimated in 1992 at around US$3.6 billion. The estimate includes the cost of diarrhoeal diseases caused by water and soil pollution, as well as by the lack of sanitation and by food poisoning. It is reasonable to assume that such costs in 2005 have probably doubled. The health costs don’t include lost wages and productivity that could be equally staggering. To protect themselves against water borne disease, Mexicans are among the world’s biggest consumers of soda pop and bottled water. It is not unusual to see mothers feeding Coca Cola to their babies in any Mexican city. Mexican bottled water consumption is 170 liters per capita or 18 billion liters per annum nationally. At the average world price of bottled water of US$0.44 per liter, that is US$7.9 billion or enough money to pay off the proposed water expenditures in less than ten years. (Clearly, these water expenditures are an enormous indirect tax on the citizens resulting directly from the government’s inability to provide safe water.) On average, bottle water is priced at a minimum of 1100 times more than the cost of the same amount of water taken from the tap. Adding further to the cost of impure water is one report that 95% of households in Mexico City boil their water. There’s more. According to National Campesina Confederation (CNC) leader Heladio Ramírez López, looming water deficiencies threaten to lead to social conflicts — both in Mexican cities and rural areas. Without even considering the expenditures on soda pop, social insurrection and lost tourism, the cost-benefit relationship of improved water services in Mexico is almost too simplistic. So why aren’t the needed capital improvements proceeding at breakneck speed?
The obvious answer must be that Mexico is a very poor country with a massive and growing population. Perhaps the demands on the government are so large that financial resources are just insufficient. In reality, Mexico has the 12th largest economy in the world coming in at a surprising US$ one trillion in 2005 (adjusted for purchasing power parity). In the vernacular of development economists, Mexico is an upper middle-income country with per capita income of $9000 which ranks the country 80th, just slightly above the world average and about the same as Russia. The annual proposed sewer and water expenditures amount to 0.3% of GDP so what’s the big problem about getting on with the job?
Christian Stracke states in an article entitled “Mexico—The Sick Man of NAFTA” published in the WORLD POLICY JOURNAL, Summer 2003 that “Mexico faces a number of mounting structural problems, including a growing social security crisis, a poor long-term outlook for the petroleum sector, chronic under-investment in the electricity sector, and an overwhelmed health care system, that will bring further economic disappointment—to Mexicans as well as to U.S. policymakers and foreign investors— unless they can be addressed. In fact, given the array of pressing structural problems facing Mexico, the productivity and income growth outlook over the next decade could be even more disappointing than that of the last three decades.” In other words, Mexico can’t solve its problems alone. Stracke argues that NAFTA will never be the success that was anticipated unless Mexican productivity and per capita income grows. Neither of these will be achieved unless the infrastructure of the country is significantly improved and the only way this is going to happen is through direct assistance from the United States and other countries. He argues further that $billions in aid from the US will greatly benefit the American economy once Mexicans start making decent wages with which to buy American goods. To read the full article, go to http://www.worldpolicy.org/journal/articles/wpj03-2/stracke.html.

A completely unrelated argument in support of American aid to Mexico pertains to illegal immigration. The American government in 2004 spent $3.8 billion attempting to stem the flow of illegal immigration. The bulk of this money was spent controlling illegal entries from Mexico. In spite of the financial and manpower efforts, 500,000 illegal aliens were able to avoid law enforcement in the same year. With the basic knowledge that most illegal aliens from Mexico are taking the lowest paying jobs in the USA, it must be readily apparent to American authorities that economic and living conditions in Mexico, especially for the working poor, are indeed dire. It can be argued that the Americans would be better served by improving conditions in Mexico so that fewer people would want to flee the country. If one half of the enforcement money were diverted to potable water programs in Mexico, living conditions would be significantly enhanced.
In a humorous but telling article written in 2002 by Daniel Pipes and Jonathan Schanzer entitled “Attack U.S. and Win Aid”, (http://www.danielpipes.org/article/115) the authors lament the fact that countries that are truly vital to U.S. security, such as Mexico, receive little in the way of American aid compared to countries that have declared war on the United States. In that year, the U.S. pledged $297 million in aid to Afghanistan: a country that was the base for the 9/11 attacks. Total pledges of aid to that country exceed $10 billion. Only the year before, this same country was earmarked for aid of just $3 million. Five years earlier, American forces were engaged in the former Yugoslavia; today that cluster of countries receives a whopping $358 million in U.S. aid. In the article, the authors reference an old Peter Sellers movie called “The Mouse that Roared”. A small European duchy in need of money declared war on the United States, promptly surrendered and just as promptly received massive aid from the winner. The truth of this article was borne out again in November 2003 when the U.S. congress approved an $18 billion reconstruction package for Iraq. In July 2005, $600 million of that allocation was awarded to improve the Iraqi water system. These improvements were totally unrelated to war damage. At the same time, serious doubts are now emerging about the utility of this vast amount of aid to Iraq. The country still lacks the political stability or human resources to run the completed projects.
There is an emerging consensus among economists that foreign aid has little or no utility if the recipient country lacks a stable democratic government bent on reform or lacks free and open markets for goods and capital. Indeed, it is argued that countries that have implemented policy and market reforms have achieved rapid increases in per capita income through generous foreign aid contributions. If any country in the world is the ideal as an aid recipient, it is Mexico. The NAFTA accord has created freer and open markets, democracy has blossomed with the smooth transition of power from President Zidillo to President Fox and state services such as sewer and water have been opened up to private sector investment albeit with considerable prodding by the Inter-American Development Bank. Nonetheless, the Mexican government is not without warts and American policy experts still denounce the lack of progress in reforming a banking system that precipitated the peso crisis of 1995, the lack of reform of the social security system, as well as failures to open the electrical industry to private sector investment. The American government regards these types of structural reforms as a precursor of any effective development dialogue between the two countries. In comparison to American aid to countries that show none of the required precursors to growth, the dearth of aid to Mexico is inexplicable. In fact, American (and Canadian) assistance to Mexico has been downright stingy.
We have already highlighted the scope of American assistance to unstable regimes like Iraq and Afghanistan but how does this stack up to aid to Mexico. In the most recent fiscal year, the U.S.A. allocated $33 million in aid to Mexico and this has been reduced to $31 million for 2005. Canada provided a measly $7.5 million while giving a generous $117 million to Iraq, $102 million to Afghanistan and $53 million to China. That China receives this level of aid when it has sufficient foreign exchange reserves to attempt the buyout of Unocal for $18.5 billion and Noranda for $7 billion is mind-boggling.
I am convinced that this clear lack of interest by American and Canadian governments in the economic health of their NAFTA partner would shock the citizens of both countries when placed in juxtaposition to the assistance to other countries. Millions upon millions of Canadians and Americans vacation in Mexico on an annual basis and have a well formed interest in the economic and social health of that country. Mexico is also our partner in NAFTA. Quite frankly it is time the citizens of both countries pressured their governments to help Mexico improve its basic infrastructure in a substantial way. Should these efforts fail, the Government of Mexico should consider a declaration of war on the United States. First, however, prepare the articles of surrender.

Treasure of the Sierra Madre – Wintering in San Miguel de Allende

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If you’re contemplating a lengthy escape from northern winters, think seriously about the Grand Plateau of Mexico. On this great land mass between the eastern and western branches of the Sierra Madre Mountains thrives the economic and cultural soul of the country. Here, Spanish conquistadors ruled, Zorro righted wrongs and caballeros sported ponchos and sombreros. The great colonial cities of Guadalajara, Morelia, Queretaro, Mexico City and Pueblo evolved on this plateau during the Spanish silver mining era and played pivotal roles in the Mexican fight for independence.

Perhaps the most congenial wintering spot on the plateau is San Miguel de Allende. This city of 80,000 and cradle of Mexican independence has corralled over 2,500 Canadian and American expatriates and attracts an untold number of snowbirds for periods of one to five months. Unlike other colonial cities, the English language is widely spoken. Delightfully mild weather prevails year round and the city exudes a decidedly laid-back atmosphere.

Renting a home in San Miguel de Allende is your first priority. A search on www.vrbo.com reveals offerings ranging in price from $1000 to $10,000 (U.S.) per month with price variations by season and by length of stay. Rents typically include utilities and housekeeping services. Overall, you will appreciate the quality of housing in San Miguel. House design follows the Moorish style with central courtyards forming an integral part of the living space. Almost always, a colourful but Spartan exterior and a fully gated yard hide flowering gardens, enchanting home designs and quality furnishings.

Apartments are a less costly option with rents ranging from $350 to $1000 per month. Obtain apartment information through word of mouth, local newspapers and community bulletin boards. Buildings have three to ten units and are mainly in the centre of town. Many offer interior courtyards and rooftop gardens.

Understanding the geography of San Miguel is vital when selecting a rental property. This is a mountain city that huddles in a valley surrounded on three sides by ascending hills. Housing is available on the hills and in the valley.

If you rent on the hillsides, you had best be in excellent physical condition because the walking can be extremely taxing. The main part of the city is at an elevation of 6200 feet and the fringes are close to 7000 feet. Oftentimes, houses won’t have direct road access. Even if you take a cab home, you could be walking the last 300 yards over rocky and steep terrain.

Select a home in the central or flat part of the city. Areas like Guadiana and the Jardin are ideal choices. In these locations, you can wander home for lunch or siesta and return to the action without knocking yourself out. If you live in the hills, the walk home leaves you reluctant to repeat the process. Hillside locations sabotage spontaneity.

Cold overnight temperatures are the corollaries of high altitude. Don’t be surprised to wake up in January and February to below freezing temperatures. The good news is that daytime temperatures quickly rise to the mid 70’s making strolling very pleasant were it not for the notorious cobblestone roads and sidewalks.

Cobblestone appears in two varieties in San Miguel. The first is cut stone with mortared joints providing a smooth surface. The roads in the centre of town are constructed in this fashion. Elsewhere, round stones are pounded into gravel providing an uneven road surface that beats the dickens out of cars, shoes and knees. If you have ever walked in a shallow stream with a rocky bottom, you will have some idea of the sensation. This type of cobblestone is typical on the hillsides even when fronting million dollar homes.

The sidewalks of San Miguel are unusually narrow. Two people cannot pass on a sidewalk so one must take to the street. The sidewalks house municipal services including telephone poles, street lighting, water lines, street signs and driveway ramps. Buildings have box windows that extend eight to ten inches over the sidewalk. Always look down to avoid stumbling on water pipes or falling into open service hatches and always look up to avoid street signs and ubiquitous box windows. Other impediments to a pleasant walk are dog droppings and housekeepers. Dogs treat sidewalks as public toilets. To counteract this, housekeepers emerge daily with buckets of soapy water to clean the stones and ambush the unsuspecting stroller with the slick by-product of their efforts.

Perilous roads and sidewalks provide a perfect segue to medical services. Residents rave about their health services. A few American doctors live permanently in San Miguel and work with capable Mexican physicians. You will find holistic practitioners, chiropractors and optometrists. Mexicans don’t generally visit a doctor for minor medical ailments and infections. They go to the pharmacy and explain their symptoms to the counter person who will suggest a variety of drug options.

The focal point of San Miguel is the Jardin (garden). This small park rests in the shadow of the massive Parroquia or parish church. Locals start their day reading newspapers on park benches. The park is a perfect place to converse with fellow travellers. You will also meet the Mexican residents of San Miguel who comprise ninety percent of the population. In spite of economic disparity between the gringos and the Mexicans, the two groups co-exist nicely. You will find the Mexican people extremely polite and eager to help.

San Miguel is justifiably famous for its friendliness. Think of old movies in which strollers doff their hats to perfect strangers and nobody passes without a courteous greeting. That same movie plays every day in San Miguel. A typical encounter begins with a “Hola, how are you folks?” and ends in a restaurant or bar for drinks and a chat.

The streets around the Jardin teem with restaurants and artisan shops. The food is excellent with prices for every budget. If you stay in San Miguel for two months, you could avoid eating in the same restaurant twice.

Expatriate residents delight in assisting newcomers. Most carry personal information cards that should not be mistaken for business cards. They are akin to the calling cards from Victorian times and form the basis of social contact. If you are open to meeting people, it won’t take long to obtain quite a collection. For the expatriate population of San Miguel, partying is a full-time occupation. Many offer standing invitations to their homes 6 days a week.

Don’t expect a lot of young tourists in San Miguel. They party in Cancun or Acapulco. Visitors to this city are at least middle aged, most are over 50 and many are over 75. Many of the expatriate residents in the city are elderly but they look fantastic. I chatted to a gentleman in the Guadiana zone who was simultaneously celebrating his 80^th birthday and completion of his second-degree black belt in Karate. The man didn’t look a day over sixty. You will find octogenarians in yoga class who are as flexible as those 40 years younger. The bottled water must contain preservatives.

San Miguel de Allende is renowned as a community of artists, writers, potters and actors. Hundreds of people participate in arts and crafts. You can study fine arts and the Spanish language at the Institute Allende. Bellas Artes caters to those with musical and dance interests. Established authors give weekly book-readings and provide training for the hopeful. The athlete will be content with golfing at a nine-hole course and horseback riding through the mountains.

Try grocery shopping in San Miguel as a great source of entertainment. The mercado, which resembles farmers’ markets, resonates with hustle and bustle offering all varieties of fruits and vegetables as well as bakery products and meats. Fruits ripen on the vine in Mexico and arrive at the market within hours of picking. Eve could have tempted Adam with any of this succulent produce.

Excluding housing, the cost of living in San Miguel is affordable. If you eat out at least once a day, attend the theatre occasionally, take the odd side trip and buy groceries and alcoholic refreshments, expect to spend about $300 per week.

Participation is the secret to enjoying yourself in San Miguel de Allende. This city shouts out for your involvement. There is so much to do and see and you can’t truly enjoy the experience unless you jump right into the mix. The abundance of schools, associations, artistic endeavours and charities gives everyone the chance to play a role. If you have special skills, volunteer your help and be rewarded with entry to an entirely different culture. Learn to speak the Spanish language or play the piano. Anything that catches your fancy is open for the taking. Expect a welcome from the entire community as soon as you show up and say you’re interested. There is no language impediment in San Miguel de Allende to hold you back; so go for the gusto and live the life to its fullest.