Even though we've officially made it through two weeks in Oaxaca now, this week was defined by its firsts. One of the most significant firsts was produced by a return to intestinal regularity within the household...something I won't elaborate on here. Some of the more easily described firsts came with the onset of our new daily routine. Nayana is off to school at 6:45 in the morning, with Ella following at 7:45, and then Josh and I head over to the ICO for our school/work day at 9:00. We knew that this new schedule would bring lots of changes, including painful early-morning wake-ups (for everyone that doesn't share my early-morning affliction, that is) and a more rigid daily routine than the girls have faced all summer. Nonetheless, some aspects of this new routine were quite unexpected.
Take for example the homework load. Now, we're a conscientious homework household, not unaccustomed to long hours of toiling over projects. And we knew that the language barrier would require lots of hands-on tutoring to get the girls up to speed. Even still, we were totally unprepared for the seven-plus hours of homework that followed the girls home each day this first week. The load was remarkable for both its academic content and also its sheer volume, once again shattering the stereotypes we carry about the disparate quality of educational systems between north and south. Nayana's homework, for example, jumped straight into numerical systems, which did not stop at the Roman system but included Babylonian and Mayan—hardly common fare in North American schools. Furthermore, what seemed like an easy task—”Write each of the following numbers according to the different numerical systems”--turned out to be a lesson in our own ignorance. Josh and I could not for the life of us figure out how to solve the problems! Finding ourselves totally stumped by the Maya and having to tell Nayana that we couldn't help her was definitely a first.
Luckily, some of the other firsts included more pleasant discoveries. Take for instance my foray into a local wine store stocked with Mexican wines. Yes, you read right, Mexican wines! Call me ignorant, but in all my years as a West Coaster, I certainly had never come across Mexican wines before, much less a whole inventory full of what was promoted as high-end wine. Turns out that a long history of California wine industry protections and NAFTA laws prohibit such imports, once again highlighting that free trade does not mean equal flows from both directions. Almost all of the wines come from Baja California or Monterrey, and several boast an admirable wine-making tradition. Indeed one of the most famous, Casa Madero, represents itself as the oldest winery in the Americas, established by a Spaniard in 1597. Being a fan of the reds, I selected a range to sample, including a everyday Cab-Merlot blend (Montevina 07) and a more exclusive Zin-Grenache-Tempranillo blend (Los Danzantes 07). So far, I'm glad to report that the entry-level Montevina is not bad—quite fruity and round with hints of...well, can I say cactus? I don't think this particular one would substitute for some of my favorite Washington cabs, but it's definitely a step in the right direction. I'm hoping some of the higher-end wines make even more of a splash. Bad news is that this same store also carries a large selection of boutique mezcales, so I see another round of “firsts” in my future.
Other firsts include a long list of amazing foods that we've enjoyed this week. I guess I'm cheating if I mention the incredible carnitas al pastor tacos that we've had for the second time at the nearby market—stay tuned for pictures in upcoming posts. For those of you that know me well though, you'll note that my willingness to consume a whole taco of pork reflects another first. Other culinary feats included a refreshing horchata with cactus fruit, cafe de olla (coffee with cinnamon and panela), and some amazing breads that weren't exactly authentic Oaxacan products but nonetheless warrant mention. (You knew I'd find a way to fit food into this posting, didn't you?) Now if I could only find time to get to the gym, that would constitute yet another first for the week...and after this food, I need it!
Friday, August 27, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Evidence
What with all the talk of great food and beautiful landscapes, I figured I'd better cite my sources. First, we have Josh and the girls out on the town, followed by Monica appreciating a growing table of food at La Biznaga.
The luscious entrees include sopes with chicken tinga and sopa azteca.Buen provecho!
Back to School Blues (...and Greens)
We're finishing out our first week in Oaxaca today. More than just the end of our family “vacation,” the end of this week also marks the inevitable end of summer vacation and the imminent return to school. For the girls, this news is bittersweet. On the one hand, the shine of new folders and the smell of new erasers always represent the promise of a new year, giving no signs of its eventual rough edges or better-erased mistakes. This year, that promise is especially intense, as the girls will be going to Mexican schools where prep school uniforms are de rigoeur, class sizes are small, and everything is in Spanish. (We'll definitely be taking a few pictures of them in their new regalia.) On the other hand, tomorrow will be their last sleep-in morning before starting a new fall routine that includes a 6:45 a.m. entry time for Nayana and a 7:45 entry time for Ella. Early to say the least!
As for Josh and me, the beginning of the school year offers a whole new set of meanings. Sure, both of us will soon be immersed in school ourselves. Josh will be studying spanish full-time at the ICO, and I'll be assuming my duties as the director for the PLU-UPS study abroad program. Nonetheless, this past week has shown us another side of the back-to-school phenomenon that was an important lesson in and of itself.
Knowing that the girls' level of Spanish would discount just about all academic progress for the first few months, we went in search of schools that would provide a good “Mexican school” cultural experience and give the girls a true immersion opportunity. We were quickly told by anybody and everybody to completely discount the Mexican public schools. Among the long list of negative qualities attributed to the public school were short school days, lots of stoppages (due to labor disputes among teacher unions and district), poor quality of instruction, poor facilities, and lots of paperwork (for foreigners seeking to take advantage of “free” state schools). “Anybody who can sends their kids to private schools in Mexico” was the resounding refrain. So, we began the long search for a private school, thinking that our biggest hurdle would be getting them in. Little did we know that for parents in Mexico, getting kids back to school means dealing not just with the kids' summertime blues, but also a lot of green!
Our first lesson started with inquiries at two oft-recommended private schools with registration fees of approximately $350 per child and monthly tuition of another $250 per child ("That'll be $1200 up front to get the girls registered, thank you." Cha-ching!). May not sound like a lot to parents of private school-goers in the U.S., but keep in mind that the minimum wage for this part of Mexico is about 55 pesos per hour (less than US $5.00 per hour). We quickly looked further and found a better option nearby, but even there the registration and monthly tuition costs were, to my mind, relatively exorbitant. And that is just where the costs begin. After getting your child registered at one of these schools, you then have to pay another US$100 per child for uniform costs, another $100 for books and probably another $50 for supplies. Enter here a sad picture of a frazzled Monica and Josh, navigating tight aisles in the hot and frantic school supply stores, asking clerks which notebooks are the ones indicated on the extensive and very precise supply list we received from the school. The girls, in tow, are originally excited but eventually become increasingly disillusioned as their favorite folder choices are dismissed as not meeting the specifications and , instead, the basket fills with things like a lab coat (for Nayana's biology course) and, later at the uniform store, a tie to be worn under the school vest and sweater on Mondays--”We have to wear a tie?!” Validating my rough calculations (and mirroring my horror at these outrageous educational investments), the Oaxacan local newspaper carried a story about the high back-to-school costs for parents and featured one mother of two who had to take out annual loans to pay for the roughly $500 she anticipated paying to get her kids outfitted for school. Again, many of you may be thinking that parents in the U.S. easily pay double that amount in back-to-school costs, especially to cover the cost of those brand name jeans or those special shoes, etc. Nonetheless, the idea that essential educational costs could be this prohibitive here was a real eye-opener. For that reason alone, those pictures of the girls in their uniforms will certainly not be priceless!
Nonetheless, we head into the next week with a growing sense of familiarity, contentment, and excitement knowing that we managed to master the back-to-school obstacle course and are quickly becoming true (temporary) residents of this city that we are so enjoying. Fridays have already been dubbed “taco friday” due to the amazing taco stands that go up in the park near our house as part of the once-a-week open-air market. Josh was ready to risk all of his digestive system assimilation in order to sample those babies, and boy were they worth it. The mosquitoes are finally starting to tire of poor Ella's sweet blood. And Nayana is already having dreams that feature her winning a game show with a grand prize of a room full of Mexican sweet breads. In my case, I find myself actually not wanting to cook—gasp--because of the myriad delights out in the street to sample; it just seems a travesty to eat anything at home. So, we're clearly settling in and soon will be well-situated in these academic and culinary landscapes that promise many more new lessons,...even if they also always require a little bit of green.
As for Josh and me, the beginning of the school year offers a whole new set of meanings. Sure, both of us will soon be immersed in school ourselves. Josh will be studying spanish full-time at the ICO, and I'll be assuming my duties as the director for the PLU-UPS study abroad program. Nonetheless, this past week has shown us another side of the back-to-school phenomenon that was an important lesson in and of itself.
Knowing that the girls' level of Spanish would discount just about all academic progress for the first few months, we went in search of schools that would provide a good “Mexican school” cultural experience and give the girls a true immersion opportunity. We were quickly told by anybody and everybody to completely discount the Mexican public schools. Among the long list of negative qualities attributed to the public school were short school days, lots of stoppages (due to labor disputes among teacher unions and district), poor quality of instruction, poor facilities, and lots of paperwork (for foreigners seeking to take advantage of “free” state schools). “Anybody who can sends their kids to private schools in Mexico” was the resounding refrain. So, we began the long search for a private school, thinking that our biggest hurdle would be getting them in. Little did we know that for parents in Mexico, getting kids back to school means dealing not just with the kids' summertime blues, but also a lot of green!
Our first lesson started with inquiries at two oft-recommended private schools with registration fees of approximately $350 per child and monthly tuition of another $250 per child ("That'll be $1200 up front to get the girls registered, thank you." Cha-ching!). May not sound like a lot to parents of private school-goers in the U.S., but keep in mind that the minimum wage for this part of Mexico is about 55 pesos per hour (less than US $5.00 per hour). We quickly looked further and found a better option nearby, but even there the registration and monthly tuition costs were, to my mind, relatively exorbitant. And that is just where the costs begin. After getting your child registered at one of these schools, you then have to pay another US$100 per child for uniform costs, another $100 for books and probably another $50 for supplies. Enter here a sad picture of a frazzled Monica and Josh, navigating tight aisles in the hot and frantic school supply stores, asking clerks which notebooks are the ones indicated on the extensive and very precise supply list we received from the school. The girls, in tow, are originally excited but eventually become increasingly disillusioned as their favorite folder choices are dismissed as not meeting the specifications and , instead, the basket fills with things like a lab coat (for Nayana's biology course) and, later at the uniform store, a tie to be worn under the school vest and sweater on Mondays--”We have to wear a tie?!” Validating my rough calculations (and mirroring my horror at these outrageous educational investments), the Oaxacan local newspaper carried a story about the high back-to-school costs for parents and featured one mother of two who had to take out annual loans to pay for the roughly $500 she anticipated paying to get her kids outfitted for school. Again, many of you may be thinking that parents in the U.S. easily pay double that amount in back-to-school costs, especially to cover the cost of those brand name jeans or those special shoes, etc. Nonetheless, the idea that essential educational costs could be this prohibitive here was a real eye-opener. For that reason alone, those pictures of the girls in their uniforms will certainly not be priceless!
Nonetheless, we head into the next week with a growing sense of familiarity, contentment, and excitement knowing that we managed to master the back-to-school obstacle course and are quickly becoming true (temporary) residents of this city that we are so enjoying. Fridays have already been dubbed “taco friday” due to the amazing taco stands that go up in the park near our house as part of the once-a-week open-air market. Josh was ready to risk all of his digestive system assimilation in order to sample those babies, and boy were they worth it. The mosquitoes are finally starting to tire of poor Ella's sweet blood. And Nayana is already having dreams that feature her winning a game show with a grand prize of a room full of Mexican sweet breads. In my case, I find myself actually not wanting to cook—gasp--because of the myriad delights out in the street to sample; it just seems a travesty to eat anything at home. So, we're clearly settling in and soon will be well-situated in these academic and culinary landscapes that promise many more new lessons,...even if they also always require a little bit of green.
Monday, August 16, 2010
In with a Bang!
BOOM!..BOOM, BOOM...BOOM....
It's three o'clock in the morning, and the booms keep coming. Could they still be celebrating that local saint's day festival? Could they be doing mining in the nearby hills? What on earth could keep the pace of these earth-shaking, ear-cracking mortars so consistent, even at this late hour? And more importantly, when am I going to sleep?
To understand the urgency and also the desperation of these three a.m. questions, some context is no doubt required. After all, last you knew, we were still frantically preparing for our four-month Oaxaca odyssey, and our biggest concern was how to get out of our own house. In the few days that have transpired, we've moved through several thousand miles, multiple landscapes, several languages, and a whole cuisine to reach our destination...Oaxaca. It's been a whirlwind of a ride.
First, there was getting out of our house. For some reason, we had the crazy idea that we would be able to make all of our last-minute arrangements, pack our Northwest clothes into the attic, pack our “summer” clothes into our suitcases, and clean everything underneath fairly quickly. Ha! As the hours ticked away on Thursday, our departure day, the fantastical logic behind this assumption was made ever more apparent. What started as a “quick” clean (I hear the entire DeHart family laughing at this oxymoron) soon became a herculean chore, and it was close to six o'clock—a full five hours later than our original exit schedule—when we wiped our hands, locked the door, and drove off. Somehow preparing for a “trip” seemed like it would be easier than preparing for a full-blown move, but this day's work proved otherwise. Needless, to say, not a little big of exhaustion followed us into that drive down to Portland (mitigated only by the incredible meal we managed to slip in at Las Tarascas in Centralia halfway down).
After a quick night's rest, we headed out for our long two days of travel. Luckily, despite the normal airport struggles (overweight luggage is not allowed to Mexico during the high season travel, so we had an extra 20 pounds to rearrange), we had an uneventful airport day. Perhaps our biggest challenge was the pitiful food situation in the Phoenix airport, where we had a four-hour layover. No amount of walking to other gates or lowering our expectations could compensate for the especially bad food choices there. Nonetheless, we made it to our connection, and on to Mexico City, arriving at midnight with an excitement diminished only by yawns. After immigration, customs, and a quick ride to the airport hotel, we crashed out by 2:00 a.m.
Saturday we rolled out of bed in time for a leisurely breakfast before heading out for the bus station. The girls were especially anxious about what our bus would look like, imagining I'm sure the Pierce County Transit buses that pass by our house. Being more accustomed to the third-class buses of Guatemala, I kept telling them how luxurious these Mexican first-class buses would be, equipped with movie screens, air conditioning, bathrooms, and reclining seats. Still, it was an awing experience for all of us as we arrived at the massive terminal that was, despite its size, impeccably organized for the volume of people, cargo, and buses moving in and out. And our first-class bus didn't disappoint for multiple reasons. The girls were mightily impressed with the reclining seats, cup-holders, and flip-down movie screens, but later disappointed to realize that the movies would be in Spanish (a disappointment made even more poignant by the first movie selection—A Beautiful Mind—which was not easily translated by its visuals). Meanwhile, Josh and I marveled at the incredible, changing scenery along the route, enjoying the lush green volcanic but urban landscape of Mexico City, the foresty mountainous climb away from the city, the increasingly arid and agricultural drive through Puebla, and the transition to cactus-dominated rises, only to return to Oaxaca's green mountains and forests landscapes. The sky performed beautifully for us the entire time, and we were continually enraptured by new views...that is, until the 6-hour ride slowly became a 7-hour ride, and our meager bus snack supplies disappeared to give way to yawning pangs of hunger. I don't know which of us was happiest, then, when we finally pulled into the bus station in Oaxaca at 8;00 at night.
Unfortunately, the rest of the evening did not produce the climactic arrival moment that this building narrative would seem to suggest. Instead, it brings us back to the “BOOM” of the introduction.
We went quickly to our apartment to unload our hefty luggage in the hopes of making a quick escape to long-awaited Oaxacan food, but instead got stuck getting a full-blown orientation to the apartment from the property manager. When we did finally take off, we weren't able to find the restaurant that I remembered so fondly (turns out it was a block north of where I led everyone), so we wandered into the Zocalo (main plaza) only to find ourselves in the middle of a huge melee of bands, music, fireworks, and people. We sat at one of the normally relaxing outdoor restaurants where we were promptly bombarded by smoke from a nearby German tourist and subjected to bad food, throngs of people, and an increasingly foul attitude (I'm speaking for myself here). In the end, we staggered home, dead tired, and hit the beds exhausted, only to find ourselves audience to a long, long, long night of exploding fireworks and racing cars outside our window. BOOM...BOOM, BOOM! At about 3:00 a.m. I had convinced myself that this couldn't possibly be fireworks, but must instead represent a new phase of strip mining on the nearby mountain. How was I going to convince my family that this was beautiful Oaxaca, a place worthy of the huge effort we had undertaken to get here and the fate to which we had resigned ourselves for the next four months?
By 8:00 a.m. the next morning the fireworks (or strip mining) had abated, and I had resigned myself to another fatigued and bleary-eyed day. The girls and Josh woke up similarly broken and tired, all of us kept from sleep by the crazy noise and over-tired bodies. The good news is, that the Oaxaca that we'd been waiting for came out that day; it was just waiting for us give in, relax, and stop anticipating it. We had a delicious meal of squash flower (mine) and grasshopper (Josh's) omelettes in a beautiful courtyard restaurant, took a leisurely stroll through a nearby market, and unpacked our things to a semblance of order before going back out to stock the kitchen with basics and have a quick, lovely evening meal of soup, mole, and hibiscus water. Settling in to bed last night, I began to feel like we had finally arrived. Bienvenidos a Oaxaca!
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Pre-Trip Countdown
Yesterday marked the day...that momentous day when you realize that you're suddenly doing things for the last time.
"Wow, this is the last time I'll fill my tank before I leave."
"Oh, I guess this is the last time I'll see these friends before I go."
So I guess this, and the big boxes amassing in my bedroom, mean that our trip to Oaxaca is finally imminent. In practical terms, what this means is that every moment has come to be what I call a "checkable" moment--checkable here meaning "able to check off of the insanely long to-do list" that I've quietly been building over the last month; otherwise, it's something that counts as a wasting of time. You see, the list is too long to be forgiving. Nonetheless, here I sit, ambivalently beginning the blog that I've promised to write, even as I know that it is not a checkable activity. Really, I'm not even sure I've identified a suitable voice to make this blog an interesting destination for the next four months. I just know it can't be a purely anthropological one, and it must include copious references to food, friends, family, and south-of-the-border fun. And yet, I begin.
Eight days to our departure to mole-land. And for the record, that's not "mole" land--as in a zoological reserve occupied by nocturnal, slightly freaky-looking mammals--but rather mole land, as in "the seven great wonders of the world--mole from Oaxaca" mole. After all, it's from the true mole-land of Oaxaca that the true adventures will unfold....stay tuned.
"Wow, this is the last time I'll fill my tank before I leave."
"Oh, I guess this is the last time I'll see these friends before I go."
So I guess this, and the big boxes amassing in my bedroom, mean that our trip to Oaxaca is finally imminent. In practical terms, what this means is that every moment has come to be what I call a "checkable" moment--checkable here meaning "able to check off of the insanely long to-do list" that I've quietly been building over the last month; otherwise, it's something that counts as a wasting of time. You see, the list is too long to be forgiving. Nonetheless, here I sit, ambivalently beginning the blog that I've promised to write, even as I know that it is not a checkable activity. Really, I'm not even sure I've identified a suitable voice to make this blog an interesting destination for the next four months. I just know it can't be a purely anthropological one, and it must include copious references to food, friends, family, and south-of-the-border fun. And yet, I begin.
Eight days to our departure to mole-land. And for the record, that's not "mole" land--as in a zoological reserve occupied by nocturnal, slightly freaky-looking mammals--but rather mole land, as in "the seven great wonders of the world--mole from Oaxaca" mole. After all, it's from the true mole-land of Oaxaca that the true adventures will unfold....stay tuned.
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