Theme II: It's All in the Presentation

This is the blog posting you've been waiting for all fall--the food porn. Yes, I couldn't leave Oaxaca without giving you one more big dose of food, as that is what Oaxaca does best! For that reason, I promise to be short on words and long on pictures in this one. (And yes, those are fried grasshoppers with guacamole on a tortilla in this first shot--to die for!)

And when we talk about food in Mexico in general and Oaxaca in particular, what really stands out is street food. First on our list, of course, are the tacos. Not only are everywhere, but there is such aesthetic finesse invested in their preparation.
And next, there's the ubiquitous corn. Try cooked corn, straight from the steaming pot, or roasted corn, or esquites, corn off the cob mixed with your selection of condiments. The smell follows you everywhere at night, as that is when the corn vendors are out.
Really, it's this mundane, everyday food that Oaxaca does so well. One of my all-time favorites are the chile rellenos from the 20 de noviembre market--so fluffy, light, spicy, and delicious, they just melt in your mouth!
And speaking of market foods and folk foods, I have to admit that even fair food--i.e., as in going to the fair--is also amazing. I couldn't believe how eye-catching each stand would make their fare. Color, texture, variety--you can clearly make fried food go a long way!
Another festive favorite is the tamale. Tamales, like moles, come in a million varieties here, including the banana leaf-wrapped black mole tamales, or the simple corn-husk wrapped herb (chepil) tamale, or even the sweet pineapple tamale. This batch of several hundred tamales was part of a birthday party we helped to prepare--each of the 60 guests were given 4 tamales just to start...you do the math!
Once you come in from the sun and want a little more refined meal, there are of course moles galore--black, red, yellow, green, almond, etc. You can get an incredible mole in the market, but the high-end restaurants really do it up in style. One of these chicken mole coloraditos for lunch, and you're about done for the day.
Another dressed-up peasant standard that I love is a nice herby, brothy soup called sopa de guias. It has these lovely greens, chochoyotes, dripping in a luscious broth with other greens like watercress, and then embellished by small little balls of masa dough. This is exactly what I'm craving on many of those cold, wet Northwest winter eves.
Alright, but lest you think that Oaxacan food is all street fair or traditional cuisine, feast your eyes on some of the nouveau delights. These lovely dishes from Pitiona, a new, fantastic small place here in Oaxaca included succulent octopus...
...and then "carrot" tacos (the "tortilla" is actually made from a carrot gelee) with shrimp ceviche inside. Yum! We had Priti's visit to thank for this outing.
In the end, I could have probably kept this particular blog posting going for quite a while. So many aesthetically-beautiful as well as palate-pleasing foods to talk about. But, I figured I'd leave you with just some of the highlights, so that I have time to run out and EAT a few more of these meals before I head out! Buen Provecho!

Theme I: Business as Usual

As we near the end of our time here in Oaxaca, I'm suddenly struck by the urge to document and catalog as much of our world here as possible. There's so many little things that have shaped our experience of Mexico and which never get captured in tour books or magazines or news stories. So, the next several posts will feature a variety of mini-themes: i.e., quick posts that are short on my ruminations and long on photos, all centered around a particular theme. Hopefully this way we can give you a taste of some of the more intimate, mundane, amusing, and beloved aspects of our trip.

To start then, I decided to devote one post to work. Not just your regular punch-in-punch-out 9-5 job, but rather the amazing things people do to create work where there is none. In other words, I'm talking about what many would refer to as the "informal economy"--that untaxed, unregulated, and often domestically-organized and mobile entrepreneurial sector that dominates public life in Mexico. People work hard and often at many jobs.

For instance, there's the "juice lady" at the nearby park. She set up her stand in October, starting with just the stand itself, a hand-juicer and some hand-written signs. Somehow, though, she knew what she was doing and she inserted herself into an important niche, given that this park serves as a frequent "track" for early morning runners and walkers. So, within two months, her business has expanded dramatically, as reflected (and also driven) by her use of an electric juicer, the introduction of a large coffee maker, the integration of a variety of other fruit juices and chocolate milk, as well as granola and sweet breads. Her stand is always full! And to help her with all of this business, she's even hired a "helper" who is usually there juicing oranges, slicing fruit, or fetching cups.

Another favorite of mine is the "tamale guy." On many a morning, I would have to run errands down to the Zocalo before heading north back to the ICO. I was always amazed to find the tamale guy blazing the trail before me. He cycles around, touting his hot tamales and atole, making his presence known by a very distinctive loudspeaker refrain of "tamalestamales, tamalestamales...." He would hit another park just before ours and he would met at every turn by hungry mid-morning snackers in search of a warm bite.

Speaking of warm bites, we were somewhat frightened the first time we encountered the "platano man," another wandering vendor who frequents our neighbor, albeit at night. We had long heard the shrill whistle of his plaintain (platano) steam machine but, being used to Tacoma, associated it with trains. About a month into our trip, we finally put the sound together with the man one night when we encountered him pushing his coal-fired steam engine-powered platano cooker through a distant neighborhood. Upon arriving home several hours later, we saw him pass outside our window. That's when we realized that his nightly rounds, bringing platanos to the people, must be at least five miles! And while that distance may not seem impressive, think about the fact that he is essentially pushing an oven which from the front looks like an open furnace! In this picture, he's actually stoking the fire and adding more fuel to flame. Whether or not you like plantains, he gets extra perseverance points in my book.

And yes, platano man's flaming fast food highlights the two main ingredients on which Mexico's informal economy thrives--hardworking, creative people and an absolute lack of safety regulations. Don't believe me? Just take a look at the way a recent fair at our local park was powered. I had to marvel at the way people at the fair deftly negotiated power cords criss-crossing all of the walkways, all leading toward this huge conglomeration of pirated electricity. I'll admit to suppressing a strong urge to trip on these cords and see multiple stands and kiddie rides go dark. Seriously though, while I could clearly see the "danger" in these industrious, informal operations, I was continually impressed with the ingenuity they represented and the way that life, without regulations and the threat of liability and lawsuits, could provide so many people the opportunity to make an honest living.

Of course not all of this arduous labor was evident in the light of day. Some things that looked innocuous enough--like say, the tortillas women were always selling in the market--were actually the product of long hours of somewhat hidden domestic labor. Just like Dona Tonita, my empanada lady's 2:00 a.m. routine, these women in Teotitlan that I had the pleasure to know, get up at 4:00 a.m. every morning to "whip up" 100 large tortillas for daily sale. During that time, they have to collect the wood, start the open flame, press out the tortillas, cook them, and then take them to market. Considering this time investment, it sure seemed like nothing under five dollars a tortilla would be sufficient remuneration.

And lest my thoughts on work seem anthropocentric, I thought it only right to include the important behind-the-scenes labor done by these noble beasts of burden, all in service of mezcal. That's right, this noble steed is pulling around a wheel that pulverizes the cooked maguey plant into a mush that is then fermented and distilled (twice) into the famous Oaxacan cousin to tequila--mezcal. Like the tortillas, after seeing this long, labor-intensive process in person, it was hard to imagine having a casual shot of mezcal without thinking about the massive investment of both man and beast that went into its making.

While these examples illustrate just some of the most mundane and impressive forms of work, there were many more examples that I didn't get a chance to photograph. There were, for example, the rural campesinos carrying large bundles of firewood on their backs to fuel wood-ovens at home. There were the many men hand-chiseling the stone terraces that now line the entire south side of the Santo Domingo church. There were the street cleaners who swept all of the cumulative rubbish from the gutters and sidewalks in the dark at six o'clock each morning. Obviously I could go on, but I'm realizing that I've been more long-winded than I planned to be in this particular theme. I guess it's just that the more I saw, the more I appreciated the long-laboring people I encountered and the many ways that their collective work contributed to the the sights, tastes, and sounds that make this place all that it is.

Ode to Empanadas

I confessed early on in this blog series to a serious obsession with the fresh empanadas at the park just around the corner from my house. Well, this obsession has not abated over time, and I figured it was worth a closer look. Not the kind of closer look shown by this first picture, as that's a dressed up version of these amazing hand-held delights. No, as my addiction to the freshly-made empanadas has grown so has my appreciation for the amazing people and preparation behind the everyday street versions. There's a reason this stuff tastes so great--it's the incredible amount of labor that goes into a single-day's work.

First, a bit of background. There are at least five different empanada stands around our park. All of them are run by one or several women (who tend to rotate during the day) oftentimes part of a single family. Their stands are simple, consisting of nothing more than a metal cart, a metal bench (and maybe a few plastic chairs), a huge tortilla press, and a small barbecue fueled by a somewhat primitive briquette and topped by a large, round and lime-covered comal.

This infrastructure might seem minimal, but there is a good reason for it. Namely, it has to be wheeled in and wheeled out each and every day. Indeed, there is something of a parade that happens every morning as the empanada stand vendors, shoe shiners, and juicers who populate the park all push their industrial-sized bicycles, laden with the necessary goods for the day, over to the park to set up their stands. It's hard work, to be sure, as they have to bring the day's supply of food as well as fuel. The train to the park starts between 8 and 9 a.m., and most of them head home around 6, or sometimes later.

But the day doesn't really start or end there. What these women are wheeling in for the day they have actually spent all night preparing--or at least that's what I thought. There's often two kinds of mole--yellow or green--cooked whole chicken, refried black beans, sauteed mushrooms or fresh squash blossoms, and two kinds of chile--red or green--in addition to raw materials like Oaxacan cheese, cilantro, and soft drinks. Their empanadas are clearly not the crusty, wheat-flour, baked or fried kind popular in Argentina and the States. Instead, these are huge, fresh, corn tortillas, filled with mole and pieces of chicken and herbs. Quesadillas, too, should not be confused with our measly tortilla-and-cheese variety, but also use the fresh tortilla and then incorporate one or two kinds of cheese (Oaxacan string cheese or the crumbly queso fresco), sauteed mushroom, potatoes or fresh squash blossoms, and a spoonful of refried black beans, and a schmear of salsa. Deluxe fixings.

One morning I stole away from work at 10 to enjoy a mid-morning snack in the park. While I was sitting at my favorite stand, enjoying one of these master quesadillas replete with cheese, beans, mushrooms, and green sauce, I mentioned to the octogenarian matriarch of the stand, Dona Tonita, just how incredible her food was. Dona Tonita is a fixture in the park, with her long salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in braids, a dark, weathered, and cheerful face, and a toothless smile. Inspired by my food and not meaning to flatter, I added that hers was by far the best stand in the park--a statement the women sitting next to me on the bench readily validated by vigorously nodding her agreement as she tore through her own steaming empanada. Dona Tonita was just now moving away from the comal, pulling a plastic chair over into the sun to sit for a moment. Sometimes she sits fanning the flame on the barbeque to keep the comal hot, while other times she takes the reigns and actually prepares the tortillas. This is the hard work, as the women press a large ball of fresh masa into a foot-wide tortilla that they then skillfully pull off of the press and throw onto the hot comal without ripping or folding the tortilla. (My sense is that in the empanada stand pecking order, the low person on the pole gets to man the tortilla press.)

In response to my complement, Dona smiled her charming grin and sought to justify her rank by noting, "This is all home-made, traditional food. I cook my beans in a clay pot, and add garlic and salt only when it's just done. My moles too. I cook them from scratch every night and I don't water them down like some other vendors do."

"Boy," I said, "you must be up late every night!'

"Oh no," she replied laughing. "I go right to sleep at night. This work starts at 2:00 a.m. First, I get the nixtamal (the dried corn kernels that are cooked in lime and water to make masa), the chicken, and the black beans cooking. I only use briquettes, so all of my food is cooked in clay pots over an open fire. Then at 4:00 a.m. I take the nixtamal to the mill, and then return to prepare the moles and salsas. Everything is pretty much ready to go by 6:00."

Clearly Dona Tonita didn't have to convince me of the authenticity of her recipes--my mouth had long ago registered the more subtle flavors and consistencies of her moles, beans, and even masa. Nonetheless, to hear about the whole arduous process only made me more appreciative of the treat. After all, for less than $2, I was feasting on the fruits of her early morning labors. As I sat there savoring my quesadilla and contemplating this intricate preparation process, my mind began spinning: "What new anthropological project could I dream up that would allow me to apprentice with Dona Tonita and learn the magic of her early morning masa and mole cooking?" Just as with my long-ago idea for an ethnography of traditional bread making in Guatemala as a trumped up means of learning how to make the bread I loved to eat, I figure this one is also probably a lost cause. Nonetheless, if you know of any grant-issuing institutions who might be interested in funding it, you can find me in the park with Dona Tonita...at least for another week.

Out with the old, In with the new

December 1, 2010…just another day in history; unless, that is, you live in Oaxaca. In Oaxaca, this date marks the inauguration of the new state governor—an important event on two levels. First, it repesents the departure of a governor who has been responsible for more disappearances, deaths, brutality, fraud and corruption than any other (this side of the Guatemalan border, that is). Ulises Ruiz (or URO as he is not so affectionately called) came to power in 2004 in a fraudulent election and, since that time, gained notoriety for the absolute impunity with which he repressed his own populace. This repression and impunity reached its public apex in 2006, when URO cracked down on teachers occupying Oaxaca’s main square and then redoubled that violence on the rest of the populace that came out in their defense. However, over the past four years, he has managed to find myriad other ways of diverting state funds, persecuting indigenous communities who have stood against him, and using paramilitary forces to dispose of other political enemies. So, if nothing else, today was important for FINALLY putting an end to his regime.

The inauguration was also important for another reason as well—namely, it is the first time in 80 years that a non PRI (the ruling party in Mexico) candidate has won state elections. That’s right, while in Mexico City the ruling party lost power to the PAN several years ago, in Oaxaca there has ostensibly been no other party in town until now. Rather than running on the traditional opposition party ticket, Gabino Cue led a coalition of parties (left and center) to effect his resounding defeat of URO. Cue’s governership thus truly represents a historic end and a new beginning.

You can imagine, then, how intense the celebration was. Although I almost hate to make the comparison for fear of damning the new regime, it was what many of us experienced as the “Obama moment.” Remember that moment when we felt that change was finally here and anything was possible? (Seems long ago now, but one cynical graffiti artist clearly saw the connection.) So, we decided to get ourselves in the middle of the festivities today and see just how Oaxacans would respond. To begin, there was a huge march of near 70,000 people who gathered to demand that URO be tried and held accountable for all of his crimes. Simply leaving office was not enough of a punishment for his impunity. All over town, graffiti repeated this refrain: “URO assassin” and “URO go to jail.” This graffiti appeared overnight and lined the better part of the historic center of town near the Zocalo, thus greeting the many thousands of marchers who entered town today.

Next, we had to gawk a bit at the reception forming at what was once the National Palace on the zocalo (and, thanks to URO, was turned into a museum to avoid public demonstrations in the plaza). It was fun to watch the beautiful people converge there—men in suits and women dressed in elegant dresses or orange (Gabino’s colors) scarves. They all hugged, smiled, and pestered the doorman until he found their names on the exclusive guest list before letting them into the party. Along the sidewalk, everyday Oaxacans also gathered both to watch the party forming and to catch a glimpse of the star of the party—the newly sworn in governor. The excitement was palpable, confirming both Gabino’s celebrity status and the general populace’s elation.

By about 12:30, we found that the marchers had begun to enter the zocalo and fill the place quickly. Interestingly, tons of people (many more than normal) could be seen sitting and reading the newspaper (to catch the historic news, no doubt), and the zocalo cafes were lined with weathy Oaxacanites who also wanted to watch the festivities; in other words, this wasn’t just a popular class party, but something of which all social classes felt themselves to be a part. After a few moments of watching and listening to the speakers from various social organizations, we beat a somewhat hurried retreat to the margins, sensing that the crowd was slowly closing in. And we were right. By 1:00, the entire zocalo was packed tight with people, the marchers organized into their regional or organizational groups and filling out forms to record their presence, or simply seeking a shady refuge from the hot midday sun. The finishing touches on a huge stage were being made to house the evening’s planned concert by Margarita La Diosa de la Cumbia. The scene was clearly set for an eventful eve.

So, after a quick afternoon of homework and dinner, we headed back over to the zocalo to observe the scene. As anticipated, the place was absolutely packed, and the festivities spread over several city blocks. Every mobile drink and snack cart in Oaxaca seemed to be parked near the zocalo to accommodate the many-thousand-strong audience. We broke into the crowd and pushed our way forward to the front of the cathedral, where we at least had a good view of the two large screens on each side of the stage. It was mostly on these screens that we watched and heard the words of the governor-elect, Gabino Cue, as he came to thank the crowd in person and entreat them to work with him to create real change in Oaxaca. A true sense of jubilation and affection seemed to mark the crowd’s response. As if to punctuate the emotion, his words were followed by the initiation of a major two-fold pyrotechnical display. First, there was the big structure of firecrackers that we’d seen being constructed earlier in the day. That elaborate structure ran through each of its myriad fuses to illuminate a welcome message for Cue, all without burning a single on-looker (which was no easy feat given that it was maybe 50 feet away from us, and only a few feet from the closest audience member). Then, these firecrackers were followed by the big guns—a full-fledged, heavy-duty firework display, also set off from an intimate distance of about 100 feet from us. I can truly say I have never experience fireworks quite like this. To give you a sense why, at one point Josh turned to the girls and said, “Make sure you don’t get any fireworks in your eyes.” That comment may sound silly, but it was a logical statement given that these babies were exploding above us at an unheard-of proximity, coming right down on us. Indeed, a few flaming pieces of fireworks DID come down and land on some unfortunate soul’s head or clothes close by. We were thankful to not to be the kind who uses flammable hairsprays, perfumes, or vinyl jackets at this point in time. All joking aside, it was really a fantastic display.

Following the fireworks, we joined others in enjoying a long evening of music from regional and national singers. However by about 9:30, we had begun to tire and realized that the main event of the night—the tropical music diva, Margarita—was probably still several hours away. We returned home weary, but happy to have been a part of this historic moment.

Lots of Drama....

What have we been up to? Lots of Drama. And by that I’m not implying a theatrical moment, but certainly some dramatic hills and curves, prompting lots of Drama-mine! Yes, in our travels of the last month, I think we’ve all become semi-addicts of the motion travel mojo. And I'm not talking about the non-sleepy version, but rather the "my eyes may be open but I can't really see you, understand what's happening around me, or move any part of my body" brand. Actually, the roots of our affliction can be traced back to our trip to the Oaxacan coast last month for Ella’s birthday. I, for one, really didn’t believe there was a windy, hilly road I couldn’t handle until we took the 7-hour trip to the coast in a small, but tightly packed van. About halfway there, both the girls and my students were screaming for the Dramamine, and via I.V. drip, if possible! From that date forward, everyone has taken to consuming heavy "pre-emptive" doses before any trip so as not to be caught off-guard.

This month, we justified our Dramamine fix with a 10-day trip to Chiapas. The 12-hour overnight ride wasn’t so bad as far as windiness goes, but was certainly a test of my body’s resilience. Somehow it’s not just the hair that doesn’t bounce right back after a 12-hour trip anymore. Nonetheless, our arrival in San Cristobal de las Casa was a good reminder of why we suffered the ride—a beautiful, high-mountain town, lined with colonial houses and stores and beautiful churches perched atop surrounding hills. San Cristobal is even higher than Oaxaca, so in addition to the picturesque sights, we also enjoyed some cool mountain weather, marked by brisk mornings and downright chilly eves. In addition to the physical landscape, we were perhaps most struck by the difference between Oaxaca and Chiapas’s tourist demographic. We had pretty much gotten used to the wealthy-babyboomer-artist-retirees that dominate Oaxaca’s artistic community these days. Sure, there are plenty of young travelers, and even many well-geared Europeans there, but nothing to match the continental flair of San Crisotbal. And by continental flair, I’ll admit to being a bit facetious. What I mean, in fact, was the abundance of euro-hippies in San Cristobal, replete with dreadlocks, baggy pants, homemade shoes, and aroma du hemp. Now I know, this sounds a bit prejudicial on my part, but the place was really crawling with French and Italian travelers, who it appeared had made their way to San Cristobal purely on the profits reaped off of their macramé jewelry, bike-tire rubber shoes, or homemade brownie sales. No tongue in cheek here. Not even a few hours after our arrival, the girls remarked, “There’s a lot of dreadlocks here!” Maybe it's the mountain scenery, the abundance of marijuana now being grown in what were once flourishing corn or coffee fields, the colorful indigenous culture, or the romantic presence of Zapatista rebel forces nearby (and their images and products on sale in town), but San Cristobal clearly draws a different crowd.

Well, good thing about this particular constituency of traveler is that it tends to bring/attract good bread, so we had more than our share of good bread options in San Cristobal, ranging from some great savory artisan breads to some incredible éclairs. The girls even reveled in their discovery of a bagel store, of all things. What’s more, there was some great wine and Lebanese food in San Cristobal—two things noticeably lacking from Oaxaca. These edible joys were combined with some truly beautiful wool textile handcrafts to make for a wonderful diversion from our now well-entrenched Oaxaca proclivities.

While we were in Chiapas, I spent a lot of my time in sessions with the students (this was one of our program’s official study tours after all), while Josh and the girls did the real sightseeing. They did horseback riding to Chamula and took a boat ride down this amazing canyon (del Sumidero), to capture shots of bathing crocodiles, swinging howler monkeys, hidden Virgin shrines, and even standing kayak paddlers. Clearly, they had all of the fun. Because we wanted to take advantage of Chiapas’ natural beauty, on one our one free “tourist” day we took a hike up the cloud forest of Huitepec for a refreshing romp through the woods and view of the surrounding valleys. The fresh air, amazing greenery, and slippery slope (steep incline, but fun downhill) made for an excellent day—we’d definitely recommend it for anyone headed to the area. We finished the day certainly glad not to have joined the students for another long van trip to Palenque.

But wait. I started this post with a confession of addiction, and I’m afraid my tale so far doesn’t paint a clear enough picture of why. Halfway through our stay in Chiapas, we joined the students on a three-day trip to two rural indigenous (Tzotzil) communities outside of San Cristobal. This trip required another three-plus hour trip around windy mountain roads and then across super bumpy dirt roads to arrive at Tzajalchen—a trip well-plied with Dramamine, of course. Beyond the narcotic effect of the drugs, this was a strange trip. It was designed to give students a taste of rural indigenous community life and also to allow us to interact with some organized groups in the area; nonetheless, since it is organized and run by another group that we work with, its itinerary and method were out of my hands. Suffice it to say that the visit was a true challenge to my anthropological etiquette (see the picture Josh snapped of the very skeptical anthropologist at work observing, rather than participating) ; instead of being a meaningful engagement with the community, it ended up being a lot more like a voyeuristic stop-over with little opportunity for engaging adults (more on this later and in another venue for those of you who are interested—I won’t bore the rest with my rant). Instead, we spent most of the first two days playing with the children of the community. Indeed, the kids LOVED Nayana and Ella, and easily spent the better part of these two days braiding their hair, playing Frisbee, climbing trees, or inspecting their books, sleeping pads, or clothes. Imagine our joy at being awaken at 7:00 each morning with ten smiling young faces peering curiously into the window of the gymnasium (on which floor were all sleeping) to see just how those strange gringos sleep. Once the kids had gotten to know the girls, this peeking was accompanied by not-so-subtle calls through the glass “Ceci” (to Nayana, whose middle name Cecilia was the easier identifier) and “superman” (a referent to the superman t-shirt Ella was wearing). It was really a hoot. Needless to say, the girls left our time there with a strong appreciation for the kids, as well as an intense desire to return to the comforts of their flushable toilets and a non-black bean meal. In that sense, the trip was a success. Hopefully it will last beyond Christmas and provoke a subtle shift in the holiday wish-list, but I’m not sure a dramatic lifestyle change is imminent.

After a few days in Tzajalchen, we took another windy road to visit Acteal, the sight of a horrific massacre of 45 indigenous community members (mostly women and children) at the hands of paramilitary forces in 1997. This was an intense visit, allowing us to see the site and talk to survivors and hear about their efforts to bring the criminals to justice. Their struggle is especially pertinent at the moment, as the government is now releasing many of (few) perpetrators convicted this atrocity, and those criminals (mostly indigenous neighbors who were affiliated with the ruling political party and trained by the military) are returning to their homes in the surrounding communities. Hardly a comforting prospect for survivors, who often share corn fields and coffee fields with these belligerent neighbors. Clearly then, the visit required some intense discussion with the girls about why and how something like this could happen, not just here, but in many places through time and space--again, another great lesson. When we finally got back on the vans and took the curvy trip back to San Cristobal for our last days of processing and meeting with local NGO’s, it was clear that the trip had begun to take a physical and emotional toll on us all.

So, we took the 12-hour trip back to Oaxaca last Saturday, and I’d like to say that all we took with us from this trip was wonderful memories, great photos, and a new understanding of the incredible challenges faced by indigenous communities in Chiapas today; however, I’d be lying if I stopped there. We returned to warm, relatively affluent and peaceful Oaxaca only to find that we’d brought a few friends along—namely, a bacterial infection hitched a ride with Josh and Nayana, provoking our first ever visit to the doctor’s office this trip. Luckily, with a heavy dose of anti-bacterial and anti-biotic prescriptions—or the “gringo cocktail” as I like to call it—everyone has recovered from the throes of their amoebic diet and are on the road to recovery. With that remedy down, we have four more weeks here to break our dependency on travel assistance substances before our return home; otherwise, I’m afraid both my students and we will all be founding a new chapter of DA—Dramaminers Anonymous. Hopefully in three weeks from now, we’ll all be drama-free!

Dead-ly Fun

So, while the rest of you were sitting at home, loading up a bowl of sweets for the trick-or-treaters and tuning into "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown," down in Oaxaca we were getting ready to get a really dead-ly party started. After all, Oaxaca is the true epicenter for Mexican Day of the Dead celebrations, and the festivities start early and last long.

















We began with a mask-making workshop that certainly put our artistic talents to the test. After all, not only did we have to come up with compelling "characters" on which to base our masks—including traditional Oaxacan characters like "the widow" or "the drunk," North American derivations like Josh’s ode to Firestarter, or still other continental variations like my Venetian imitation—but we also had to execute these darn things--a feat which required several days' investment of time and creative energy.

Nonetheless, we were able to tout the fruits of our labor in our first ever comparsa, a costumed, live band-led parade/procession designed to draw the dead back to earth and celebrate their life. Imagine one of those wild New Orleans funeral processions, and you'll begin to get the idea. As you can see, the comparsa relies not only on the fun masks to revive the dead, but also copious amounts of mescal, which is administered throughout the procession from this ominous-looking vessel. (By last count, I think some of our contingent reported indulging in at least 16 mescal stops.) And the journey ends with offerings and a lot of bread and hot chocolate (to take the edge off of all of that mescal.) It was really a lot of fun, but it was only the beginning.

Following these festivities on the 29^th, we participated in the “real” Day of the Dead festivities by visiting local cemeteries during the eve of Oct 31 to see how people camped out at their relatives’ graves to eat, sing, chat, and celebrate their loved one’s lives. Really a wonderful tradition, I must say. These pictures of the beautiful adornments placed on the graves certainly don’t do justice to the tradition—imagine mariachis, streams of people, and a lively fair atmosphere to boot.

Of course, not all cemeteries or tourists are created equal, and we found that some of the Day of the Dead festivities at the older cemetery in Xoxocotlan bordered on the grotesque, not because of the local traditions but because of the voyeuristic intrusion of spring break-style tourists (although of an older age demographic), passing through the cemeteries with beers in hand looking for a party. But I guess my anthropologist is showing here, isn't it? Luckily, as always, the road to perdition was paved with yummy food. Yes, they can make even fried food look great.

Well, lest I sound too self-righteous, there was still more to come for the partier in all of us. On Nov 1, we journeyed to nearby Etla to witness their elaborate comparsa traditions, and we weren’t disappointed. We were totally blown away by the elaborate, very professional home-made costumes (of course nothing that could compete with Andrea's works of art), but also the incredibly lively, inclusive, and celebratory atmosphere there. The music was infectious, the crowd moved from house to house, and each stop featured a frenetic couple of numbers designed to whoop up the crowd and send the costumed masses into a frenzy. We certainly found ourselves caught up in the festivities, and I couldn’t resist when an un-costumed, but very sweet elderly resident brought me into the action. Luckily, my cumbia skills didn’t fail me.

By Nov 2 we, and every other Oaxacan, felt dead on our feet from so much late-night fun and merrymaking. Nonetheless, we did our best to indulge in local tradition and eat even more of the lovely Day of the Dead bread, which at this point was coming out of our ears due to Monica’s reputation as a bread fiend and local traditions of exchanging bread with friends.

All in all, we had a blast during the Day of the Dead festivities and could easily attest to the fact that all of the visiting spirits did as well; indeed, we could have all indulged in even later nights of fun had it not been for the looming realization that the here-and-now, and all of its attendant responsibilities was always right around the corner.