Oaxaca Writings:
In February 2002 Tracy and I packed up a 1979 Ford F100 pickup truck and drove it to Oaxaca, Mexico. That's about as far south as you can get without crossing the border into Guatemala. We returned in December 2002. The stories that follow are just a glimpse at what life was like for us South of the Border. -- LWW
- What exactly were you doing down there? A Series
- Sounds of Oaxaca -- Trash | Gas
- Culture Shock. A Series
- The Two Dollar Roadrunner
What exactly were you doing down there?
This is the question I've been asked a number of times by well meaning family and friends who can't imagine that there is anything else to do in Mexico besides lay on the beach, ride around on Burros and drink Coronas.
Here's the answer to that question in the form of a three part series.
PART I
PART II
PART III
--Loren
PART I "The Ethnobotanical Garden of Santo Domingo"
by Loren
Mexico is one of the most biologically diverse countries on earth. In spite of its relatively small size it harbors nearly 30,000 species of plants or more nearly 10% of all the plant species in the world. That's way more than the number of plants found throughout the USA. The are more wild felines in the SE Sierra mountains than in any other part of the American conintents.
Naturally speaking, Mexico is filthy rich....
The Aztecs and other pre-hispanic cultures knew this and took advantage of the vast natural resources at their disposal. It has been estimated that over a third of all the plants in Mexico have biologially active chemicals, that is they can be used as pharmaceuticals for humans. However, the consensus among biologists is that with further study more useful plant products will be discovered. Today only 15% of Mexico's native forests remain. The rest have been eliminated by logging and unregulated grazing. Huge tracts of forest were decimated during the 1970s and 1980s. From 1969 to 1985 over 50% of these forests were lost.
Oaxaca state is the most floristically diverse state in Mexico. To celebrate the incredible floristic diversity of the state and to create awareness about the need to conserve this priceless natural heritage an ethnobotanical garden was established within the walls of Oaxaca's Santo Domingo Monastary cum Cultural Museum. The grounds were designed by among others, the famous Mexican Artist Francisco Toledo. The place is as much a botanical musem as it is a work of art.
The garden covers only a few acres, but it is right in the center of Oaxaca city. Within the walls there are plants representing all of the vegetation zones of Oaxaca. Most of the nearly 3000 plant species in the garden have some property that is beneficial to humans.
A demonstration garden of food crops showcases the principal foods of the Aztecs: corn, beans, squash, amaranth and high protein seeds from Salvia hispanica. This combo of plants was a complete diet for the Aztecs. The combined nutritional value of these five staple foods has been found to exceed current US RDA daily allowances. The "heathen" Aztecs knew a ting or two about nutrition. There are plants like the Jicara gourd plant that have been used in that same way, as a receptacle, for over 5000 years. One ancient cycad ("royal palm") is estimated to be nearly 800 years old.
I had the opportunity to relay all this information and more to visitors that came on my guided tours every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday from April to November.
PART II "The Flora of Monte Alban"
by Loren
Dr. Enrique Martinez y Ojeda is a local botanist and professor at the Technological University of Oaxaca (ITO ). Enrique was commissioned by the director of Monte Alban, Oaxaca’s most famous archeological site, to survey of the plants that grow within the 20km2 natural area that surrounds the ruins. I learned of Enrique’s work by way of a Portland State University professor who also teaches part-time at ITO. I read the unpublished manuscript that describes the plants of Monte Alban and their ethnobotanical uses. Although a very interesting report I doubted that, due to it’s length and technical terminology, it would find it’s way into the hands of visitors to the site who might be interested in the flora and ecology of the area. The next time I met with Dr. Martinez I proposed that he give me permission to translate into English and adapt his manuscript for a lay audience....
. He gave me his blessings, but said that because the data in the book was technically the property of Monte Alban that I would need to secure the permission of the director of the archeological site. I met with Dr. Nelly Robles Garcia, the director of Monte Alban, and explained how I planned to produce the book in black and white and on standard sized paper to ensure that the book would be affordable for the average visitor to the archeological site. She endorsed the project and gave me permission to take digital photos of Monte Alban’s plants.
The book was to be entitled “The Flora of Monte Alban: A Visitor’s Guide.” That was back in late May. It is now the first week in December and a bilingual version of the book is ready for the presses. It is slated for joint publication in the near future by ITO and the Mexican National Institute of Archeology and History (INAH).
The following is an excerpt from the introduction to the book:
The ancient Zapotec capital of Monte Albán was once a thriving metropolis - perhaps the first of its kind in Mesoamerica. The “City of the Cloud People” is located in the Central Valleys of Oaxaca, Mexico where for centuries the confluence of the Atoyac and Salado rivers has brought life to the region. The Zapotec peoples of Monte Albán had an advanced understanding of engineering as evidenced by the massive platforms, pyramids and palaces they erected. In addition to being great engineers, the scientists, architects and artists who built the awe-inspiring structures of Monte Albán were also expert naturalists. At its peak from 500 to 750 A.D. at least 25,000 people lived within the territory. To meet the nutritional and medical needs of such a large population the Zapotecs made extensive and efficient use of the surrounding natural resources.
Thousands of years of experimentation with plants preceded the founding of Monte Albán. By the time the city was founded in 500 B.C. a number of wild plants had been domesticated for agricultural use in the Central Valleys of Oaxaca including corn (ca. 4,000 B.C.) and squash (ca. 8,000 B.C.).1 The peoples of the region were accomplished botanists and agronomists who relied upon plants to provide them with nourishment, medicines and clothing. Over the centuries the peoples of Monte Albán must have compiled an extensive herbal pharmacopoeia, but much of this priceless knowledge has been lost due to lack of use. However, many of the plant species they employed 1,500 years ago still exist at the site today.
The plants of Monte Albán, their properties and characteristics, influenced the cultural development of the inhabitants of the area who survived and thrived on its natural resources. It was probably not by coincidence that this thriving pre-Hispanic city was founded within the largest expanse of cultivable land in the southern Mexican highlands.2 To really imagine what life was like for the Zapotecs of Monte Albán one must consider the surrounding environment.
Many decades of archeological investigation have offered us great insights into their society, government, beliefs and rituals. An equally thorough botanical and phytochemical investigation of the site would both provide insight into how they met their basic needs for foods and medicines, and might also bring to light a variety of phyto-pharmaceuticals and other plant-manufactured substances of contemporary value. However, in contrast to the archeological investigations, which began nearly a century ago, research on the natural resources of Monte Albán has only just begun.
The natural history of Monte Albán is an ongoing story of a dynamic relationship between people and plants. Many uses of the plants described within this book predate the arrival of the Spaniards while other uses are from the post-Hispanic period. The communities that surround the site, including Oaxaca City, still depend on Monte Albán’s natural resources for their livelihood. Even though Monte Albán was named a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 1987, the natural area is still being threatened by overexploitation and uncontrolled urban sprawl. A thorough understanding of the ecosystem and its natural resources is essential in order to form a long-term strategy which will ensure that the Monte Albán natural area continues to provide for future generations of Oaxacans as it has for nearly three thousand years.
PART III “Amaranth: Ancient Grain of the Americas Rediscovered”
by Loren
Amaranth may be the single most nutritious plant on earth. It is rich in vitamins and minerals (contains more iron than spinach) and contains nearly a complete array of amino acids to form all the proteins that the human body needs. It is also an incredibly hearty plant. It can tolerate drought better than corn and grows readily throughout the Americas. Because of its impressive nutritional and agricultural characteristics amaranth is an ideal crop for many regions of the world, especially developing countries with tropical or semi-tropical climates.....
Amaranth was first domesticated in the Americas more than 6000 years ago. It came to be a staple food of the Incas, the Mayas and the Aztecs. Five hundred years ago when the Moctezuma ruled Aztec Empire (before he met Hernan Cortes) amaranth was paid in tribute to the Emperor annually in quantities of nearly 20, 000 tons. Along with beans and corn, amaranth fed the peoples of the Americas until the time of the Spanish Conquest.
After the Conquest amaranth all but disappeared from the New World. The reason for its fall into obscurity is still a sort of mystery, but at least two factors contributed to its demise. First, other crops brought from Europe displaced amaranth from the fields. Second, amaranth was closely linked to religious ceremonies among the pre-Hispanic cultures of the Americas, especially the Aztecs. Amaranth grain cakes were employed in a communion ceremony that closely resembled the Catholic Holy Eucharist. At least one 16th century friar in his notes on life among the indigenous of the Americas described amaranth as “the very embodiment of pagan evil.”
European agricultural preferences and religious zeal consigned amaranth to the novelty foods market. It is a commonly sold as a sweet on the streets of Mexico, but is virtuallty unkown as the staple food it once was in this region.
I learned of “Centeotl,” a Oaxacan community development group (named after the Aztec corn godess), that is working to reintroduce amaranth to the fields and rural peoples of souther Mexico. The more I read about amaranth the more fascinated I became with its history and modern potential.
I joined up with Centeotl as a volunteer consultant. I built their new website (www.prodigyweb.net.mx/centeotl) and put together the text and images for an issue of a public relations magazine about their amaranth campaign. I also read as much as I could find about amaranth in Mexico and met with a number of botanists and agronomists from the Autnomonous University of Mexico to get the skinny on this plant.
Amaranth has great potential as a commercial and staple food crop in Mexico. The movement to reintrioduce this ancient plant to the people of its neative territory is gaining steam.
I am currently working on a couple of articles, based on several months of research and field interviews, about those farsighted people in Oaxaca and central Mexico who are leading the charge to reintroduce amaranth into the Mexican diet, especially among the marginalized and the malnourished where it is badly needed.
None of us like to do chores, but we all know they have to be done. When I was growing up, I don’t remember ever having to take out the garbage. When I was very little, it was my dad’s chore. He had to load up several week’s worth and drive it to the dump. When I got older we had street service, but carrying the trash out to the end of our driveway remained the responsibility of others in my family. However, you cannot escape the fact that you generate trash forever. As soon as I moved out on my own, I had to deal with my own trash.
In the United States, taking out the garbage is a relatively simple task, as long as you have a calendar. All you have to do is find out what day your local garbagemen pay their weekly visits, and you are all set. When I was living in Portland, our garbage day was on Monday. Thus, “Garbage Night” for me was always Sunday night. On Sunday I gathered all the trash from our house and lugged it out to the curb in a giant green garbage can. In the morning, would leave for work, and when I came home, the garbage can was miraculously emptied, and ready to receive more trash.
For all you out there who hate to take out the trash, I hope that the story that follows will help you appreciate the regularity and predictablilty of our American Garbage Men. There are no tricks, no false messages, no second guessing, and no ambiguities. Enjoy the story that follows, and the next time it is time to take out the garbage, take a moment to give thanks for the fact that you know it is time to take out the garbage. -- TracyThe Trash Man Tolls
by LorenHalf way down the cement stairs I slipped. My right foot missed the step that I could not see for all the bags of trash and recyclables I was carrying. Instinct took hold. I threw my hands, and all the bags they held, behind me just in time to break the fall. The cans clanged, the bottles jingled, bits of paper towel and orange peels spilled through the top of one overstuffed sack as I pulled myself up urgently. I knew that the truck would not wait for very long.
I could hear it grumbling at the bottom of the stair. In the half-light of dawn I could just make out the front of the truck. I saw its huge grill and the Mack Truck signature bulldog perched above it.
The absurdity of the moment overtook me. I thought, "that goddam bulldog and the rest of those jokers have me wrapped around their finger. What's worse, I don't even know who they are or if they are even the same guys each time. Ten minutes ago I was sleeping soundly and now I'm out here, in the dark, carrying six trash bags down a treacherous flight of stairs with my flip-flops on." I laughed at myself as if I had just been caught on Candid Camera and continued on down the steps.
The boys hurried to take my trash as though they running a relay race of refuge. I had just stepped back onto the curb when the truck began to pull away. The bulldog lurched forward and the rest of it hiccuped along behind.
As I climbed the stairs I cannot deny that I felt a distinct sense of pride. That morning when I heard a bell ringing in the distance I knew exactly what it was and I knew exactly what to do. It was my first time and I felt... perhaps like many people do right after their first time; not too happy with my performance but pleased that it happened at all.An acute sense of hearing is not something that I share with the rest of the native Oaxacans. However, the refinement of this trait is well worth the trouble for those with keen ears have a distinct competitive advantage. Nearly all of life's basic needs can be met in this city if you just heed the sounds coming through the window from the street below. Respond to the man shouting "aaaaaaaaagua" and there will be water to drink. Acknowledge the sound of chains dragging over pavement that accompany repetitive cries of "gaaaaaaaaaas" and there will be fuel for the cooking.
Unlike the calls for gas or water that can be heard throughout the day, the trashman's bell tolls only in the wee hours of the morning. It rings at that time of the day when reality blends easily with dream; during the first few moments of awakening when everything is questionable. Was that a bell I just heard? Was it the jingling of keys that I sometimes hear when my upstairs neighbor leaves early for work? Or was it the gasman's chains?
Last week I heard a bell and ran outside with several bags of trash only to encounter the thin smile of my neighbor who informed me curtly that if I was out there looking for the basureros that I was too late. They had come and gone. What I heard was the sound of the gasman's chains. I squinted into the sun and thanked her for the info and for saving me a walk down the stairs. I should have known it could not have been the trash man. They always come under cover of darkness.
I once tried to avoid the early morning trash run by putting the bags out on the curb the evening before I suspected the arrival of the trash men. The next morning I found that the dogs had gotten to my garbage before the boys could. A week's worth of trash was strewn all over the street. I assume that in this way the whole neighborhood learned that a new foreigner had moved in.On my first successful trash day, when I nearly tumbled down the stairs, I learned a valuable lesson. Many locals use the large recycled sugar sacks that are sold at the market to haul their trash. The men in the back of the truck will take your bag, empty it out and return it. I thought of the bags of trash that fall out from the cabinet beneath the sink each time I open it. I decided then that the next time I saw a big sugar sack I would buy it without hesitation.
My upstairs neighbors are from France. They arrived in Oaxaca four months before me so I assumed that they had the garbage thing all figured out. At nearly 8:30 in the morning I heard the chains of the gasman's truck dragging along the street. Then there was a ruckus upstairs, cans clanging, bottles jingling, and plastic crumpling. I walked out front door a few moments later where I saw my neighbors standing in the middle of the street, each with four or five bags of trash.
This was a delicate moment. I had already learned to differentiate between the bell of the trash man and the chain dragging gas truck. My neighbors had been living with these sounds a lot longer than I. It would be bad form to assume they did not know the difference. I approached them without mentioning all the bags and began some small talk. Then after a few moments, once the ice was broken, I said, "is the garbage truck coming now?" The "now" subtly implying that I did not think they would be passing through at that hour.
My question sparked a lighthearted argument between the pair. He thought that it was the trashman's bell he heard, while She was not so sure. I agreed with Her saying that I thought it was the gas man's chains we had heard. He sharply pointed out that he knew the difference and that it was definitely the trash bell and not the gas chains that he had heard. I saw no reason to argue the point because I was sure that the trash truck was not coming. We all stood there silently in the street for a few minutes; I with arms my crossed and they with their arms so full of trash bags that they had to re-grip every so often to prevent loosing one or two bags in the street.
The truck never came. My neighbors, with their accumulated trash, were clearly disheartened. "Hold on just a minute," I said as I turned to run back into the building. I returned a moment later with the huge sugar sack bag that I bought at the market. We loaded some of the trash bags into the sugar sack while I enthusiastically explained why, where, and how I acquired the trash aid. The comedy of my obsession relieved the tension in the air.The following Wednesday morning at 6:23 I was startled awake by the trashman's bell. I leapt from the bed, pulled on a pair of shorts, put my shirt on backwards, slipped into my flip-flops and began to gather the trash. By the banging and clanging and jingling I heard upstairs I knew that my neighbors had also heard the call. In moments we were all out on the street surrounded by our respective trash. Other neighbors began to emerge from unlit doorways carrying plastic bags and sugar sacks. We all lined up along the curb like a disheveled army platoon at revelry.
The sound of a big engine rumbling up the hill provoked murmuring within the ranks. We exchanged inquisitive glances at one another. One woman asked to no one in particular, "Is that the truck? Which way did it pass?" The sound grew louder. We could see a faint light at the bottom of the hill. There was a rustling of plastic as bags were lifted in anticipation. The vehicle crested the hill and we instinctively began to move toward it. "It's only a bus," said the man nearest to it. All the bags dropped. Some people sat down on the curb.
Then, from the other direction I heard the noise of a big diesel engine accompanied by the ringing of a bell. Everybody stepped up on the sidewalk as the truck rolled right up to the curb and stopped abruptly. The men in the rear of the truck reached out urgently like lifeguards trying to save a drowning child. They took trash from the women first while the driver calmly chatted with rest of us about what day they might return. As the last bag was lifted into the truck it began to pull away. "Que les vaya bien," the driver called out over the roar of the engine. "Happy trails to you too," I thought as I began to climb the long flight of stairs back up to my building.
My upstairs neighbors had waited for me so we could all walk up together. As we approached the front door of the building they out a muffled, "yahoo!" "Yes, we are the champions," I said with a laugh, "now it's time to go to bed." It was quarter 'till seven when I got back under the covers.It is said that the difference between the tourist and the traveler is that the tourist only sees a place while the traveler experiences it. So, if you want to be a traveler when you come to Oaxaca, take out the trash.
In the US, whether you rent or own your home, you have to pay the bills for the utilities. Your utilities are services you need for everyday life: water to run from the sinks and showers, gas to cook your food and heat your homes, and electricity to provide you with light. We all use electricity, gas, and water on a daily basis. These are services that people take for granted, because they are all piped directly to our homes. Kids, especially, take these services for granted, because they do not have to pay the bills for these services each month. They are not free. For example, when I was living in Portland, I was paying about $100.00 every month for gas and electricity, and I lived in a very small, one story, two bedroom apartment. Imagine how much it could cost to heat an entire house per month!
Nevertheless, it is very convenient to be able to move in to a new house and get your gas and electricity switched on simply by making one phone call to your local utility company. They have it all set up. All of us have seen the high tension wires strung from telephone poles around our neighborhoods. If you walk around your house, you are likely to find a place where these wires connect to your house. That’s your electricity. The gas lines are harder to see. Almost all gas lines are run underground, so it is easy to forget that you have gas piped directly into your house. However, if you look in your basement or back room, you should be able to find the boiler in your home that heats your gas.
Why do we need all these pipes? Why not just have a big tank in your house where you could keep your own gas? Then you wouldn’t have to pay the gas bill every month. A good idea? Probably not. Gas is highly flammable, and this is one of the main reasons that utility companies spent so much time and money laying gas lines underground. If there was a fire in your house, you would not want to have a great big tank of gas sitting there waiting to explode. You could very quickly turn a small fire into an inferno. Plus, eventually you would use up your tank of gas and you would have to go get more gas. This is not the kind of gas they sell at the gas station either! And I don’t know about you, but I am not sure I want to drive my car around with a giant tank of highly explosive materials inside. No thanks.
In Mexico, there are no underground gas lines. Gas is not piped directly into anyone’s homes. That stove you have is not going to do you a bit of good, and there is no one you can call up on the phone that will help you, either. As far as I can tell, there are two main reasons why there are no underground gas lines in Mexico. The first is that they have earthquakes here all the time. An earthquake could break gas lines and cause big problems. The other reason is that it would cost millions of dollars to dig the trenches and lay the underground piping. So, if you live in Mexico and you need gas for your home, you just have to be a good listener.
People in Mexico buy gas for their homes from the Gas Man. The Gas Man drives a big Gas Truck loaded with giant tanks of gas. You know he is coming because there is a second Gas Man in the back who screams “GAAAAAAAAAAAAAS!!!” repeatedly as they drive slowly through the streets of the city. If you are out of gas, you just listen throughout the day until you hear the Gas Man screaming “GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS!!!!”. Then you take your empty can out to the street, exchange it for a full one, pay the man, and lug it back into the house where it can be hooked up to provide fuel for your stove.
Luckily for us, our landlord takes care of all this business, and I do not plan to have any personal experiences with the gas man. I am glad we do not have to keep a great quantity of highly explosive gas in our home, and I am glad the only man we have to chase down is the trash man. My only regret is that I had to move so far away from my own home to be able to appreciate the services I was receiving when I lived there in the first place. Hooray for public utilities -- what would life be like without them??
THE CULTURE SHOCK SERIES:
by TracyI. The Time / El Tiempo
II. Driving / Conducir
III. The Water / El Agua
IV. The Food / La Comida
V. The Police / La Policia
We arrived in Oaxaca exactly one month from the day we left Portland. In retrospect, I am glad we drove. It has given me more time to become adjusted to the culture here. Culture shock is a real phenomenon. When you begin to spend day after day, all day, in an unfamiliar culture, you get very tired. I have been exhausted and ready for bed around 7 P.M. each night. I think it is because I am always concentrating so hard on understanding what people are saying. Also, people live differently here, and you can't always assume that people will eat foods in the same way, clean things in the same way, drive the same way, dress the same way, or place importance on the same things. If you assume things are the same, you will probably end up embarrassing yourself, or being really confused. You just have to learn how to do and say things in a new way. I want to write a little here to express some of the outstanding differences I have noted since crossing the border.
One great difference about the Mexican culture is time. Time is not as important of an issue to Mexicans as it is to Americans. In the states, if you have an appointment at 10:00, you are expected to be there a little bit early. In Mexico, it is perfectly acceptable to arrive a half hour or even forty five minutes late. If you ask when the owner of your hotel will return, you most likely will be told, ahora, which is the Spanish word for "now". However, this kind of "now" could mean "in ten minutes" or "in two hours." It does, however, mean it will happen...well, I guess we would say "soon." The word for now (as in RIGHT NOW, like we mean it) is ahorita..
You will also notice that the Mexicans view time differently than we do in the USA when you are waiting in line. It seems to me that Americans hate to wait -- for anything -- and we do everything we can to avoid waiting (drive through fast food, the 10 items or less cashier in the grocery store, service in a restaurant -- speed gets the tip!). Mexicans are not in such a great huff of a hurry. They don't seem bothered to wait in line. They walk more slowly down the street, talking with others (and holding me up as I try to speed walk down the sidewalk to my next destination). If you pay someone a visit to do business, they expect some time for polite small talk before addressing the business subject. They don't see time like some of us often do -- as an enemy, a force to keep up with - a constant battle to beat the clock.
After getting adjusted to it, I like the Mexican view on time. It is nice to be in a culture where everyone does not seem to be in such a hurry all the time. Sometimes we Americans are in such a hurry that we don't take time out for the important things, like spending time with family, or just relaxing and enjoying life. However, for an American like me, it takes some getting used to. I still get frustrated waiting, and get myself all worked up about "wasting" ten minutes or so, and get in a bad mood about it, when I could have been enjoying the lag time by chatting with others, or just watching the world go by! It is another state of mind.Do you think time is important? For example, is it important to be on time? Do you get impatient when you have to wait in a line?
Unfortunately, not everything about the culture has been so easy to get used to. I am appalled by the way that people drive here. One phenomenon of the Mexican driving experience that I just cannot get over is the way that they use their blinkers. For all the cool kids out at Russell who may be reading this, you probably already know ( or will when you get your driver's license) that when you drive a car, you use your blinkers to signal to other drivers when you are going to turn. When you want to make a left turn, you put your left blinker on. If you are turning right, you put your right blinker on. Easy, right?
Well, in Mexico, people use their blinkers very strangely. Most of the time, people don't use them at all, so you can't tell if they plan to go straight past you, turn in front of you, or turn off the road completely. But the craziest thing is what they do with their left blinkers. Get this.
If you are following a car, or more likely, a semi truck, on a divided highway, and following closely, the truck you are following may suddenly put on his left blinker. To all of us, we think, better slow down, the truck is going to turn left. BUT NO! This is a signal to you meaning it is OK to pass. Once we put our left blinker on to indicate that we were about to make a left turn, and the truck behind us passed us!
Another interesting phenomenon about driving in Mexico is that you don't necessarily have to be in the left lane to make a left turn. Oh no! In the US, if you are going left, you get in the left lane. If you are going straight, you get in the middle lane. If you are going right, you should be in the right lane. Not in Mexico. I have repeatedly seen people make left turns from the middle or even right lane, driving in front of the people who are going straight to make their turn. In the US, this would certainly cause an accident. In Mexico, it appears to be acceptable.
There are lots of signs in Mexico warning people to "Elija su carril" -- or stay in your lane. It does not seem to be well known here that it is safer for one to drive only in one lane (instead of two) or that one should not weave back and forth between the lanes. There have been times we have been driving on a four "lane" highway and the cars appear to be in no lines / lines whatsoever.
Dangerous, you think? I will tell you my opinion after driving all they way down here. I think Mexicans are often much more aware drivers, and therefore better drivers, than many in the US, myself included. In the US, people expect others to stay in their lanes and use their blinkers correctly. Not all US drivers really pay attention to what other drivers are doing, and if something unpredictable happens, it often causes an accident. In Mexico, people expect everyone around them to do unpredictable things at any moment. They really pay attention to where others are on the road, and where they are going. In this way, this awareness makes safer drivers -- but you could see how a day on the road could be tiring, if not a little nerve racking, if you aren't used to it!
As most of you have heard, drinking the water in Mexico can be dangerous. If you are a foreigner, drinking the water (or eating things like ice, ice cream, fruits, or vegetables) can make you very sick. There are microscopic animals in the water (parasites) that get into your stomach and live quite well in there. They grow stronger, but you get sick. You get diarrhea and painful (I mean painful) gas or terrible tasting burps, and it is almost impossible to eat. Your stomach feels like a big, swollen up, gassy balloon with too much pressure. One time I ate some tomatoes that had been washed in the natural water and I was sick for five days. It was very hard to eat anything, and I had to drink a lot of gaitoraide to make sure I did not get dehydrated.
There are a few things you can do to help make your stomach stronger, and you should do them if you move to Mexico for awhile like me, because there is a pretty good chance you will end up eating something with unpurified water. The food you can buy in the stalls on the streets is sooooooo yummy, and so are the fruit and ice cream treats, and sometimes you just can't resist! (Read part 4 to hear about some great treats.) Besides, it is not as if most of the water in Mexico is dirty -- we are just not used to it. Here is what you can do to keep your stomach healthy..
1. Wash all your fruits and veggies with a teeny amount of bleach (you can buy a special kind exactly for this purpose in the SUpermarket -- called "Microdyn".
2. Eat yogurt a lot. It has bacteria in it, and can help make your stomach more able to encounter other bacteria.
3. Get a typhoid fever shot before you go.
4. Boil water if you don't have purified water. We boil water from the sink (killing all the microscopic animals in it) and use it to make coffee and hot chocolate, soup, pasta, rice, and so on.
5. Wash your hands with soap!
If you go to tourist resorts like Cancun or Mazatlan you don't have to worry about what you eat, because they use purified water to wash fruits and vegetables, or make ice. However, if you travel in Mexico, you have to buy the water you drink - you never drink water from the sink, use a water fountain, or drink a soda with ice cubes in it . We buy five gallon jugs of water (like they have in the portables) for our apartment.
People in Mexico have to pay the monthly water bill just like most people do in the US. -This bill covers water for showers, toilets, hand washing, dish washing, and laundry. However, it is an additional cost to buy purified jugs of drinking water. We are always careful to drink only purified water. We go to the store, get our big jug filled, pay, and lug it back home every week. We use this purified water to make lemonade, wash our vegetables, or even brush our teeth.Unfortunately, many poor people who live here either can't afford to buy water, can't obtain it, or do not know enough about health to do so in the first place. Lots of poor children get parasites in their bellies from drinking bad water. They have to go to the bathroom all the time and their bodies get bloated and eventually run out of water. The animals in the bellies of the kids (or other diseases in the water) often kill young children.
I decided I am going to learn more about the water situation while I am here. It seems to me that water -- clean water -- is something we all really take for granted in the US. What if you lived in a place where you had to buy a bottle of water any time you wanted a drink? What if you did not even have running water at your house? How would you go to the bathroom, brush your teeth, take a shower, or get your clothes washed? Do you even know where your water comes from? Most American kids would say, "Sure, it comes from the sink." But before that? How does it get there? How much does it cost? Who is in charge of your water?
I hope to interview people in the upcoming months about the water problem in Mexico. So many do not have access to water that is safe, and others do not have access to any water at all, unless they go down to a pond or a river. We are lucky to live in the Pacific Northwest, where we have so many abundant and clean rivers and streams!
I have not yet learned a lot about the food here, but I will list some of the things I have tried so far.
1. Potato chips (papas) with hot sauce poured on them
2. Corn on the cob (elote) slathered in melted butter and rolled in tons of powdered cheese
3. Smoked chile peppers (chipotles) fried in a pan and served on bread like a sandwich (torta) with cheese, lettuce and tomato
4. For breakfast: black beans, eggs, avocado, and hot sauce with sausage (looks like a hotdog) (frijoles negros, huevos, aguacate, y salsa picante con chorizo)
5. Black corn pancakes with beans and chiles (can't remember what this is called -- we though we were buying cactus when it turned out to be black corn -- very yummy!)
6. Sweet bread (pan dulce). To buy bread in Mexico, you go to the front of a store, pick up tongs and a metal cookie sheet, select your breads from the baskets, and bring your cookie sheet to the cashier, who puts them in a bag for you.
7. Tortillas with everything! Most are made by hand from ground corn. You buy them in a stack, usually still warm. You can eat absolutely anything in a tortilla!
8. Mole. (Pronounce the "ee" on the end -- it is not a rodent.) Mole is a sauce you put on rice and chicken. It is a spicy-sweet mixture made out of chocolate, chiles, garlic, peanuts, bananas, pepper, cinnamon, and many other spices. It is delicious!
9. Grasshoppers (chapulines) small ones, grilled with minced onion in oil until crunchy. These are served at a restaurant as an appetizer.
10. Fried pork rinds with chile sauce!
There are TONS of foods we have read about, but not tried yet. I will keep you posted as we encounter new things. For instance, there are all kinds of squash and cactus that the people eat here which I have never heard of or seen before. I enjoy trying the new foods. So far my favorite is the fried chipotle sandwich style. I refuse to try the pork rinds though!
What would you say are typical US foods? What foods might seem strange to someone coming from another country? Does your family eat foods that other people you know would think are strange? Would you like to try new and unusual foods?
PART V: THE POLICE / LA POLICIA
Many of you, I am sure, have already heard of the pollution problems they have in the megopolis of Mexico City. Mexico City, the capital of Mexico, is one of the top five biggest cities in the world (the biggest on the North American continent) and one of the most polluted. Mexico City's ozone layer is about twice the level permitted in the US or Japan -- that is some of the world's worst air!!
People have all kinds of lung, ear, throat, and eye problems because of all of the smog. As an athsmatic, I would never want to live there!
Most of the pollution comes from the exhaust fumes from cars. They need to address this issue in order to reduce the amount of pollution produced. In the US, cars have to pass inspection at DEQ and obtain a certificate that states that the car is not pumping tons of toxic carbon monoxide into the air.
In Mexico, people don't have to get their car certified. They have a different way of going about it.In Mexico City, there is one day a week when you cannot drive. You will know which day it is by noting your license plate number. Here is the current schedule:
day prohibited last digit
Monday 5,6
Tuesday 7,8
Wednesday 3,4
Thursday 1,2
Friday 9,0
Saturday -
Sunday -(As an aside, what is sad about this tactic is that it has encouraged many to buy or rent a second car. There are currently more than 4 million cars in Mexico City -- that is enough for everyone living in Portland to own at least three of their own!!)
Anyway, we were, of course, well aware of the driving restrictions. We decided to be extra cautious. We parked the truck outside of Mexico City. The locals call Mexico City El Districto Federal (or just el D.F. ). The Federal District, like our Washington D.C., functions as if it were its own state, although it's mostly just the city itself. The licence plate law applies within this district.
We took a bus into D.F. and visited the city. While we were in the city, we went to the zocalo and visited the Palacio Nacional where the Diego Rivera murals are -- check out the photo gallery for pictures of the murals and some aerial views of the megopolis!)
After our tour, we took a bus back out of the Districto Federal. I felt dirty and a little bit wheezy, and was glad to hop in the truck and head South, away from the giant city. We got on the road, and headed southeast, traveling through the state of Mexico (just like we have the state of Washington) toward our final destination.
It wasn't but fifteen minutes before it happened. I heard the siren yelp, saw the lights, and realized we were being pulled over by the police. We had not done anything wrong I could think of. We were driving on Friday with plates that ended in "9" - illegal in the Districto Federal -- but we were now in another state. What could it be? We pulled over to the side of the road, blue and red lights flashing behind us.
Loren was driving, and when the policemen approached our window, he asked for his license. Loren handed him his driver's license. Then the cop did something sort of unexpected. He took the license, got back in his car, and started to drive down a dirt road, behind a building. Because he still had Loren's driving license, he knew we would be forced to follow him.
I was afraid right away. I did not like the idea of being on an isolated street with the police men. I have heard that it used to be common for police to accept mordidas , or bribes, instead of a regular ticket or fine. You were not supposed to bribe policemen. We asked them immediately, "Why aren't we out on the main street? " I couldn't understand their answer. I am not sure if it was because of my poor Spanish, or because what they said did not make sense, but I didn't understand the answer.
The policemen explained to us that they had pulled us over because we were driving on a Friday with plates that ended in "9". They asked us if we knew about the license plate law. We agreed that we had known about it, but had been informed by Mexican car insurance companies and US travel agencies that the law applied only in the Federal District. We pulled out our maps and conferred with the policemen that we were in Mexico State, and not in the Federal District. We had never driven in the Federal District!!
The policemen were younger than me, and kept walking away from our car to discuss things in private. They told us the law applied in Mexico State as well as the Federal District. We told them we had never heard of such a thing. They said it was a new law. Loren demanded to see such a law in writing.
In the meantime, I started gathering information. I got the license plate of the police car, and copied down the policemen's' names from their uniforms. One of them noticed I had done this. He got in his cop car and drove away.
The second police man stayed at our window, and explained that the first officer had gone to get a copy of the new law. As it turns out, this first officer did return with a paper explaining this law, and it did look official. We had actually done something wrong.
The policemen explained to us that we had to pay a fine equivalent to one month's salary in Mexico -- about $150.00. We expected this. Then they told us they were going to impound our truck for 24 hours. "Where are we supposed to stay?" we asked. "Where will our car go?" This was what really frightened me. I did not want to turn our truck, with everything we owned in it, over to the police for the night.
At this point, the police basically asked them how much we were willing to pay to be let go. There was a lot of negotiating and they kept going back to their car to have private, worried conversations. We were faced with two choices. The first: we could pay the fine, turn over our vehicle, find a hotel room in who knows what town we were in, and hope we could find an office open on Saturday so that we could retrieve our vehicle. With this choice, I could also report attempted bribery to the authorities. Second choice: pay off the police.
The whole time it was like my mind was refusing to accept that it was actually happening to us. The police asked for $75.00. We went through our wallets and discovered we only had $20.00 in cash between us. We told this to the police, who were now pretty nervous, because they had realized we had their names and license plates. After more secret discussions, they decided to accept the twenty dollar bribe.
The police then reminded us that we had a half hour's drive to get out of the state of Mexico, and that we could be pulled over again at any time. They gave us a note which I think they said was a receipt for the bribe. Here is what it said:
Officer's Name: Plata
Date: 3-1-02
State: Mexico
District: #61
Paid: $3
I had noted the police man's name from his badge, and it was not Plata -- it was Fernando Rodriguez. Plata is a slang word that means cash, or money. Officer Cash. Officer Cash reminded us to show the receipt (shown above) he had written out for us to other cops, should we again be pulled over, and not to use his real name. We %@!#$&ured him that we would, and headed down the road.That day was the most nerve racking of all our driving days in Mexico. We saw a lot of police before we crossed over the state line into Puebla that day, but luckily none of them noticed out license plates. It made me realize that I take for granted the security that the police in our country provide for us. They are well paid and well respected.
Mexican police are poorly paid. These two were willing to risk their job security to get $20.00 from us. Once I calmed down, I realized that in a way, they helped us out -- they saved us from a much bigger fine and losing our vehicle for 24 hours. What a shame that it had to happen in such dishonest circumstances.
"The Two Dollar Road Runner"
by LorenFor the price of two plane tickets and one rental car (plus or minus a few hundred bucks) we prepared a 1979 Ford pickup for the journey south. This is how we did it and why.
Ohmigod! We're late!
The alarm must have gone off, but we didn't hear it. The taxi, which had been waiting outside for 15 minutes, sounded the horn. I ran outside with crusty eyes and begged the driver to wait a few minutes longer. Teeth brushed, wallet and keys grabbed, no time for coffee. We lugged eight heavy bags -- all the stuff for twelve months in Oaxaca -- out to the cab and as our driver winced we forced them into the trunk. International flights require passengers to arrive at least two hours early. We definitely weren't going to make that and at the time we were hoping just to make the flight. At the airport the lines were long and in a post 9-11 world the security checkpoint ritual is not expedited. Everyone around us was grumpy. Women clutched their purses and men stood stoic with furrowed brows. Finally, we reached the front of the check-in line and right about the time I was confirming that I did indeed pack my own bag and that nobody else had asked me to carry anything onboard I realized that I had made the biggest of all international travel blunders. I left my passport sitting on the coffee table next to a half drunk glass of OJ. My heart sank. My expression conveyed the tragedy of my blunder to the ticketing agent who silently pushed our tickets back across the counter to me. I skulked away in shame and hailed a cab for home.None of this ever happened. But it could have. What really happened was that we DROVE out of Portland one stormy day in February bound for Mexico...or bust. For the price of two plane tickets and one rental car (plus or minus a few hundred bucks) we prepared a 1979 Ford pickup for the journey south. This is how we did it and why.
I had wanted to drive there since the idea of this journey to Mexico was first conceived of more than twelve months ago. I love to drive. A good road catches my attention like a ski slope -- I can see the potential for fun. Over the years I have developed the ability to see all roads in terms of motorcycling regardless of what vehicle I'm driving. Some roads are better than others -- hands down.
Of course, there is much more to driving than executing a clean hairpin turn. In contrast to air travel, the driver traveling from point A to point Z will see points B, C, D, and all of the rest of the alphabet en route. The driver sees the landscape shift as hundreds of miles tick off the odometer. The airline passenger simply arrives in a foreign city hundreds of thousands of miles away from where the flight began without ever seeing the places and people in between. The intrepid driver who is willing to get off the interstates will see things that you won't get with even the most expensive Carnival Cruise package.
Six days after our departure from Oregon we were driving along the Colorado River toward Lake Havasu City. We stopped for a picnic at a riverside state park. We paid a $2 entrance fee and then parked the truck a stone's throw from the river. As I was walking back from rinsing off the dishes Tracy called to me and pointed at a large bird that was scurrying through the campground. "It's a roadrunner," she said. Wow! Just like the cartoon. Cool. I thought to myself for only two bucks I got to see my very first roadrunner. It made all the work on the truck seem worthwhile.I didn't just go out and pickup any old truck for this trip. In fact the idea of driving to Mexico had come up before but we shelved it because I didn't think we could find a reliable and affordable vehicle in time for our early February departure. I could have taken my Subaru, but repairs would be expensive and I wouldn't dare mess with the computer-controlled engine in that car. No, an older vehicle with a straightforward engine is what one needs for a Mexican road trip.
On January 8th we went out for dinner with my good friend Jeff Catlin. After telling Jeff about how we were dreading the impending flight and subsequent rapid transition to life in Mexico he said offhandedly "why don't you take my truck?" By the next morning it was a done deal.
Jeff used the truck to haul brewing supplies for Liberator Brewery in Troutdale, Oregon that he owns and operates. In its life the vehicle has carried thousands of pounds of barley and hops that Jeff transformed into fermented beverages of superior quality. However, it's a big truck and with no power steering it's difficult to drive in town. Jeff was planning on upgrading the truck to a more maneuverable minivan. Jeff drove the truck for five years and could vouch for its reliability. "It always starts," he said enthusiastically. Over the past year he had installed new shocks, brakes, and heater system. I was convinced that the truck should carry us to Mexico. We allotted three weeks to prepare the truck for the journey south.The transformation of the truck focused on safety, reliability and security. The 1979 Ford F100 pickup was no beauty queen and we meant to keep it that way. The idea was to create a comfortable cruiser that would carry all of our stuff, but not attract the attention of those who would like to separate us from our material goods. With Jeff's help and masterful engineering ability we set to converting the truck, which has come to be called "Don Jefe" in honor of Jeff.
I began thinking about what we wanted to bring -- laptops, CD player for the cab, and camping gear for the road and then boxes of clothes and books for our stay in Oaxaca. The first order of business was to create a secure storage container for our computer gear and important documents. We needed a lockbox.
We found one at a scrap yard. A diamond plated steel toolbox that fit into the back of the pickup. It was burnt and bent, but cleaned up nicely. We installed two padlocks on it and bolted it to the bed of the truck.
We cleaned out five years of brewing supply dirt and grime from the bed of the truck and sealed all visible holes with sheet metal and silicone. The truck has a canopy over the bed that we also sealed from water leakage with a whole lot of silicone. We laid carpet, hung curtains and constructed a second level for storage in the bed of the truck using steel rods and plywood. A combination padlock was installed to lock the tailgate to the canopy.
Mechanically the truck needed a little love before it could go the distance to Mexico. This is what the professionals did to Don Jefe: a new (Hurst) shifter to replace one that had been installed upside down; new choke cable; steering adjustment to reduce free play; new brake master cylinder; timing adjustment; transmission fluid change; rear differential fluid change; and fix vacuum leaks by installing a new gasket under the carburetor and re-routing the vacuum hoses. We also changed the belts and hoses, fixed a hole in the driver's side floor of the cab and installed a lock for the hood.
For spare parts we are carrying: radiator hoses; fuel hose, fan belts; 6 spark plugs; distributor cap and rotor; ignition control box; air filters; hose clamps and hose repair tape; brake fluid; antifreeze; motor oil; 3 cans of fix-a-flat; and lots of duct tape. The spare tire is on the front of the truck attached to a rack that was installed by Joe the master welder in Sublimity, Oregon.
Then there was the issue of electricity. If we were to live out of the truck I would need 1) music for the ride and 2) lighting for evening camping. After some research into auxiliary battery systems I had an extra battery installed that runs only the cigarette lighter in the cab. From the lighter I connected a 350-watt power inverter that has two standard 110-volt outlets on it. From these outlets I can run a CD player, a pair of computer speakers, two sets of rope lights and one fluorescent shop light. In addition to listening to music while driving we can run the music and lights all night without running down the battery that starts the truck. Basically, we're totally self-contained and can live in the lap of luxury while keeping the appearance of driving a beat-up old truck. In a way we're undercover.
On top of the truck we built a roof rack to carry a locking case for our camping gear and on the roof of the truck we installed the antenna from a 747 jet. Why not, right? Inside the cab we have a big seat cushion and one hanging disco ball. Everything is in place.Today I am writing from Tucson, Arizona. We have covered in excess of 2000 miles and the truck has only lost 2/3 of a quart of oil. It runs great on the highway and starts up like a champ every morning. Plus in the evening we can camp next to the truck and play cards by our lights while listening to music. In the mornings we re-pack the truck and it looks like a beater once again. We're undercover.
Because of Don Jefe I have seen the east side of Yosemite park, Lake Tahoe, a field of many hundred year old Joshua trees, several coyotes, a pocket mouse, a kangaroo rat, several incredible sunrises and, two roadrunners. And we haven't even crossed the border yet.
The friendly skies are overrated.
Loren Walker
2-19-02
Tucson, Arizona
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