I leave tomorrow morning for Oaxaca to see what there is to see and do what there is to do. I think that will mostly mean looking at art and eating food. On Wednesday I’m signed up for an all day walking/tasting tour, food lecture, hands-on cooking class, and meal of whatever conconctions we made. I’m also thinking of doing a craft village and ruins tour. Most likely I’ll be away from computers so there will be a big Oaxaca update upon my return Friday.

I just returned from the first of the two big weekend parades, which arrived at our bleacher around 8:30 and didn’t pass until around midnight. Wow. But the coolest thing about the parade is that I sat next to this group of young folks who were very friendly and we talked for most of the time. The two I talked to the most were even women! This is a big deal because every other person I’ve met out and about who has wanted to talk to me has been a dude looking to flirt. It felt so nice to hoot together at the scantily clad float-men and talk about dancing and food and whatever without being propositioned in any way. Ah, girl talk. They asked for my e-mail address and want to go out next weekend (since I’m going to Oaxaca on Monday for the week). I am so excited by the prospect of having Mexican girlfriends! I hope they write!

I accidentally ate some meat that had been sitting unfridgerated on a store counter for who knows how long (a chile relleno that was supposed to be stuffed with cheese). I hope I don’t get sick.

The region of Veracruz is very fertile, with lots of water and sun, and has a wide range of temperatures within a small circumference because of the ocean and mountains and all that goodness. So I thought there would be a dazzling variety of produce at the markets for me to explore. But ah, no. There are so many produce stands and they all have the same selection, the only variance being the quantity they offer. All the onions are white. All the apples are red and golden delicious, with the occasional Braeburn. All the tomatoes are Romas. Lettuce is either this cabbage-y looking Iceburgy stuff or, at supermercados, they also have Romaine. All oranges are navel. Pumpkin seeds are very popular but the only squash you can find is a variety of zucchini. To me the most upsetting example is the potato–you can only get “white” potatoes. A freaking Russet would be considered exotic here.

Last night was the coronation of the ugly king, which I passed. The next morning I looked in the paper and the ugly king was not ugly at all! My impression was that he would be like a clown king with a funny crown and all that. The locals thought that was very funny and told me it’s just a title that doesn’t mean anything. Less fun, I think.

Tonight was. . .I have no idea. There appears to be stuff everywhere. Out on our street and on the main boulevard which we are just off, there are loads of street carts, a lady walking around with a giant boa constrictor tossed over her shoulders, people having impromptu parties on the bleachers, and music, music, everywhere.

I went downtown because I heard there was a concert on the malecon (seaside promenade). The bus had to take a detour, the route of which I was uncertain, so I got off early and walked down Avenida Independencia, the same street where the kid’s parade was. The street was cut off to car traffic and was swarming with folks. It seems like the food carts coordinate what they’re all going to be offering each night because tonight was all hot dogs and pancakes, mostly pancakes, which is especially odd because before tonight I hadn’t seen any.

As I neared the zocalo, the crowd became denser and denser until nobody could move. Something big was going on at the zocalo and everyone was crowded in to watch on the many giant projector screens set up around the square, since the square itself was jam-packed. I felt a little like I was in hell, but I got out alright and approached the square from the other side. It was less terrible, but I did’t see the point in staying, so I wandered towards the malecon.

Along the way I came upon a. . .drummer band? There were at least 12 drummers and a couple of some-kind-of-shaky-thing players and also a couple had whistles in their mouth. The music they made would best be described as “tribal marching band.” I stood and listened for about 15 minutes, and during that time they worked on only one song. There were a few times where it seemed like they were going to stop by dropping down to only 1 or 2 drummers but then others would join in again. It was pretty cool stuff.

I continued on my way to the malecon where it turned out there wasn’t a show going on until later. 10 p.m. isn’t late enough I guess. Instead of musicians, the promenade was lined with vendors displaying their wares and weird street performers, like a space Merlin and silver robot cowboy (unfortunately I neglected to bring my camera). I bought my first souvenir from one of the street vendors, notably one who had their stuff laid out on the blanket-covered ground and didn’t launch into a sales pitch. When I asked how much the item I liked was their maybe-6-year-old kid jumped in and performed the whole transaction, although his mom gave me a bag. Pretty cute.

I returned to my meandering exploration of broohaha back towards downtown but to the south, in the general direction of where I could catch a bus home. I heard music so I went towards it. In the same park-venue two weeks ago I saw a fun salsa band but tonight there was what I guess was Mexican metal? All I know is they had electric guitars, lots of yelling and grinding and long hair, and there were notable groups of leather-clad biker dudes in the audience.

That wasn’t so much my scene so I headed towards the Plazuala, a semi-enclosed plaza where there’s usually live music and dancing. When I got there, sure enough people were going bonkers salsa-style, but there was yet another band down the street whose music could be heard. The other band was also playing some kind of Latin/Carribean something (I could tell there was clave and that’s about it), but just off-beat enough to hurt my head.

I’d say the party is well under way.

Now if only I liked parties!

Re: Mother’s Day

(Quick tidbit: Mother’s Day was originally a day a bunch of mothers got together and voiced their opposition to war, appealing to people on behalf of their children who go off and die for no good reason. Some non-mothers thought that was cute so they made it a holiday, sort of a mom-centric Memorial Day with a heavier pro-peace slant)

OK, we took a day that was supposed to be about mother’s standing up and saying war is bad and isn’t that cool and we should listen to and respect our mums–a great thing to observe–and turned it into a generalized celebration that means nothing. It’s not about how strong and courageous mothers are–it celebrates how they’re the “best!” It’s not about all the things that moms have accomplished or what they contribute (besides offspring, that is)–it celebrates all the aspects of motherhood that are already overly romanticized and valued, and in my mind harmfully stereotyped.

The fact that our “celebration” actually totally ignores the desires of the ones being celebrated is what really kicks me in the tuchus. Mother’s Day exemplifies how truly unvalued mothers–and women in general–are when you zoom out beyond the family unit by warping a day they tried to use to promote awareness of the harsh realities of war into a day they’re told to shut up and get flowers shoved in their faces.

Re: Birthdays

I propose that the true tragedy of being born is that never in life will we ever be that close to anyone or anything again. Besides brief spiritual revelations, however one may come by them, everything in life is so painfully separate–and it is our fault. The price is a constant struggle for meaning, for intimacy with greatness.

I am always, always so very lonely.