Parade Day

Susan came to our place last night for cervezas y guacamole y good cheer and we talked about past and future travels. It was a good night followed by a good night’s sleep.

We met Sue at her hotel this morning for breakfast on the roof—yogurt, granola, papaya, pineapple, breads and jams—before starting out for the Cathedral where we hoped to pick up a walking tour guide.  When we arrived, another traveler in the Zocalo told us where we could find the tour but also told us that today was Friday and the tour is only on Tuesdays and Saturdays. She said she has been coming here for years and always takes this same tour at the beginning of her stay because it helps her re-orient and is full of information about current goings on so we will try again tomorrow. We regrouped to make a new plan. Small towns! We went to a travel agent on the square to make inquiries. We had missed the last guided collectivo. We regrouped to make a new plan. Monte Alban! We went to a travel agent on the square to make inquiries and we were off within minutes. 

Monte Alban is noteworthy in many ways. We visited Mayan ruins in Yucatan, but these were always at quite a remove from the city, requiring whole day trips higher into the mountains. Monte Alban is only seven miles outside of Oaxaca City. It is the oldest example of Mesoamerican civilization, the height of its existence dating from 500 BC to about 750 AD and, while built by Zapotecs, was inhabited by a diverse society of mixed indigenous peoples. There is a ball court, different from the Mayan courts with hoops we observed at Chichin Itza, but this site offers the same perfect acoustics. The buildings are all aligned on a precise north-south axis but one. Affectionately named Building J and thought to be built in approximately 1 AD, it appears—based on its shape like an arrow, the tip of the arrow pointing exactly southwest and the fact that on December 20^th the sun sets in the exact center of that SW tip—to have been an early stellar observatory of some sort. It certainly makes me want to return someday for a solstice party.  Another way this place distinguishes itself is because so many of the decorative stones with intact reliefs are still present and have been moved indoors to an onsite museum to protect them from elemental damage now that they have been unearthed. We were struck by layers of wonder: first the ancient building in front of us, then the scale of the site as a whole, then Oaxaca City in the valley below, then the mountain range beyond and beyond that the sky sharing every shade of blue available on today’s palette. 

In what we have come to know as typical fashion in this part of the world (and perhaps in ours, as well, but we never take tours at home so how would we know?), we believed that Gerardo would be our tour guide and then he passed us off to Alberto, who in turn left us with Luis at Monte Alban. Luis was informative and pleasant, but before we knew him Gerardo had told us a bit about how Mexicans view Benito Juarez in much the same way legend and history combine to view Abraham Lincoln. As a result of his stories, we decided to visit the museum housed in Juarez’s home upon our return to the city. We climbed several blocks above where we were dropped and then several blocks above that before we happened on the beginning of a parade. There were 20-foot tall dancing dolls, followed by men in white pants and shirts with red bandanas at their necks and straw hats who carried huge cellophane decorations held high on long sticks, followed by a brass band, followed by women in traditional dress who balanced floral arrangements on their heads, followed by masses of people, chanting something possibly wonderful (they didn’t sound angry?!) and wearing buttons, hats and shirts suggesting something about service and society. Many of them carried baskets of candy and more of them carried shot glasses and there were several men working their way through the crowd pouring mescal into those shot glasses here and there. It was a pretty terrific thing to stumble onto and the whole event was made better by the fact that (1) we also found ourselves at a food cart where we had a traditional favorite: an extra large tortilla, layered with Oaxaca cheese, meat and a fiery salsa then wrapped into a piece of paper to go and (2) we realized that food cart was right across the street from Benito Juarez’s home and museum. 

The museum was similar to Diego Rivera’s home in Guanajuato except that Diego Rivera left behind an awful lot of art and Benito Juarez left behind an awful lot of political history and that’s just a bit different to look at. We did learn that he was particularly celebrated by the indigenous people here because he was, in fact, Zapoteca. He came from and seemed to grasp humility. His parents died when he was only 3 and he lived first with an uncle who herded sheep and then moved to the city to live with his sister who worked in service in the household of the family Maza where he was exposed to wealth. Living in the city, the priest Antonio Salanueva mentored Benito, ultimately sending him to school, where he learned to speak, read and write Spanish as his second language. He continued to university and law school, entered politics and in addition to being a Supreme Court judge and governor of Oaxaca City, he was elected president of Mexico on three different occasions. He is compared to Lincoln because of his tireless efforts to improve the lives of indigenous people.

It was time for siesta, but Susan suggested a visit to the Plaza of Dances for helado before we parted ways and we struggled to understand some of the less obvious flavors: Beso de Oaxaqueno, for example, is a carrot ice cream with raisins and possibly and probably several other things in it. Following ice cream, we retired for naps and reading and a respite from the sun for me (we were all out the same amount of time and we were all under the same sun and I was the only one who applied and reapplied sun screen but still my parts are scorched and Susan and Chris have each established a healthy glow). Mexican Foof’s real name is Marta and the moment I stretched out on my back with a book, she draped herself over my belly for a nap, too.   

We met Susan back at her hotel for drinks at the bar on the roof and to decide about dinner. The bar is self service and please fill out a bill for yourself and leave it on the counter so someone can charge your room later and please also enjoy complimentary peanuts, which are peppered with fried garlic gloves and, well, fried peppers. We decided on Oaxacan cuisine and walked up to the Restaurant Zandunga which advertised flavors from the isthmus and which we enjoyed very much. Chris said that his mildly sweet tamale was among the best he’d had, Susan’s mole sauce was decadent and I had a spicy coleslaw and chile-infused mashed potatoes that were worth a visit of you’re ever in this town. 

We strolled the Zocalo after dinner and found it a different kind of charming on a Friday night than it is during the day. The buildings are lit from the ground up and there are so many people enjoying themselves it’s hard to not be happy.  One musical group swells and then fades into the next all around the square and some people dance to entertain and others dance for joy. 

Tomorrow, after giving our creaky feet, ankles, calves and knees a bit of a sleep, we’ll try for that walking tour again. And maybe we’ll get it and maybe we’ll regroup to make a new plan, but for sure we’ll do something.