My flight home left the Oaxaca City airport at just after noon. My flights were routine and uneventful. After stops in Mexico City and Phoenix, my brother was kind enough to pick me up from the Salt Lake airport and drive me back to Provo, safe and sound.
It was really great to visit Oaxaca, but it was also great to come home. I guess I really missed it.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Tuesday, August 19th, 2008 El Istmo
At the invitation of Belen, I dragged my butt out of the hammock at around 5:30am so I could attend seminary, a scripture-study class for high school-aged youth. Even at that early hour the heat was ridiculous, although bearable. The class was held at the local chapel, and we were among the first to arrive. I got to see Bishop Marin, who supervised, but did not teach, the class. As the class got underway the late-comers straggled in, and it was great to see some familiar faces, even if most of them didn't recognize me.
After the class let out at seven Belen went to work, and I walked back to the house, crawled into the hammock, and fell asleep until about 11 am. When I woke up Belen's mom prepared an excellent breakfast. I had planned on taking the bus about half an hour to the town of Tehuantapec, but I ended up spending the day in downtown Juchitan, seeing the sights and doing a bit of shopping-I bought a HUGE hammock to take home.
Before getting back on the bus to Oaxaca, I headed back to Belen's house for lunch with her family. Them I got my pack together and hiked over to the bus terminal. The ride was torturous. I was moderatly carsick the whole time (those curves are killer), and both of the movies played were exceptionally bad. I arrived in Oaxaca City at around ten and took a taxi to the missionaries' house. They were kind enough to let me stay another night instead of having to pay for a hotel room.
After the class let out at seven Belen went to work, and I walked back to the house, crawled into the hammock, and fell asleep until about 11 am. When I woke up Belen's mom prepared an excellent breakfast. I had planned on taking the bus about half an hour to the town of Tehuantapec, but I ended up spending the day in downtown Juchitan, seeing the sights and doing a bit of shopping-I bought a HUGE hammock to take home.
Before getting back on the bus to Oaxaca, I headed back to Belen's house for lunch with her family. Them I got my pack together and hiked over to the bus terminal. The ride was torturous. I was moderatly carsick the whole time (those curves are killer), and both of the movies played were exceptionally bad. I arrived in Oaxaca City at around ten and took a taxi to the missionaries' house. They were kind enough to let me stay another night instead of having to pay for a hotel room.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Monday Travels
A relatively (sp?) uneventful day. I got up late again (hey, I'm on vacation), packed my things, and said goodbye to the missionaries. Then I stood on their doorstep for about 15 minutes while I waited for the bus to come. I took the city bus to the down town ADO bus station. No, I don't know what ADO stands for. I had about an hour until the noon bus would leave, so I took advantage of the time to find an internet cafe. The bus ride to Juchitán lasted five hours. It was a ride I had taken a few times before, and the view from the mountain roads was just as beautiful as remember. I also got just as car sick as I remember. I did get to watch a couple of movies during the ride. But "Raise Your Voice" starring Hilary Duff wasn't all that much fun to watch in Spanish.
I arrived in Juchitán at about 5pm. As I stepped down from the bus I was hit by a wave of hot, humid air. I'd forgotten just how how the Istmo area can be. I immediatly started sweating, and I haven't stopped yet. After finding another internet cafe, I called a member family who I had helped teach and baptized. They met me back at the bus terminal, and we walked the half a block to the taco stand they help their grandmother to run in the evenings. We spent the evening talking and eating tlayudas. I met a guy named Fernando, from Guadalajara, who spoke english. His accent was very thick, but he could carry on a conversation without any problem. He said he had travelled quite a bit when he was younger, and had spent quite a bit of time in London, where he had learned english. He had also lived in Paris, where he learned french. Now he was in Juchitán for a few months, and he hoped to learn Zapoteco, one of the local dialects.
After our late dinner, we headed to the family's house where I got to spend the night in a hammock that was slightly too small for my larger-than-the-average-Oaxacan body.
I arrived in Juchitán at about 5pm. As I stepped down from the bus I was hit by a wave of hot, humid air. I'd forgotten just how how the Istmo area can be. I immediatly started sweating, and I haven't stopped yet. After finding another internet cafe, I called a member family who I had helped teach and baptized. They met me back at the bus terminal, and we walked the half a block to the taco stand they help their grandmother to run in the evenings. We spent the evening talking and eating tlayudas. I met a guy named Fernando, from Guadalajara, who spoke english. His accent was very thick, but he could carry on a conversation without any problem. He said he had travelled quite a bit when he was younger, and had spent quite a bit of time in London, where he had learned english. He had also lived in Paris, where he learned french. Now he was in Juchitán for a few months, and he hoped to learn Zapoteco, one of the local dialects.
After our late dinner, we headed to the family's house where I got to spend the night in a hammock that was slightly too small for my larger-than-the-average-Oaxacan body.
Sunday!
All around, a good day. I slept in til about nine, only to find that the missionaries (at least a couple of them) were still asleep (they're supposed to get up at 6:30). Oh well.
Church services for the Guelagutza ward started at 11 am. I could have taken the bus, but I chose to walk the 15 minutes to the chapel. I didn´t recognize everybody, but I did see a lot of familiar faces, even if they didn't recognize me. I only stayed for the first hour, and it was great to see the people who i had served. After the first hour I took a taxi to another chapel about ten minutes away to attend the services of the La Joya ward. I recognized even fewer people here, and even fewer still recognized me. But I got a very warm welcome from Bishop Raciel, who I was good friends with.
After church ended, I hung around for about half an hour talking with the missionaries before taking off to pay some visits. I had to hike about twenty minutes up the side of the mountains to find the house of the Santiago Ramirez family's house. I only met them once, and had introduced them to the church, but later all but the youngest child were baptized. The parents weren't home, but most of the seven kids were, and I was suprised to find that they remembered me. The next visit was to a member family who I had been friends with. After chatting for a few minutes, we all piled into their car and drove to another member's house. Paco, the old ward mission leader, had gotten married the day before, and the family had invited just about anybody who wanted to come and eat leftovers. Basically a second reception. I got to eat some dang good food, and also catch up with some good friends.
My last stop was to visit a VERY old couple who I had baptized. Celerino, 95 years old, and his wife Isabel, age unkown! (somewhere in her late eighties) Celerino was sleeping, and I wasn't about to wake him up, but Isabel actually recognized me! We couldn't exactly have a conversation because she is mostly deaf, and just talks more to make up for it. Come to think about it, we never actually have had a real conversation.
I decided to call it a day, and headed back down the hill to the highway to take a bus to la central, and from there back to the missionaries' house, where I stayed the night once more.
Church services for the Guelagutza ward started at 11 am. I could have taken the bus, but I chose to walk the 15 minutes to the chapel. I didn´t recognize everybody, but I did see a lot of familiar faces, even if they didn't recognize me. I only stayed for the first hour, and it was great to see the people who i had served. After the first hour I took a taxi to another chapel about ten minutes away to attend the services of the La Joya ward. I recognized even fewer people here, and even fewer still recognized me. But I got a very warm welcome from Bishop Raciel, who I was good friends with.
After church ended, I hung around for about half an hour talking with the missionaries before taking off to pay some visits. I had to hike about twenty minutes up the side of the mountains to find the house of the Santiago Ramirez family's house. I only met them once, and had introduced them to the church, but later all but the youngest child were baptized. The parents weren't home, but most of the seven kids were, and I was suprised to find that they remembered me. The next visit was to a member family who I had been friends with. After chatting for a few minutes, we all piled into their car and drove to another member's house. Paco, the old ward mission leader, had gotten married the day before, and the family had invited just about anybody who wanted to come and eat leftovers. Basically a second reception. I got to eat some dang good food, and also catch up with some good friends.
My last stop was to visit a VERY old couple who I had baptized. Celerino, 95 years old, and his wife Isabel, age unkown! (somewhere in her late eighties) Celerino was sleeping, and I wasn't about to wake him up, but Isabel actually recognized me! We couldn't exactly have a conversation because she is mostly deaf, and just talks more to make up for it. Come to think about it, we never actually have had a real conversation.
I decided to call it a day, and headed back down the hill to the highway to take a bus to la central, and from there back to the missionaries' house, where I stayed the night once more.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Alone in the City-Saturday, Aug 16
Mayra and I had planned to leave Mitla on the 10am bus, but we didn`t even get out of the house til about 11:30, and had to wait about 20 minutes for another bus to pass. After sleeping for most of the ride, Mayra and I said goodbye, and I headed for the Zòcalo, or town square in the middle of downtown Oaxaca. The place was packed with people-local Oaxacans, tourist, and various musicians, dancers, other performers. After taking in the scene for a while, I made my way across to the Catholic church/cathedral that looked like it had been build by the spanish back in the colonial days. I was able to go inside and take a look at the amazing architecture, paintings, and sculptures.
From there I made my way about 8 blocks north to the Catherdral of Santo Domingo. As I approached I could here a band playing, and soon I found myself watching about thirty local children wearing their traditional Oaxacan outfits and dancing to the 10-or-so piece brass band in front of the church. As the music stopped the dancers began making their way through the large front doors of the church. I decided to follow. The inside of the church was far more impressive than the first. Every inch of it was adorned with painted carvings and depictions of various dead saints. I sat down in the back row to rest and to watch the mass that was starting. I had never been to a mass before. My general impression was one of bordom, to be quite honest. Even the priest sounded bored.
Leaving the church, I continued heading north. After a block or so I came to an obviously temporary market set up on a side street. I could hear loud hip hop music. The market turned out not to be a market at all, but a few street venders set up around a live local rap/hip hop concert going on. Of course I stopped to watch. I watched two different groups rap about the political and social situation in Oaxaca, but the highlight was difinitely the two beat-boxers accompanied by an accordian.
I walked back to the zocalo where I watched some more dancers and musical groups, including two guys absolutely rocking out on a marimba. When I had had enough I began walking back toward the central, where I took a bus to the missionaries' house near where I had been staying. I had promised to take the six that live there to get tacos, something I could only afford because tacos are like 4 pesos each. Only two of the missionaries showed up, and the three of us ate our fill for a grand total of about nine bucks. Not bad.
And don't tell anybody, but I spent the night on the missionary's floor.
From there I made my way about 8 blocks north to the Catherdral of Santo Domingo. As I approached I could here a band playing, and soon I found myself watching about thirty local children wearing their traditional Oaxacan outfits and dancing to the 10-or-so piece brass band in front of the church. As the music stopped the dancers began making their way through the large front doors of the church. I decided to follow. The inside of the church was far more impressive than the first. Every inch of it was adorned with painted carvings and depictions of various dead saints. I sat down in the back row to rest and to watch the mass that was starting. I had never been to a mass before. My general impression was one of bordom, to be quite honest. Even the priest sounded bored.
Leaving the church, I continued heading north. After a block or so I came to an obviously temporary market set up on a side street. I could hear loud hip hop music. The market turned out not to be a market at all, but a few street venders set up around a live local rap/hip hop concert going on. Of course I stopped to watch. I watched two different groups rap about the political and social situation in Oaxaca, but the highlight was difinitely the two beat-boxers accompanied by an accordian.
I walked back to the zocalo where I watched some more dancers and musical groups, including two guys absolutely rocking out on a marimba. When I had had enough I began walking back toward the central, where I took a bus to the missionaries' house near where I had been staying. I had promised to take the six that live there to get tacos, something I could only afford because tacos are like 4 pesos each. Only two of the missionaries showed up, and the three of us ate our fill for a grand total of about nine bucks. Not bad.
And don't tell anybody, but I spent the night on the missionary's floor.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Las Ruinas de Mitla
I woke up this morning with plans to visit the ancient Zapoteco ruins found in Mitla. I had planned to go by myself, but Hermana Angela, Mayra, and Madaì decided that they wanted to come with me. We were just getting ready to leave when I heard one of the kids screaming across the courtyard. I turned to see Madaì (she`s 4 years old, by the way) 
biting Sergio (3 years old?) on the arm. Sergio's mom came running and, overreacting to the threat to her son, pushed/hit Madaì off of Sergio. Although she stayed on her feet, Madaì stumbled backwards, lost one of her shoes, and began screaming herself. Then all hell broke loose. I got to sit in the middle of a screaming match between the two mothers, each accusing the other of abusing the other's kid. After trying to sit still and let them work things out, I finally stood up from my seat and retreated to my room. I could still hear the shouting, but at least it wasn´t as l
oud.
Even when things had quieted down, I decided to give it a few minutes before I cautiously left my room. We got our things together an
d headed towards the ruins, all pretending that nothing had happened.
The ruins, although much smaller than Monte Alban, were definitly worth the visit. The entire grounds only covered a couple of acres, but there were several large buildings you were allowed to enter. The main palace had no roof, but the walls were made of intricately cut stone bricks, arranged into the most amazing designs. Another building had two underground chambers open to explore a bit. In one there was a stone seat that the Zapoteco priest would use for his ceremonies. He would sit down and stand up three times on the seat before making his requests to the gods. As nobody else was around, I hopped the guardrail and repeated the ceremony. And took pictures.
After the ruins
we stopped for some nieves (ice cream). I ordered piña colada, and as soon as I had it in my hands I found out that it actually contained alcohol. Who puts liquer in ice cream? So I got another flavor. We walked around the numerous stands and stalls that were selling all kinds of locally made art and clothing. I didn´t buy anything.
We walked home and I fell asleep for a good while before leaving again to find an internet cafe. Later in the evening we walked back to el centro of the town were two teams from the local basketball team were facing off. The outdoor court had quite a bit of sand on it, and watching the players slide around and fall all over the place was very entertaining. These guys were really pretty bad at basketball, but they were obviously having a good time. Egan picked us up in his car halfway through the game, and we all went for a drive before going back to the house and to bed.
biting Sergio (3 years old?) on the arm. Sergio's mom came running and, overreacting to the threat to her son, pushed/hit Madaì off of Sergio. Although she stayed on her feet, Madaì stumbled backwards, lost one of her shoes, and began screaming herself. Then all hell broke loose. I got to sit in the middle of a screaming match between the two mothers, each accusing the other of abusing the other's kid. After trying to sit still and let them work things out, I finally stood up from my seat and retreated to my room. I could still hear the shouting, but at least it wasn´t as l
oud.Even when things had quieted down, I decided to give it a few minutes before I cautiously left my room. We got our things together an
d headed towards the ruins, all pretending that nothing had happened.The ruins, although much smaller than Monte Alban, were definitly worth the visit. The entire grounds only covered a couple of acres, but there were several large buildings you were allowed to enter. The main palace had no roof, but the walls were made of intricately cut stone bricks, arranged into the most amazing designs. Another building had two underground chambers open to explore a bit. In one there was a stone seat that the Zapoteco priest would use for his ceremonies. He would sit down and stand up three times on the seat before making his requests to the gods. As nobody else was around, I hopped the guardrail and repeated the ceremony. And took pictures.
After the ruins
we stopped for some nieves (ice cream). I ordered piña colada, and as soon as I had it in my hands I found out that it actually contained alcohol. Who puts liquer in ice cream? So I got another flavor. We walked around the numerous stands and stalls that were selling all kinds of locally made art and clothing. I didn´t buy anything.We walked home and I fell asleep for a good while before leaving again to find an internet cafe. Later in the evening we walked back to el centro of the town were two teams from the local basketball team were facing off. The outdoor court had quite a bit of sand on it, and watching the players slide around and fall all over the place was very entertaining. These guys were really pretty bad at basketball, but they were obviously having a good time. Egan picked us up in his car halfway through the game, and we all went for a drive before going back to the house and to bed.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Thursday, Aug 18th.
To be honest, I´m a bit homesick. At least I think I am. At least that would explain the weight on my chest that feels like something close to guilt, but I know is not. It´s either that, or something I ate. More likely, travelling to a foreign country by my self and with out any fixed plans is farther outside of my comfort zone than I thought.
The day began slowly. I woke up around 8:30 with plans to pay a visit to some friends in another part of town, then travel about an hour and a half to a town called Mitla to visit other friends. After breakfast courtesy of the Che family, I packed my bag and headed out the door (a dangerous thing, according to Mr. Bilbo Baggins. Sorry I couldn´t resist a Lord of the Rings reference.). I hiked the half mile or so down the hill on which the Che family live and caught a bus to La Central to get some cash, and then to a colonia (barrio) called Pueblo Nuevo. I had made the same bus trip probably dozens of times as a missionary, and it was strange how similar it was this time. Actually, it is strange how similar everything is. Everything, with the exception of children who have grown, is just how I remember it. It feels like I'm in the middle of having a dream that I have had many times before.
I first found my way to Bishop Raciel´s house. He wasn`t home, but I had a good chat with his mother-in-law, with whom I was also well acquainted. I was glad to hear that she has become much more active in the church since I last saw her. I left the Bishop's house and walked only about a block to the home of the Vasquez Bueno family. I was again well recieved, even invited to stay for lunch. Eddy, the oldest son, had just returned from his mission when I knew him. Now he is married with a baby boy, and another kid on the way. His wife, who I vaguely remember meeting (she lived only a few blocks away), had quite a bit to say about the length of my hair. In fact, she was quite addimant that my general appearence was not at all appropriate for a returned missionary such as myself, and that I had some major repenting to do. I of course defended myself, and I think I did a rather good job of it. However, she would not back down, and the debate stretched on for most of the meal. I left felt significantly less welcome than when I arrived. ¡A la goma con ella!
I had planned to travel to Mitla in the early afternoon, but as I hadn´t gotten to visit everyone I wanted to, I decided to spend another night in Oaxaca and go to Mitla in the morning. I called my friends to let them know, only to find that they had already rearranged their plans around my visit. So I dropped my plans, caught a bus to La Central, and, after a half-hour wait and a spectacular rain storm, caught another bus to Mitla.
Mitla is about an hour and a half out of Oaxaca, if you take the cheap bus, which of course I did. The ride was uneventful, and the scenery beautiful. Having never been to Mitla, I was a little worried that I'd miss my stop, but, as the bus only went as far as Mitla, I had nothing to worry about. A short ride in one of the three-wheeled mototaxis took me to the front door of the house of Mayra, Angela, Osmar, and Mataì, a family I had the privledge of helping to teach and baptize while serving as a missionary. Many hugs later, I was invited to sit down to a dinner of Oaxacan Mole con arroz. I don´t like mole at all, and the piece of meat I was given was quite disgusting. I think it was chicken. But I was greatful all the same.
I was exausted and just wanted to sleep, but Mayra (who had to go to Oaxaca for the night) had asked her cousin Egan to come pick me up and show me around the town. I had an hour before he was coming, so I decided to take a bit of a nap. It was while laying on the bed, stairing at the ceiling that the homesickness started setting in. I got as far as halfheartedly deciding to see if I could get my return flight changed to an earlier date before I fell asleep. I woke up at about nine to the sounds of someone (I correctly guessed Egan) talking in a loud voice outside my door. I was feeling much, much better. Egan turned out to be a very friendly 18 year old guy who was born and raised in the small, but growing, town of Mitla. We drove around for about two hours, stopping at the gas station, the Palacio Municipal (town hall), and a small food stand on the sidewalk where he bought an eskite (creamed corn) and I got a Platano Frito (deep fried banana!). We had an excellent conversation as we drove through the maze of streets that make up the town. Everywhere we went there were people sitting on porches, steps, and benches talking and enjoying the evening, or playing fùtbol in the streets. Before Egan dropped me off, a spectacular storm rolled in with spectacular displays of lightning. The town lost power, and was just coming on again when I fell asleep again, this time in a much more peaceful state of mind.
The day began slowly. I woke up around 8:30 with plans to pay a visit to some friends in another part of town, then travel about an hour and a half to a town called Mitla to visit other friends. After breakfast courtesy of the Che family, I packed my bag and headed out the door (a dangerous thing, according to Mr. Bilbo Baggins. Sorry I couldn´t resist a Lord of the Rings reference.). I hiked the half mile or so down the hill on which the Che family live and caught a bus to La Central to get some cash, and then to a colonia (barrio) called Pueblo Nuevo. I had made the same bus trip probably dozens of times as a missionary, and it was strange how similar it was this time. Actually, it is strange how similar everything is. Everything, with the exception of children who have grown, is just how I remember it. It feels like I'm in the middle of having a dream that I have had many times before.
I first found my way to Bishop Raciel´s house. He wasn`t home, but I had a good chat with his mother-in-law, with whom I was also well acquainted. I was glad to hear that she has become much more active in the church since I last saw her. I left the Bishop's house and walked only about a block to the home of the Vasquez Bueno family. I was again well recieved, even invited to stay for lunch. Eddy, the oldest son, had just returned from his mission when I knew him. Now he is married with a baby boy, and another kid on the way. His wife, who I vaguely remember meeting (she lived only a few blocks away), had quite a bit to say about the length of my hair. In fact, she was quite addimant that my general appearence was not at all appropriate for a returned missionary such as myself, and that I had some major repenting to do. I of course defended myself, and I think I did a rather good job of it. However, she would not back down, and the debate stretched on for most of the meal. I left felt significantly less welcome than when I arrived. ¡A la goma con ella!
I had planned to travel to Mitla in the early afternoon, but as I hadn´t gotten to visit everyone I wanted to, I decided to spend another night in Oaxaca and go to Mitla in the morning. I called my friends to let them know, only to find that they had already rearranged their plans around my visit. So I dropped my plans, caught a bus to La Central, and, after a half-hour wait and a spectacular rain storm, caught another bus to Mitla.
Mitla is about an hour and a half out of Oaxaca, if you take the cheap bus, which of course I did. The ride was uneventful, and the scenery beautiful. Having never been to Mitla, I was a little worried that I'd miss my stop, but, as the bus only went as far as Mitla, I had nothing to worry about. A short ride in one of the three-wheeled mototaxis took me to the front door of the house of Mayra, Angela, Osmar, and Mataì, a family I had the privledge of helping to teach and baptize while serving as a missionary. Many hugs later, I was invited to sit down to a dinner of Oaxacan Mole con arroz. I don´t like mole at all, and the piece of meat I was given was quite disgusting. I think it was chicken. But I was greatful all the same.
I was exausted and just wanted to sleep, but Mayra (who had to go to Oaxaca for the night) had asked her cousin Egan to come pick me up and show me around the town. I had an hour before he was coming, so I decided to take a bit of a nap. It was while laying on the bed, stairing at the ceiling that the homesickness started setting in. I got as far as halfheartedly deciding to see if I could get my return flight changed to an earlier date before I fell asleep. I woke up at about nine to the sounds of someone (I correctly guessed Egan) talking in a loud voice outside my door. I was feeling much, much better. Egan turned out to be a very friendly 18 year old guy who was born and raised in the small, but growing, town of Mitla. We drove around for about two hours, stopping at the gas station, the Palacio Municipal (town hall), and a small food stand on the sidewalk where he bought an eskite (creamed corn) and I got a Platano Frito (deep fried banana!). We had an excellent conversation as we drove through the maze of streets that make up the town. Everywhere we went there were people sitting on porches, steps, and benches talking and enjoying the evening, or playing fùtbol in the streets. Before Egan dropped me off, a spectacular storm rolled in with spectacular displays of lightning. The town lost power, and was just coming on again when I fell asleep again, this time in a much more peaceful state of mind.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Monte Alban, hitchhiking, etc
Having been invited by Hermana Hilaria, Stella and I made our way downtown to El Centro this morning for breakfast. We found Hilaria working at her small food stand on the sidewalk just outside of an elementary school. Every morning she is there making memelas to sell. Memelas are small (but thick) corn tortillas topped with beans, cheese, vegetable, meat, etc. We sat on plastic chairs on the sidewalk while Hilaria prepared the meal. The food was delicious, but Hilaria was perhaps a bit to generous-I was hard pressed to finish all six memelas she put on my plate.
After breakfast Stella and parted ways and I made my way to see the ruins of Mont
e Alban. The ruins are on top of a very large hill in the middle of the valley, and just getting there can be expensive. Since I didn´t want to pay 20 dollars for a five minute car ride (and of course the same to get back), I decided to find another way to get there. I took a bus that serves the neighborhoods on the side of the hill, and when it turned around I got off and started walking. I had only gone about a hundred metersm or 
so when a car approached me from behind. I stuck out my thumb, the car stopped, I got in, and my new friend Abner gave me a ride the rest of the way. So instead of 20 dollars I paid about 5 cents!The ruins themselves were fascinating. The entire hill top (a space the size of a few football fields) was levelled by the ancient people who lived there, and there they build many, many pyramids, buildings, and tombs, mostly for religious ceremonies and the observation of the sun and stars. I spent several hours exploring the grounds, climbing on pyramids, and taking pictures. At the back of the property, behind one of the big pyramids, was a small trail that led down the hill. I decided to follow it. It l
ed across the ridge of the hill and past several small hills that, upon closer inspection, turned out to be small pyramids or buildings that have yet to be excavated. I also found a small marker designating "Monte Alban Tomb 50." The only thing I saw was a few rocks on the ground.I left Monte
Alban on foot with the intent to hitchhike back to town. Once again the first car that passed picked me up. I spent what was left of the afternoon in an internet cafe, buying a new white shirt, tie, and pants, and I attended the 7 pm session at the Oaxaca Temple. On my way back to the Che´s house I stopped by the missionaries house where I had lived when I was in the Guelaguetza Ward. I spent a good hour and a half, maybe more, talking with the 6 missionaries that live there. It turns out that two of them were my "grandchildren." That is, I trained the missionaries that had trained them. They even let me use their shower. (There is always a water shortage in Oaxaca, I hadn´t bathed in too many days. But you didn´t need to know that.) I finally arrived at the Che residence at about 11pm to find a very worried family. Apparently 11 is incredibly late in Oaxaca.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Old Friends
Tuesday, August 12. My second day in Oaxaca
After a breakfast of two more tortas de quesillo, Stella, sister Che, and I drove
about 10 minutes to visit Brenda, the Che's oldest daughter who had just returned from serving a mission herself when I was in Oaxaca. Now she is married and has a year old baby boy. As most of the Che family don't know how to drive, their Dodge Stratus usually sits un-used on the street. So I was the driver. I had never driven as a missionary, but I knew how most people drive in Oaxaca. So I was a little nervous. After seeing more insanely dangerous maneouvers in 10 minutes than in the rest of my life, I fell into the mindset of "If everyone else is going to drive like locos, then so am I!" When in Rome, right?
After seeing Brenda and
her kid, I drove with Stella, who also just got back from her mission a week ago, and who I a pretty sure has a huge crush on me, to find an internet cafe. We were invited to eat lunch with the owner of the cafe, who also happened to be a member of the church. This particular member (an old lady who´s name escapes me) had introduced us to one of her renters named Hilaria, and her two teenage kids, claudia and Jesus. We (the missionaries) taught all three of them and all three of them had been baptized. Unfortunatly they no longer rented there, but did live quite close, we were told. We managed to find the place and were well recieved by Hermana Hilaria and Claudia. We had a pleasant visit, and were invited to breakfast the next morning. We happily accepted.
From there I dropped of Stella and, quite relieved to be on my own, drove to visit the Barragan family. Once again, a great visit and an invitation to return, this time to stay the night if I needed.
For dinner I found a taqueria I remembered and feasted on a huge plate of tacos al pastor, made
even tastier knowing that it was two for one night and I was paying about twenty cents per taco!
I made it to the Che´s house at twilight and took a short hike to the top the the hill they live on before ending the day with a terrible movie called Fragile.
After a breakfast of two more tortas de quesillo, Stella, sister Che, and I drove
about 10 minutes to visit Brenda, the Che's oldest daughter who had just returned from serving a mission herself when I was in Oaxaca. Now she is married and has a year old baby boy. As most of the Che family don't know how to drive, their Dodge Stratus usually sits un-used on the street. So I was the driver. I had never driven as a missionary, but I knew how most people drive in Oaxaca. So I was a little nervous. After seeing more insanely dangerous maneouvers in 10 minutes than in the rest of my life, I fell into the mindset of "If everyone else is going to drive like locos, then so am I!" When in Rome, right?After seeing Brenda and
her kid, I drove with Stella, who also just got back from her mission a week ago, and who I a pretty sure has a huge crush on me, to find an internet cafe. We were invited to eat lunch with the owner of the cafe, who also happened to be a member of the church. This particular member (an old lady who´s name escapes me) had introduced us to one of her renters named Hilaria, and her two teenage kids, claudia and Jesus. We (the missionaries) taught all three of them and all three of them had been baptized. Unfortunatly they no longer rented there, but did live quite close, we were told. We managed to find the place and were well recieved by Hermana Hilaria and Claudia. We had a pleasant visit, and were invited to breakfast the next morning. We happily accepted.From there I dropped of Stella and, quite relieved to be on my own, drove to visit the Barragan family. Once again, a great visit and an invitation to return, this time to stay the night if I needed.
For dinner I found a taqueria I remembered and feasted on a huge plate of tacos al pastor, made
even tastier knowing that it was two for one night and I was paying about twenty cents per taco!I made it to the Che´s house at twilight and took a short hike to the top the the hill they live on before ending the day with a terrible movie called Fragile.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
¡Estoy en Oaxaca!
After having been gone for one year and nine months, I have finally made it back to Oaxaca, Mexico! In case you don't know, Oaxaca is on the southwestern coast of Mexico, is one of the poorest states in the country, and is also where I served as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for nearly two years. Es la tierra de mi corazón. I had been wanting to come visit ever since I got back to the states, and now I'm finally here.
In order to make my 6am flight out of San Fransisco, I had to wake up at three-in-the-freakin'-morning. Going to bed at midnight didn't help things much. I flew from San Fransisco to Pheonix, from Pheonix to Mexico City, and from Mexico City to Oaxaca, arriving at about 7pm local time. As the plane made its descent into the valley of Oaxaca city, I was able to look out across the cloud-capped mountains and get my first glimpse of the place I had been looking forward to so much. This time of year the mountains that surround the city are green, lush, and absolutely gorgeous. As I stared out the window the feet of a large hill came into view. As I was thinking that it might be a good hill to hike, the top came into view, and I found myself face to face with the ruins of Monte Alban. I stared, transfixed, until the plane banked and the ruins dissapeared from view. What a welcome to Oaxaca.
I got through customs without a problem. In Mexico, customs consists of pushing a button and waiting for a red light or a g
reen light. Green means go ahead, red means "we are going to search you and look for excuses to take your stuff so we can have it." I got green and got to keep all of my stuff. I had called ahead, and a family I knew said they would put me up in their house, all I had to do was get there. The taxis at the airport have a complete monopoly on transportation and wanted 300 pesos for a trip that should have cost 50. Instead of getting robbed, I paid 100 pesos for a ride down town, and caught a 5 peso bus. The Che family is very, very poor. They live high up on the side of a large hill, and usually have to walk all the way up. I got lucky and caught the bus that dropped me off a mere quater mile away from their door. I climbed the concrete step, dirt road, and steep path to their house. Although I had not walked that path in more than two years, it was still familiar and I found the house without a problem. The Che's house is made of rough cinderblock walls and a corrugated aluminium roof. There are two rooms, with part of a sheet for a door between them. One room is the kitch
en, dining room, and master bedroom. The other is the living room (with TV!) and bedroom. The bathroom is a seperate "building" altogether. A total of four people live there now. I arrived at twilight and called out a "¡buenas noches!" to grey, unpainted building from the edge of the property. Immediatly the outline of a very short individual appeared at the door.
"¡Hermana Che!"
"¡Elder Hoggan!"
Two others, Brother Che and their daughter Stella, appeared on the front step, and hugs were given all around. I was fighting, not very hard, to hold back the tears.
I was treated to a dinner of two delicious tortas de quesillo. Simple but delicioso. After much conversation, it was time for bed.
In order to make my 6am flight out of San Fransisco, I had to wake up at three-in-the-freakin'-morning. Going to bed at midnight didn't help things much. I flew from San Fransisco to Pheonix, from Pheonix to Mexico City, and from Mexico City to Oaxaca, arriving at about 7pm local time. As the plane made its descent into the valley of Oaxaca city, I was able to look out across the cloud-capped mountains and get my first glimpse of the place I had been looking forward to so much. This time of year the mountains that surround the city are green, lush, and absolutely gorgeous. As I stared out the window the feet of a large hill came into view. As I was thinking that it might be a good hill to hike, the top came into view, and I found myself face to face with the ruins of Monte Alban. I stared, transfixed, until the plane banked and the ruins dissapeared from view. What a welcome to Oaxaca.
I got through customs without a problem. In Mexico, customs consists of pushing a button and waiting for a red light or a g
reen light. Green means go ahead, red means "we are going to search you and look for excuses to take your stuff so we can have it." I got green and got to keep all of my stuff. I had called ahead, and a family I knew said they would put me up in their house, all I had to do was get there. The taxis at the airport have a complete monopoly on transportation and wanted 300 pesos for a trip that should have cost 50. Instead of getting robbed, I paid 100 pesos for a ride down town, and caught a 5 peso bus. The Che family is very, very poor. They live high up on the side of a large hill, and usually have to walk all the way up. I got lucky and caught the bus that dropped me off a mere quater mile away from their door. I climbed the concrete step, dirt road, and steep path to their house. Although I had not walked that path in more than two years, it was still familiar and I found the house without a problem. The Che's house is made of rough cinderblock walls and a corrugated aluminium roof. There are two rooms, with part of a sheet for a door between them. One room is the kitch
en, dining room, and master bedroom. The other is the living room (with TV!) and bedroom. The bathroom is a seperate "building" altogether. A total of four people live there now. I arrived at twilight and called out a "¡buenas noches!" to grey, unpainted building from the edge of the property. Immediatly the outline of a very short individual appeared at the door."¡Hermana Che!"
"¡Elder Hoggan!"
Two others, Brother Che and their daughter Stella, appeared on the front step, and hugs were given all around. I was fighting, not very hard, to hold back the tears.
I was treated to a dinner of two delicious tortas de quesillo. Simple but delicioso. After much conversation, it was time for bed.
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