More Dissing of Chedraui

Here's some more Chedraui protest art. I can't get enough of this stuff.

Boo, Chedraui

Chedraui is evil!
Ah, Chedraui, that dirty, dirty supermarket chain, is up to some nefarious tactics. They wanted to open a store in our neighborhood, but the lot was filled with gorgeous, historic trees over a century old. So they set workers with chainsaws at the trees at 4am.

Neighbors rushed out of their houses and tried to stop the massacre, to no avail. They called the police, to less avail. And then, these street art signs started popping up around the lot, slamming Chedraui and Oaxaca in general for killing off beautiful natural resources.

For once, this story of Mexican corruption has a happy ending. There will be no Chedraui. The neighbors succeeded in blocking them. But the reason why they succeeded? My neighborhood just happens to be full of lawyers, politicians, and ex-politicans who had the pull to pull the plug.

These days I'm just happy to walk by the lot and peek in and see trees still standing amid fabulous undergrowth. Onto the next battle!

Street art glory

Oaxaca is full of graffiti, some of it really boring. Tons of tags and anarchy symbols. But how lucky are we to have this beautiful painting of a lucha libre wrestler playing guitar/mandolin with a mariachi at his side, just one block from our house? So lucky.

I'm Back

I'm so happy. We finally got a new digital camera, so I can start posting images here again. I find that this blog is the best way to remind me to see Oaxaca in a fresh way, to consider the everyday something beautiful again.

So I'll begin with this charming smiling ant, some sort of mascot for Itanoni, a restaurant that I love so much it haunts my dreams. Steve and I have lunch there every Friday while the kids are still at school, and that's part of the fun of it for me.

Itanoni is on Belisario Dominguez street in the Reforma district. They serve Zapotec cuisine. They are politicized and determined to maintain the many diverse species of corn that are indigenous to the Oaxaca region. So the tacos tend to be very textured tortillas, kind of nuggety, and the Tetelas are just crazy incredible. They fold some thick corn masa into a triangle and stuff it with wild mushrooms and Chiapas cream which, since I'm supposed to be a vegan, is quite the decadent thing. It's fun to get an agua de Jamaica to go with it--my favorite hibiscus flower tea--and they serve it in a charming little glass bottle.

I first heard of Itanoni in "1491", a book Steve was reading. They showed a picture, but gave no name or address. It was a terrible tease. But I posted to some Oaxaca forums and *blink* someone kindly sent me their name. Itanoni.

How Tejate captured me

It's gray. Or brown. Or something in between, liquid, with random bits of fluff floating in it, looking like it drained off of something. It's Tejate and, when I first saw it, I couldn't fathom how anyone would be brave enough to try it. It seemed to be what someone might discard on their way to concocting something better. The women mixing it stand over a giant bowl, mushing it around, dipping a painted gourd into its briny depths, excavating sludge to dish over more sludge.

But then Mats!? and Peri and Carrie visited, and had the intent to try Oaxaca's indigenous beverage. I didn't know its story, how it is unique to the region, due to one of the ingredients being the seeds of mamey (not to mention the skins), a local fruit. Other necessary ingredients are toasted corn, cacao, cinnamon, all ground with a metate. I didn't know that it was the drink of Zapotec kings, considered fortifying, medicinal, and even an aphrodisiac.

Peri was the one who dove in, at Abastos market, and got a gourd filled with the stuff. We all sampled it and I realized it didn't taste like old dishwater. I sort of liked it.

At another market a week later, I tried it again. There was a nutty, chocolate taste, but it was the sweet, creamy mamey fluff at the top that was enchanting. That was it. It crept into my bloodstream or overtook my mind, and I started to plan for it, memorizing market days and stalls where my favorite Tejate was brewed.

Tomorrow. Pochote. The woman at the top of the stairs. "Tejate en jircara" for 10 pesos. I'll be there, with a gourd in my hand, searching for that last foamy sip.

Yeni in a Calenda

I have mentioned before that I am wild for Oaxaca's calendas. These are crowded processionals/parties in the streets that might include cellophane lanterns held aloft on sticks and illuminated with candles, people in traditional ceremonial dress, monumental altars of flowers, people tossing candy from painted gourd bowls, a brass band, firecrackers, a bull fight with a pretend bull, and dancing. Somewhere I read that calendas historically were used to entice people to attend Catholic mass, with the processional leading to the church. My baby girl Genevieve was invited to be in the city-wide preschooler Calenda, thankfully not for religious purposes, but to announce the children's dance festival. A dear friend lent me the appropriate garb for Jenny. It was a beautifully embroidered blouse and bright orange skirt.

This was one jam-packed Calenda. In the picture below, you can see a lantern with colored cellophane. Max got to hold the gourd and passed the time tossing candy to onlookers. He took his job very seriously.

Calendas often have giant papier-mache puppets. The inside is hollow and people place it over their heads and shoulders and carry the whole thing for the event. I believe these are the same figures that Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo collected that are on display at the Museo Frida Kahlo in Mexico City. They call them Judas figures, and fill them with firecrackers, setting them off around Semana Santa.

It was a beautiful event and such an honor to be included in one of Oaxaca's most vivid folk traditions.

Holy Jesus, Batman

Some wild scenes go down around here at Semana Santa. First of all, "Holy Week" meant that the kids got 18 days off of school. But the party didn't stop there. On the Friday before Easter (help me here, God-believers, perhaps it's called Good Friday?), everyone in town turns out for a silent processional. There is the usual festive stuff--balloons, food, children running around--but the mood is ominous. I guess everyone is feeling sorry for the guy that's gonna go up on these crosses:

The men carrying the "parade floats" (for lack of a better word) of Jesus and various saints were dressed in little hoods with peaked caps. I couldn't stop thinking of the KKK.

And here's the man of the hour, looking just bloody and damaged the way he is often depicted in Mexico. Man, is it a relief just to watch these scenes and have no emotional connection, because this kind of stuff could make a person feel guilty!