Feb 20th, 2012
Just up the hill from the resin-clouded, surfboard-ding-repair-shop, with dead-demi-boards stuck in the sand like mega-scale sharks teeth, is the local laundry mat. A 'morena' (dark skinned-indigenous) in her 'typica-guipil' ( native woven cotton blouse) runs the small operation with an air of perpetual distressed confusion and to the casual observer it IS confusion. The clear separation of distinct piles of various clients clothes is beyond the comprehension to this gringo eye, and perhaps hers as well. However and perhaps foolishly, I like to support the local people and the local economy and I don't want wet laundry hanging in an already too small room.
The brand-new, discount-store, travel-T-shirts have progressively, each washing, gotten smaller and tighter. Holes have appeared unaccountably like mold on the sides of a swimming pool. No worries. They were discount after all. However while wearing what one of my friends referred to as a 'disco-tight-T', a seventy-plus-year-old women proposed to me and on another day, up the coast in the middle of no-where, a gay taxi-cab hit on me.
Too much walking in the sun, and too much tropical heat and I was therefore quite densely confused by his lascivious looks.
' Why is he looking at me like that.'
'Oh. Ohhhhh..! Thanks, but no thanks, I just wanna swim.'
Who knew? A matrimony-disco-come-hither-t-shirt.
Interested? Send your t-shirts down. Give us a month of washings. Don't get mad if the white-'T' takes on holes, strange colors, the collar sags, the seams shred and it shrinks two sizes. Just wear and embrace the consequences! They must be worn in Southern Mexico and we give no guarantees. With this mere fifty dollar service you get a free, YESS FREE!, colorful 'typica' woven-string-bracelet.
Limited offer! We accept Pay-Pal.
Abrazos
Esteban
Monday, February 20, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Behind This Door...
(Feb 2012
Pto. Esc., Oax., Mx.
Conversational Spanish opens up many doors of various sizes and design: the drunken, nearly toothless, too friendly, wanna-be- paint-contractor apparently looking to internationally bond; the drug vender on Zicatella with the metallic-wrasp-voice, who gave me the free-gift-bud of weed, ( the old 'Time-share-free-gift-sales-technique) that I foolishly secreted into the vitamin jar for later re-gifting only to find it three weeks later cacooned in vita-spider-cotton ( Pollyanna didn't read the manual.); the young, beach 'palapa' vender and friend who wants me to track down an acoustic Fender guitar for him in the states, for less than $50 American, and of course ship it here for less than five dollars;
My favorite to date is the late-late-middle-aged-sisters of a palapa-restaurant on Manzanillo Beach, one of whom proposed to me for her 'abuelita' ( Little old lady) sister, who- mortified but aquiescing- washed dishes while she waited for my response.
"Esteban, where have you been? We haven't seen you for a while?"
" Sketching at different beaches, different 'palapas'. " I answer in Spanish.
"Esteban,'' she proffers " My sister is alone and you are alone." she pauses waiting for the intent of that comment to settle in.
' Oy boy, here we go.!'
" It's not good to be alone." she states, starting to build her case. Several days before while I was ensconced in one of her competitor's hammocks, she very eloquently spoke to a 'beach commission' meeting of restauranteurs and venders on the sand. This humble but bright woman out-shone all the American Republican presidential candidates by her ability to communicate cogent, sensible ideas, with sincerity, force. and conviction.
"Si Esteban, no es bueno andar solo" ( it isn't good to walk alone.)
"Quisas, quisas, pero es mi moda."( Maybe, maybe, but it is my manner.)
Then she peppers me with a series of 'alone-cognatives': Solo, solito, solita, soltero, soltera . Alone, Lonely. Single. Unlike Mitt Romney, she understood language. So in response I pepper her with family divorce stats, :
" Cuatro divorsiados por mi padre," ( 'Four divorces for my father'), (and I wait for the intent of that comment to settle in.
" Tres divorsiadas por mi madre,"( 'three for my mother' )....pause.
" Dos por mi hermano." ( 'Two for my brother.') ... pause.
"Estoy asustado del estado de matrimonio.!!" ( 'I am afraid of the state of marriage.')" Y"
(Andddd.) " muy contento." ...pause.
Concept: Eligible but not interested.
"Pero grascias. Muy amable." ( Thank you, very kind of you to offer.)
More mortification from the 'sister-dishwasher' . An awkward silence.
"Con permiso" ( With your permission) She nods, a look of disappointment on her face. Swimming goggles were grabbed and Donald Trump exit was made. Yes. Let's close that door, or in their case, beach curtain a.s.a.p. !
Abrazos
Esteban
Pto. Esc., Oax., Mx.
Conversational Spanish opens up many doors of various sizes and design: the drunken, nearly toothless, too friendly, wanna-be- paint-contractor apparently looking to internationally bond; the drug vender on Zicatella with the metallic-wrasp-voice, who gave me the free-gift-bud of weed, ( the old 'Time-share-free-gift-sales-technique) that I foolishly secreted into the vitamin jar for later re-gifting only to find it three weeks later cacooned in vita-spider-cotton ( Pollyanna didn't read the manual.); the young, beach 'palapa' vender and friend who wants me to track down an acoustic Fender guitar for him in the states, for less than $50 American, and of course ship it here for less than five dollars;
My favorite to date is the late-late-middle-aged-sisters of a palapa-restaurant on Manzanillo Beach, one of whom proposed to me for her 'abuelita' ( Little old lady) sister, who- mortified but aquiescing- washed dishes while she waited for my response.
"Esteban, where have you been? We haven't seen you for a while?"
" Sketching at different beaches, different 'palapas'. " I answer in Spanish.
"Esteban,'' she proffers " My sister is alone and you are alone." she pauses waiting for the intent of that comment to settle in.
' Oy boy, here we go.!'
" It's not good to be alone." she states, starting to build her case. Several days before while I was ensconced in one of her competitor's hammocks, she very eloquently spoke to a 'beach commission' meeting of restauranteurs and venders on the sand. This humble but bright woman out-shone all the American Republican presidential candidates by her ability to communicate cogent, sensible ideas, with sincerity, force. and conviction.
"Si Esteban, no es bueno andar solo" ( it isn't good to walk alone.)
"Quisas, quisas, pero es mi moda."( Maybe, maybe, but it is my manner.)
Then she peppers me with a series of 'alone-cognatives': Solo, solito, solita, soltero, soltera . Alone, Lonely. Single. Unlike Mitt Romney, she understood language. So in response I pepper her with family divorce stats, :
" Cuatro divorsiados por mi padre," ( 'Four divorces for my father'), (and I wait for the intent of that comment to settle in.
" Tres divorsiadas por mi madre,"( 'three for my mother' )....pause.
" Dos por mi hermano." ( 'Two for my brother.') ... pause.
"Estoy asustado del estado de matrimonio.!!" ( 'I am afraid of the state of marriage.')" Y"
(Andddd.) " muy contento." ...pause.
Concept: Eligible but not interested.
"Pero grascias. Muy amable." ( Thank you, very kind of you to offer.)
More mortification from the 'sister-dishwasher' . An awkward silence.
"Con permiso" ( With your permission) She nods, a look of disappointment on her face. Swimming goggles were grabbed and Donald Trump exit was made. Yes. Let's close that door, or in their case, beach curtain a.s.a.p. !
Abrazos
Esteban
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
'Copalita'- Huatulco Gem
Feb 2012
Pto. Esc. Mx.
Two hours drive south of Puerto Escondido in Huatulco (wah-tool-coe) on the Oaxacan coast is the stunning 'Copalita' Eco and Archeological Park. Huatulco is a federally sponsored and developed site, part of a more than thirty-year federal investment in the Huatulco planned tourist development that has long suffered -in the opinion of many- 'an absence of soul' . The original residents and fisherman, the very people that would have given the place a sense of community and context were removed ( and we foolishly hope repatriated within the area) , and an over-planned, over-designed, and over-sanitized resort appealing primarily to a wealthy Cancun-esque foreign clientele, was plopped like a plastic monopoly-board-New-Town upon the pristine coastline. Artistically 'stale' but yacht and McMansion-friendly, the community has lumbered and slumbered on for decades.
The recently constructed modern, 'sustainable' museum of ancient Mixtec artifacts, clearly a federal governments recent marketing coup for Huatulco, is a pleasing blend of timber pole supported roofs, hardwood and steel louvered curtain-glass-walls, textured cement walls and polished marble floors. The building blends seamlessly with the landscaped entrance- groves of golden bamboo contained in 'Richard Serra' oval shaped corten-steel planters- and the rustic natural site. Ceramics and artifacts from pre to post classic eras illustrate the Mixtec aesthetic.
The newly excavated Mixtec archeological site has been exposed to the river rock 'bones' and base of the original structures, while the finish treatments: the stucco, architectonic treatments and layered coloration and murals have long been gnawed on and consumed by 2200 years of torrential rains hurricanes, tree roots and probably warring tribes. A statuesque forty foot
Pipe Organ Cactus - the trunk the size of a mature oak tree- grew out of one corner of the temple illustrating the point. Temple mounds, and a smallish Mixtec ball-court gave a sense of what was, although the lack English speaking signage or scale models were missed interpretive opportunities.
Flagstone walks curve through the coastal scrub-tree forest, circle the mounds, courts, and temples and climb to the precipitous point overlooking the river estuary with feeding birds and large iguana far below. Directly below and north rocky isles, promontories and coves, laced and peppered the wind-carved, dry-season coastline . Frigate birds, gulls and vultures circled and floated in the breezes and thermals just yards out and above us. The breezes tempered the intense tropical sun so we could pause to absorb the beauty and power of the coastline.
Abrazos
Pto. Esc. Mx.
Two hours drive south of Puerto Escondido in Huatulco (wah-tool-coe) on the Oaxacan coast is the stunning 'Copalita' Eco and Archeological Park. Huatulco is a federally sponsored and developed site, part of a more than thirty-year federal investment in the Huatulco planned tourist development that has long suffered -in the opinion of many- 'an absence of soul' . The original residents and fisherman, the very people that would have given the place a sense of community and context were removed ( and we foolishly hope repatriated within the area) , and an over-planned, over-designed, and over-sanitized resort appealing primarily to a wealthy Cancun-esque foreign clientele, was plopped like a plastic monopoly-board-New-Town upon the pristine coastline. Artistically 'stale' but yacht and McMansion-friendly, the community has lumbered and slumbered on for decades.
The recently constructed modern, 'sustainable' museum of ancient Mixtec artifacts, clearly a federal governments recent marketing coup for Huatulco, is a pleasing blend of timber pole supported roofs, hardwood and steel louvered curtain-glass-walls, textured cement walls and polished marble floors. The building blends seamlessly with the landscaped entrance- groves of golden bamboo contained in 'Richard Serra' oval shaped corten-steel planters- and the rustic natural site. Ceramics and artifacts from pre to post classic eras illustrate the Mixtec aesthetic.
The newly excavated Mixtec archeological site has been exposed to the river rock 'bones' and base of the original structures, while the finish treatments: the stucco, architectonic treatments and layered coloration and murals have long been gnawed on and consumed by 2200 years of torrential rains hurricanes, tree roots and probably warring tribes. A statuesque forty foot
Pipe Organ Cactus - the trunk the size of a mature oak tree- grew out of one corner of the temple illustrating the point. Temple mounds, and a smallish Mixtec ball-court gave a sense of what was, although the lack English speaking signage or scale models were missed interpretive opportunities.
Flagstone walks curve through the coastal scrub-tree forest, circle the mounds, courts, and temples and climb to the precipitous point overlooking the river estuary with feeding birds and large iguana far below. Directly below and north rocky isles, promontories and coves, laced and peppered the wind-carved, dry-season coastline . Frigate birds, gulls and vultures circled and floated in the breezes and thermals just yards out and above us. The breezes tempered the intense tropical sun so we could pause to absorb the beauty and power of the coastline.
Abrazos
Esteban
Monday, February 13, 2012
It's Not A Motmot Dummie!
Feb 13th, 2112
Puerto Esc., Oax. Mx
Serious 'birders' and 'art-world-mavens' share many qualities: a thinly-disguised ( if disguised at all) competitiveness; a professorial yet sophomoric small-mindedness; a 'p.c.' -correctness' specific to their education and interest; and a self-entitled, immaculate-conception-provenance of their opinions-cum-knowledge- all a perfect set up for 'hubris-rich' comedy. A sweet and unpretentious birder in our group told of his 'on-line' posting of an unusual bird species in northern habitats only to be vilified and 'corrected' by other 'p.c.birders'
"That , IS NOT possible, as published guides state emphatically 'THEY AREN'T A LOCAL SPECIES!' ". Bird species are by nature opportunistic and migratory, as the uncharacteristic appearance of the Arctic Snow Owls in the lower forty-eight states will attest. Question the 'art-speak'-maxims,' of a 'serious Nazi-Art-Maven, and one is likely to get a similar visceral, condescending and dogmatic response . (Another time. Another story)
A group of Minnesotan friends, a light-hearted and sweet tempered Irish 'Corkian' couple , and I engaged a local 'birder and ecological expert' and guide for a early morning boat tour of Manialtepec Lagoon. Extremely uncharacteristic overnight February rain, and cloudiness blessed us with a cool sunny morning with extended avian watching of the nearly three-hundred possible avian species frequenting the lagoon inside, above, below and around the two species of mangroves and grassy, fresh water estuaries. We saw ninety species in a few hours!
One should fully appreciate and admire an eidetic (photographic) memory, particularly in the person of a serious ecological and avian guide. A dyslexic mind will confuse a Motmot - Blue crowned or not- with a tut tut or a muck-muck, if there is such a creature, and should not be engaged except for comic relief, although pedantic-eidetic guides are not renoun for their sense of humor. Ours had none. Crack a joke, get a laugh and watch his face pinch and contract like a fingers touch to the tender flesh of a lagoon mussel, a favorite to the many species of diving ducks. I tried to get excited about mud ducks, as common in Southern Idaho rivers as bed-bugs in a Cartagena or Puerto Escondido youth hostel.
" "Beeeeddd buggggs in unit sixxxxx!!!"
"RRRRuuddddyy duuuuckkks at two o'clock!" Very nautical that 'Two o'clock'. Like Columbian Drug Cartel captains who shout out,"DEA WWaaarrr Shhiopppps at two o'clock", to their crew.
Then of course the dyslexics in the group look off to 8:00 am, at the pelican in the far tree. Confused.
" Did he say Ruddy Duck?"
We did however get excited about the Golden-checked Woodpecker; the Citreoline Trogon, the Russet-crowned Motmot, ( I repeat, not not the 'Blue Crowned Motmot.); the balletic and thin-legged, lily-dancing, wing-flittery and flashing, Northern Jacana- my personal favorite; the raucous and nearly invisible green parrots in the native 'Figs'; and last but not least, the Laughing Gull .
At least someone was laughing. And cackling. The Gull and the Great Tailed Grackle.
And the old boozy broads twelve o'clock and miles away at at the bar.
'No, six o'clock-sssoouuthh'
Its's all good.
"Whiiiite-tthhhhoated Magpie-Jayyy attt fooouuur o'clockkkk!"
"Isn't that a Swallow?"
" No! right, not left... (dummie)"
'Ohhhh."
Abrazos
Esteban.
Puerto Esc., Oax. Mx
Serious 'birders' and 'art-world-mavens' share many qualities: a thinly-disguised ( if disguised at all) competitiveness; a professorial yet sophomoric small-mindedness; a 'p.c.' -correctness' specific to their education and interest; and a self-entitled, immaculate-conception-provenance of their opinions-cum-knowledge- all a perfect set up for 'hubris-rich' comedy. A sweet and unpretentious birder in our group told of his 'on-line' posting of an unusual bird species in northern habitats only to be vilified and 'corrected' by other 'p.c.birders'
"That , IS NOT possible, as published guides state emphatically 'THEY AREN'T A LOCAL SPECIES!' ". Bird species are by nature opportunistic and migratory, as the uncharacteristic appearance of the Arctic Snow Owls in the lower forty-eight states will attest. Question the 'art-speak'-maxims,' of a 'serious Nazi-Art-Maven, and one is likely to get a similar visceral, condescending and dogmatic response . (Another time. Another story)
A group of Minnesotan friends, a light-hearted and sweet tempered Irish 'Corkian' couple , and I engaged a local 'birder and ecological expert' and guide for a early morning boat tour of Manialtepec Lagoon. Extremely uncharacteristic overnight February rain, and cloudiness blessed us with a cool sunny morning with extended avian watching of the nearly three-hundred possible avian species frequenting the lagoon inside, above, below and around the two species of mangroves and grassy, fresh water estuaries. We saw ninety species in a few hours!
One should fully appreciate and admire an eidetic (photographic) memory, particularly in the person of a serious ecological and avian guide. A dyslexic mind will confuse a Motmot - Blue crowned or not- with a tut tut or a muck-muck, if there is such a creature, and should not be engaged except for comic relief, although pedantic-eidetic guides are not renoun for their sense of humor. Ours had none. Crack a joke, get a laugh and watch his face pinch and contract like a fingers touch to the tender flesh of a lagoon mussel, a favorite to the many species of diving ducks. I tried to get excited about mud ducks, as common in Southern Idaho rivers as bed-bugs in a Cartagena or Puerto Escondido youth hostel.
" "Beeeeddd buggggs in unit sixxxxx!!!"
"RRRRuuddddyy duuuuckkks at two o'clock!" Very nautical that 'Two o'clock'. Like Columbian Drug Cartel captains who shout out,"DEA WWaaarrr Shhiopppps at two o'clock", to their crew.
Then of course the dyslexics in the group look off to 8:00 am, at the pelican in the far tree. Confused.
" Did he say Ruddy Duck?"
We did however get excited about the Golden-checked Woodpecker; the Citreoline Trogon, the Russet-crowned Motmot, ( I repeat, not not the 'Blue Crowned Motmot.); the balletic and thin-legged, lily-dancing, wing-flittery and flashing, Northern Jacana- my personal favorite; the raucous and nearly invisible green parrots in the native 'Figs'; and last but not least, the Laughing Gull .
At least someone was laughing. And cackling. The Gull and the Great Tailed Grackle.
And the old boozy broads twelve o'clock and miles away at at the bar.
'No, six o'clock-sssoouuthh'
Its's all good.
"Whiiiite-tthhhhoated Magpie-Jayyy attt fooouuur o'clockkkk!"
"Isn't that a Swallow?"
" No! right, not left... (dummie)"
'Ohhhh."
Abrazos
Esteban.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
'Tututepec' And Back
Feb.9th, 2012
Puerto Escondido, Oax..Mx.
Prologue: The group was sitting in the shade enjoying a picnic lunch when the attacker lunged towards the host with a knife but was deflected only to murder the hosts brother-in-law. Some of the guests were- among other things- experienced hunters. The attacker did not live to see sundown.
Gina the local 'information Goddess', tour guide, and in this collapsing economy- former paid government tourist information booth operator ( which she still operates without salary) hosted two vans stuffed full of gringos in search for the ancient Mixtec ( Meeshj-tec) nation and culture. We drove northwest from Puerto in the canted morning light, skirting pastures of grazing Brahma and Holstein cows; ancient mangrove-lined lagoons: coconut, lime, mango and papaya orchards;verdant fields of sugar cane peanuts and corn; and primeval statuesque palms in a landscape at once Mexican, Thai, and Moroccan.
In route to Tututepec, we stopped at a charming hacienda-hotel, and Architect Zenon Felix Carrillo Robles, author of 'Yucu-Dzaa Tututepec Ancient History of the Mixtecs of the Oacacan Coast', (published in 2011) gave a fascinating talk supported by published copies of the Miztec codices, recovered from the British National Museum. He laid out the colorful folding picto-graphs on the saltillo tile floor, and in detail explained the significance figures, animals, symbols and scenes of the pictographs and sketched in for us thousands of years of Mixtec history. 'Ocho Venado' or Eight Deer (1063-1115 A.D.) , whose pictograph was rendered in what I would call baroque-Teotihuacanese-style, identified him with a deer head and eight suspended balls hanging in an 'L' shape. He forged the Mixtec kingdom that over a fifteen year period eventually covered more than 15,500 square miles. The territory, primarily mountainous, stretched from present day Acapulco to Puebla and to the southern stretches of the Oaxacan Pacific coast.
Our tour buses drove on to Tututepec, the former Miztec capital, site of Ocho Venado's royal residence, and a city and town continuously inhabited for 1600 years. Tututepec in the ninth and tenth centuries dwarfed the famous Teotihuacan pyramids outside of present day Mexico City in scale, power and importance. Unfortunately the Miztec pyramids and ruins remain buried and lost in the upland growth much as Mayan Palenque had once been before discovery, and lack of government funds suggest archeological explorations and renovations are doubtful in the near future. Present day Tututepec is a humble highland village of winding cobbled and concrete streets and homes of stone, adobe and concrete.
The highlights of the town included tours of the market; a local 'fabrica' of exquisite embroidered and beaded blouses and 'guipiles'; an introduction to the local 'viajita-cigarrera-tabaquera' ( Old Lady tobacco-grower-roller-seller ) and the archeological museum. The museum contains ceramics, shards, artifacts, tools, and larger carved stones in the shape of juguars and snakes. Two tall, carved, stone 'stelaes', one of a jaguar and the other of the moon goddess have historic, cultural and religious significance. One tall 'stelae', the image of the Mixtec moon goddess was for years buried under the plaza in front of the church. Local indigenous would mysteriously pray in the plaza before the rainy season, and eventually a priest figured out something of significance rested below. Stones and soil were removed and the moon goddess 'stelae' discovered. Devout Mixtec descendants rest their head against a circular indentation or portal ( Miztec 'Stargate'?) within a carved disc on the back side of the goddess to devine the degree of humidity emitted by the stone portal thus prognosticating the coming rainy season and crop success .
These 'stelae' were important fixtures in the world of 'Ocho Venado' as placating the gods who brought rain, sustenance, food, crops, prosperity, and success in war was essential. 'Ocho Venado' however gained empire not just through the ceremonial, but the practical: through military conquest, matrimonial alliances and more importantly for beating all his competitors at 'Tlatchtli' in the Nahuatl language, or 'Ulama', 'Amalla', or 'Miztec Pelota'. The ball-court sport with stone rings targets for the eight pound rubber balls, originated with the ancient Olmec civilization of the state of Veracruz and has been played in a variation of names, rules, places, millenia and more importantly consequence by the various subsequent Meso-American cultures: win and lose your head: win and the opponent loses his head: or win and you gain fame, fortune, alliances, territory, and kingships. Chila, a town fifteen minutes north of Puerto has 'Pilota Mizteca' games on weekends, although in a contemporary chain-linked-court. Losers probably buy the 'Chela' or beer as these days severed heads are left to 'drug lord' retributions.
Ocho Venado like David Beckham of soccer fame, was the sports superstar of his age. His wives were not famous singers but famous princesses of Meso-American fiefdoms and cultures he won by athletic prowess. Beckham and Ocho Venado both won sponsorship deals amounting to great riches, although Ocho Venado, as related in the picto-graph codices, courted political validation and legal recognition by kings and heads of state of contiguous empires from as far away as Puebla, and Chichen Itsa in the Yucatan , much like contemprary small nation states such as post-Kadafi-Libya have done with first world powers. Picto-graphs illustrate the crossing of alligator filled waters for these ambassadorial voyages.
Unfortunately envy, court intrigue, jealousy, greed, and murder stalked him in Macbethian fashion- as the aforementioned prologue is Ocho Venado's story. An attempt was made on his life by the in-laws, and his brother-in-law was killed- all documented in the codice pictographs. He mourned for the requisite year, then the following year the murderous in-laws were executed. He spared the life of a young boy, his half nephew, although tactically it was a grave error as twelve years later the half-nephew, now a man, returned the homicidal favor ending Ocho Venado's life and ultimately the empire. Ocho Venados's death, like the deaths of Charlemagne in medieval France, and Alexander the Great , spelled the end of the empires they created and sustained. Conflict, murder, partition, division and wars eviscerated the empires lacking the vigor,vitality, military and political brilliance of their former leaders. However the codices secure the fame that Ocho Venado desired. He lives on as an athletic super-star and nation builder.
Abrazos
Esteban
Puerto Escondido, Oax..Mx.
Prologue: The group was sitting in the shade enjoying a picnic lunch when the attacker lunged towards the host with a knife but was deflected only to murder the hosts brother-in-law. Some of the guests were- among other things- experienced hunters. The attacker did not live to see sundown.
Gina the local 'information Goddess', tour guide, and in this collapsing economy- former paid government tourist information booth operator ( which she still operates without salary) hosted two vans stuffed full of gringos in search for the ancient Mixtec ( Meeshj-tec) nation and culture. We drove northwest from Puerto in the canted morning light, skirting pastures of grazing Brahma and Holstein cows; ancient mangrove-lined lagoons: coconut, lime, mango and papaya orchards;verdant fields of sugar cane peanuts and corn; and primeval statuesque palms in a landscape at once Mexican, Thai, and Moroccan.
In route to Tututepec, we stopped at a charming hacienda-hotel, and Architect Zenon Felix Carrillo Robles, author of 'Yucu-Dzaa Tututepec Ancient History of the Mixtecs of the Oacacan Coast', (published in 2011) gave a fascinating talk supported by published copies of the Miztec codices, recovered from the British National Museum. He laid out the colorful folding picto-graphs on the saltillo tile floor, and in detail explained the significance figures, animals, symbols and scenes of the pictographs and sketched in for us thousands of years of Mixtec history. 'Ocho Venado' or Eight Deer (1063-1115 A.D.) , whose pictograph was rendered in what I would call baroque-Teotihuacanese-style, identified him with a deer head and eight suspended balls hanging in an 'L' shape. He forged the Mixtec kingdom that over a fifteen year period eventually covered more than 15,500 square miles. The territory, primarily mountainous, stretched from present day Acapulco to Puebla and to the southern stretches of the Oaxacan Pacific coast.
Our tour buses drove on to Tututepec, the former Miztec capital, site of Ocho Venado's royal residence, and a city and town continuously inhabited for 1600 years. Tututepec in the ninth and tenth centuries dwarfed the famous Teotihuacan pyramids outside of present day Mexico City in scale, power and importance. Unfortunately the Miztec pyramids and ruins remain buried and lost in the upland growth much as Mayan Palenque had once been before discovery, and lack of government funds suggest archeological explorations and renovations are doubtful in the near future. Present day Tututepec is a humble highland village of winding cobbled and concrete streets and homes of stone, adobe and concrete.
The highlights of the town included tours of the market; a local 'fabrica' of exquisite embroidered and beaded blouses and 'guipiles'; an introduction to the local 'viajita-cigarrera-tabaquera' ( Old Lady tobacco-grower-roller-seller ) and the archeological museum. The museum contains ceramics, shards, artifacts, tools, and larger carved stones in the shape of juguars and snakes. Two tall, carved, stone 'stelaes', one of a jaguar and the other of the moon goddess have historic, cultural and religious significance. One tall 'stelae', the image of the Mixtec moon goddess was for years buried under the plaza in front of the church. Local indigenous would mysteriously pray in the plaza before the rainy season, and eventually a priest figured out something of significance rested below. Stones and soil were removed and the moon goddess 'stelae' discovered. Devout Mixtec descendants rest their head against a circular indentation or portal ( Miztec 'Stargate'?) within a carved disc on the back side of the goddess to devine the degree of humidity emitted by the stone portal thus prognosticating the coming rainy season and crop success .
These 'stelae' were important fixtures in the world of 'Ocho Venado' as placating the gods who brought rain, sustenance, food, crops, prosperity, and success in war was essential. 'Ocho Venado' however gained empire not just through the ceremonial, but the practical: through military conquest, matrimonial alliances and more importantly for beating all his competitors at 'Tlatchtli' in the Nahuatl language, or 'Ulama', 'Amalla', or 'Miztec Pelota'. The ball-court sport with stone rings targets for the eight pound rubber balls, originated with the ancient Olmec civilization of the state of Veracruz and has been played in a variation of names, rules, places, millenia and more importantly consequence by the various subsequent Meso-American cultures: win and lose your head: win and the opponent loses his head: or win and you gain fame, fortune, alliances, territory, and kingships. Chila, a town fifteen minutes north of Puerto has 'Pilota Mizteca' games on weekends, although in a contemporary chain-linked-court. Losers probably buy the 'Chela' or beer as these days severed heads are left to 'drug lord' retributions.
Ocho Venado like David Beckham of soccer fame, was the sports superstar of his age. His wives were not famous singers but famous princesses of Meso-American fiefdoms and cultures he won by athletic prowess. Beckham and Ocho Venado both won sponsorship deals amounting to great riches, although Ocho Venado, as related in the picto-graph codices, courted political validation and legal recognition by kings and heads of state of contiguous empires from as far away as Puebla, and Chichen Itsa in the Yucatan , much like contemprary small nation states such as post-Kadafi-Libya have done with first world powers. Picto-graphs illustrate the crossing of alligator filled waters for these ambassadorial voyages.
Unfortunately envy, court intrigue, jealousy, greed, and murder stalked him in Macbethian fashion- as the aforementioned prologue is Ocho Venado's story. An attempt was made on his life by the in-laws, and his brother-in-law was killed- all documented in the codice pictographs. He mourned for the requisite year, then the following year the murderous in-laws were executed. He spared the life of a young boy, his half nephew, although tactically it was a grave error as twelve years later the half-nephew, now a man, returned the homicidal favor ending Ocho Venado's life and ultimately the empire. Ocho Venados's death, like the deaths of Charlemagne in medieval France, and Alexander the Great , spelled the end of the empires they created and sustained. Conflict, murder, partition, division and wars eviscerated the empires lacking the vigor,vitality, military and political brilliance of their former leaders. However the codices secure the fame that Ocho Venado desired. He lives on as an athletic super-star and nation builder.
Abrazos
Esteban
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Battalions Locking Swords
Jan. 31st, 2012 Puerto Escondido, Oax., Mx.
At dawn, even before some unknown soldier at the military battalion above the highway played revelry on his trumpet, a shopping list was made for the weeks essentials. The first mission was to try to find a 'papeleria' that sold art supplies, and very primitive, cheap facsimiles were found within fifteen minutes of reaching town on the five peso 'collectivo'. 'Super Che'-Puerto's first true SUPER market was the second destination of the morning thereby giving the two cups of coffee, bran cereal and fruit salad of breakfast plenty of time to ferment and join forces. A battalion as it were, ready for morning excercises. The 'cajeros' or cash machines in 'Super Che' were installed after the official store opening, clearly an afterthought although a profitable one. Having the 'banos' or restrooms beyond and down the hallway from the 'cajeros' or money machines might seem like an insignificant detail- unless of course you are a middle-aged man who has foolishly consumed a breakfast of diuretics and purgatives.
After checking my 'mochila'-bag, I headed to the restroom only to discover that the money machines were being emptied of cash and filled with crisp, new bills. Soldiers brandishing guns and very serious, don't- f**k-with-me expressions, guarded the process and blocked access to the banos.
"Cuanto tiempo hasta la libertad del los banos? ( How long till the liberation of the restrooms?) I ask.
"Una Hora." ( One hour.) he stated emphatically, not appreciating my early morning military joke.
"Una Hora!!!" , I repeat, jumping up and down indicating my desperation. . . The soldier didn't smile, he just raised his gun slightly as if it were an eyebrow, indicating this is not up for discussion.
At this point I counted the soldiers, and more importantly their armaments. Three soldiers with what looked to be automatic rifles. Uzi's?
I again gave the soldier a pleading look and grabbed my 'pistol', hoping we could do our machismo male bonding over our dicks and their requirements. He just ignored me.
' Hmm... ' went the desperate thinking process, ' I could untie my board shorts in prep, run past the first guard, tackle the second and third, drop my drawers and slide into the mens room, lock the door and ...' Just then the guard caught my eye and gave me an exceptionally surly look.
' And then they shoot me through the door. This is mission impossible. Madness. I don't want make the Mexico City lead evening TV Crime and Violence Story'
" American tourist attempts robbery of 'cajero'". And then of course the bloody image, uncensored as Mexican viewers are arguably even more blood-thirsty than American viewers.
"Never mind."
The grocery shopping list immediately got reduced to just bottled water. No treats. No goodies. No essentials. The needs of my fermenting battalion loosing to their well-armed battalion.
Mexico finally won a war!
Abrazos
Esteban
At dawn, even before some unknown soldier at the military battalion above the highway played revelry on his trumpet, a shopping list was made for the weeks essentials. The first mission was to try to find a 'papeleria' that sold art supplies, and very primitive, cheap facsimiles were found within fifteen minutes of reaching town on the five peso 'collectivo'. 'Super Che'-Puerto's first true SUPER market was the second destination of the morning thereby giving the two cups of coffee, bran cereal and fruit salad of breakfast plenty of time to ferment and join forces. A battalion as it were, ready for morning excercises. The 'cajeros' or cash machines in 'Super Che' were installed after the official store opening, clearly an afterthought although a profitable one. Having the 'banos' or restrooms beyond and down the hallway from the 'cajeros' or money machines might seem like an insignificant detail- unless of course you are a middle-aged man who has foolishly consumed a breakfast of diuretics and purgatives.
After checking my 'mochila'-bag, I headed to the restroom only to discover that the money machines were being emptied of cash and filled with crisp, new bills. Soldiers brandishing guns and very serious, don't- f**k-with-me expressions, guarded the process and blocked access to the banos.
"Cuanto tiempo hasta la libertad del los banos? ( How long till the liberation of the restrooms?) I ask.
"Una Hora." ( One hour.) he stated emphatically, not appreciating my early morning military joke.
"Una Hora!!!" , I repeat, jumping up and down indicating my desperation. . . The soldier didn't smile, he just raised his gun slightly as if it were an eyebrow, indicating this is not up for discussion.
At this point I counted the soldiers, and more importantly their armaments. Three soldiers with what looked to be automatic rifles. Uzi's?
I again gave the soldier a pleading look and grabbed my 'pistol', hoping we could do our machismo male bonding over our dicks and their requirements. He just ignored me.
' Hmm... ' went the desperate thinking process, ' I could untie my board shorts in prep, run past the first guard, tackle the second and third, drop my drawers and slide into the mens room, lock the door and ...' Just then the guard caught my eye and gave me an exceptionally surly look.
' And then they shoot me through the door. This is mission impossible. Madness. I don't want make the Mexico City lead evening TV Crime and Violence Story'
" American tourist attempts robbery of 'cajero'". And then of course the bloody image, uncensored as Mexican viewers are arguably even more blood-thirsty than American viewers.
"Never mind."
The grocery shopping list immediately got reduced to just bottled water. No treats. No goodies. No essentials. The needs of my fermenting battalion loosing to their well-armed battalion.
Mexico finally won a war!
Abrazos
Esteban
Monday, January 30, 2012
Los 'Animalitos' in the Hood
Jan 30th 2012 Pto. Esc. Oax, Mx.
The packs of wild and very aggressive dogs of past years known to occasionally attack beach walkers- although they generally favored motorcyclists feet, (a true delicacy for the dogs and known to them as 'cucarachas del motorcycles' )- have largely been exterminated. I check in on a wild black beach dog with her few-days-old litter, who sleeps in the sand, coffee cups and plastic , under the shade of a small glossy-leaved 'Beach Almond' in the arroyo between the vehicular and pedestrian bridges on Zicatella beach. She like her beach compatriots can behave aggressively with a passers by, growling, nashing her teeth and behaving like bitches will. ( Married wives of gay husbands act remarkably similar) . I fear she may not be long for this world too, culled for her threatening ways.
Yesterday just below me in the shallows of Carrizalillo bay a polka-dot Manta Ray with narrow three foot tail, extended and flapped its two foot wings in slow motion and with sublime balletic grace, oblivious to the gringo swimmer. Several years back and a thirty minute 'collectivo' ride up the coast, I swam with a seven to eight foot , Darth Vader-charcoal colored Manta Ray, so by comparison this little girl looked festive and cute with her 'Nemoesque' polka dots. The Jewel Moray Eel, Parrot fish, and Puffer Fish just a hundred yards and two rocks over also sport spots and polka-dots, as does a weathered 'Abuelita' in Mexican 'dotted swiss' uptown.
The local long tailed crow-gackles 'or 'Senates' as they are known here bathe in the shallow 'benches' of our small hotel swimming pool, three to six at at time with sentry bird nervously pacing the white concrete edge. Late afternoon when backlit by the westerly sun, their very physical wing and feather flipp-drying technique shoots water drops in a wide arc of one to two meters, and on further thought, perhaps bird mites. Which begs the question,, " How much clorinated water does it take to kill a bird mite?" Not to worry, I swim with poison eels and snakes and sharks and even sometimes Orcas every day.
Two four inch brown bats hang under the alcove of the cement stairs to my room. Why I looked there I can't say-no stone unturned- but I startled one , and she me, when she flew out practically in my face. They are good mosquito hunters, or at least I am assuming they aren't Vampire Bats like in Nicaragua.
I am naming the bat pair Cortes' and Malinche, after the Spanish conquerer of Mexico and his indigenous guide, lover, and mother of his child. Malinche has been traditionally vilified in Mexico for being a traitor to her race, and first parent of Mestizo, or half-breed as Cher would sing. Given the choice, to continue enslavement by a Mayan tribe, or become a guide, translator, and wife to Mexico's prestigious conquerer and ruler, what would you do? Certainly you've read of the horrors the enslaved might entail in that brutal Aztecian era. Severed enemy heads and hearts dropped like Beach Almond fruits. Given the choice, most of us would probably grab the gilded, silken cape, and enjoy the prestige of power and the benefits of travel as Malinche did.
They named their son Martin. Yes Martin. Pretty boring as names go. We can only imagine the discussion between Malinche and Cortes' on their future childs name. She probably wanted something like Xochijuapanato, a fitting name for the son of the former princess of Paynala, and he wanted Philipe. They compromised on Martin. Not very imaginative, but then Cortes' was known more for his ruthlessness than his creativity.
Therefore, in honor of Malinche, I'm naming the first stairwell alcove bat sired by the sweet couple: 'Xochijuapanato'. Heres to you Malinche!
Abrazos
Esteban
The packs of wild and very aggressive dogs of past years known to occasionally attack beach walkers- although they generally favored motorcyclists feet, (a true delicacy for the dogs and known to them as 'cucarachas del motorcycles' )- have largely been exterminated. I check in on a wild black beach dog with her few-days-old litter, who sleeps in the sand, coffee cups and plastic , under the shade of a small glossy-leaved 'Beach Almond' in the arroyo between the vehicular and pedestrian bridges on Zicatella beach. She like her beach compatriots can behave aggressively with a passers by, growling, nashing her teeth and behaving like bitches will. ( Married wives of gay husbands act remarkably similar) . I fear she may not be long for this world too, culled for her threatening ways.
Yesterday just below me in the shallows of Carrizalillo bay a polka-dot Manta Ray with narrow three foot tail, extended and flapped its two foot wings in slow motion and with sublime balletic grace, oblivious to the gringo swimmer. Several years back and a thirty minute 'collectivo' ride up the coast, I swam with a seven to eight foot , Darth Vader-charcoal colored Manta Ray, so by comparison this little girl looked festive and cute with her 'Nemoesque' polka dots. The Jewel Moray Eel, Parrot fish, and Puffer Fish just a hundred yards and two rocks over also sport spots and polka-dots, as does a weathered 'Abuelita' in Mexican 'dotted swiss' uptown.
The local long tailed crow-gackles 'or 'Senates' as they are known here bathe in the shallow 'benches' of our small hotel swimming pool, three to six at at time with sentry bird nervously pacing the white concrete edge. Late afternoon when backlit by the westerly sun, their very physical wing and feather flipp-drying technique shoots water drops in a wide arc of one to two meters, and on further thought, perhaps bird mites. Which begs the question,, " How much clorinated water does it take to kill a bird mite?" Not to worry, I swim with poison eels and snakes and sharks and even sometimes Orcas every day.
Two four inch brown bats hang under the alcove of the cement stairs to my room. Why I looked there I can't say-no stone unturned- but I startled one , and she me, when she flew out practically in my face. They are good mosquito hunters, or at least I am assuming they aren't Vampire Bats like in Nicaragua.
I am naming the bat pair Cortes' and Malinche, after the Spanish conquerer of Mexico and his indigenous guide, lover, and mother of his child. Malinche has been traditionally vilified in Mexico for being a traitor to her race, and first parent of Mestizo, or half-breed as Cher would sing. Given the choice, to continue enslavement by a Mayan tribe, or become a guide, translator, and wife to Mexico's prestigious conquerer and ruler, what would you do? Certainly you've read of the horrors the enslaved might entail in that brutal Aztecian era. Severed enemy heads and hearts dropped like Beach Almond fruits. Given the choice, most of us would probably grab the gilded, silken cape, and enjoy the prestige of power and the benefits of travel as Malinche did.
They named their son Martin. Yes Martin. Pretty boring as names go. We can only imagine the discussion between Malinche and Cortes' on their future childs name. She probably wanted something like Xochijuapanato, a fitting name for the son of the former princess of Paynala, and he wanted Philipe. They compromised on Martin. Not very imaginative, but then Cortes' was known more for his ruthlessness than his creativity.
Therefore, in honor of Malinche, I'm naming the first stairwell alcove bat sired by the sweet couple: 'Xochijuapanato'. Heres to you Malinche!
Abrazos
Esteban
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