One of the students in my class today, a fellow from Seattle said, "If I had the time, I'd live in Oaxaca for six months. I love it because of its culture." I said, "I might, too. But I wouldn't want to live within an American/Canadian community." One of the fascinating aspects of Oaxaca is its diversity -- it has something for everyone: concerts, theatre, tours, music, dance, incredible architecture, the indigenous peoples, the well off and the poverty stricken trying to make a way in life. You can find accommodations in a B&B or hotel, rent an apartment or house or find a home stay as we did.
We walk a lot, meander down streets passing women peeling fruit at their stalls, fathers carrying their young ones, men walking along tapping a large metal pot as any percussionist would -- but with a cup at the ready for donations. At any moment something beyond the mundane appears.
At noon today, we were shopping for fruit when a guy carrying two chairs and a table on his back walked by on the street. My mind's eye saw a porter in Nepal appear over the top of a huge slope with a table and a crate of chickens secured to his head strap.
In the town square mothers and fathers sell their wares until past nine in the evening, their kids running around fending for themselves. Tonight I watched a small boy of about four years, dressed in clean enough clothes, pick up a water bottle that someone had tossed on the ground, throw back his head and finish the contents. Parks are full of lovers because homes are so small.
Last night we attended an organ concert in the Catedral de Oaxaca -- the first of a week long organ festival in churches throughout the city. The sound soared throughout the massive 18th century stone structure. The church was built on the site of an earlier 16th century church destroyed by an earthquake. (We've had small earthquakes during the night since we arrived.)
We've just returned to our home stay from an Russian independent film with Spanish subtitles, "Elena" in the Macedonian Alcala theatre.The film won a prize at Cannes last year. The theatre knocked us off our feet. You'll see photos of it below -- one's showing beautiful gilded columns and box seats -- along with others that paint the stunning contrasts of this remarkable city.
I just helped Mariela take out the garbage. (She asked for my help.) When we arrived here she and her husband, Carlos, showed us to our room saying, "Nuestra casa es su casa." Our house is your house. The welcome has now taken on new level of meaning. We had to walk a whole block to the spot on the sidewalk where I suppose the bags will be picked up during the night. Despite Carlos' surgery, they asked us to remain here until we fly to Tuxtla if the airline is still in operation on Wednesday.
More pics and musings later. Be well.
No comments:
Post a Comment