On February 9, I was fortunate enough to travel to a beautiful, peaceful part of our planet named Oaxaca. While there, I explored the City of Oaxaca and the City of Mitla (both in Mexico). Amazing Zapotec Ruins, Incredible Cathedrals, Churches and Museums, side-walk cafes, a lovely wedding, etc. - were all part of my journey. These are very special places and ever since I got back, I've been writing a story about my travels there. Below, you will find the first part of what I saw and felt. I will try to complete the next section as soon as I can.
I hope you enjoy what I've written and your comments would be welcomed!
Oaxaca, Mexico: for many months, last year, I had been reading about the local uprising of the teachers in that region. They wanted more $ for themselves and for the schools in which they worked. The situation quickly escalated from a simple, peaceful protest to one in which the protestors barricaded an area in the main town square with calls for the resignation of the area’s governor. Many other groups joined the protestors and eventually the Federal government sent in troops to clear out the protestors. During one of the many confrontations, a young American journalist, Brad Will, was shot and killed as he was videotaping the events. Conflicting reports were put forth as to who shot him. He was a friend of one of my tenants who told me that the Mexican government itself was to blame. He said that his friend was a good, caring man who simply wanted to help. Wrong place, wrong time.
And so it was that I wondered if I was going to the wrong place at the wrong time. One of the Hispanic men that work for me had invited me to go to his wedding in Oaxaca. I really enjoy jumping into possibilities so I told him I would. I don’t speak Spanish. I knew nothing about Oaxaca except for what I had read in the recent news reports. But, I have an insatiable appetite for life and people. And besides, I love adventures!
********************Lisa, my wonderful, patient Girlfriend and I spent a few, hectic hours before our flight packing as little as we could in our two, respective carry-ons. I figured that a few simple clothes would be fine. The only luxury I decided to bring was a large, heavy, fake-lamb filled jeans jacket I had just bought at the local CVS Pharmacy.
LAX: Lisa drops me off to go park the car. For a moment, I think about leaving the heavy jacket in her car but decide that I may need it. Who knows what the weather will be like in Mexico?
Lisa hates and fears flying. She takes a pill to ease her jitters as we board the plane. I try to relax. I don’t mind flying; I just hate being confined in a small space for a long time (about 3 hours). I am an animal.
Mexico City Airport — 4-hour stopover. The airport is huge. We decide not to try and leave the airport to see what’s outside. Instead, we have something to eat and wait for our flight to Oaxaca. I amuse myself with one of my favorite pastimes: watching people. Two stand out for me.
One is a pretty but geeky looking young woman. Short, mousy light-brown hair, big glasses, very nice figure. She’s dressed in plain pants and a short-sleeved blouse. She looks like a college student who’s very bright and knowledgeable. I find women like her very sexy and intriguing.
The other person that catches my eye is a young-looking, very well groomed, blonde-haired man wearing a fashionable white outfit. He is standing by himself in a firm, confident manner watching the plane video log. He is relaxed and looks pleasant. Probably a model, I say to Lisa.
We board the plane and are instructed to sit next to “Model Man”. I ask him, “Se Habla Espanol?” (He does, I don’t.) I don’t know what to say when he lets me know that he’s from Austria. I mumble “Roose, Roose” (meaning: ‘I’m Russian’). He brightens up and replies in perfect Russian (which I do speak). I start translating for Lisa but quickly realize that Model Man also speaks perfect English.
His name is Karl; he is 48 years old (Europeans always seem more youthful!) and is an International Tour Guide. He seems to have many global places he calls home. Oaxaca, England, Austria. He is bright, articulate and engaging.
I ask him about the “Teacher / Leftists Uprising” in Oaxaca that I’ve been reading about — should I be concerned? He replies that it’s all over, that I won’t have any problems.
I tell him that we’re looking for a cheap place to stay. One quick call on his cell phone and he has a room reserved for us for $25. a night in a hostel. I thank him and we agree to stay in touch. (I tell him that he would be very welcome to stay at my home should he ever stop in Los Angeles.)
We land in Oaxaca around Midnight and take a taxi to the hostel. My adventure begins.
The taxi speeds it’s way through a myriad maze of streets made up of endless, darkened, concrete corridors of small, fortress-like dwellings with no spaces in-between. They seem like a science fiction writer’s concept of a bleak, futuristic world of ghostly, prison cell lives: no one goes in — no one comes out. I feel concerned. During our ride, I start to wonder if coming here was wise. Will my life and Lisa’s be ending here? I’m very tired and have no idea how stressed out I am from my daily life.
We arrive at the hostel whose name is La Casa Nostra. It is one of the countless, “fortress-like” dwellings on a small, well-traveled street. As I step inside, I am taken by how charming it is. A nice bar; very high ceiling; small, round metal dining tables: all inviting and friendly. The pretty, young Latina who is in charge takes us upstairs to our room. It also has a very high ceiling, no windows, 3 beds, yellow walls with bright, yellow fluorescent bulbs overhead. I find the unattractiveness attractive. I am tired and am glad to be able to relax. I stretch out on the bed and quickly fall asleep.
I wake up early in the morning and start exploring. Lots of potted plants, large paintings and a ping-pong table greet me in the cheerful, open and airy room outside my door. I go downstairs hoping to go outside, but find that a very large, heavy wooden double-door that opens out onto the street is chained shut. I decide to wait for it to be properly opened and go back upstairs. There is a narrow, light-steel stairway going up to the roof. It becomes my special, eye-opening portal to the Beautiful World of Oaxaca.
The sun has just appeared, casting a radiant, morning light on the awakening city. Hundreds of interesting structures and churches surrounded by close-by mountains fill my thirsty eyes. There is magic here. Down below, a few people are walking briskly here and there. Some cars move rapidly (but do not speed) down the narrow, ageless streets, using their horns to indicate annoyance at anyone who slows them down. Lisa joins me in my new rooftop watch post and marvels at the amazing panorama of life that’s spread out in front of us.
I’m ready. I want to mingle and meet these people. I need to feel their lives. Lisa and I go downstairs and find that the huge, double-doors have been opened to welcome us to Oaxaca. As we step outside of our temporary, fortress home, I take a deep, spiritual breath and begin my Walk of Discovery.