Like many places in the world Oaxaca has it´s own traditional drink, Mezcal, and I can´t lie, I´ve grown quite fond of the stuff. Mezcal is similar to Tequila in that it is made from a type of the agave cactus, Mezcal from the Maguey, and Tequila from the Blue Agave, but the taste is entirely different. I will however concede that the effects have somewhat of a likening to each other. Now I will make no claim to be even something like a specialist on Mezcal but I do think that a couple of nasty hangovers and a trip to the Mezcal Palenque to see how it´s made qualify me to give at least a brief description.
One of the things that I like about Mezcal is that while it´s widely commercially produced it still has a great tradition of local production. Not every town, but many of them, have a Palenque where Mezcal is produced for sale locally. You won´t find any frosted bottles, fancy labels, or catchy slogans here though. No my friend you´re taking home your Mezcal in a recycled water bottle or a plastic gas can.
My First encounter with Mezcal came this last December when I came to Oaxaca to go to a friends wedding. I spent the first night in the city and found my way to a somewhat famous bar by the name of ¨Casa de Mezcal.¨ I promptly proceeded to get myself nice and liquored up, little did I know the abundance in which it would soon be available to me.
Mezcal at the wedding was something of an obligation, it seemed to be as central to the ceremony as, well, the bride and groom. A few guests were assigned the job of circulating through the party and serving up shots of Mezcal, and they took their task quite seriously. Once they offered you a shot you were taking it whether you had come to that realization yet or not. They all had the same approach as well, a typical pitch went some thing like the following.
- ¨¿Un Mezcalito?¨
For my non-spanish speaking amigos the –ito at the end signifies little. It would be sort of like saying, ¨one little shot of Mezcal?¨ Which is already a bit silly because as we all know a shot is a shot, and even if you did ask for a small one the glass was always over flowing by the time it reached your hand.¨
- ¨No, no I´m good,¨ you respond.
- ¨Oh come on, just one, no more than one.¨
- ¨No I just took one from that other guy.¨
- ¨Oh, but this is different, this is apart from that.¨
At this point you´re thinking, ¨What´s that supposed to mean?¨
- ¨That was that bottle, this is this bottle,¨ he then continues.
Seeing as it all came from the same larger container originally this is just completely ridiculous. It´s more or less the equivalent of saying;
¨Hey take a bite of this end of the hot dog.¨
¨No I just took a bite of the other end.¨
¨But that was that end, this end is completely different.¨
Now, seeing that you´re not budging, he changes up his approach and goes ahead and pours the shot.
- ¨Now it´s poured so you´ve gotta take it,¨ he says.
- ¨No I don´t,¨ you reply somewhat indignantly, adding a wag of the finger in an attempt to drive your point home.
- ¨Well what am I gonna do with it than?¨
What you feel like telling the guy is, ¨Hey asshole why don´t you take the damn thing. I´m already half way shitfaced and you´re the one who poured it anyways!¨
But, of course, in the spirit of the party and much to your own chagrin, and much to the pleasure of the mezcalero, you end up taking the shot. And he moves on to try his argument on the next sorry sucker who hasn´t yet acknowledged that he or she is about to take a shot of Mezcal.
Seeing as they´ve got god knows how many gallons of the stuff and five or six guys circulating through the crowd it´s never too long before some one else shows up offering you, ¨un mezcalito, solo uno…¨
Thursday, March 5, 2009
A Devilish Affair - Carnaval in San Martin
So the journey continues...I said farewell to Guatemala and Los Patojos and headed north to Mexico to visit my friend Bailin. Bailin and I worked together in Santa Cruz and he has since moved back to his home town of San Martin Tilcajete. San Martin is a small simple town about 40-min outside of the city of Oaxaca. When I say simple, I mean simple. Dirt roads, not a single hotel, restaurant, bar, or anything really. The only thing that draws any attention to San Martin is it´s tradition of artesian wood carvings and the yearly Carnaval celebration, which is what I had come for. I had come to San Martin in December to attend Bailin´s wedding and after hearing the stories of Carnaval decided that I had to come back and see it myself.
The purpose of Carnaval, I found out once here, is to celebrate the coming of Lent. The peak day of the party is always the Tuesday before Lent begins. While it´s all once Carvaval there´s really two celebrations going on at the same time. The first involves costumes and a mock wedding. The second is equal parts noise, beer, and motor oil.
The official Carnaval celebration starts Monday night with a costume ball of sorts. Folks get dressed up Halloween style and they have a dance in the central square. Those in costume dance around while most of the rest of town comes out to socialize and watch the goings on. Tuesday night is largely a repeat of the same but with a costume contest in which the cheers of the crowd decide a winner. During the day on Tuesday one of the families in town hosts a mock wedding in which two guys get married. One of them dressed quite convincingly as a women. Apparently they follow all the same traditions as a normal wedding, however I must admit I missed most of it as I was busy taking part in the ¨other¨ celebration.
Each Sunday for a few weeks leading up to Carnaval and especially on the Monday and Tuesday of the party a bunch of guys, mostly in their 20´s, dress up as devils and run around the streets just generally making noise and wreaking havoc. While some people wear actual costumes, mostly the little kids, the traditional devil outfit consist of facepaint of a mask of some kind, as many cowbells as you can get your hands on tied around your waist, a stick, rope, chain or something you can wave around, and the best part, you go shirtless and completely cover yourself in used motor oil. Die is added to the oil, either red or black, to increase the effect. As the oil obviously doesn´t dry as regular paint would your are transformed into a shining, glistening, very loud, and hopefully terrifying devil.
The purpose of the exercise is nothing more than to make as much noise as possible and give people a start whenever possible. All the devils run through the streets screaming and shouting and the cowbells really make a lot of noise, especially when you´re in a group, which you almost always are fro even if you set out with only a couple you quickly run into others and the groups grows and grows.
The game of it all is that the painted devils try or pretend to try to paint the other people they see throughout the day. The oil is hard enough to get off your skin and damn near impossible to get out of clothes so understandably nobody wants to get painted.
On Sunday and at the beginning of the day on Monday and Tuesday the painting was pretty innocent. Maybe a couple of fingers smeared across the cheek, or a grasp of the fore-arm, at most a slap on the back or shoulder. However as the party goes on the painting got worse, and understandably so as the other main activity was drinking.
There are a few unofficial rendezvous points where the devils gather in mass throughout the day, the only one of which didn´t involve drinking was the elementary school right at the hour the kids got out. While San Martin doesn´t have any bars it is host to a few little tiendas, most of which are just a spare room in somebody´s house stocked with the essentials, which of course includes cerveza.
Every hour or so, well maybe half hour, the group would find it´s way to one of the tiendas. Someone would buy a case of beers, on credit, no on carried money as it would just get covered in oil, and pass them around.
Another chief meeting point was the house where the official party was taking place. You had to make an entrance with lots of noise and a lap around the party, but then they offered refreshments of water, juice, beer(of cousre), and no party here would be complete without Mezcal. Of which there was no shortage.
So as the day wore on and the devils got more devilish the painting got worse. The group mentality was also in full effect. Often times the first devil to paint someone would just give them a little swipe but then everyone else had to get in on the action so by the time the group passed the innocent spectator would be left with face, arms, and hands pretty well covered. A few unfortunate souls fell victim to not just a hug but a group hug. Once the first person crossed the line it was as if the group decided, ¨alright, this persons getting it!¨ The rest would jump in like a pack of ravenous dogs going for the kill. With hoots and hollers of triumph the pack would quickly move on leaving in their wake a victim in dire need of a shower and a new wardrobe.
One unfortunate hombre, a fellow devil but in costume rather than paint, actually got his shirt stripped off by the pack and body completely painted. By the end of the day there was hardly a person in town that escaped with out at least a mark of some kind.
Bailin and I went running all three days possible while I was in San Martin. On Sunday I had yet to actually witness the goings on so I decided to forego the oil and just use some colorful paints. I painted my face, arms, legs, and a shirt, and topped it off with a colorfully painted hat. It was definitely a good and creative paint job but seeing as I looked more like a parrot head on my way to a Jimmy Buffet concert than a terror invoking devil I decided to change it up a bit for Monday. I started off with oil on my arms and legs but retained the shirt. That didn´t last long however as at the first cerveza stop the of the group insisted I go gull blast. So I striped the shirt and donned the motor oil. Tuesday I didn´t bother with shirt and went oil from the get go.
According to Bailin´s family I was something of a star and the talk of the town as no one could recollect a ¨gringo¨ ever actually taking part in the painting before. In the week since I´ve had a number of total strangers, the barber, the lady working at the tienda, and a few people just on the street, strike up a conversation about how I painted myself.
It was an interesting reversal of roles to take part in the celebration. While I had come here to see what their festival was like I quickly became the observed rather than the observer. Furthermore San Martin has next to no tourists on a normal day, maybe the occasional person coming to buy a carving, but for Carnaval a couple of van loads of heavily laden fellow gringos showed up to see the spectacle. It was real interesting to be the one with the camera pointed at me rather than the one with the camera in my hand.
The purpose of Carnaval, I found out once here, is to celebrate the coming of Lent. The peak day of the party is always the Tuesday before Lent begins. While it´s all once Carvaval there´s really two celebrations going on at the same time. The first involves costumes and a mock wedding. The second is equal parts noise, beer, and motor oil.
The official Carnaval celebration starts Monday night with a costume ball of sorts. Folks get dressed up Halloween style and they have a dance in the central square. Those in costume dance around while most of the rest of town comes out to socialize and watch the goings on. Tuesday night is largely a repeat of the same but with a costume contest in which the cheers of the crowd decide a winner. During the day on Tuesday one of the families in town hosts a mock wedding in which two guys get married. One of them dressed quite convincingly as a women. Apparently they follow all the same traditions as a normal wedding, however I must admit I missed most of it as I was busy taking part in the ¨other¨ celebration.
Each Sunday for a few weeks leading up to Carnaval and especially on the Monday and Tuesday of the party a bunch of guys, mostly in their 20´s, dress up as devils and run around the streets just generally making noise and wreaking havoc. While some people wear actual costumes, mostly the little kids, the traditional devil outfit consist of facepaint of a mask of some kind, as many cowbells as you can get your hands on tied around your waist, a stick, rope, chain or something you can wave around, and the best part, you go shirtless and completely cover yourself in used motor oil. Die is added to the oil, either red or black, to increase the effect. As the oil obviously doesn´t dry as regular paint would your are transformed into a shining, glistening, very loud, and hopefully terrifying devil.
The purpose of the exercise is nothing more than to make as much noise as possible and give people a start whenever possible. All the devils run through the streets screaming and shouting and the cowbells really make a lot of noise, especially when you´re in a group, which you almost always are fro even if you set out with only a couple you quickly run into others and the groups grows and grows.
The game of it all is that the painted devils try or pretend to try to paint the other people they see throughout the day. The oil is hard enough to get off your skin and damn near impossible to get out of clothes so understandably nobody wants to get painted.
On Sunday and at the beginning of the day on Monday and Tuesday the painting was pretty innocent. Maybe a couple of fingers smeared across the cheek, or a grasp of the fore-arm, at most a slap on the back or shoulder. However as the party goes on the painting got worse, and understandably so as the other main activity was drinking.
There are a few unofficial rendezvous points where the devils gather in mass throughout the day, the only one of which didn´t involve drinking was the elementary school right at the hour the kids got out. While San Martin doesn´t have any bars it is host to a few little tiendas, most of which are just a spare room in somebody´s house stocked with the essentials, which of course includes cerveza.
Every hour or so, well maybe half hour, the group would find it´s way to one of the tiendas. Someone would buy a case of beers, on credit, no on carried money as it would just get covered in oil, and pass them around.
Another chief meeting point was the house where the official party was taking place. You had to make an entrance with lots of noise and a lap around the party, but then they offered refreshments of water, juice, beer(of cousre), and no party here would be complete without Mezcal. Of which there was no shortage.
So as the day wore on and the devils got more devilish the painting got worse. The group mentality was also in full effect. Often times the first devil to paint someone would just give them a little swipe but then everyone else had to get in on the action so by the time the group passed the innocent spectator would be left with face, arms, and hands pretty well covered. A few unfortunate souls fell victim to not just a hug but a group hug. Once the first person crossed the line it was as if the group decided, ¨alright, this persons getting it!¨ The rest would jump in like a pack of ravenous dogs going for the kill. With hoots and hollers of triumph the pack would quickly move on leaving in their wake a victim in dire need of a shower and a new wardrobe.
One unfortunate hombre, a fellow devil but in costume rather than paint, actually got his shirt stripped off by the pack and body completely painted. By the end of the day there was hardly a person in town that escaped with out at least a mark of some kind.
Bailin and I went running all three days possible while I was in San Martin. On Sunday I had yet to actually witness the goings on so I decided to forego the oil and just use some colorful paints. I painted my face, arms, legs, and a shirt, and topped it off with a colorfully painted hat. It was definitely a good and creative paint job but seeing as I looked more like a parrot head on my way to a Jimmy Buffet concert than a terror invoking devil I decided to change it up a bit for Monday. I started off with oil on my arms and legs but retained the shirt. That didn´t last long however as at the first cerveza stop the of the group insisted I go gull blast. So I striped the shirt and donned the motor oil. Tuesday I didn´t bother with shirt and went oil from the get go.
According to Bailin´s family I was something of a star and the talk of the town as no one could recollect a ¨gringo¨ ever actually taking part in the painting before. In the week since I´ve had a number of total strangers, the barber, the lady working at the tienda, and a few people just on the street, strike up a conversation about how I painted myself.
It was an interesting reversal of roles to take part in the celebration. While I had come here to see what their festival was like I quickly became the observed rather than the observer. Furthermore San Martin has next to no tourists on a normal day, maybe the occasional person coming to buy a carving, but for Carnaval a couple of van loads of heavily laden fellow gringos showed up to see the spectacle. It was real interesting to be the one with the camera pointed at me rather than the one with the camera in my hand.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Los Patojos in Need
As mentioned before I´ve been volunteering at an after school program called ¨Los Patojos.¨ My final week is now coming to an end and it has been the funnest yet as I´ve finally been able to get the kids engaged with some english games they seem to enjoy.
The other day I had them play a card matching game. The idea was that each kid would start with a mis-matched set of cards and then have to trade with their class-mates until they had a set that matched.
At first they managed to mess the game up in about every way possible. Some kids got they idea and made their set quick, while others came to me looking completely dumbfounded and holding just one card with a loan english word written on it. Meanwhile the buissness men of the group were able to accumulate a whole stack of random cards and were brokering deals of all sorts with who knows what in mind. In the end they were all able to get a set.
I´m a abit sad to be going now as I feel like I´m just starting to get a feel for the different character traits and personalities, and learning how to make them respond. I´ve always felt like I was someone that would never forget what it was like to be a kid but have recently realized how quickly out of touch you can become unles you really immerse yourself into that childs world.
I like to sit back and try to guess what different roles the kids will fall into in the next five to ten years. Who´s going to be the ¨prom king and queen¨? Who´s gonna be in the chess club? And what the kid that thinks that the paint tastes like chocolate is gonna turn out like?
The organizzers at Los Patojos have recently asked that volunteers lend a hand in fund raising as the program is completely free to all the kids and funded entirely on donations. I´m usually pretty uncomfortable asking for money but honestly can´t think of a better cause. They are a registered non-profit so all donations are tax deductable and they run everything themselves so you know that donations will go entirely to the program. I´m well aware that now isn´t the best time to be asking for finacial aid of any sort but any little bit helps. You´d be surprised at how far just a few dollars can go down here.
If anyone has questions or comments about the program itself or the donation process please give me a shout. Dylan1121 at sbcglobal.net
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Los Patojos
Well all is going well in Antigua. I´ve quickly managed to fill my days up. I spend the mornings in spanish school, or better put banging my head against the wall trying to figure out and remember spanish grammar.
I managed to catch the second half of Barak´s (I like that for the first time I feel comfortable refering to the president on a a first name basis. He just kinda feels like one of the boys you know) inaguration speach, and partly because of the inspiration from this I decided to try to do my part and signed up to volunteer at an after school program for disadvantaged children.
The name of the program is ¨Los Patojos,¨ which is Guatemalan slang for ¨The Children.¨ The program is located in Jocotenango, which is Antigua´s neighboring city, and apparently has become a bit of a distribution center for drug trafficing in Central America and Mexico. For this reason there are alot of kids that are neglected by their families.
As for the program itself, I couldn´t be in suport of it more. The director is a young guy, couldn´t be more than 30, named Juan Pablo. He´s the absolute perfect person to run a program like this. He´s full of energy and loves to play with the kids. He knows how to relate to all the ages, as there are kids from about the age of 4 all the way to high schoolers, and you can tell they all have a strong affinity for him. However, when neccesacry he knows how to be serious with them in a way to get them to respond and not alienate them.
His focus in the program seems to be not just to help the kids in their studies but also to instill a strong sense of morality, community, and dignity in the children. As many of the kids are the children of drug dealers and people otherwise involved in that world a big focus of the program is to educate the kids about all the other possibilites that exist. The best part is that the program is completely free and is funded entirely by donations.
In the first few days I haven´t had any specific responsibilities other than just playing with the kids. You quickly see that kids the world over are the same. Full of energy and love to play. They´re constantly wanting to jump on my back, or sit on my lap. The other day I seriously rope burned my hand trying to take on about ten of them in tug-o-war.
Juan Pablo asked me to teach a daily English class to the group of kids from 9-12 years old. I´m excited to start but at the same time a bit nervous as I´ve never really taught anything to anyone. But I figure no matter what I do the kids are bound to learn something. Keeping their interest will probably be the hardest part, So I´ve just got to go in their confident and wanting to have a good time. That being said if anyone´s got ideas for games and the such my ears are open.
I managed to catch the second half of Barak´s (I like that for the first time I feel comfortable refering to the president on a a first name basis. He just kinda feels like one of the boys you know) inaguration speach, and partly because of the inspiration from this I decided to try to do my part and signed up to volunteer at an after school program for disadvantaged children.
The name of the program is ¨Los Patojos,¨ which is Guatemalan slang for ¨The Children.¨ The program is located in Jocotenango, which is Antigua´s neighboring city, and apparently has become a bit of a distribution center for drug trafficing in Central America and Mexico. For this reason there are alot of kids that are neglected by their families.
As for the program itself, I couldn´t be in suport of it more. The director is a young guy, couldn´t be more than 30, named Juan Pablo. He´s the absolute perfect person to run a program like this. He´s full of energy and loves to play with the kids. He knows how to relate to all the ages, as there are kids from about the age of 4 all the way to high schoolers, and you can tell they all have a strong affinity for him. However, when neccesacry he knows how to be serious with them in a way to get them to respond and not alienate them.
His focus in the program seems to be not just to help the kids in their studies but also to instill a strong sense of morality, community, and dignity in the children. As many of the kids are the children of drug dealers and people otherwise involved in that world a big focus of the program is to educate the kids about all the other possibilites that exist. The best part is that the program is completely free and is funded entirely by donations.
In the first few days I haven´t had any specific responsibilities other than just playing with the kids. You quickly see that kids the world over are the same. Full of energy and love to play. They´re constantly wanting to jump on my back, or sit on my lap. The other day I seriously rope burned my hand trying to take on about ten of them in tug-o-war.
Juan Pablo asked me to teach a daily English class to the group of kids from 9-12 years old. I´m excited to start but at the same time a bit nervous as I´ve never really taught anything to anyone. But I figure no matter what I do the kids are bound to learn something. Keeping their interest will probably be the hardest part, So I´ve just got to go in their confident and wanting to have a good time. That being said if anyone´s got ideas for games and the such my ears are open.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Antigua, Guatemala - My First Re-Impressions
So I´m on the road again. Or to paraphrase one of my favorite guys, ¨Once again I feel under my heels the ribs of Rocinante.¨ I´ve created a blog for the first time to keep those of you who are intrested on how the travels go. Feel free to post questions or comments via the comments link at the bottom of each article. You can also sign up to get an e-mail each time a post a new article via the ¨follow this blog¨link on the right hand side of the page.
My travels once again start in Antigua, Guatemala. My plan for this trip is to spend a month or so here in Antigua studying Spanish before heading up to Mexico to visit a couple of friends and then hopefully make my way to Cuba. The plans as always are tentative and I won´t even guess at how many times they may change before it´s all said and done.
One of my first trips on my own started in Antigua as well. In 2003 I did largely the same thing. Spent about a month here learning Spanish but then rather than going north to Mexico I spent the next five months working my south to Panama before heading home.
It´s interesting being back after having been away for five years. I can perceive some small differences but it´s largely the same place I was before. Cobblestone streets lined with old Spanish colonial architecture. Everything in varying states of repair. You can judge the success of a home owner or business by the appearance of the house or storefront. Even and brightly painted walls, with bougainvillea draping over the top and a sturdy wooden door will be juxtaposed next to a bland white wall full of cracks with bricks showing through where the mortar has fallen off. Every so often you may stumble across the remnants of an old church crumbling to the ground, some of which you´re allowed to wander through the ruble while others are boarded and barred to keep out the public.
The town is bustling with tourists of all shapes and sizes. You may see two girls walking down the street with backpacks that would appear to weigh more than they do. Or it may be a group of middle-aged to elderly tourists, who must be European (no explanation needed) being lead by a short Guatemalan guide. The women wearing something obviously Guatemalan and the men with cameras hanging from straps around their necks and wearing the classic ¨safari¨ style vest with the pockets stuffed full of who knows what.
There´s plenty of locals shuffling around as well in the daily hustle of life. Taxi drivers in their three wheeled ¨tuk-tuk¨style taxi´s, colorfully dressed Mayan women (who come up to about my waist) selling even brighter colored crafts and fabrics, or folks just relaxing in the parque central on a sunny Sunday afternoon while some guy preaches his bible to anyone who will listen, and everyone who won´t.
Despite Guatemala´s reputation and history of the opposite the town has a quite peaceful and tranquil vibe to it. However, at least the fear of crime is clearly evident in the shot gun bearing bank guards and AK-47 wielding police officers.
On the whole I think I like Antigua just as much as the first time. It´s got it´s ups and downs (loads of tourists) but it´s a city that´s alive, and I like that.
My travels once again start in Antigua, Guatemala. My plan for this trip is to spend a month or so here in Antigua studying Spanish before heading up to Mexico to visit a couple of friends and then hopefully make my way to Cuba. The plans as always are tentative and I won´t even guess at how many times they may change before it´s all said and done.
One of my first trips on my own started in Antigua as well. In 2003 I did largely the same thing. Spent about a month here learning Spanish but then rather than going north to Mexico I spent the next five months working my south to Panama before heading home.
It´s interesting being back after having been away for five years. I can perceive some small differences but it´s largely the same place I was before. Cobblestone streets lined with old Spanish colonial architecture. Everything in varying states of repair. You can judge the success of a home owner or business by the appearance of the house or storefront. Even and brightly painted walls, with bougainvillea draping over the top and a sturdy wooden door will be juxtaposed next to a bland white wall full of cracks with bricks showing through where the mortar has fallen off. Every so often you may stumble across the remnants of an old church crumbling to the ground, some of which you´re allowed to wander through the ruble while others are boarded and barred to keep out the public.
The town is bustling with tourists of all shapes and sizes. You may see two girls walking down the street with backpacks that would appear to weigh more than they do. Or it may be a group of middle-aged to elderly tourists, who must be European (no explanation needed) being lead by a short Guatemalan guide. The women wearing something obviously Guatemalan and the men with cameras hanging from straps around their necks and wearing the classic ¨safari¨ style vest with the pockets stuffed full of who knows what.
There´s plenty of locals shuffling around as well in the daily hustle of life. Taxi drivers in their three wheeled ¨tuk-tuk¨style taxi´s, colorfully dressed Mayan women (who come up to about my waist) selling even brighter colored crafts and fabrics, or folks just relaxing in the parque central on a sunny Sunday afternoon while some guy preaches his bible to anyone who will listen, and everyone who won´t.
Despite Guatemala´s reputation and history of the opposite the town has a quite peaceful and tranquil vibe to it. However, at least the fear of crime is clearly evident in the shot gun bearing bank guards and AK-47 wielding police officers.
On the whole I think I like Antigua just as much as the first time. It´s got it´s ups and downs (loads of tourists) but it´s a city that´s alive, and I like that.
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