So far so good, I guess.

So I’ve been in Tuxtepec for about one week now and in response to some inquiry, this is how things have been: When I first arrived, another teacher offered her on-campus apartment for me to stay in until I found a suitable place to live elsewhere. There are approximately 12 apartments on campus and a waiting list to acquire one; so demand easily outstrips supply. This teacher however only got it simply to take midday siestas months down the road when she got around to furnishing it. Being that the apartment was completely unfurnished, I slept on the floor with my trusty sleeping bag. Two or so days after arriving I went to Oaxaca, the capital, to process my change of employer on my visa. This school apparently follows the letter of the law and will not allow me to work until this has been completed – I suppose that’s conducive to working at a public university and consequently becoming a government employee, but nonetheless following the law so closely is somewhat out-of-character for the region. So that is to say, it’s strange that they don’t allow me to work while it’s being processed.

The immigration office there is nothing like that of San Luis Potosi. Most notably so is their demeanor. In Oaxaca, the woman (“woman” in place of a more preferable derogative) treated me as though my intelligence was somehow correlated to my poor Spanish speaking ability. Saving you all the details, she said I needed to furnish documents which were not actually called for by the standard form they have online, nor what she personally told the administration, who then told me, were needed. The first thing she requested was a set of profile pictures – you know, mug shots. So, being the good sport that I am, I went to the local studio and had them done. This caused me to stay in Oaxaca an additional day due to old-fashioned style developing used by this particular studio (i.e., not digital or Polaroid). I spent my time wisely and went to Monte-Alban, which was really awesome (a little more on that later). Upon returning the next day, she told me that I needed a copy of every page of my passport (mind you, she had already rifled through all my documents once before – you’d think that she could have told me everything I [supposedly] lacked. Realizing the copy machine directly behind her, I asked if she could make the copies here herself. She unhesitatingly said no. So, I left again, made some copies, and returned. Then she told me I needed copies of the receipt showing that I paid the fee to change my visa (which is paid for at a local bank – it’s strange). That was another trip to the copy store. I returned. Then I needed to make copies of my teaching certificate and the adjoining apostolate. I did so and returned. After everything was said and done another immigration official told me that it’d be ready by the middle of next week. I then proceeded to enjoy the rest of my stay in beautiful Oaxaca, leaving that hell of an experience behind me – or so I had thought.

While there I went to a little jazz show. It was quite nice and they were pretty talented. The ironic thing is that the first jazz show I attend in my life happens to be in the depths of southern Mexico – go figure. Oaxaca is a little touristy. In fact, while in the very tiny bar where the jazz show was held, the majority of the patrons were speaking English. The saxophonist picked up on this and, quite bravely I should say, tried his hand at introducing their songs in English. I, having been used to listening to very bad English, might have been one of the few who knew what he was saying. But I applaud his effort just the same. The zocalo, which is basically a gigantic plaza, is very nice. In fact, I took a 360 degree panoramic shot of the place, but have yet to piece all the pictures together. One thing to mention however is that despite the scruptiousness of the food served throughout the restaurants there, it can be a bit expensive if you’re a peso earning sucker like myself. I slept in that very zocalo twice; both times in the middle of the day when it’s teeming with people and both times without any intention of doing so. That’s what happens when you’re tired.

I said that I went to Monte-Alban. Look it up. What I can say about it that you can’t find on wikipedia is that as soon as I walked into the main field I was instantly thrown into a computer game I used to play called Serious Sam 2. It’s your basic shoot-em-up first-person-shooter the evening news baldly warns parents about. It became crystal clear to me that the writers of the game used Monte-Alban as one of the scenes for a particular level. The pyramids in their design, size, and position were exactly as I had remembered them. ‘Holy shit’ was my first thought, and my second was ‘where’s my plasma rifle?’

To and fro Tuxtepec and Oaxaca one has the option of singing Oaxaca for 6 hours through the majestic Oaxacan mountains, or if you travel at night the bus takes a tamed route between the base of the mountains for 7 and a half hours, if you’re willing to pay 100 pesos more (gringos: “to sing Oaxaca” means to puke. Think about it, “wa-ha-ka” really bears some resemblance to the sound you make when you puke). The decision’s easy.

Upon my return to Tuxtepec, I was informed that I had to leave the on-campus apartment immediately. Turns out the grounds keeper saw me coming and going and mentioned it to the administration who has a contract with the actual tenant that states that she is the only person who can reside there. Another teacher, who has been quite nice and very helpful showing me around, let me stay at his place while I found a place of my own. After looking at a few apartments, I decided on a spacious 2 bedroom for 2000 pesos a month and no deposit. I think the selling point for me was that one of the rooms had hooks built into the walls intended for a hammock. When I returned with my things that night, I asked if they locked the gate. She told me that for security they instead let out their vicious man-eating dog between the hours of 11pm and 7am. I suppose they had a sense of humor when they inappropriately named him Pollo. This ended up not resting well with Carolina, who’s moving down after Christmas. Putting that aside, I set out the little I have and tried to sleep, but the screaming triplet babies next door kept me from doing so. What’s more, the vicious man-eating dog is also vociferous. I hardly got a wink that night. The following morning I explained to the owner that my girlfriend is deathly afraid of dogs, and I couldn’t sleep with a it barking all night on one side of the apartment and on the other, screaming babies. She kindly returned my month’s rent and I found another place. I’m now in a one bedroom apartment, which too has hooks for a hammock.

Tuxtepec is in the middle of the jungle. I’m told that there are monkeys, leopards, toucans, and a variety of poisonous creepy-crawlies in the further reaches of the thicket. The city itself is situated in the middle of arch of a very big river called the Papaloapan, which the school named itself after. It’s not so much hot as it his humid and I’m told that during the summer it can reach upwards of 115 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s so hot that it’s uncommon for houses to have water heaters and for that matter, more than one faucet on showers and sinks. Many buildings are built with an additional aluminum roof to absorb the sun’s head and to keep it off the actual roof, keeping the building as cool as possible. Here is also the first time I’ve seen air conditioners in Mexico on more than just commercial buildings.

It’s also worth mentioning that there are a lot of indigenous people here, some of whom don’t even speak Spanish. That’s about all I know about them so far. Many place- names here though are from their language. Papaloapan means butterfly, and the other English teacher said something about how the Spanish used this word to derive the Spanish word for kite. There are also many towns in this region that end in –tepec. This supposedly means “hill” in the native language.

The bus lines don’t have numbers. Instead they’re color coated and named. For example, the buses that take me to the school are Ejode and Sra. Ursula. Ejode is dark orange with a military green stripe down it and, well, I don’t remember what the other looks like. On their windshields, they also have written the major places they go. I’ve speculated that they color the buses according to the lines to accommodate the illiterate population. This however is unfounded. The buses seem to me like hand-me-downs of 1950’s school buses with the muffler ripped right off of ‘em. They’re loud and the drivers grind each and every gear. Most of them are actually quite comfortable on the inside however. The seats are padded and many of them play music! To get off at a designated stop in town or wherever you like out of town you yell “baja!” or whistle and he lets you off.

Tuxtepec has a population of about 100,000. They’re much friendlier than Potosinos in that you can have a conversation with a perfect stranger about anything and most people say hello when you pass them on the street. An oddity however is that they’ll say “güero” to white people as a way to either get our attention or just as a means to say hello (I say “us” meaning myself and the other white person I’ve seen here, the other English teacher.). The fact that there aren’t really any other white people here (even Hispatic white) may lend to the reason why I’m referred to in this way more often. It sure the hell beats “gringo,” which really isn’t beyond them though. In fact, the other English teacher’s landlord calls him gringo all the time, though affectionately.

Yesterday I asked the school’s human resources office to contact immigration in Oaxaca city to check on the status of my visa. She reported back to me stating that immigration said they can’t find it the visa it self, a little green booklet, but they have all my other documentation. After checking again today they said that they should have a new one made for me by Monday. If that’s the case, then my 3 week vacation will have come to and end and I’d begin teaching probably the following Wednesday. If you’d like more information about my very cushy working conditions, please refer to my previous email.

If there’s still any specific information about Tuxtepec you’d like to know, then I’d be glad to answer. Keep in mind pictures are forthcoming.

-Chris

quick response to questions axed

Yeah, I’ve eaten at Frida’s a few times already – the one right there on Valentine Gama and Caranza, right?

The only race related conversations I have in my classes are the ones that I can more reliably testify to; the racism that I’m familiar with in my region. It would be a little presumptuous to nosy my way into their can of worms. This doesn’t exclude my ability to reflect on what I think I see however, at least not with members of this region. This liberty permitting, this is my opinion (which after re-reading, might apply to all forms of prejudice, etc.): I think the acceptability of pointing out another’s differences which correlate to their social status and/or negative public and personal perception is at least saliently oppressive. This is so because it cultivates and maintains a false mode of thinking that there is some sort of causality happening there – that these sorted qualities direct their plight. And surely this is somewhat believable from the accepted understanding that the generally held thoughts of a group-mind are rarely logical and easily swayed. So at least for these reasons, the circularity of their respective plights persists (ranging from criminalization to poor self-esteem).

I’m guessing that your Spanish phrase there translates to something to the likes of ‘take it as it comes,’ hinting at that words have their respective meanings per context. Yep, it seems that’s pretty normal for languages (see Wittgenstein).

Sorry I haven’t taken this opportunity to continue the southern trip, but your message’s topic seemed to roll right off my fingers faster than it would have. Next time perhaps.

installment 2

The bus ride to Tuxtla was cold. When we stopped half way through the trip I figured that it was going to be cold as hell because the bus was. On the contrary – wherever we stopped was hot as hell. I guess the air conditioner on the bus was just cranked up full-blast.

We arrived early in the morning, before most businesses were open and people cluttered the streets (which we found to be the norm – streets filled with people – during normal business hours). While eating breakfast I found myself talking to another foreigner. We were talking in Spanish because it was obvious that English wasn’t his first language. Turns out it was French. He was a French Canadian. I suppose that explained his standoffishness. His attitude wasn’t consistent with his behavior however; he directed me to where I could find a cheep hotel and where to go in order to catch the bus to Cañón Del Sumidero. 

The first hotel we found was dingy. It was smart of us to inspect the room that we’d get before actually paying for it (aquí, se paga antes). The next one we found was much nicer. 150 pesos a day for 2 people (vale la pena si se gasta dolores).

The streets are narrow and filled with short darker-skinned people. Racism is thinly veiled here by the way (though I can’t exactly say that about southern Mexico). I mean, shit, moreno and guerreo mean “darky” and “whitey”, respectively. And they’re often used. One time while walking down the street the dude at the local economic kitchen, which I frequent, hollered at me, “que onda, guerreo?” I confirmed with Carolina if he said what I thought he said.

After she did, I responded, “que tal, moreno? He was cheerful in his greeting to me as much as when he received my response. It’s really strange – I almost want to associate how their behavior contrasts with the meaning of what they say, i.e. it’s context, with how us U.S.Anz (at least socal) use racial references in jest – you know, like Chapell style. It’s only a hunch right now.

Anyway, The awnings in front of the shops were daunting, considering. Several places sold dried fish (cod?  I don’t know), shrimp, and crickets. When my Spanish teacher learned that I was going to southern Mexico, she assigned as homework to try some dried crickets. I got a zero on that assignment. Story of my life (well, it was anyway, to be honest).

Tuxtla is too small of a place to use full-blown city buses. Instead they use colectivos, a taxi like concept but with lots of people crammed into a mini-mini van. The sort that you’d expect more so on a southeast Asian or Japanese road. Boy, it’s cheep though. Think of it as a hybrid between a taxi and a bus. They have a specific route, but will pick people up and drop them off wherever they like as long as it’s on that route. The fee is pretty much at the whim of the driver. I got the feeling he just sort of guesses how far he went for the particular person. It’s sheep though, regardless. We took one of these such contraptions down to the canon, a 20 minute ride that only cost us 9 pesos each. In San Luis that would have been at least 50 pesos with a regular taxi.

Later we paid for and boarded a long boat with dual formidable sized Evenrudes strapped on the back. It was opened aired with 4 benches that fit about 3 people. These boats were so elongated that when there wasn’t anybody, or very few people in the boat, the driver, who was in the back, couldn’t see forward because the nose would rise above his head when it moved. Instead, they’d be constantly turning to see ahead of themselves. there were others with raised seats in the back though.

The boat ride was down the river that runs through the canon right on into Guatemala. For about an hour we brainstormed about actually going to Mexico’s southern pal, but then decided that it would be more trouble than it’s worth – time and money. I did get a gnarly chapaneco poncho though. Later you’ll find that as awesome as my poncho may be, it did me little good for the whole trip, which may be more so my fault than the poncho’s.