Oaxaca (Wa-ha-ka) is a vibrant, picturesque city that is well-traveled by the backpacker crowd. Armed with their guidebooks, Oaxaca is usually the first stop for young travelers on the route through southern Mexico. Most start in Mexico City, head to Oaxaca, then Chiapas, and onto the Caribbean where they either continue south through Central America or head home. Still new to solo traveling, I was scared of Mexico City. I was scared of its immensity and its reputation. I hadn't yet learned that reputations are hardly ever realities nor that size really doesn't matter. So, like a spoiled, frightened American, I flew directly to Oaxaca.
Through word of mouth and my guidebook-of-choice, the Lonely Planet, I found a welcoming hostel owned by two Mexican brothers. Hostels were a new discovery for me. When I went to Asia there weren't hostels in the European sense and not in Guatemala either. I have since found out that hostels are all over Mexico and South America and make traveling alone so much easier. Good hostels are often social hot-spots with friendly staff, comfortable communal areas and a steady stream of world travelers. A great hostel is all of the above and is so great that it entices some backpackers to stay long term.
Luz de la Luna, the hostel I had picked, was a great hostel. The young owners, Lalo and Juan Carlos lived there as did their friend and employee, Judith. Although I have since stayed at other fantastic hostels, Luz de la Luna was unique. The hostel had a climbing wall, weekly salsa classes and art classes. I mean, the hostel was basically, Lalo, Juan Carlos and Judith's home, so there was always something going on. At any given time there were no more than fifteen guests, mostly Spanish students, Oaxaca-lovers and the occasional passer-through. Any fear of loneliness I had associated with living abroad disappeared in the atmosphere of Luz de la Luna, and with it disappeared any preconceived notions I had of what my Oaxacan life, my plans, were going to be like.
I had originally imagined living in an old colonial house with roommates I would have picked up in Spanish school. Luz de la Luna was an old colonial house and came equipped with about ten consistent roommates. Working on my Spanish fluency also came included in the package. I had started out going to Spanish school, advanced classes, but everything that happened in the hostel basically happened in Spanish, so official lessons became redundant. As far as the third part of my Oaxacan mission, the volunteering, well, what can I say? Aside from a few roadblocks that the universe put up, everyone knows what happens to time when fun is involved.
* * *
I really did want to volunteer in Oaxaca. I liked the idea of beefing up my resume with international experience and actually "doing" something with my time. That was the problem, though, there was always something to do. Oaxaca, the city, is a happening place with art galleries, museums, markets and live music. As a hostel, we would salsa dance by night and relish in the city by day. Apart from the city, Oaxaca the state is full of jewels to uncover. In my first month, I went to the unparalleled Oaxacan coast on two separate occasions where I learned how to properly hamakear, hang out in a hammock and contemplate the state of the world to the sound of Pacific waves crashing onto shore. I also went on an unforgettable trip to an indigenous healing center in the mountains.
Lalo took a group of us to his favorite spot in the Sierra Madre Mountains where we spent the night and were attended to by indigenous healers. We were whipped with herbs and then rubbed down by an intact egg that was then cracked into a glass of water. The healer read our yolks to find her diagnosis. We all went through the process privately and my diagnosis couldn't have been more right on. The healer told me I was suffering on the inside. She said I had a wound near my heart that made me very sad. I was good at hiding it, but the sadness wouldn't hide for long. It made me cold, anxious and unsure of myself. Tears started rolling down my cheeks, losing nothing of what she was saying to translation. She told me not to worry. I had gone to the right place and was with the right people.
"More people are waiting for you," she said, "Not yet, but soon, you will leave and find exactly what you have been asking for."
I was happy she said I was in the right place to heal my depression and quiet my restlessness, but I didn't like the part of having to leave. It wasn’t the first time I had heard that little tidbit of information. Acupuncturists had told me I was cold and unsettled. A Guatemalan Mayan priest told me I was restless by nature and that love and happiness would only be found in the unexpected. Even an astrologer told me that I was on the right path, but the destination of that path was not where I planned it to be. Even though, four different people told me the same thing on four separate occasions, I didn’t want to hear it. I liked Oaxaca and I was finally feeling like I belonged somewhere. She may have been right about everything else, but I decided in my head that they all had to be wrong about leaving.
The next step in the healing was a temescal or the Prehispanic version of a sweat lodge, of a sauna. If what the mind-reading healer had said didn't send me reeling enough, the temescal certainly did. Lalo had told us we weren't allowed to eat before going into the sauna, but time had escaped us between the drive out and the individual diagnosis. It had gotten late and we couldn't do the temescal until the morning. No food in our bellies and wowed by the healer, we stayed up all night playing cards and dying of laughter.
By morning, we were delirious from bonding, starvation and lack of sleep. The people at the indigenous health center shuffled us, naked into the steamy concrete dome early the next morning. A temescal usually last one or two hours. Much like a sauna, the heat comes from hot coals and in the indigenous version special herbs are added for their curing properties. Six of us huddled in the dark womb-like enclosure, two Mexicans, two Germans and two Americans. We were silent for about fifteen minutes before I started feeling dizzy. I breathed deeply trying to control my spinning head. A few seconds later, Lalo started to move and said, "I think we've had enough. It's time to get out."
We all must have been feeling the same way because like good little soldiers we started crawling out of the sweaty dome. Crossing from the dark heat into the cool light my surroundings suddenly blurred. Outside the entrance, people from the center were waiting with blankets, but we really needed them to catch us. One by one we fainted, into a pile of bare bodies, falling from hands and knees into the blankets. Next thing, I know, I was tucked tightly into a small double bed with Lalo and one of the German girls. We were bundled up like babies in a papoose. Big bottles of water and glasses of juice were on the nightstands. I turned to look at Lalo and gave him a face like, "What the hell just happened?"
He smiled wide, put his arms around me and the German girl. He called over to Roberto and the other two girls in the other bed who responded meekly, "Si, guey?"
"We are warriors," Lalo said, "We have confronted our demons and returned from battle. To think we drove two hours up here to only have to do battle for fifteen minutes. Most people sit hours in a temescal and don't even confront their demons."
Five grunts peeped out from underneath covers. I don't even know how long we all slept there, cuddled together, naked recovering from what Lalo thought was a battle. What I do know is that we didn't even feel like eating until we got back to Oaxaca later that night. We walked into the hostel and Judith asked where we had been. She told us we looked like crap. Lalo gave her the customary kiss hello and just said, "We were busy killing demons. Good night Judith."
* * *
That was how I spent my time in Oaxaca, my first time living abroad. When I wasn't out on day trips or taking short getaways, I spent my time cultivating my first female Mexican friendship. Surrounded by boys most of the time, it didn't take long for Judith and I to hit it off. One of the things I love about traveling is marveling at the uniqueness of people across borders. What I love most about traveling though, is finding comfort in how similar humans are. Judith and I may have seen similar things differently, but we were still both women. We would gossip, shop, organize outings, and we would even cook from time to time.
Judith was a liberated Mexican as were the boys. Meals were usually communal and everyone would take turns cooking. When Judith felt like cooking, she would enlist me to go with her to the market and impart to me her authentic Mexican recipes. Judith introduced me to the myriad of chiles for sale in piles at the market, chile de arbol, chile pasilla, chile pequin, chipotle, the list could go on and on. I learned how to make a variety of sauces like salsa verde, tinga, adobo. Hanging out with Judith was like a crash-course in Mexican cuisine. Little did I know that not so far into the future, those recipes would be intrinsic to the development of my Mexican life.
Oaxaca is known for its culinary creativity. One Oaxacan dish that is not found in too many places outside of the state is the tlayuda. The tlayuda is basically Oaxaca's version of the pizza. In the market you can by enormous tortillas, which are warmed on a grill and topped with beans, meat, tomatoes, avocado and salsa. Tlayudas can be found on most restaurant menus, but they are more commonly eaten late at night before going out to the bars or on the way home. During one trip to the market, Judith contemplated preparing tlayudas for our meal, but instead we devised a business plan.
For about a month straight, Judith and I would prepare and sell tlayudas every Friday and Saturday night for the guests at the hostel. We sold them at the going rate for tlayudas on the street, which didn't make our business that lucrative, but we at least made back our cost. It wasn't about making money anyway, it was about being together, about building the community. Judith was good at using her petite, morena frame and feminine wiles to enlist the help of male guests to grill the meat or warm the tortillas. Judith and I were the vendors, the front women. we would dish out the goods and everyone would sit around, eating talking, drinking beers. Parties are frequent in Mexican life. In a country where family and community are so important, gatherings are essential to keeping bonds strong.
Everything changes, though. Nothing is constant and no where is that truer than along backpacker routes. After two months, routines started setting in. People left and new people came. Even Lalo and Juan Carlos left to travel in Europe for three months. They left Judith in charge, so trips to the market became less frequent. As certain changes were happening around me, I could also feel a change happening inside me. At first, it started as just queasiness in my stomach and lightness in my head, but soon became the one thing travelers fear.
I woke up one morning literally running to the bathroom. It was the same morning that I had set up a meeting at an elementary school to talk about me giving free English classes. Up until that point, I had been relatively lucky. Bouts of diarrhea are common when traveling abroad, in fact, they are unavoidable. I see diarrhea as almost an initiation into local life. Every stomach cramp, every minute spent sitting on the porcelain throne is a step closer to greater intestinal fortitude. Most diarrhea is a mild case of food poisoning and resolves itself within a couple days. I would use those couple days to rest, plan the next leg of my trip or catch up on whichever book I was lugging around. This time in Oaxaca, however was not food poisoning.
Sitting on the toilet, I ran through my menus over the previous days. It could have been the fruit salad from a street cart, the albondigas, the meatballs I ate at the market, or just plain dehydration. All, I could hope was that it was a mild case of Montezuma's revenge, so I would be able to go to my meeting at the elementary school. After my sixth or seventh trip to the loo, I began to think that maybe volunteering was going to have to be put on hold.
I am a closet hippy, an au-natural type of girl. I am not one to run to the medicine cabinet at the first sign of discomfort. I like to let my body take care of itself, build up its immunity before I bombard it with pharmaceutical shortcuts. Making sure I was never more than ten feet from a toilet, I told myself it was food-poisoning and that it would pass in a couple days. Little did I know, that this was one of the many road-blocks, or as I like to call them, practical jokes, that the universe plays on me from time to time.
After about a week of studying the bathroom walls and total exhaustion from not being able to keep any food from exiting immediately, I finally conceded that maybe I had something more than food-poisoning. I needed medicine. Lucky for me and travelers all through the world, diarrhea plagues everyone, even locals. Judith told me to go to a certain pharmacy chain found all over Mexico that offers cheap doctor consultations, including prescriptions. The doctor told me I had a bacteria, a common one and scolded me for not having come in sooner. I had lost almost ten pounds in the week I was sick and the medicine he prescribed was going to take another week to cure me.
In total, I lost eighteen pounds in two shitty weeks. It took almost an entire month for me to get my strength and appetite back. The hot desert sun of Oaxaca didn't help either. During the revenge, it was painful to even go outside into the heat. Needless to say, all plans I had concocted for volunteering fell apart. I had missed my meeting and was too weak to set up another one. Even if I had, Mexican spring break was soon approaching, so it was pointless to start anything solid until after the two week break.
On top of it all, the three month tourist visa I had been given when entering the country was about to expire. Customs officials have a choice when stamping foreign passports, they can give tourists three months to enjoy Mexico or six months. My customs official had not been so generous, although my return flight was another three months away. At the time, two German girls also had to renew their visas. Down in southern Mexico, the issue of visa renewal is easily handled. All it requires is a mundane, time-consuming trip to the immigration office or an exciting trip to Guatemala.
The German girls and I made plans to head south. We would take an overnight bus to the popular colonial town of San Cristobal, in Chiapas, Mexico. From there, it was only about six hours to the Guatemalan town of Panajachel where I had first gone to study Spanish. As we bought bus tickets and sketched a loose itinerary, I heard the words of the indigenous healer being whispered in my head. I was leaving, just like she said I would. "Not for long," I told myself, "I am coming back." I said it out loud, as if to make it true. I swear, even as the words left my mouth, I heard laughter, small little giggles, like the gods and the universe were planning another one of their practical jokes.
Judith was a liberated Mexican as were the boys. Meals were usually communal and everyone would take turns cooking. When Judith felt like cooking, she would enlist me to go with her to the market and impart to me her authentic Mexican recipes. Judith introduced me to the myriad of chiles for sale in piles at the market, chile de arbol, chile pasilla, chile pequin, chipotle, the list could go on and on. I learned how to make a variety of sauces like salsa verde, tinga, adobo. Hanging out with Judith was like a crash-course in Mexican cuisine. Little did I know that not so far into the future, those recipes would be intrinsic to the development of my Mexican life.
Oaxaca is known for its culinary creativity. One Oaxacan dish that is not found in too many places outside of the state is the tlayuda. The tlayuda is basically Oaxaca's version of the pizza. In the market you can by enormous tortillas, which are warmed on a grill and topped with beans, meat, tomatoes, avocado and salsa. Tlayudas can be found on most restaurant menus, but they are more commonly eaten late at night before going out to the bars or on the way home. During one trip to the market, Judith contemplated preparing tlayudas for our meal, but instead we devised a business plan.
For about a month straight, Judith and I would prepare and sell tlayudas every Friday and Saturday night for the guests at the hostel. We sold them at the going rate for tlayudas on the street, which didn't make our business that lucrative, but we at least made back our cost. It wasn't about making money anyway, it was about being together, about building the community. Judith was good at using her petite, morena frame and feminine wiles to enlist the help of male guests to grill the meat or warm the tortillas. Judith and I were the vendors, the front women. we would dish out the goods and everyone would sit around, eating talking, drinking beers. Parties are frequent in Mexican life. In a country where family and community are so important, gatherings are essential to keeping bonds strong.
* * *
Before I knew it, two and a half months had passed and I hadn't even begun to find a place to volunteer. Most of me didn't really care, I was too busy relishing in friendships, laughter and togetherness. After spending six years feeling like an outsider in Seattle, trying to be the newcomer in a community where everyone grew up together, the loving affection of my new Mexican and traveler friends was medicinal. For six years, I felt like no one truly understood me, but there in Oaxaca, midst language barriers and cultural variation, I felt like I belonged.
Everything changes, though. Nothing is constant and no where is that truer than along backpacker routes. After two months, routines started setting in. People left and new people came. Even Lalo and Juan Carlos left to travel in Europe for three months. They left Judith in charge, so trips to the market became less frequent. As certain changes were happening around me, I could also feel a change happening inside me. At first, it started as just queasiness in my stomach and lightness in my head, but soon became the one thing travelers fear.
I woke up one morning literally running to the bathroom. It was the same morning that I had set up a meeting at an elementary school to talk about me giving free English classes. Up until that point, I had been relatively lucky. Bouts of diarrhea are common when traveling abroad, in fact, they are unavoidable. I see diarrhea as almost an initiation into local life. Every stomach cramp, every minute spent sitting on the porcelain throne is a step closer to greater intestinal fortitude. Most diarrhea is a mild case of food poisoning and resolves itself within a couple days. I would use those couple days to rest, plan the next leg of my trip or catch up on whichever book I was lugging around. This time in Oaxaca, however was not food poisoning.
Sitting on the toilet, I ran through my menus over the previous days. It could have been the fruit salad from a street cart, the albondigas, the meatballs I ate at the market, or just plain dehydration. All, I could hope was that it was a mild case of Montezuma's revenge, so I would be able to go to my meeting at the elementary school. After my sixth or seventh trip to the loo, I began to think that maybe volunteering was going to have to be put on hold.
I am a closet hippy, an au-natural type of girl. I am not one to run to the medicine cabinet at the first sign of discomfort. I like to let my body take care of itself, build up its immunity before I bombard it with pharmaceutical shortcuts. Making sure I was never more than ten feet from a toilet, I told myself it was food-poisoning and that it would pass in a couple days. Little did I know, that this was one of the many road-blocks, or as I like to call them, practical jokes, that the universe plays on me from time to time.
After about a week of studying the bathroom walls and total exhaustion from not being able to keep any food from exiting immediately, I finally conceded that maybe I had something more than food-poisoning. I needed medicine. Lucky for me and travelers all through the world, diarrhea plagues everyone, even locals. Judith told me to go to a certain pharmacy chain found all over Mexico that offers cheap doctor consultations, including prescriptions. The doctor told me I had a bacteria, a common one and scolded me for not having come in sooner. I had lost almost ten pounds in the week I was sick and the medicine he prescribed was going to take another week to cure me.
In total, I lost eighteen pounds in two shitty weeks. It took almost an entire month for me to get my strength and appetite back. The hot desert sun of Oaxaca didn't help either. During the revenge, it was painful to even go outside into the heat. Needless to say, all plans I had concocted for volunteering fell apart. I had missed my meeting and was too weak to set up another one. Even if I had, Mexican spring break was soon approaching, so it was pointless to start anything solid until after the two week break.
On top of it all, the three month tourist visa I had been given when entering the country was about to expire. Customs officials have a choice when stamping foreign passports, they can give tourists three months to enjoy Mexico or six months. My customs official had not been so generous, although my return flight was another three months away. At the time, two German girls also had to renew their visas. Down in southern Mexico, the issue of visa renewal is easily handled. All it requires is a mundane, time-consuming trip to the immigration office or an exciting trip to Guatemala.
The German girls and I made plans to head south. We would take an overnight bus to the popular colonial town of San Cristobal, in Chiapas, Mexico. From there, it was only about six hours to the Guatemalan town of Panajachel where I had first gone to study Spanish. As we bought bus tickets and sketched a loose itinerary, I heard the words of the indigenous healer being whispered in my head. I was leaving, just like she said I would. "Not for long," I told myself, "I am coming back." I said it out loud, as if to make it true. I swear, even as the words left my mouth, I heard laughter, small little giggles, like the gods and the universe were planning another one of their practical jokes.
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