A Man of Hands

-I rise early in my dirty, little hotel room (DLH). I'm hapy to report no bed bugs. It might be that the little suckers prefer warmer climates. It takes me a bit to discover that the hot and cold nozzles are reveresed here. I do, in fact, have hot water. YAY! That is cause for celebration. So I do a tiny naked dance in the shower to the song "Celebration" by Kool & the Gang. And suddenly, this little thing sets me to feeling as if the whole world is beautiful and that my trip is going extremely well.

-I trek back to the house Eva showed me to talk room rental with the Señora. She's there, as luck would have it. (..there's a party going on right here, a celebration to last throughout the year...) She tells me she's more than happy to rent me the room, complete with bed, blankets and hot shower for $52/month. (...everyone around the world, come on!) The world is looking good.

-I meander through the streets to find my way to El Encanto, a restaurant I read about in a guide book. Popping a squat at a table on the sunny back patio, I pull out my notebook to journal about the day before. A large cup of Oaxacan hot cholcolate with milk arrives. I chase it with a limey (the flavor, not the derogatory name for a Brit. I love the Brits!) version of Chilaquiles with pechuga de pollo and a plate of melon. I eventually cro-bar myself out of the chair and return to the lovely DLH for my gear. Me and the gear hike it on the dusty, people-filled road out to the station.

-It's Friday, so it's very quiet at XETLA. Since the 7-day-a-week schedule requires people to work over the weekend, many members of the production team have Friday off. I start by helping Rene fix some software that loads his sound from minidisc to computer. The instructions and pop-up windows are all in English. That tiny detail cost him all the sound he recorded yesterday when a pop-window announced he would erase all content if he proceeded; he hit "yes" not knowing what the window foretold.

-I sit in with Abraham, pronounced Ah-BRAM, as he conducts a show that sends greetings to those in the Mixtec Region from their loved ones farther afoot. For instance, a family will contact the station via phone from California hoping to let their sister in a far-off pueblo in Oaxaca know they'll call a certain payphone, next to that bank, in town, at 5 on Tuesday, for instance. It's really kind of incredible how the station serves as this thru-way for the region's communications. Abraham's worked at the station for just about 16 years. He started doing technical work--maintaining the antenna, fixing the components of the studio. But like everyone at XETLA, he now does a bit of everything. He tells me he's not a man of words; he doesn't express himself easily, he warns. It was "written into my contract" that he wouldn't have to be on air. Since this Avisos show is all written out in advance, he acquiesced to doing it in the end. Abraham is a man of hands, I say. I'm not totally sure this translates--or if he thinks I've just said something rather dirty about him. What I mean is, he composes and plays guitar. He's a painter who teaches classes at the Casa de Cultura in town. He sculpts, he tends to electronic equipment. You get the picture even if he might not have. I decide I will spare Abraham my microphone and ask if he'll let me trail him to the antenna one of these days. He agrees. I think he's relieved.

-I interview a few other employees of the station--Rene, the young news producer who's day-off it is, but who can't seem to stay away; Daniel, the station director, who practically threw me out of the station on my first visit. He now brings me research essays to read, CDs of groups they've recorded--shepherding me in to shake hands with someone, or to hop a ride with someone out to his pueblo. It's been a bit of a turnaround, I'm happy to report.

-I leave the station once it's already grown dark. A taxi is just pulling up for a day worker on the side of the road, so I yell, "Hey! You going to the Centro? We'll share, right?" At 4 pesos (40 cents) for a quick ride into town, it pays to be a bit aggressive.

-I dump my gear in my room, grab The Sun, and head for the "fancy" hotel/restaurant in town. I've decided I deserve a treat. (At $25/night it's not THAT fancy. But for Tlaxiaco this is the Ritz). The hotel Los Portales is right off the main Plaza. I snap a quick photo of the moon hiding behind some clouds and head inside. The restaurant sits in the courtyard of the hotel, with a vaulted ceiling, warm yellow lights and a fountain. I'm there at 7, somewhat early for Mexican dinner; every table is ripe for the picking. It's starting to get cold, now that the sun has said its adieus, so I'm hankering for something warm with a nice glass of red wine. Turns out they'll only serve me wine by the bottle, and I'm not willing to make it one of those slobbery, lonely nights in a far off land, so I get a Cuba Libre instead. The waitress seems confused by my order, I try to be really specific about how I like Cuba Libres (a 1/3 ice, pour in the dark rum about 2/3 up to the level of the ice, warm the glass by rocking the ice, squeeze half of one limon, the rest coke). When she comes back with a glass that I know is half full of lemon juice, I suddenly get a flash of my dad, who used to try over and over to order Old Fashions from restaurants when I was a kid. He'd map out in detail the amount of 7-up to bourbon to cherry juice--but inevitably it would come out too strong. He finally abandoned the project and now settles for the only bartender who makes it right, himself. Perhaps I should do the same with Cuba Libres...

A chicken breast with steamed veggies and a delicious tangy salad of greens with cilantro and avocado arrive. I eat every morsel and slurp up every word of English in my magazine. I leave with only a $15 dent in my pocket. Not bad.