It's been a while since my last blog. So how about a quick recap of the days leading up to this past week...?
Hours after my last blog I hopped a suburban headed up to Tlaxiaco. It's was a beautiful Saturday afternoon. The cool and
fresca afternoons here have been replaced by a stifling heat. I dump my things at my room and head towards the Plaza, popping a squat under this clock. It's Tianguis (or market day), so normally vendors are stacked up still selling to the crowd. However, there's a reduced presence this particular week. It could be Semana Santa has people at home with their families. I'm not sure.
Rene meets me at Plaza center. We make our way over to the collectivo station for car
s leaving for Magdalena Peñasco. We're headed out tonight to catch our work pal, Araceli, playing with her band in her hometown. Actually, she officially not going to
play anything. She's what it referred to here as the Animadora. She basically introduces each song, attempts to rally the crowd, asks for requests, and reads off shout outs that the crowd turns into her on small strips of stray paper.
Magdalena Peñasco's Municipal Building, huge,
despite the fact that this is one of the 100 poorest pueblos in Mexico.
Chely
Once we make the hour's drive out to Magdalena, we hop out and hike down to Araceli's house. Her whole family has gathered to "help her" prep. Her mom's prepares a little food for anyone dropping by. Rene helps Araceli iron the band's shirts (I guess because she's the lone lady in the group, ironing falls to her :( ). I spend my time chasing Chely's brother, Freddy, around the house, and coaxing this little bunny into my arms.
I win!
The band doesn't take the stage until 10. A crowd is already gathering from neighboring pueblos. They huddle on the edges of the town's central pavilion--no one but small boys playing tag dare to step into the center of the pavilion floor. I sit backstage with Chely--as she's informed me that she needs a bit of a pep talk to get onto stage. She daily talks live on the air to thousands of people, and yet, this crowd frightens her. Funny.
Finally the band takes the stage. Chely's voice is a bit husky from nerves, but otherwise she does fine getting the band going. However, when I turn to face the crowd, no one is dancing. The band is playing Durangenses, music designed for dancing (it's surely not designed for listening--not at the decibel level they're playing tonight). But unlike the wedding I attended a few months back where everyone jumped onto the dance floor instantaneously, this crowd seems shy. There is a giant, glowing vacancy at pavilion center--and not many look eager to fill it. That doe
sn't stop Chely's dad from turning to me and inviting me to dance. Now for any of you who have delusions that I am a brave girl, I will set the record straight right here and say, I outrightly refused. I'm already getting enough stares just for being the only white person for miles. All I need is to tumble out onto the dance floor, the empty dance floor, and dance with some dude. He doesn't give up, however, and quickly turns to his youngest daughter, who cannot refuse, and heads out to boogie it up. A few more couples seem encouraged by the duo, and join them. That's when Rene turns to me and says, "We must help this party get rollin'." And so, I find my second string courage and shuffle out to the middle.
It's not too much later that the dance floor fills. People line the edges of the pavilion, some sitting up top on a ledge overlooking the floor, their feet dangling, thumping the wall
to the beat. Araceli's got everyone pumped up. Hoards of messages are passed up to her to read over the mic, "hellos" and "please love me's" scrawled on backs of soda wrappers. Rene and I snap photos. I've been asked to keep time for the group so they won't play over their aloted first hour. I give Chely the signal as the hour closes. Another band will take the stage next. Then after their hour is done, Chely and her band are back on. She says they'll play until 4. I can't imagine what endurance that will require. Chely may not have to play an instrument, but during each song she remains on stage, hopping, twisting and turning to each beat. She's not a bad Durangense dancer, if I do say so.
Rene and I nod to each other as Chely's band descends from the stage. We're both anxious to find a collectivo back to Tlaxiaco. There won't be many leaving at this hour, and far less later than that. So we say our goodbyes and weave through the crowd to make our hasty exit.
The next day I make my way out to the station after a hearty, market-side breakfast of sopes. I'm observing the Sunday morning programming, which consists of the two shows that are broadcast in the States, as well as Tlaxiaco and its environs. I also do a fare amount of the not-blog-worthy background work, like arranging for future interviews, gathering information from station staff on operational issues, holding a planning session with the director about what I need to accomplish (with his help) in the months remaining.
In the afternoon I head out around 5 to grab a bite to eat. But by the time I set my ridiculously heavy backpack down in my room, my brain asks me to take a second to rest my head. When I finally sluff off my exhaustion, it's almost 6. I meet up with Chely and Eva to grab a quick bite to eat. A friend of mine, Oscar
Guzmán, is holding a concert tonight to celebrate the release of his first CD,
Al Sur. We've all been invited to attend. So we grab some
tacos de res (I opt for the regular red meat, and not the meat they cut from the head of the cow). I must admit, while sitting at this narrow bench, my tummy pressed up to the taco stand, my face inches away from the sizzling fire and the large tree stump on which a man is chopping raw cow meat with a butcher's knife, I really don't like being this close to the action. It's grossing me out. The girls wonder why I've only ordered two tacos to their four. How does one explain the power of Ewwwwww in Spanish?
The concert is just blocks from my place. Chely takes off--so Eva and track down empty seats set up under a large yellow tent. Lots of people have turned out. Poor Oscar has come d
own with a terrible cold just in time for the concert. His been getting injections for his throat every day leading up to this concert. But when he takes the stage you can still hear the strain in his voice. The band is incredible. Oscar has rallied nationally recognized musicians from Mexico to help him promote his CD, which he produced in conjunction with the university he is studying with in Oaxaca. Despite his soar chords, Oscar is able to ride the public's enthusiasm through the night's line-up. He keeps apologizing for his voice--but I tell him later that it was a good stunt in order to convince people to buy the CD--they have to buy it in order to hear the songs as they were intended.
I eventually wander back through pebbled roads to my house.
In the morning I rise and treat myself to a large breakfast at my favorite haunt, The Patio, make a few copies of some documents that the station director loaned me, and then hop a suburban back to Oaxaca. Holly is arriving in one short day. I've got a bathroom in Oaxaca that's calling me to clean it!
The Patio's Calm Interior
acolula with the Cordero's. It's market day in the small pueblo about 30 minutes east of town. Vendors from all over the area gather to sell their wares from carts and stalls circling 'round the town's Church.
r large property the kids frolicked all day without the parents having to fear for them getting into too much trouble. Rafael's mom even learned to drive within the property--nothing to bump into! Thus, Rafael leads us through the market streets, the closed-in bread stalls, the church grounds--until we arrive at a small indoor restaurant. He's been frequenting this place for years.
(rich and creamy, made with almonds, sugar and cinnamon); I order a cup of Atole. Azucena spreads out the bread we just purchased at the market on the table to munch on as we wait. We don't wait long. My enfrijoladas arrive, and Holly's entomatadas. They are both topped with lettuce, sliced radishes and lime. Holly comments on how fresh the ingredients are. "So many flavors!" she exclaims.
After breakfast (which cost about $4 a person! Rafael kindly treats us) we head out to explore the market a bit. Holly finds a nice deal on a woven bag--"perfect for her laptop," the vendor nudges. Alejandro and I goof around nearby--neither of us interested in a purse. I pass this stand that sells jícama on sticks, that is then dusted in your choice of chile salt. I take a taste of the dark red--oácala (as they would say "gross").
