Saturday, March 14, 2015

Run training in Oaxaca...

Some of you may know that at 39 (last year), I decided I had had about enough of my body being as large as it was, and took up running, did the Rock'n'Roll Chicago half marathon in July, lost 40 lbs in the process, and have since then tried to keep running. I have kept the weight off, and have kept running, but not as much as I would have liked.
We relocated to Oaxaca, and this meant so many run interuption type things! Well, the actual move took about 30 days, but I did manage to run a bit while we were traveling through Canada and the US. Then upon arrival, we found our home and moved in, which meant lots of reno and about ten days of no hot water. Sorry, no hot shower meant no running for me. Perhaps I need a tiara to run in?

A revolving door of guests accompanied by a whole host of new bacteria meant if we didn't have guests, I had a cold. And running with a cold at altitudes over 5000 feet was unfun.

I kept feeling guilty, my Canadian virtual run partner was training in the cold and snow! My UK virtual run partner in rain and fog. I had blue skies and 25 degrees with no himidity. I needed to get my butt in gear.

Let's be clear here, before I go on. I am not a small woman. I am not tall, but I have a nice round bum and boobs and a bit of belly flab and jiggly upper arms. And as far as the Oaxacan male palate of positive female body attributes, that is quite a collection. So training in Oaxaca has meant I endured:

The long look: Usually from municipal police covering the entrance to a government building. They see you coming down the street and cannot look away. Barely able to contain themselves as I oooze by, they then turn to watch it all go on, as far as the eye can see, or until I turn the corner. I never look back and always chime in a cheery "Buenas Dias!" I figure if they are going to oogle, at least they can say Good Morning.

The pick up truck crew: I try to run early, and generally the back of a pick up truck is a community taxi in Oaxaca. The boys on the flatbed see me as they are driving up the street, as they pass me, as they drive away and best of all things, running towards them if they catch the light. Running towards them. Why, I am sure I am the stuff dreams are made of for months to come. I usually wave and smile. I usually get sheepish waves back.

The general onlooker (also commonly referred to as the drive by): Taxi drivers, bus drivers, pick-up truck drivers. Where usually traffic would whip by, and where pedestrians never have the right of way, drivers will stop and wave me on by. I am pretty sure it is to see the junk in my trunk but heck, it helps me keep a decent pace. Enjoy!

Buen dia, Guerita: this means pale person, and it is never ever meant as an insult, but rather a form of respect. Oaxacans are infinately polite, so as you pass them, even while running, there is an exchange. Good morning. Good morning white person. Can we not just stop at good morning?  I know I am white.

Finally, the tooth sucker: Oaxacan men have this truly awful way of showing appreciation, and it can only be defined as tooth sucking. It sounds gross and is the only thing I find offensive. It is like I am a snack, and they are smacking their lips on joyful anticipation. I only said something once, to a young man at an intersection where I had stopped. I asked him what he would think if someone had done that to his sister. He stared at me wide-eyed and I ran off. I was not sure if the wide eyes were due to my kmowing Spanish, my saying something, or the thought of me knowing he had a sister.


Tuesday, March 3, 2015

A Postcard from Vienna!

We were wondering about the mail. We knew friends and family had sent us Christmas cards, but they had never arrived. Now beyond mid February, we were starting to get curious if these would ever arrive. When we lived here 5 years ago, mail usually took three weeks, maybe four, but it did eventually arrive. I had no reason to doubt my experience this time around.

Wrong.

We have received our utility bills on time, water, electricity, phone, cable and internet all arrive in our mailbox in tidy white envelopes or on pretty statements not in envelopes (privacy laws be damned!) at our house. We have received one international box, for which we received a notice to go and collect it at the "centro" post office.

This enigma had been going on just about long enough. We had reason to be in the main "centro" post office earlier this week, so I thought I might ask if there was a special handshake or secret password I needed in order to receive my international, non-parcel mail. I asked at the counter where one buys stamps, and she instructed me to walk to the end of the hall, and there was a window there and I was to ring the bell three times and they could address my query. Seriously, there was even a sign saying "Ring the bell three times." Three short rings? Long rings?

I opted for short rings and waited. A lady appears and I explain my mystery to her. I ask if there is anything special I need to do in order to receive my international post that is not a parcel.

She says no, usually nothing special is required, and she will go and look in the back. Time passes. Children are born. Technological innovations astound. World peace becomes a real possibility...

Meanwhile, Ralph and I figure there are three possible results.

  1. No mail.
  2. Some mail.
  3. A huge stack of mail.

A different lady appears from the back, with the little paper the other lady had written my address on. No, she says, no mail. But it is vacation time, so perhaps a little while longer.

(For real. Vacation time. I suppose if our postal delivery person was off on December 12th for Guadalupe, December 18 to 21 for Soledad, December 25th for Christmas, December 31 and January 1 for New Years, January 5th for the Three Kings, that still leaves a few weeks of delivery time until the February Constitution holiday and Candlemas events!)

But. Guess what happens the next day? A postman shows up with...


Ha! Evidently our postman was away on leave/vacation.

We still have no other Christmas cards from family and friends outside of Mexico, but I remain optimistic (foolishly).

Our Spanish teacher tells us that for our bills (Cable & Internet, TelMex, water and hydro bills), there are delivered by private delivery people that work for the respective companies. Can you imagine if HyrdoOne in Ontario, or AT&T in the US had to manage their own mail delivery service? I cannot, though I see one benefit - no junkmail!

Until more mail arrives or we find a mysterious stack addressed to us at some other address, my postcard is on the fridge, a reminder that things are different here.