Take me out to the ball game... Oaxaca Style

Going to sporting events is something we do in Oaxaca that we rarely if ever did in Canada. I can probably count on one finger the number of football (American style) games I went to, and the same goes for the rest of the world style (aka soccer) as well. Baseball? Maybe once ever five years or so. Hockey? If it was a company event. Baseball? Same same. If someone else was buying the tickets, I was game for the entertainment.

In Oaxaca, we actually go "frequently". I put frequently in quotes not because it is a foreign or uncommon word, but because compared to our past patronage, our Oaxaca level of participation is downright frequent. Since we have moved here officially, we have been to one football game and two baseball games. Shocking. Here's an idea of why:

The prices: Yesterday being Father's Day meant Ralph's ticket was free. FREE. My ticket for centre section was 25 pesos. C$2. Yes, you read that correctly. Two Canadian dollars. In addition to that spectacular pricing is the awesome concept of having a ticket for a section. So you can sit anywhere your heart desires within that section. Pretty cool, right?

We pick our spots between home and first base and start to crowd watch (yes, yes, we paid attention to the game, too, but...)

First we had a beer, no pictures required. Ralph had a Bud Light and I had a Victoria, which was on sale (!!) for 15 pesos. 2 beer, 40 pesos.



Next was the difficulty in deciding what to eat.

Chips?

Popcorn? Cheesies?

Empanadas? Of course with all the fixings available in little plastic bags... limon, salsa, jalapenos...

Nachos or peanuts?

Tostadas? (Look how lovely this lady is? How could you resist a tostada?)

Wait, are those guys in the corner flogging... pizza?? For 50 pesos? Pepperoni or Hawaiian?

How about a little sweet to keep the game exciting?

Or maybe something cold? You guessed it, paletas (ice cream popsicles).

Our team lost, but with all that food going by, who cares? Next week - Lucha Libre - Mexico's Free Wrestling. Tickets are 200 pesos for "numbered" seats. I think watching grown men toss themselves about in tights is well worth 200 pesos.

What do I miss?

My guests and family, acquaintances and strangers often ask me if there is anything I miss from living in Canada, and I often draw a blank. Since living here in 2009/2010, a lot has changed, and access and availability to goods I would have missed years ago is just no longer an issue. We have pretty good cheeses now. Don't get me wrong, if I found aged Balderson cheddar cheese in the supermarket here, I would be doing an enthusiastic happy dance in the cheese and dairy section, but pretty well most things are available.

I was just in New York celebrating a friends birthday and I realized there is one thing I do miss, but lots from Oaxaca that I miss while not home.

Ripe Avocados: Yes, the availability (daily) of ripe avocados is a joy to me. I don't have to ask the kid in the produce section to please go fetch out of the garbage bin in the back the perfectly ripe black avocados he tossed out that morning.

Eggs: The yellow yolks are really, really yellow, and the eggs are so delicious. I remember being back in Canada and cracking an egg for breakfast and the dismay I felt at that pale yellow, sick looking egg yolk.

Flowers: Flowers in Canada are expensive, so they were a treat I rarely indulged in. At least once a week in Oaxaca I buy fresh flowers, dozens of roses for $2.00, Calla lilies, enough for two huge vases, for $3.00

Food that tastes like it ripened on the tree: The melons here do not taste like a shadow of themselves, their flavor is full and juicy and scrumptious. Ralph and I do not need to debate buying mangoes or peaches, because here they will actually taste like mangoes and peaches, not hard, tasteless blobs.

Markets: Fresh fruit and veg available any day of the week. I don't have to wait until my local (Toronto City Centre) farmer's market is open (from May to October) on Tuesday mornings between 8 and 12 to buy locally grown tomatoes. I have to walk through my alley, not 100 steps, to my local market. Sure, it is a bit more expensive than Abastos, or Tlacolula on Sundays, or Ocotlan on Fridays, but it is right up the street, every single day.

Crazy drivers: To be clear, the drivers here do not think they are crazy. Passing on double solid lines on a blind corner is not crazy, it is practical and keeps traffic moving. Driving in Oaxaca is not the sedate, point-and-push-the-gas experience one has back home, with frustration abounding during the 3 hour long rush hours morning and evening. Traffic is pretty well always bad here, and then you add the occasional protest and voila! excitement abounds!

Weather: I am sure I do not need to expand on this point. Sunshine. Blue skies. Rare humidity. Chilly evenings mean comfortable sleeps and sweaters if we want to have dinner on a patio.

The mountains: Not only the spectacular views they provide, but also their proximity to the city allows us, in a short drive, to go on hikes and enjoy nature.

The list goes on, but I thought this would give you a flavor of what I miss most when not at home, in Oaxaca.

This weekend in New York, I realized what I missed about living in a larger city in Canada or the U.S. Anonymity. I walked over a few blocks to go to hot yoga and I felt no different than the other 1000 people who passed me, going about their business. They were all dressed in their own style, lost in their own thoughts, on their phones, rushing or meandering, but whichever it was, I did not stand out. I was not taller. I was not specifically white. I am not usually confused for a tourist. I just went about my day to day, and for a few minutes, I really enjoyed that. Then I saw the state of the avocados in Trader Joe's, and started to miss home again.

Of course I needed a photocopy - Chapter One

The week before last was the week everything came together, or at least a lot of everything came together. Our permanent resident and temporary resident cards were ready for pick up at the Instituto National de Migration (INM). Ralph is pretty sure they were there all week and the INM failed to call and let us know they were there. When we called on Friday (because you only have a 1 hour window each day where they will pick up the phone to answer questions, and their offices are only open from 9 to 1 Monday to Friday for any processing) they said the cards were in, we could come and pick them up. The INM office is a short walk from the house, and after being there 4 times, the front desk guard knew us and greeted us as if we had just seen him Friday. Look at the fancy cards!

In the same building is the place where you get your old age card, a card which provides discounts to various things in Oaxaca, so we got that done at the same time. The guard was very sweet and looked after Ralph and moved him to the front of the line. Not sure why and we apologized to the other three who were there before us. Ralph got his little white card and off we went to get our Mexican driving licences.

We knew where we were going as we had popped in the week before to see if they would process our driver's permit without us having our actual permanent resident cards. Nope. We needed to come back when we had the cards. Let me set the stage for you. You park a mile away from the office because there is never any close-by parking. You walk in and there are about 30 chairs in the middle of a huge room. There is an "info" desk just as you walk in on the left. The person there reviews what you are coming for and your supporting documentation. Once she is satisfied with your documents, she sends you to another counter at the back where they print off a receipt for what you want and you need to go to the bank and pay. Usually there is a bank right there, but today, today it is closed.

An interesting side note. I got my Class "C" chofer licence. As the lady at the info desk explained, with this I can drive anything. A towtruck, a mototaxi, a semi-tractor trailer, a car, a bus, a van. Anything. I should do this, she says. I wonder how many foreign women immigrate to Mexico to run their very own Mototaxi. I think I would be the first one...

As the bank was closed, Ralph and I walk the mile back to the car and drive over to to ScotiaBank around the corner and up a ways (too far to walk in the midday heat). Ralph waits in the double parked car and I go to the ATM to get the cash we need for the transaction (1300 pesos for both, I think it was 950 pesos for my semi-tractor trailer licence and 350 for Ralph's 2 year regular car permit). I then wait behind 6 people, only to get up to the teller to have Jose, in his slim fit pin stripe blue suit and red tie, tell me I needed a photocopy. I ask him - are you not going to give me a receipt? Yes, he will, he explains, but he still needs a photocopy. But there is a place right on the corner, he assures me. He hands the receipts back to me. I snatch them and stomp out of the bank.

Now here is where I begin to loose my mind. I walk three blocks without finding the "photocopy place on the corner". As I am walking back, ready to walk into the executives office and demand she take a photocopy for me, a lovely lady stops me and tells me not to wait in the line again, but to go into the executive's office and get her to process my stuff. I thank her but tell her that I still can't find the photocopy place. A security guard steps up and tells me it is "right on the corner". If you have met me and spent any time with me, you can see the look on my face at that moment. The look that says "it is not on the %&$% corner, because I walked by the corner twice already". The lovely lady says she will walk me over and she does, and points to a pop-up tacos/antojito stand on the side of the road where on the side of the white metal wall is written in magic marker "copias aqui". No, no, I am not kidding.

I walk up and there is a little photocopier mixed in with the chicklets and coca cola and pickeled onions. I ask for my two copies and the lady does them right up and finished serving me even though a guy had hollered his order over my shoulder. I walk back, copies in hand, wait for the teller to be available and thrust my fresh copies and originals at him. No "Buenas Tardes" this time.

He promptly processes my payment and hands all the documents and receipts back to me. I stand there checking the transaction and he tells me I can move to the side while I check them. Not a chance, I tell him, there is no way I am waiting again if he has made an error.

All looks fine, and as I get in the car, 45 minutes later, Ralph says, "I bet you have a story to tell me!"

We did get our licence, a nice plastic card on the very same day, after three other people reviewed our documentation, took our fingerprints from both hands and took our pictures, including a close up of the eyes, and asked us for our proof of address nothing short of 5 times.

And now, off to Laredo to legalize the car... or so we thought...

Sushi...instead

I really should be blogging about the last month of bureaucratic nonsense we have been through, between getting residency, our Mexican driver's licence, Ralph's old age discount card, and the nothing-short-of-horror-film-worthy process of nationalizing our vehicle. Instead, I am going to save all that goodness for when I have a wee bit more perspective (read: head is not going to explode just thinking about it).

Let's talk about the change in availability of goods and services in Oaxaca over the last five years, shall we? Better.

When we lived here in 2009/2010 for our test six months*, we used to:
 - Horde cheese: finding a brick of cheddar at the local Soriana was like winning the lottery. We used to buy them all when we found them, gleefully flushed as we raced home to an evening of wine and cheese and crackers. Other expats would come over and marvel that we had cheese. "Where did you find CHEDDAR?" they would ask, wide eyed in amazement.
 - Beg friends to bring down boxes of Earl Grey, and then tea bags were always for a whole pot, or at least two cups!
 - Carry around dog food in the car to feed the starving dogs everywhere.
 - Learn to cook our fave thai or indian dishes at home with severe ingredient shortages. Cardomon? Nope. Thai fish sauce? Hahaha!
 - Look amusingly at the only motorcycles in town, the Domino pizza delivery guys who zipped around town.
 - Wonder if we would ever gather the courage to try one of the local "sushi" restaurants (there were three). This felt a little too adventurous. Up there on the list of host country experiences that come with time. Like buying non-refrigerated meat, for example.
 - Ponder why no one used their rooftops as decks or bars.

Fast forward five years.

 - Cheese, cheese, cheese. Wine soaked cheddar. Spanish hard goat cheese. Rondele! There may not be 100 choices, but wow, what an improvement!
 - Earl Grey, available at Soriana. Whoot! I can now have a cup whenever. And use the tea bag once.
 - Dogs on leashes. Designer dog group meetings in the park. Pugs in sweaters named Poncho. The number of starving, ribs showing pups continues to dwindle.
 - Decent Indian food? Two blocks over, three blocks down. Thai we are still hunting for.
 - We have never seen so many motorcycles! Lines of them in the Plaza on the weekends! Harley store right in town!  Several motorcycle equipment shops. (Yes, I said several!)
 - Rooftop bars/patios abound, and oh what fun it is to have a cocktail and watch the local young women teeter up in fashionable platform six inch heels. Joven! Another round!
 - Non-refrigerated meat is no longer daunting. Livestock market? Why not! But sushi? When I saw a whole shelf dedicated to Asian products at our local grocery store, I knew it was time for a Sushi Party at our place!