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!

Atzompa. In your soul!

Do you ever have experiences in life, where at the moment you are in them, a part of your brain starts to record every detail, because you know the experience is changing your soul? It will be a story you tell to friends, a memory that makes you smile when you think about it. Fills your heart with a sort of bigness that reminds you that life is spectacular. Atzompa, and specifically my pottery tour with Rufina, a master potter from Atzompa, is one of those moments.

Atzompa is a satellite community outside of Oaxaca. There are excavated ruins  at Atzompa now, which you can visit for free as they are still working on the excavation. There are very few people there and the site offers one of the most spectacular views of the Oaxaca valleys. There are a few really cool things about the site: it flourished between 650 and 850 AD. They discovered a pottery kiln about 2.5 meters underground, which they reconstructed. The current village of Atzompa, 2 kilometers  away at the base of the hill, is resident to direct descendants of  the original residents of the ruin. 90% of the current population are potters.

So for nearly 1200 years, Atzompa has been producing pottery.

I had signed my visiting friend Kim and I up for a pottery tour through Innovando La Tradition, a not for profit organization working with six different potters in the Oaxaca area to either modernize their process, their product or innovate with them. I had never worked with clay before. When you sign up, you have no idea where you will be going to, but they do tell you that you will have an opportunity to work with clay in some way. Fabulous. Off we go!

On the bus we are advised by our guide, Flor, that we are going to Atzompa. (Super cool!) and we would be working today with Rufina. We arrive at her home and she greets us. I am almost instantly scooped up in her smile and her manner. She is beautiful, and traditional (her smock, her long black hair in braids with blue ribbons) and with a little gleam in her eye that lets you know there is something waiting to be discovered.

Her inner patio is piled high with what looks like dirt. She explains that it is two different kinds of clay, which she mixes together to create her working material. She explains to us that she soaks one type for about a month in water, and it creates a paste which she then mixes by hand in a wheelbarrow with the other type of clay. As she explains this, she drops the wet clay into the barrel and sprinkles the dry clay over top and say to us, "Here, get your hands in there. Work the clay. Get Atzompa in your soul." And that we did. Not only did we knead the clay like dough, we then watched her spin a bowl with nothing more that an inverted clay pot, an old tile, a plate, and her skill. I was mesmerized.

She then takes out a smaller wheel for each of us and again tells us to get our hands in there. From the clay we kneaded, and her 15 minute demonstration, we are now going to make our own bowl (or something). Whoa! There is one potter in our group, but the rest of us have never thrown, worked, spun, touched or molded clay before. After a bit of hesitation, we are in Rufina's trance. She comes over to help and guide, but otherwise we are on our own.

I could have worked all day, but we agree to five more minutes, then wash off and have lunch with Rufina. Her kindness extends through her offering us a wonderful meal, and after we eat, she shows us her kilns. She has her traditional one, dug into the earth and scarred black, broken pottery scattered around and her tools for getting the pots in and out of the fire.

She then shows us "the new babies". These are two modern, new kilns that she has worked for ten years with Innovando and another local artisan who blows glass, to refine. The kilns work on recycled restaurant oil, which she collects from restaurants in and around Oaxaca. She explains that there was a lot of trial and error, to get the kilns hot enough, consistent enough, to make her ceramic. She shares that there were originally 40 potter families involved, she is now the only one. She explains the others were resistant to change and dropped out of the project. Her family encouraged her to continue. I ask her is the change, the work, the challenges excite her. With a gleam in her eye and a sly smile, she answers, "Si!"

Rufina is now involved in a project to go to Belgium as the  ambassador for Mexican arts. The group were raising money for her journey. I donated, and I thought it was a good time to share my amazing experience with all of you.

Here is Rufina is a great video about the project.

I would like to take a few workshops with her in the future. My finished product, front left (after it air dried for 30 days and then was fired and I went to pick it up, a total of about 2 months!) was nothing to write home about, but it makes me happy, and I serve guacamole and chips in it with great pride. Kim's is on the right, and Jackie (the only experienced potter) is the one behind. I get to babysit their pieces until the come back home to Oaxaca again.

Permanent Residency Statistics

We are just back from Canada. We left Oaxaca on April 10th and drove for 2 days to Austin, spent a few days there visiting and then flew to Montreal. Here are some interesting stats from the trip:

Beds: We slept in 15 beds different beds. From hotels to guest rooms to the loft in our cabin, we rarely rested our heads in the same place for more than a few nights at a time before we were on the move again.
Cities: Fourteen in all, over three countires, not double counting those we were in twice: San Luis Potosi, Laredo, Austin, Chertsey, Montreal, Bath, North Bay, Toronto, Mississauga, Brantford, New Braunfels, Petawawa, Port Hope, Queretaro
Kilometers traveled: Approximately 9000 kilometers in the car, and we flew from Austin to Montreal. No wonder we are feeling a bit road weary...

Pets rubbed: Diego and Hilda, our cats, stayed in Oaxaca while we were away. Thankfully I got some surrogate fur love from a total of 17 pets, 8 dogs and 9 cats
Friends visited: 44. Yes. 44. I was tempted to list them all here because we had to write them all down to count them. Thank you so much to all 44 for carving out some time to see us. It is never enough time together, but we appreciate every moment. For those we did not get a chance to see, we'll be back around August, stay tuned!
Family visited: 17. We managed some great visits and quality time with family which really meant a lot to both of us. Ralph's Dad is 97 and we try to sneak in as many visits with him as we can! (Even though he did not make date squares this time...) For those family members who were in Spain while we were visiting, see you in August, amigos!

Hours for successful permanent residency application:  4. Yes, it only took us 4 hours to have our applications processed even though we were planning for the standard ten days.





Catula is a good place to stop away from Laredo about one hr.

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.

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.