What I saw and the Mexican Chuck Norris

Lulu and her son Pedro were right on time. In fact, so on time that their car horn was our wake up call. I did brush my teeth, and we managed to remember the camera. That and good walking shoes was really all we needed any way. First we drove to Mitla. This is a site of ruins from the pre-hispanic period. The catholics built a cathedral on top of one of the sites, but other than that things remain as they were. There is very little funding for archeological preservation, so many of the ruins continue to deteriorate, but the grounds are well kept and everything is still really fascinating to see. Lulu used to work in the archeological industry and still has many connections. She was definitely the best person to have as a tour guide and saved us A LOT of money. It is easier to share pictures than try to describe things in words so here are few from Mitla. As we were walking among these old temples and things it struck me how incredible it is that the mountains surrounding this site have seen everything. They were here before these ruins were even built, saw them constructed, saw them deteriorate, and are still here today.

After exploring the ruins we stopped for chocolate (a hot chocolate drink) and some bread at a little cafe. Then we walked around the market outside where vendors were selling mostly fruits and vegetables. Lulu bought me a little bag made of a kind of plastic thread that is made in Oaxaca. As we were walking back through the market towards the car, this lady offered us what looked like little seeds. Zach took a small pinch, but I hesitated (and wisely I thought) Lulu explained to me that these were little ground up worms. Zach put the whole pinch (maybe a teaspoon and a half) into his mouth...CHEWED...and swallowed. I gaged. He didn't.
It is certainly an acquired taste, poignant, bursting with flavor unlike anything stateside. It wasn't so terrible, but I certainly balked at the larger, juicier looking older brother to 30 or so little guys I pitched into the abyss. Besides I had just had a delicious entomatada for breakfast and would hate to lose such good food. I need the calories for today's adventures.

The second site we went to was an old Fort located on the side and top of a mountain. We climbed around, saw a stadium where some type of game was probably played (perhaps like the game in "Road to El Dorado") Then we hiked up the little mountain and took pictures and hiked around. Here are a few:

The last site we went to housed a temple with a sacrificial altar, and two very large masks carved into the stone. These represented the king rulers of the time. Another temple had an even bigger mask representing a god that was worshiped. An note of interest: the heir to the throne would keep the femur of their father to use as a scepter symbolizing their right to rule. Maybe there is something here regarding the origin of "pulling your leg." Anyway, here are a few pictures from this site:
This place above pictured held something different for me. The table above the hole where the tomb for the royal ancients is, is an altar where human sacrifice took place. I took some pictures and we went to see other parts of the ruins, but for whatever reason I wanted to put my hands on the altar. I thought, "no, we've moved on" but I knew this was a special opportunity. I went back by myself and looked at the altar, I placed my hands on it and thought about the various people that died there. I know the actual surface has probably long since been eroded and the stone I am touching isn't the same cold rock that touched their backs, but the geographic location was the same; I wondered if they struggled, were afraid or had a devout confidence in the religious ceremony if it was that? What were their thoughts? Were their lives complete or ended? Why did we do this? Was it worth it? Touching the stone I felt a small stirring of my own hysteria captured in the thought and stoic movement of this stationary emblem. I still carry its effects and feel as if I carry some of the same weight that others who have been made to touch this terrible and plain ornament of the human landscape.

At this point it was about 2:30 in the afternoon. We drove to Lulu and Pedro's house and watched some videos of Pedro's dancing competitions. (He is a very good Salsa dancer from what we here and what all of his awards and trophies proclaim). Then we walked next door to Lulu's brother Felix's house. Felix is a potter. He makes cups, bowls, and plates of all different types and sizes. By hand. He let us each have one to decorate as we would. Zach painted a beautiful mountain scape on his, I carved our name into mine, and Pedro painted and carved a design into his. We spent quite a while on little stools working, and the mosquitos feasted well. We finally got fed up and went into the house to finish our handicrafts. Felix said the bowls would be ready on this Thursday. He is going to glaze and finish them. Once we were done Lulu and Pedro took us to a huge buffet. It was on the other side of town, a drive that went part way up the mountains and was really pretty. The buffet was really neat. Like any buffet you might know of there were mountains of food and thousands of choices. I was actually really thankful for this opportunity to try a little nibble of a bunch of new things. Food here is nothing like Mexican food in the United States. Tacos are little, on corn tortillas, and not rolled into any shape. There is no such thing as a burrito. There is nothing like liquid Queso. Salsa is really liquidy and comes in all kinds of colors from brown to greenish yellow. Popular dishes include Milanesa (a lightly battered and fried cut of pork), Mole (chicken in a type of gravy which is very intensive to prepare and can be made in many different colors and flavors), and ladas (that isn't what they are actually called, but they are tortillas lightly fried and covered in whatever you want - beans or frijos, tomatoes, or chilies) side note - this would probably be where we got enchiladas from - but here no one eats enchiladas as you know them. One thing that is accurate is a taquito. These are relatively common. *I think in a post soon we should accumulate pictures of the foods here and share them. The buffet was really neat. We enjoyed it greatly. Once we were all finished, we drove back to the church and met up with the college group. Pedro is part of the group - he is about to start his last year of medical school in a week and a half. His younger brother Miguel is also college age. The others included Jose, Isidro, Victor, and Quetzalli, We all walked to a coca-cola shop near the Llano. This place is packed full of coke things - trinkets by the millions, old advertisements, everything coke you can imagine. Many in the group opted to have coke-floats, which are really popular here. There is no such thing as Root beer here, so everyone has coke floats instead. Coke and coke products are more popular than pepsi (much to Zach's dismay) but you can still find pepsi many places. We shared jokes and stories and sipped our beverages, and then headed back to the church to part ways. It was about 7:30 when we made it back to the church. A man (who we later learned is called Carlos) approached Zach as we were locking the gate. Ironically he doesn't speak spanish. He was a nomadic homeless man that was just looking for a good chat. Zach talked with him for a while, and then Miguel and Pedro gave us a ride back to the house in Tule. We were glad to be back, and worn out from the past two very full days. Luckily I did not have to make communion bread because Latisha had made enough for this week as well when she was teaching me how last Saturday night. We crashed early, and hard.

My notes on the aforementioned events and what I saw: I saw a boy covered and surrounded pollution and smog were his neighbors and small coins his friend; I wanted with all my heart to take him away from this place, not from family and familiarity but from the poisons that kill him and from the necessity of working the busiest highway in the city on a Saturday afternoon. His smile chases me and his wave haunts me. I saw a young man at half-mast apparently mourning over his dirty moped as bent at the waist loving his bike and mooning the world. I saw a soldier holding the grip of a loaded machine gun mounted to the of the truck he was riding in and I wonder under what circumstances would he decided to use what he held. I saw an old man, white v-neck tucked in to his jeans, glass Pepsi bottle in hand smiling as he stood waiting to cross the heavily trafficked street; a family riding with the top down enjoying the drive in their vintage Volkswagen, care-free and loving, I myself moved on, a ghost of thought and observation.
I was kind of forced to meet Carlos, he walked up enjoining himself in our conversation with a confident arbitrariness that would under no circumstances permit exclusion. Listening I came to understand the he was coming to my aid against these others who he perceived as hassling me (them being the college group from church). He cautioned me about jumping to something without checking it out and he let me know that he had my back and gave me the names and numbers of some others who would come to my aid, from the public authorities to other guys on the street. During some of his more colorful introduction coated with the flavors of our own American street slang, he mentioned without dwelling that he was the Mexican Chuck Norris. It could have an appositive to a totally unrelated sentence, careful listening has it's own amusing rewards. I gathered he was at some pointed a martial artist who would practice while under the hypnosis of some drug or other. He worked in Houston for a while and is now here searching. I appreciate his confession of search, more respectable people cover themselves with the illusions of what they've found and won't confess to be searching or in need. He hesitated to let me go and to some degree I hesitated too. The mirror he held up to me demanded to know what I had to offer. I searched my pockets and came up 273 pesos short of anything remotely valuable. I felt a ghost again, an observer and a thinker, nothing more. How I long to have hands solid for movement, strong and effectual. Unfortunately, I had to trade my unpossessed effection for a handful of internal affection expressed in the brief touching of hands, the meeting of eyes, the spoken assurance that he had been heard and a departing mind wandering and wondering.