Without Guayabera

Nomads again. All our belongings stacked on Nemo's back, we left Oaxaca heading north. We reached Puebla in the late afternoon, and headed for the Zocalo. As per our usual luck, that Sunday was the opening day of the Barroquisimo, a month-long festival of music and art. Before we joined the crowd waiting for a popular rock star to appear on stage, we needed to fulfill our craving for a banana split. In the ice cream shop, we stared at a wall-size poster.

"An afternoon of Danzon!" it proclaimed.

According to the poster, the event was already in progress, and the last band on the schedule would have started to play about an hour before. Within seconds, I overcame Adi's reluctance by reminding her of two facts. First, the band "Danzonera La Playa" is one of the most famous Danzon groups, and second, they probably started later than schedule. We did without the ice cream and the rock star, and rushed to the event, a few blocks away. In our haste, we went just as we were, wearing T-shirts and sandals. Almost out of breath, we pushed through the thick ring of onlookers, and joined the couples on the dance floor.

Within seconds of moving to the familiar rhythm of the Danzon, my adrenalin dissipated, and I was calm, and happily enjoying the music. I noticed the big smile on Adi's face, and I knew that we made a good decision. Then, I paid attention to the other dancers. They were all dressed in fancy ballroom attire, much more elaborate and sexy than the Oaxaca crowd. It also seemed that they were all staring at us. According to Lonely Planet, the residents of Puebla are considered to be aloof and snobbish, and I felt uncomfortable in my casual outfit, until I realized that instead of frowning, the couples around us were beaming smiles while signaling Thumbs-up. Foreigners that can dance Danzon are welcome even in Puebla.

Adi, in her uncanny ability to remember faces, discovered that we saw this band performing last year, in the masked ball of the Vera Cruz Carnaval. The lead singer recognized her too, and asked her to the stage to introduce herself.

"I am Adi; I am from Korea; and I love Danzon!" she shouted into the microphone.

The audience erupted in thunderous cheers. After that, we became the afternoon's attraction. In the short breaks between dances, many couples approached, and congratulated us on our dancing ability. We repeatedly had to answer where we are from, where we learned Danzon, and what is our opinion of Puebla. Despite the adoring atmosphere around us, we did not fail to mention that we didn't know about the event, otherwise we would have been wearing our evening dress and Guayabera. This last statement seemed to seal our acceptance into the "Snobish" Pueblan society. We promised to come back in September, this time wearing the proper clothes.

"We shall await you" was the courteous and friendly reply.

Salomon

I stepped out into the bright morning sunshine and instantly woke up. Inside the cabin, the air was lazy and warm from many hours of a soothing and romantic fire; outside the door, at an altitude of three thousand meters, it was invigoratingly cool. I breathed deeply, savoring the fresh pine scent permeating the forest. The sun in the cloudless sky, illuminated, on the opposite ridge, a family coming out of their isolated hut to begin their day, yet left in the shade, the fog that filled the deep canyon, and whose shaggy surface transformed the ridges into green islands in a white sea. Our hike today will lead us down into the canyon and on to the next village.

After breakfast I stayed outside to soak in this beautiful morning. I watched Salomon hurry up the steep village road. He was a few minutes late, but I was in no hurry. I shouldered my daypack and, with Adi, followed Salomon down the road. The road took us through La Neveria, Salomon's home village, a remote Zapotec community of ninety-six residents. La Neveria joined its neighbors and developed an "ecotourism" cooperative, where visitors can hike a network of trails, and stay in comfortably furnished cabins. On the village's only street, several of Salomon's grandchildren were on their way to fetch water. We helped them carry the water up the hill until our paths diverged. The grandchildren live with him and his wife, whereas his four adult children left the village in search of work. They are now residing, close to each other, in Tijuana. Salomon did not visit them there.

"It is an ugly place, with bad people." he says.

I knew that migration is common in Oaxaca's poorer regions. Almost everyone has a relative living (usually undocumented) in the US. I was surprised by the presence of the grandchildren. However, it was easy to assume, that the village is a healthier environment for children then the crowded and violent border city of Tijuana.

We left the road and followed Salomon into the forest. On first impression, he did not resemble my stereotype of an Indian tracker. He is sixty years old, wearing western clothes, and he walks keeping his arms fixed at the sides of his stocky body looking a bit like Charlie Chaplin. However, once inside the forest, he became agile, smooth, and calm. The forest floor was carpeted with a thick layer of pine needles which made the scarcely used trail invisible. Yet he walked quietly sidestepping bushes and fallen branches. From time to time, he would halt in mid stride, holding his hand up signaling us to stop too. He would direct our attention to a bird singing among the trees. He named the bird, and tried to point it to our unaccustomed eyes. Eventually we learned to see the birds, and the ones we couldn't see he described in colorful and intimate detail. At other times, he strayed from the trail returning with some leaves in his hand which he made us smell or taste. Some were good for reducing fever, other for stomach ache, and so on. When I complained about my slight altitude headache, he came back with some branches growing small pale leaves, which should be boiled before drinking. He learned about the medicinal plants from his mother who was a curadora (healer). As a child, he participated in her foraging trips in the forest. Now her art is lost. Salomon does not have his mother's healing knowledge, and his children do not even recognize the medicinal plants. Many aspects of the indigenous culture have been lost. However, the Zaptec survived as the spoken language is Zapotec, while the children learn Spanish at school. Furthermore, there seems to be a growing trend of native pride and cultural revival. Maybe one of Salomon's granddaughters will be able to become a curadora.

Down by the clear flowing creek, resting in the shade of a large pine tree, Salomon reluctantly shared our snacks. He told us about the small farming patch (milpa) where he grows all the food that his family consumes. Although he has no cash crops, he occasionally sells a turkey or two. He goes down to town only once or twice a month. All he needs to buy In the market are salt and sugar, staples introduced by the white man, which he cannot produce at home. It sounds like an idyllic existence, until one remembers the four children that had to leave. The ecotourism enterprise is intended to provide some of the sorely needed cash. Members of the village accept one year assignments in project, while the income is shared by the whole village. As it happened, we arrived on the last day of the yearly rotation. Lupe was happy the year is over. She felt that waiting all day in an empty kitchen, is boring. She much prefers working in the field. Salomon's only worry was whether his fitness level will go down when he stops the daily guiding trips.

Rested, we continued up a dirt road. The pine forest was gradually replaced by oak trees and bushes, and the combination of more sun and an uphill slope made the talking difficult. It was Salomon's turn to satisfy his curiosity. He wanted to hear our impressions of the distant places we visited. He never left the state of Oaxaca, yet he accumulated a lot of knowledge by watching travel documentaries on satellite TV. He guided our accounts by asking specific questions about locations and cultures, and he often supplied place names which we forgot.

We reached Latuvi just in time to escape the hottest sun. Waiting for us in this village of a few hundred inhabitants was a traditional Temascal (Steam cleansing). We bid goodbye to our new friend, and promised to return next season. He promised to be our guide again. He will now walk back to Neveria, and we will return to the big city with a new understanding and respect for the life of the indigenous population of Oaxaca.



A global-warming anecdote:

La Neveria was named after its ice-making industry. In the winter months, at this high altitude, it used to be cold enough for water to freeze. The ice was conserved underground, and sold in the summer. It has been many years since water freezes in Neveria.

Danzon Duet

A Danzon evening in front of the Oaxaca cathedral. Unexpectedly, the MC asked us to perform. We were happy to show off our new skills. Despite my hairstyle, we are now local celebrities.

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