Towards the end of 2008, my paycheck showed that I had 160 hours use or lose leave. I usually go back to China but this year, on thinking about the coldness there, I decided to change my China trip schedule.
But I had no other travel plan either. I had thought of using these 20 working days to clean up my apartment, get rid of some stuff and read some interesting books. My colleagues however, said I should go out to travel. I myself also felt I should have a change from the mundane life in Monterey. I once wrote on CND that if one did not travel from time to time, one was bound to have a mental collapse from seeing the same things, scenes and people day in and day out.
I looked at the plane ticket price from San Francisco to Beijing and found that it was well above 1000 dollars, so I decided to go to Mexico for the second time. The first time I went there was in 2004. I chose Mexico because a green card holder does not need to apply for visa beforehand. I may just as well go to Canada, but it was cold and the place I would like to visit was in New Brunswick, too far from California.
I did some homework online, including bus ticket information seeking. I found that Mexican bus websites had improved a lot from four years ago. Now you can book your ticket online, to the minute details of securing your seat number.
I did not book the ticket online, however, because I was not sure if I could make it on time for a booked schedule. I only bought the Greyhound ticket from Salinas to Tijuana 7 days in advance. This ticket was originally 50 something but when I booked it, it had been raised to 60 something. I called them and a guy said it was raised only one day before.
The bus took 12 hours to arrive in Tijuana. When the bus crossed the border, a spanish speaking guy was saying to the whole bus about some money thing. My fellow passenger told me that we should give him one dollar. Why? I asked. She said she did not know. I prepared a dollar. But when the guy passed though everyone he did not make any gesture asking me to pay so I did not pay. Then he was speaking to the whole bus again and said something The Chinito no paga. I just turned a deaf ear to him. This money is not included in the Greyhound ticket.
At Tijuana bus terminal I found out that first class buses had all been booked out. I could not wait, since I had to be in Oaxaca before Dec. 23rd. I had no choice but to buy an economic class. The economic class traveled on the same road as the first class, so there was no danger of being robbed, but the bus was old and one of its shock absorbers was not functioning, so I had to endure much bumping. The toilet was unbearable. There was no water to flush it so sometimes the toilet was full of shit. The economic class was 130 dollars while the primary class was 150 dollars. 1 dollar is 12 to 13 pesos.
Nothing really interesting happened during the 40 hours from TJ to DF. In DF, I was amazed to find long lines of people buying ADO bus tickets to go down south. I could not get a ticket of the same day, but only one for early next morning. I deposited my luggage, went to the city center to kill time and returned to the bus terminal around 10 pm. I had to spend the whole night there. I found that the seats at Mexico Norte Terminal were designed in such a way that you could not sink into the metal chair to doze off. Many people were sleeping on the floor. The night was cold and I had my warm jacket packed with the luggage. When I asked the luggage deposit if I could get my jacket the guy said there was a surveillance camera and they could not just do that. For the whole night I moved around from one waiting place to another, slept a while and walked around to keep warm.
Finally it was time to board the ADO first class bus for Oaxaca. I noticed that passengers were giving luggage workers tips. I never saw such a thing before. When I handed over my luggage, the guy did not immediately put it onto the bus but made a gesture indicating I should pay tips. I gave him 2 pesos. He flipped it over and seemed unsatisfied. I boarded the bus, but later came down to check if my luggage was loaded. The guy recognized me and indicated that my backpack was already loaded. I could not see it anyway, so I just went back hoping he would not pull a trick on me.
Later as I came back from Oaxaca I asked the bus terminal people if passengers should pay tips. They said there was no such a thing. The ADO guy handling luggages at the ADO terminal did not demand any tip.
ADO bus was clean and comfortable. The restroom was especially nice, water and paper and all.
The scenery along the road from DF to Oaxaca was beautiful, lots of lush green. Soon the bus started to climb up mountains. This gave me a better view of the surrounding mountain valleys. I noticed that the hill slope by the side of the road seemed to be covered with a layer of crust. There were some broken parts and I learned that the crust was made of iron wire net, mixed with some grayish thing, possible cement. The net was used to hold the earth from being rushed away by rain.
Along the road, I also saw vast span of uneven land with guts and grooves that seemed to suggest a once upon time flooded basin. Such places are like the brave brushwork in an abstract oil painting.
When the bus arrived at the Oaxaca terminal, I asked a young lady one the bus how far the downtown was from the terminal. She said she was also going there and offered me a ride to the downtown in her taxi. As the taxi entered the downtown I was amazed at the sheer number of people coming and going in the streets. I had the feeling of foreign devils first arriving in a Chinese city in Ming Dynasty, shocked to find the busy markets etc. I had thought I should not stay here for more than two days, now I thought even a week would not be enough.
Before I left for Mexico, I had done some homework and collected information about youth hostels in Oaxaca. There seemed a lot and many were around the city square Zocalo. I did not bother to copy the addresses of these hostels, because their descriptions said they were close to Zocalo. One of them even advertised that they had Chinese speaking personnel and it was two blocks from Zocalo. However, with heavy backpack on my back and another smaller one on my chest, I walked around and asked around and never find the hostel. A resourceful police woman had a list of youth hostels in her hand and marked some on my map. I went to Paulinas, the well known one, only to find they no longer had vacancy. Luckily, on one of the maps I downloaded from internet, I had written the name of a hostel and drew an arrow towards the street where it was located. I went there and they happened to have a place in a 6 person dorm. This youth hostel was originally not my first choice because it was 10 blocks from Zocalo. However, it turned out to be a good choice. The dorm was spacious and clean and the beds were queen beds, not singles beds or bunkers. There were two maids who did a nice job in room service, providing clean towels and new soaps each day. Although no food was included, guests can cook and there was a good market in the town for materials. Next to the hostel was a tour bus service selling tickets for Mounte Alban. The 10 block distance proved to be easy walk and at this distance, the hostel enjoyed some seclusion from the hustle and bustle of the downtown.
From my hostel seeking experience I learned that you had to get the exact address of a hotel or hostel. The streets of downtown are narrow, lined with vendor stalls and also serve as one way traffic roads, With large luggage, it is very difficult to negotiate them.
Oaxaca is very exotic, with many local women in their traditional dresses and many local food and artisan products in the markets. I was not shocked by the exoticness though, since I knew quite a bit about Oaxacanean culture through my interaction with people in my California town who are from Oaxaca. I had seen their colorful dresses, had tasted chicken with mole, and had watched tourism videos about Zocalo. This however did not deprive me of the fun to experience on site in a total immersion way. The mole (how I regret I did not bring some back) in particular is richer than what I had seen before. There are special mole stores on the street where I lived and there, with old furniture befitting the dark colored local specialty. There is mole in basins in private vendor stores in the Mercado de 20 Noviembre that seemed more home-made. I like the appearance and smell of it. Grasshoppers fried with pepper is another pleasant thing to look at---reddish and oily. They tasted spicy and crispy. Then there is the Oro of Oaxaca, the gold of Oaxaca, the alcohol Mezcal distilled from local plant of agave. It is not very strong and tastes sweet after the pungency of the alcohol is over. Well packed in beautiful bottles and boxes, they are good as gifts. A major producer seemed to be promoting it everywhere. The employees, all young girls, dressed in white short sleeve shirts. I often saw two girls at the same spot everyday and we became friends. I showed them the Chinese street markets on my tapes that I brought with me to use. They were very excited. When I asked them to give an introduction of their product, one girl was so camera-sensitive that after a serious start she would laugh loudly and could not talk on when she saw the camera. The introduction could not be videoed at all.
Local people are mostly Zapotec. Their skin was darker. One type of skull shape and facial features seems to dominate local women. As I walked in the streets and watched the young women, I often saw a family resemblance between them and a daughter of a Oaxaca family that I know who live in Seaside, CA. Young Oaxaca women are pretty, healthy-looking and full figured and their senior counterparts are very grandma-like, with all the nice connotation of family cooking, kindness and generosity.
Zocalo in Oaxaca is not big and during this holiday season, it is always packed with locals and tourists. Local people take it as a leisure place after work and many also take it as a business site, selling food, jewelry, flower, etc. The vendors can be as young as less than ten year old and most of them are women. A whole side of Zocalo is occupied by a restaurant and the dinning tables are in the roofed passage way. There dinners can enjoy open air while still feel they are eating inside the building. Opposite in the Zocalo one often finds several musicians playing marimba. The slow and melodic numbers add much romantic flavor to Zocalo life.
I arrived at Oaxaca on the 22 of December, in the early afternoon. I used the less than half day exploring downtown to get myself oriented. The following day I went to Mounte Alban by tour bus. The ticket was 38 pesos. Later when I cam back I asked a local who rode in the bus how much he paid for going from Mounte Alban to Oaxaca, he said 6 pesos. I wonder if I had not bought the tour ticket but had catched the bus a few block away from the starting point, wether I could pay the same.
Mounte Alban is the ruins of an early Zapotec civilization. It is not far from Oaxaca city, just about 30 minutes bus ride up hill. When the bus climbed up the mountain, I felt like taking an airplane. One my right I could see Oaxaca vally, dotted with houses. A very nice scene to look at.
Mounte Alban archeological site is not as impressive as Teotihuacan in Mexico City. Visiting there did not give me any sense of historical attachment either. It is a nice hiking place though.
Dec. 23 is Oaxaca's Day of the Radishes. Local artists use radishes to make a variety of figurines and display them at Zocalo. Thousands of people line up to get a close view of the exhibits. I went to Zocalo at 8 pm and the show was to end at 11 pm. I tried to find the end of the line but I found that the line circled Zocalo three rounds and extended into a side street. There was no hope to enter within 3 hours. Mexicans lined up anyway, very patiently. I gave up and used my camcorder and digital camera to shoot whatever I could get a glimpse of from outside the viewing corridor.
On Dec. 24, I took local bus to go to two villages near Oaxaca city, Mitla and Teotitlan. Mitla boasts a good artisan market that sells all kinds of artifects and ethnic garments. Oaxaca's ethnic clothing is especially colorful. There is also an archeological ruins site. There is another place lauded by local tourist guidance, Tule, where you can see a thousand year old tree. It is the first stop on the road leading to Mitla. I decided to go reversely, going to Mitla first and then on my way back, stopping at Teotitlan and finally Tule.
Mitla's center is not far from the place the bus stops. After I got off the bus, I took a road on my left and in minutes I was at the center, where there was a market, a city office or police office. To say this is a village is not exact. It is more like part of a larger town in appearance. But exactly what is a village? In traditional Chinese concept, a village consists of unpaved road, lots of domestic animals, etc. This image has changed in the 30 year development and many villages in eastern China are now like towns. On internet, Mitla is called either village or town or municipality.
The bus from Oaxaca to Mitla costed 14 pesos. It was 10 pesos from Mitla to Teotitlan. The bus from Mitla ran on the main road and did not branch into Teotitlan. Teotitlan lays way back from the main road. When my bus dropped me off at the side road entrance to Teotitlan, I thought of giving it up to visit the town since it looked a long way to go. As I was walking, a truck passed by me, stopped and back up a little bit. The driver asked if I was going to Teotitlan and said he could give me a ride for free. In the truck there were two other men, one senior in age. The driver spoke some English and told me he had been to the States and had walked a lot and had been offerred rides. Soon we came to a spot where it said "detour" and the bus veered right into dirt road, across fields and the scene was really rustic. Coming back on the main village road, it continued to head up and I saw no sign of a center, only a long narrow street with sparse shops on both sides. I kind of grew creepy and asked the driver if I should get off here. He said ok you can get off and explore on foot here a little bit. It turned out that I got off not far from the town church and the center, where there was also an artisan market.
Architecturewise, Teotitlan was not different from Mitla, execept that it got more muruals, pictures on walls on the subject of family violence, mental hygene etc. There were also political campaign signs asking people to vote for this or that guy as mayor or other positions.
On my way up to the center, I saw an old adobe building in bad shape on a smally mount, with half-collapsed stone steps leading to its door. I went up and found it was a large hall with three stone crosses. They might be three tombs. There were candle offering here and there and the whole place was dirty. It seemed like a worshipping place for some popular deity, like a small temple by the side of the road for the God of Earth in China, where people just burn some incense.
I tried to look for a taxi or bus to go back to Oaxaca but did not find anything. There were tour buses for tour groups but I could not get on them. I decided to walk out. It proved to be a one-hour walk. On the way I saw two local women in traditional dress working on their looms making carpet, the local speciality for tourists. I tried to talk them into letting me taking pictures, but neither consented. At the center, I saw a pretty girl sitting with some baskets beside her. It was a nice composition but euqally I failed to get permission to shoot.
As I was walking out, a bus headed towards the village. When I was about to reach the T section of the main road and the village road, the bus came and picked me up. For Oaxaca, 10 pesos. For Tule, also 10 pesos. I decided to by pass Tule. Afterall it was just a huge tree. I was tired out after the hiking.
I could have gone to Tule the following day, since I checked out at 11 am, deposited my luggage at the hostel and had 12 hours before leaving for DF. I did not go however, still feeling tired. I spent the day roaming the old town of Oaxaca, the part north of Zocalo and then lingered around Zocalo. As dusk fell, temperature dropped and again my jacket was in my luggage. Second time to make such a mistake. I could hve stayed in a Chinese restaurant for a while, but I literally forgot its existence.
This Chinese restaurant I chanced to find the night of the day before. On looking up from Zocalo, I saw some Chinese red lanterns on the second floor of a building. Then I noticed a pinying sign saying Nihao Restaurant. I went up by a narrow spiral staircase and saw a young women sitting there by the window. She is from Beijing and her parents now live in New York. She said she liked Oaxaca's weather and had been there for 20 years. She also told me she had a hostel downtown. I said OK it was your hotel that offered Chinese service? Yes she said. I told her I never found it. At the location it was supposed to be, there was only a Villa Hotel, but it was not a hostel. She said hers was right next to it.
The following day, I checked it out again and still could not find it.
第二天，我又去找，还是没有找到。
Her name is Min Qing, a rare surname and she is pretty. Of course she had a family, at least a daughter. I heard her talking with her daughter on the cell.
她叫闵青，这个姓不多见。她人很漂亮，当然是有家的，至少有个女儿。我听见她用手机跟女儿通话。
This was a first time I meet a Chinese living in Mexico. I wondered what it was like. I do not think there are lots of Chinese in Oaxaca. Hers was the only Chinese restaurant I know of.
I forgot to take some picutres of the restaurant. Nor did I take her pictures. Maybe because I was preoccupied with Mexican girls as photographing subjects. The appearance of a Chinese was out of my expectation.
Also on my last day, I was bent on eating something not cooked by myself. It never occurred to me to eat at her restaurant. The concept of Chinese food in Oaxac was not registered in my mind at all.
At 5 am Greyhound bus from LA pulled into the bus terminal in Salinas. It was still dark. A few passengers came out of the bus, met by their people and went to their cars respectively. A Chinese, wearing a cowboy hat and carrying a big backpack on his back and a smaller one in his hand, hurried towards the MST transit center two blocks away. There would be the first bus of the day going to Monterey, as he had read from the MST schedule of weekdays. It was the last day of the year and a Wednesday. A taxi driver greeted him at the Greyhound parking lot and asked him if he wanted a taxi. No, he said firmly.
The transit center was a deserted one. There was a tall black man pacing back and forth in the chilly coldness of the morning and further on the Chinese saw a human figure leaning against a pillar.
公共汽车站冷冷清清。在清晨的寒冷中一个高个子黑人在那里踱来踱去。远处一个人影倚在柱子上。
"Has the 5:05 bus come yet?" he asked the black guy.
“5：05的车来了吗？”中国人问黑人。
"No,I guess they are running on holiday schedule."
“没来。我猜他们现在用节假日时刻表。”
"Holiday? Today is Wednesday and people work!" the Chinese exclaimed.
“假期？今天是星期三。人家还上班呢！”中国人说。
Though saying so, the Chinese's heart sunk. It might well be true. The period from the Christmas and the New Year might well be interpreted as holiday season and the city might alter the bus schedule on this excuse.
Putting down his luggage on a bench, he looked at his watch. 5:10 now. No sign of bus. If it was indeed on holiday schedule, there won't be a bus till 8.
"How can they do this? There is no notice on their website (actually he did not now since he last checked the MST website before the 18th)." he said to the black man indignantly.
The Chinese pulled at the iron gate guarding the public bathroom. It was of course locked. There was a notice saying the bathroom opens at 8 am.
车站上有个公厕。中国人拉了拉公厕的铁门。门自然是锁着的。有个牌子写着公厕8点开门。
A woman walked up to the Chinese and asked him about bus schedule. The Chinese said he had no idea.
一个女人走过来问中国人知道不知道汽车时刻表。中国人说不知道。
"I came all the way from Tijuana," he said to the black man."Had I know about this I might have started late in Tijuana."
中国人转向黑人：“我从蒂华纳来，早知道会这样，不如坐晚一班的车。”
He had been in Tijuana the day before, arriving from Mexico City in the early morning and bought a ticket for Salinas. He had planned his time to catch the first or the second bus from Salinas for Monterey. He had to leave TJ at 4 pm. He missed the evening scene of TJ, the girls lining the streets in the North Zone. When he arrived in TJ, the city was just waking up.
Years ago, greyhound would take him right to the lake in central Monterey. No need to ride in a local bus. But the poor service of the Greyhound agent by the lake finally caused Greyhound to abandon that stop-over spot and anyone in Monterey now has to take a local bus to Salinas at the cost of 4 dollars to ride Greyhound.
The Chinese thought it a shame for Monterey, Seaside and Pacific Grove combined not to have a Greyhound station.
中国人觉得蒙特雷，海滨市，太平林市加在一起还不值得灰狗在这里设一个站，简直是耻辱。
"This is a dead town," the Chinese complained, "nothing is open." He savored the memory of Mexico streets beginning to become active with vendors in the early morning. He savored the memory of Mexican central caminera that is 24 hours open.
“这个城市简直是座坟墓，”中国人抱怨道。“什么都不开门。”他带着温馨回忆着墨西哥清晨的街道上的活力和24小时开放的长途汽车站。
"There is a doughnut store that opens at 6," said the black man.
“那个甜麦圈店6点开门，”黑人说。
Oh, the doughnut store. The Chinese remembers the store that is connected to the Greyhound terminal. Two women work there, Maria and Xiuying. Maria is from Michocan but she has been in this country so long that she told him he knew more about Mexico than she did. Xiuying is a Cambodian Chinese. He had met them on the 18th when he left for Mexico.
Hearing the black man's words, the Chinese felt a little warmth in his heart. He looked into the distant sky where signs of daybreak were showing.
听了黑人的话，中国人心里觉得暖和了一点。他看了看天边露出的曙色。
A car pulled over and a Phillipine woman came out, said something in Tagalog to the Chinese as she passed him, but the Chinese understood she was talking about bus. The woman went to the bus schedule posted on a wall window and examined it.
mezcal.jpg (2009-1-8 11:54, 119.88 K )
