Order in the cashier.
A sign in a Mexican Cafe.
The flight to Mexico City from LA takes about 3 hours and was uneventful except that I learnt the Spanish word for stewardess....'Azafata'.It's good to know that I will be having a retired Azafata as a sister-in-law.
Flying low over a city of 25 million at night is a pretty sight especially Mexico with it's hills and mountains. On the ground it was the same old rigmarole though; taking off everything that agitates an Xray several times and queuing for immigration. Soonish we are at domestic departures and after an aborted trip out to the plane we are on board and the pilot explains that traffic is busy and 'It's just one of those days'. Reminded me of Suzie coming into Cork airport and the Aer Lingus pilot announcing 'The weather in Cork is good. It's raining.'
We arrive at the small airport of Oaxaca 45 mins later. Again a long delay for passengers from out of state. Out of state out of mind. It was reassuring to see all the procedures being done per usual except for extreme laissez-faire and inefficiency. Signs of the menaña culture already, a welcome relief from the 'and how are you today?' culture.
Don't even attempt to drive in Mexico. Thank God for the city council's wisdom in putting speed ramps on the airport road. It's a Grand Prix between each ramp and we are talking of cars that have seen their best days.
We arrived at the Casa Sierra Azul around midnight. This is a beautiful crumbling Spanish Colonial building, like so many others in the city. It sports a shady central courtyard, logia?, with fountains and flower pots. Off this is the first room we stayed in . It was spacious but had no window, only a fan that raced at breakneck RPM and was attached to the ceiling by a slender wire. This mad thing's acrobatic manouevering was too much for Mrs Poodlem who prefered a hot night to a possible beheading. Two mornings later we were awoken at 8.45 a.m., not a good hour for poodles, by a deafening banging on the roof above. Now we know why the fan achieved it's instability. This banging lasts all day and is due to two men on the roof with pickaxes. Maybe this is the Mexican equivalent of a break in.
We retreated to an upstairs 'mini-suite' . This is further away from the matitudinal axeing but it has other less welcome features, namely the bathroom. We are paying US Dollars 135 per night(!!!) to have a bathroom that smells uncannily like two week's supply of something that rhymes with 'height'.One needs to steel oneself for a trip to the shower. But even this gross lack of value cannot dent the delight at being in this city. I keep reminding Georgie of the sweet smells of India and how lucky we are to be here. And lucky we are. This is the 'old civilisation' mixed with voodoo catholicism. There is obviously terrible poverty especially in the barrios on the outskirts where people have built homes with no available water, but there is a wonderful relaxed graceful aura to the place, faded elegance and signs of modern culture and facilities being born out of the old way, all mixed up fairly harmoniously. The caveat being that this is a tourist's intuition after being in the country 5 days.
Our first 'desayuno' was taken on the square, which is traffic free, and full of outdoor cafes for us touristas. One could people watch all day. Negotiating the menu we skipped the 'divorced eggs' (one in a green sauce, one in a red), eschewed the grasshoper with guacomole and went for the 'yugurth with brain'.
The square, from morning to night, is peopled with the tiny Mixtec Indian people selling rugs, fans, combs, toys, balloons and sometimes, pitifully, a few pieces of chewing gum. These people really are tiny, maybe four foot tall at most. The elderly ladies have silver hair and are dressed in brightly coloured layers a la Mexican postcards. They seem exceedingly sun-wizened and ancient but we pondered that they may in fact look many years older than actually.
Our first experience of their music was from a little 6 year old boy who stood by our breakfast table, played a few bars of Mariachi on his squeeze box, and let out a couple of phrases of the most rasping intonation one could imagine. Why didn't I bring the mini disc that day? It comes with us all the time now and we have captured some gems.
Lots more to come on this place, our favourite of the whole journey. Perks too, he had his photo taken with a Mixtec street seller, a Danish couple and and a Parisian Vietnamese with her boyfriend. He was also caught canoodling with a life sized skeleton. They are big on them here. Much of the folk art is based on death's heads. Skeletons dancing, eating, rowing boats and generally horseing around. This theme predates the Spanish invasion and is also connected to the important 'Day of The Dead'. On this day the graveyards are visited and it is believed that the poor goners can enjoy a day out and sample again the earthly pleasures.
We have a lot to learn.
The flight to Mexico City from LA takes about 3 hours and was uneventful except that I learnt the Spanish word for stewardess....'Azafata'.It's good to know that I will be having a retired Azafata as a sister-in-law.
Flying low over a city of 25 million at night is a pretty sight especially Mexico with it's hills and mountains. On the ground it was the same old rigmarole though; taking off everything that agitates an Xray several times and queuing for immigration. Soonish we are at domestic departures and after an aborted trip out to the plane we are on board and the pilot explains that traffic is busy and 'It's just one of those days'. Reminded me of Suzie coming into Cork airport and the Aer Lingus pilot announcing 'The weather in Cork is good. It's raining.'
We arrive at the small airport of Oaxaca 45 mins later. Again a long delay for passengers from out of state. Out of state out of mind. It was reassuring to see all the procedures being done per usual except for extreme laissez-faire and inefficiency. Signs of the menaña culture already, a welcome relief from the 'and how are you today?' culture.
Don't even attempt to drive in Mexico. Thank God for the city council's wisdom in putting speed ramps on the airport road. It's a Grand Prix between each ramp and we are talking of cars that have seen their best days.
We arrived at the Casa Sierra Azul around midnight. This is a beautiful crumbling Spanish Colonial building, like so many others in the city. It sports a shady central courtyard, logia?, with fountains and flower pots. Off this is the first room we stayed in . It was spacious but had no window, only a fan that raced at breakneck RPM and was attached to the ceiling by a slender wire. This mad thing's acrobatic manouevering was too much for Mrs Poodlem who prefered a hot night to a possible beheading. Two mornings later we were awoken at 8.45 a.m., not a good hour for poodles, by a deafening banging on the roof above. Now we know why the fan achieved it's instability. This banging lasts all day and is due to two men on the roof with pickaxes. Maybe this is the Mexican equivalent of a break in.
We retreated to an upstairs 'mini-suite' . This is further away from the matitudinal axeing but it has other less welcome features, namely the bathroom. We are paying US Dollars 135 per night(!!!) to have a bathroom that smells uncannily like two week's supply of something that rhymes with 'height'.One needs to steel oneself for a trip to the shower. But even this gross lack of value cannot dent the delight at being in this city. I keep reminding Georgie of the sweet smells of India and how lucky we are to be here. And lucky we are. This is the 'old civilisation' mixed with voodoo catholicism. There is obviously terrible poverty especially in the barrios on the outskirts where people have built homes with no available water, but there is a wonderful relaxed graceful aura to the place, faded elegance and signs of modern culture and facilities being born out of the old way, all mixed up fairly harmoniously. The caveat being that this is a tourist's intuition after being in the country 5 days.
Our first 'desayuno' was taken on the square, which is traffic free, and full of outdoor cafes for us touristas. One could people watch all day. Negotiating the menu we skipped the 'divorced eggs' (one in a green sauce, one in a red), eschewed the grasshoper with guacomole and went for the 'yugurth with brain'.
The square, from morning to night, is peopled with the tiny Mixtec Indian people selling rugs, fans, combs, toys, balloons and sometimes, pitifully, a few pieces of chewing gum. These people really are tiny, maybe four foot tall at most. The elderly ladies have silver hair and are dressed in brightly coloured layers a la Mexican postcards. They seem exceedingly sun-wizened and ancient but we pondered that they may in fact look many years older than actually.
Our first experience of their music was from a little 6 year old boy who stood by our breakfast table, played a few bars of Mariachi on his squeeze box, and let out a couple of phrases of the most rasping intonation one could imagine. Why didn't I bring the mini disc that day? It comes with us all the time now and we have captured some gems.
Lots more to come on this place, our favourite of the whole journey. Perks too, he had his photo taken with a Mixtec street seller, a Danish couple and and a Parisian Vietnamese with her boyfriend. He was also caught canoodling with a life sized skeleton. They are big on them here. Much of the folk art is based on death's heads. Skeletons dancing, eating, rowing boats and generally horseing around. This theme predates the Spanish invasion and is also connected to the important 'Day of The Dead'. On this day the graveyards are visited and it is believed that the poor goners can enjoy a day out and sample again the earthly pleasures.
We have a lot to learn.
posted by Tim Goulding at Friday, March 11, 2005
1 Comments:
Hi Dave and Ann, looking forward to seeing ye too. The Azafata is the girl my brother is to marry in June.
Think you would be a good Cluedo player though.
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