Life in the Places of Scattering

Have I mentioned how incredibly safe I feel in Mérida? I won't say there's no crime, but I can honestly say that I've seen none-- neither pickpocketer nor robber nor crazy person threatening to hurt you. (Perhaps this last one belies my long-time residence in the Washington DC Area...)

Anyway, I'm safe in Mérida, and as it turns out, I'm safe here in Oaxaca as well. This I know because the pamphlet tells me so.

This would be the pamphlet that the police handed me as I was walking toward the Zocalo (main square). The pamphlet contains Spanish, French and English versions of the same message, with the latter two almost certainly produced by Google Translator (I checked)... a useful tool in a pinch, but utterly clumsy with full sentences, I'm sad to say.

Well, only a little sad... because the outcome is hilarious. I've included it here for your enjoyment.

Go ahead and read it out loud...

Oaxaca is a Sure State, for this reason, the Direction of the Auxiliary Bank, Industrial and Commercial Police invites to the local, national and international tourism to bear in mind the following Councils:

• Do not lose of sight your belongings (properties).
• Monitor your purse or your portfolio in the agglomerations.
• When it goes to the beach or swimming pool, take the strictly necessary thing.
• Protect your video camera or photography in the places of scattering.
• Avoid the games of random in the street. They are a fraud.
• I distrusted suspicious persons.
• Elude the easy business. They might be a swindle.
• If some vehicle uses, do not leave any object of value at sight.

If you work through the key mistranslations, it's really quite clear. A 'portfolio' is a wallet and 'agglomerations' are crowds. 'The places of scattering' are those places where you might relax, say, on a park bench or at an outdoor café.

But this last phrase is endearing. It has captured my imagination. I'm tempted to take it on as my new phrase, as in Sorry I'm late, but I got lost in the places of scattering. Or Hey, I'll meet you in the places of scattering, you know, next to the games of random, in the street.

And so it is that I'm safely scattered in the agglomerations of Oaxaca. I'm loving it here-- the mountains, the winding roads, the verticality of Oaxaca that is, I'll admit, a welcome change from flat-as-a-pancake Merida. Then there's the food-- the chocolate, the moles (come on, now, and say it in Spanish: MO-le).

Oh, and yes, the mescal-- which you can find mixed with cream in a variety of flavors, including espresso. (Who needs Starbucks when you can drink espresso-infused mescal?)

This last shot was my first shot of the day-- at 11 a.m., on a bus tour, this gal served up multiple samples of mescal.

ON A BUS. Just like that.

Needless to say, the resulting sales were swift, and by the end of the tour, she had unloaded many bottles of the stuff.

Wow... I thought I was just taking a simple tour of town, but before we knew it, it was already noon and we were knee high in the places of scattering.

Well, you get the idea.

You know your Spanish is functional when...

you can call your landlady out of the blue and have this conversation (written in English that approximates my Spanish, unknown errors omitted, of course):

Landlady (LL): Hello?

KT: Hi, Rosi. This is Karen.

LL: Oh hi. Is everything okay?

KT: Um, yes. Maybe.

LL: What happened?

KT: Well, there were noises last night. Cats were fighting, but I was sleeping...

LL: Yes...

KT: Well (Pues), there's a dead cat in the garden. (un gatito muerto)

LL: Oh, my God. Poor thing. (ay, pobrecito)

KT: Sí, probrecito.

LL: Pobrecito.

KT: Pues, I put the cat in a bag... well, in three bags...

LL: That's good.

KT: Yes... But it's a problem. The garbage [pick up] won't come until Monday, of course [because it was Good Friday and everything except the church is shut down]...

LL: Oh, I see...

KT: Yes... and I'm on my way to the airport, and I don't want to leave this dead cat in front of the house for all of Easter weekend... It's not good.

LL: Yes, I understand...

KT: Pues, I also have friends who will arrive tomorrow to stay at my house. I won't be there. So I left a note for them about the dead cat. To put it out on the sidewalk for Monday [trash removal].

LL: That's good.

KT: Yes. But... I really don't want them to find this dead cat in a bag, you understand.

LL: Yes, I understand.

KT: What a horror (que horror) to find a dead cat in a bag... when they arrive.

LL: Sí. Que horror.

KT: So, if it's possible, can you take the cat? Can you... take it and include it with your trash on Monday? I don't want to shock my friends with the dead cat.

LL: Yes, absolutely, absolutely.

KT: Okay... so if you take the cat, please also take the note that I left on the table. I wrote a note to my friends... about the cat... and if you take the cat...

LL: Yes yes, I understand. If I take the cat, also take the note.

KT: Yes, that's right. Take the note.

LL: Okay, no problem. Take care.

KT: Thank you. A million thanks. Take care. Um... Happy Easter.

LL: And to you, Happy Easter. Pobrecito.

KT: Sí, pobrecito.


Ah, life is never dull in Mexico.

I arrived in Oaxaca last night, and just talked to my house guests in Mérida. To my relief and theirs, my landlady removed the cat and all is well there.

Here, it's the Saturday before Easter, and I'm about to head out for my first daytime glimpse of Oaxaca. I'll be here for the next ten days, studying Spanish and visiting friends.

You'll forgive me for not including photos with this posting.

Pobrecito.

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NB: Sorry I've been away from my blog for a while. I'm back now, and look forward to posting regularly. I've got plenty of material to work with, that's for sure. Thanks for checking in and not giving up!

Kidnapped by a Trio

Finally! If you'd talked to me two days ago, I'd have lamented that I *still* haven't made a meaningful contact in Merida's very rich world of music.

Sure, they're everywhere, playing every night, singing Trova, playing for Danzon (see my previous posting on Danzon here). But somehow, I've not been able to talk at length with the musicians I've seen; chalk it up to shyness (don't laugh-- I'm shy on occasion!), though I did muster up the courage to chat with the Trio Montejo (right) after a wonderful performance last week.

(As the show ended, the audience learned that the Trio Montejo was the last of the original trios that started the Thursday night serenata performances 45 years ago. I was moved to thanked them, and that was that... still no closer to making music with others.)

But that all changed on Friday night, and like so many of the good things in life, it happened when I least expected it.

So, it's 8 p.m. and I'm on my way to dinner at a friend's house. For this, I need to find a taxi, and rather than calling a taxi, I decide to walk down to the plaza and simply catch one there.

Approaching the plaza, this is what I see: a parade of strolling 'trio' musicians and horse-drawn carts, the men dressed in their finest guayaberas and the women adorned with flowers to match their gorgeously embroidered ternos.

I take some pictures, smile at the folks passing by, and follow the parade with the understanding that I won't be finding a taxi any time soon.

Soon, I'm chatting with three men in the procession. They're sitting up in a horse-drawn cart which is rolling along at the same speed that I'm walking, giving me a perfect opportunity to ask what the parade is all about. Before I know it, they've got me up in the cart, occupying the fourth seat-- lucky me, this is a parade celebrating trios and not quartets.

Actually, this is a parade celebrating Trova, a ballad-centered style of music sung by trios or soloists backed by delicious harmonies and Latin, jazz-like rhythms.

In fact, the entire month of March has been dedicated to Trova, though I've been only vaguely aware of this. (As I explained to my new-found friends, "Oh, I thought every month was Trova month in Merida." They liked this.) So, this parade is the closing ceremony for a month celebrating all things Trova, and I'm starting to understand why I've seen so much superb music in the past several weeks.

There are no pictures of this spontaneous horse-drawn cart ride among the stars, I'm happy to say. I briefly consider whipping out my camera, but realize just as quickly that doing so would instantly and irreversibly transform me from participant back into mere observer. Instead, we talk.

Arturo, Carlos and Jorge, all in their mid-70's, have known Trova all their lives. Arturo's father, Arturo Alcocer Escamilla, was a famous trovador in the 1940's and 50's, known as "el artistócrata de los trovadores". Carlos Gilm, sitting next to me, is a soloist and, I'm thrilled to learn, a teacher of Trova.

At this point, the parade comes to an end, the buggy stops, and we disembark. I should be going. I'm due at my friends' house, oh, right now, and I'm nowhere close to a taxi. My new friends offer to take me, but only if I join them for a coffee first, and so we're off to a close-by cafe for more Trova and a dose of caffeine.

This is when I know I have arrived. There is a young trio playing when we walk in-- a soprano guitarist, an alto guitarist, and a bass player, each with voices to mix and match on the harmonies. As we sit, the young trovadors acknowledge my new friends, the old-timers, and it is clear that I am in the company of much-admired musicians. Almost instantly, Carlos is invited up to sing a tune with his once-students. Now it's safe to take out my camera.

Carlos sang beautifully, we drank coffee, we all exchanged numbers, and I'm pretty sure I snagged myself a top of the line Trova teacher. When I finally arrived my other friends' dinner party, I apologized for being late, telling only the truth: I was kidnapped by a trio.