10/ Gut Check
“But you know, the darkest hour is always just before the dawn.”
-- “Long Time Gone,” David Crosby
The half-way point of our year in Oaxaca seems like a good time for a candid assessment of how we’re doing. That is, how we’re REALLY doing. (By we, I of course mean I—Martha sends her best wishes but has no desire for her personal thoughts and feelings to be chronicled in these writings.)
Between light-hearted blog musings and funny Instagram posts, one could easily be convinced that our life in Oaxaca is one endless fiesta. And to some extent—and certainly by comparison to our former life in Seattle—it is. It would be easy for our friends to imagine us living out our wildest dreams here, and judging by the tenor of many comments we receive that’s just what you’re all imagining:
“You guys look like you’re having SO MUCH FUN!”
“Dude, I can just see you in that hammock by the beach!”
“We want to move to Mexico, too!”
“Drink a margarita for me!”
“Can we visit next week?”
Don’t get me wrong—we enjoy the appreciative cheers from the sidelines and are grateful for these and many other supportive comments. But appearances can be deceiving, and life, regardless of where it is lived, is still … life. That is to say, an inexorable rhythm of ups and downs, hopes and disappointments. Sometimes things just don’t work out as planned, including many that we count on for meaning and fulfillment. Not to put too dark a spin on it, but here goes: Living in another country, having to speak a different language, learning to eat strange food that doesn’t always agree with you, spending every day far from your dearest friends, family, home and hearth—well, this is hard, folks.
All of this became especially apparent during the inevitable letdown following Día de Los Muertos. We had hosted friends from Hawaii during the festivities (thanks for coming, Vance and Ann!), and the apartment felt especially empty after their departure, the papel picado banners with their grinning skulls now a hollow mockery of good times past.
I had taken a break from language lessons for a couple of weeks, a truly terrifying stunt given that even one day without a real conversation in Spanish makes me feel like I’ve lost ground. I was suffering from the disheartening sensation that 5 months of hard-won knowledge had utterly drained from my sieve-like brain. I came to Mexico to have an immersive experience, because I believe that there is no other way to truly learn a language; but when you entertain visitors here you inevitably spend more time speaking English and less time practicing Spanish.
To make matters worse, some of my other goals seemed further away than ever, goals that included finding opportunities to teach English, to play music, and to establish a wider circle of friends. As our 6-month mark approached, the realization that I had made little or no progress in any of these areas hovered forebodingly above my emotional landscape like thunderheads over the Sierra Norte.
Adding even more to our sense of gloom was somber news regarding the failing health of Martha’s brother Larry; she was suddenly scurrying to book a flight to Oakland to visit him for what would likely be the last time. To prepare myself mentally and emotionally for her unanticipated but utterly necessary absence, I decided that the first order of business would be to keep myself busy. So here’s what I did while she was gone for a week:
Participated in 4 intercambios.
Worked out at the gym 3 times.
Re-started Spanish lessons.
Listened to a Mexican rock band play American music.
Attended a performance of the Mozart Requiem.
Talked with a couple of former Spanish teachers.
Became an English tutor.
All of which proved extremely helpful to the process of picking myself up off the floor. Here’s how it helped:
Intercambios. Intercambios are one-on-one sessions between Mexicans and visiting foreigners who share an interest in meeting to practice both their English and our Spanish—the latter of which elicited some nice compliments from my compañeros de intercambio.
Gym. Getting regular exercise became a part of my daily routine more than 20 years ago, and when I go even a few days without it I begin to feel the difference—not only physically, but emotionally and psychologically as well. It’s a habit that’s not only been healthful but is now utterly necessary to my well-being.
Spanish lessons. At a dinner hosted by our Spanish school, one of the teachers I hadn’t previously met diagrammed the entire Subjunctive Mood for me on a napkin in five minutes. I was blown away—and vowed to give this guy a try in order to jump-start my progress.
Café. At a party some weeks earlier, I had had the opportunity to jam with a couple of guys who belonged to a classic-rock band known as The Geckoz. Going to hear them play that night was not only a welcome diversion, but an incredibly opportune one at that—given that they have now asked me to play with them at one gig so far, and hopefully at more gigs in the weeks and months ahead.
Mozart. One of the truly surprising aspects of life in Oaxaca is how many cultural events there are to enjoy here at little or no cost. One such boon is that the Oaxaca Symphony presents a season of completely free concerts in the lovely, art-nouveau Teatro Macedonio Alcalá. For sure it ain’t the New York Phil, but the price is right.
Spanish teachers. One of the two former teachers I chatted with is the person with whom I first started my Spanish studies over 7 years ago on Skype; the other is arguably our best friend here in Oaxaca. Both were immensely encouraging about my progress, the effect of which on my outlook was one of immediate relief, along with a telltale (and unaccustomed) whiff of optimism.
Tutoring English. I had heard earlier about a local community organization where school-aged kids were learning English. I dug the phone number out of my notes, gave them a call, and was immediately welcomed into the fold as a tutor, two days a week, for a couple of bright and motivated high-school kids.
On balance, for me it was a good week.
Since that time in mid-November, life has taken some interesting turns. We made an overnight trip into the mountains surrounding Oaxaca de Juárez to visit Capulálpam, one of the many pueblos tucked into the folds of the Sierra Norte (see A Trip to the Mountains). Wisely, these little towns have figured out that ecotourism represents their best path forward, both economically and culturally, as it will enable them to preserve their natural surroundings while continuing to follow traditions that date back centuries. The hikes we went on were breathtaking (literally, since the trails range in altitude from around 6,500’ to 10,000’), the people friendly and accommodating, and the vistas stunning. We’ll be back.
Martha and I had earlier planned, through necessity, to leave Mexico sometime in early December in order to reset the clocks on our 6-month tourist visas. It didn’t matter where we went—so long as we left the country for at least a day. Having recently seen some fun Facebook videos about sloths, we naturally picked Costa Rica for this sojourn’s destination. But then, given our recent, solemn reminder about the tenuous nature of life and family, we decided at the last minute to instead crash a Thanksgiving family gathering that my brother Andy in Knoxville had organized near Charleston, South Carolina. Thus I found myself winging my way back to the U.S.A., a full 6 months earlier and 3,000 miles distant from when and where I was expecting to return. There, together with Martha, sister Marty from Seattle, stepmom Ruthie from Maine, siblings-in-law Todd and Karen, and niece and nephew Forrest and Sophia, I spent 5 days eating, reminiscing, laughing, hugging and walking on the beach.
The visit with family was outstanding, the location interesting and beautiful, but it might as well have been Mars, so utterly different is the culture there from what we have become used to. We were reminded on a daily basis not only of how much better things generally work in the U.S., but also how completely everyone takes for granted things which we were now used to doing without—such as potable tap water, toilets that actually accommodate toilet paper, and food you don’t have to sterilize before eating. (Oops, this just in: 32 people hospitalized after eating romaine lettuce grown in, um, California.)
After a week spent in a land both alien and familiar, we landed at the diminutive Oaxaca International Airport, where a Mexican Immigrations agent casually stamped our passports with a new 180-day tourist visa. (While a reciprocal feat of this nature is virtually unattainable for some of my Oaxacan friends wanting to sightsee in the U.S., it is of course just one more luxury we Americans unthinkingly enjoy.)
We rode a colectivo home from the airport, zigging and zagging through back streets to avoid the inevitable bottlenecks (though not the potholes). At first it was difficult for me to recover from our trip, to mentally and physically re-root myself in the world from which I had briefly ventured. But after a few nights of being lulled to sleep by the reassuring sound of recreational ordnance exploding outside our apartment, I felt right at home again.
Now, with six months behind us and six more to go, I am once again looking forward instead of back, both shocked by the rapidity of passing time and newly inspired to delve more deeply into life in Oaxaca. I eagerly anticipate more trips both into the mountains and to the coast; making more music with newfound friends; greeting the impending tsunami of guests slated to wash ashore here in the months ahead; and enjoying the coming fiestas that will light up the town with now-predictable (and welcome) regularity.
