Yesterday was a very low-key day, which is one of the goals of vacations, right? After breakfast, I went up toa quiet common room, with art hanging everywhere, and wrote a blog entry. Then I joined Sandra up on the room, where there are tables, chairs, colored colanders encasing lights, and great views of the city. Across the street is an enclosed terrace, where two monkeys were swinging away. We figured out how to say this in Spanish, but haven’t tried it out on anyone yet.
Then, both of us studied Spanish for an hour or two. Sandra is, as usual, far beyond me, but I’m surprised how easy this is, especially compared to Greek. I haven’t formally taken Spanish since the 8th grade, except for an adult ed class for a few months in the early 80′s. I’m sure I could get by if I spent 6 solid months of doing nothing but studying and speaking. Given where our country is going, Spanish should be a mandated 2nd language for everyone, and kids should then start working on a third language of their choice.
We then went out looking for a place to eat. Not so easy on a Sunday afternoon, but we found a very nice place. We ordered cheese-stuffed fried squash blossoms. Delicious, of course, and reminded me of the kolokothikes tiganites we had in Ikaria. The other dish we had was our first mole in the city. A rich, dark sauce over chicken, subtle and flavorful. It sure is going to be a pleasure to eat here!
We spent the rest of the afternoon just walking around. We checked out the etnobotanical jardin, but it was mostly a playground for kids and a hangout for couples. The usual small stands all around, selling fired corn on the cob, or other things. We did see a few bookstores that looked interesting, but all were closed. We also saw several signs for homeopathic doctors and “medico cirujano”, the latter of which we haven’t figured out yet. Given the artistic openness of the town, and the large indigenous population with its own traditions, it is no surprise to have this open-mindedness regarding health and health care.
We thought about going to a dance performance, but were afraid it would just be a choreographed version of what really happens, so we’re hoping to see the real thing during one of the posadas here. There’s something happening everywhere, from parades, to fireworks, to pop concerts, to salsa clubs. We’re not up to speed yet, but I’m glad we’re taking the entire two weeks I have off from school to be here, instead of gallivanting around Mexico.
Late afternoon was a long nap for Sandra and me finishing my first book. I brought 5, all on my iPad, and just downloaded another one from the Seattle Pubic Library. It’s totally easy, and makes packing simpler and obviously less heavy. Plus I get to write this blog, do whatever e-mails I want to, etc. I know regular travelers are used to this, but it’s liberating, especially after my early days in my young 20′s, hauling all kinds of crap around. Money sure makes things easier here, too. Not that we’re spending a lot, by most standards, but neither of us could have afforded a place like this during the days we were bouncing around youth hostels. As Sandra says, the cucaracha days are over.
While walking around near the zocalo trying to find dinner, we stumbled across a museum named after Rufino Tamayo, one of the many well-known painters here. The building that houses the works is very open, and it was showing an annual exhibition, for free that night, so we went in. One of the young guides showed us the museum’s Dubuffet, and I commented on him reading Mein Kampf (Mi Lucha), which he was holding. He was saying that it seemed that the problem with Nazism was not so much the ideology but Hitler himself. I didn’t want to get into it…Anyway, a nice place, and there are many other museums to look into.
Still couldn’t find a dinner place. One of the ones recommended in the guide had upped and moved to Houston, of all places. We finally had to settle on a Spaghetteria and had a pizza, preceded by tortilla strips dipped in two Oaxacan sauces. I felt a bit disoriented. It’s similar to the langauge thing, where I find myself answering questions in Greek, or making a monosyllabic reply in Macedonian. Imagine if I were an immigrant…
We had to hang in there while a guitarist hung out in the doorway belting out a few songs whcih to my ear sounded classic Tex-Mex instead of anything else (I still don’t know what the local music is like). He hoped to make some money from the patrons, but no such luck. It reminded me of the guy who sang one rhumba near our table our first night out in Granada for our honeymoon. I don’t how these guys survive. Along with TV commercials, it seems these situations are the same everywhere.
