Thousands Turn Out to See Frida Kahlo's Moustache

Okay. I know it's not kind to joke, but really, the National Museum in Oaxaca was mobbed on Thursday night when we went in to see the largest tapeta de arena of all. Seriously. We haven't seen so many foreigners in Oaxaca this year until now. Jenna doesn't recall this many when she visited three years ago. I am excited to report that, at least this weekend, tourism thrives in Oaxaca.*

Same for Friday night when we walked down Abasolo all the way to the panteon, the cemetery. Street vendors lined the calle as we got closer, and carnival games were set up in booths. There were little shooting galleries, throw-the-dart-at-the-balloons games and even a small carousel running round and round on a gas powered generator (and much faster than anything you'd see in the States; that's kind of how it goes here: kids are expected to hold on tight and grow up fast) peppered in between stands selling tlayudas, tortas, memelitas, tacos dorado, tostadas, and many, many more food stuffs. Vendors sold cds, jewelry, baskets, leather works, clothing and even kitchen supplies. Oaxacans and tourists made their way through the crowds, each casually inspecting the other amid the noise and celebration.

Only the main gate was open for passage in and out of the panteon, and so the mob merged into a tight stream of people jostling to get in, or out, of the cemetery. A brass band played rompous parade music under the grand concrete awning just inside entry hall, a sort of oom-pah-pah oom-pah-pah with a Latin twist, and candles glowed warmly at every tomb on the walls (picture an Egyptian type catacomb, or something out of the Matrix, slender, horizontal pods extending deep into the walls one on top of the other where bodies were laid to rest and cemented in place).

The graveyard itself, taking up the garden within the massive enclosure, was crowded full with off-kilter above-ground graves in various states of splendor and disarray. In the night, with the air of joyous remembrance and just a tinge of sadness for those most recent, most unjust deaths, with so many candles lighting the paths and the strong aroma of fresh flowers on every breath, with the beer and the mescal and the wine that people brought and shared and poured in plastic cups or real glasses, it was difficult to see the cemetery as a place for somberness, melancholy or sobriety. Families sat on the recently-tended graves of their deceased and told stories, told jokes, sang songs and took turns crying and laughing out loud in honor of the holiday of the dead. I found myself wishing we had a similar custom back home.

I returned to the museum on Friday during the lunch hour to take these photos of Frida when the exhibit was a little less crowded. Ironically enough, a young man stopped me to ask where I was visiting from and the like. I answered his questions in the entryway as he filled in the column on his clipboard, and then I proceeded into the museum. It was only after I took my pictures and headed for the exit that I saw the signs posted in the entrance requesting patrons leave their bags at the bag check and please don't take any photos. Well, nobody stopped me, and in this country that's as good as having gotten permission.

So here are some potentially contraband pics of Mexico's national artista, rendered in sand. These were taken from a second floor mezzanine, looking down on the ground floor. The attention to detail in the portrait of sand is stunning.

*I don't know but suspect that, if asked, local hoteliers would reply that reservations and room rentals are still below average (since the unrest of last summer and fall).

Notes on Oaxaca

Tapetas de arenas. Carpets of sand. That's what a friend told me today. In reference to the sand images photographed for my previous post. And el Dia de Muertos is this week, Friday (Thursday too, but less so), not "next weekend" as the post casually mentioned. When I was writing Monday night the holiday still seemed a little ways away, but not anymore. The streets are busy as vendors near the mercado 20 de Noviembre, several blocks from our house, crowd the sidewalks with stalls selling marigolds and a deep red velvety flower which name I do not know (perhaps somebody will tell me tomorrow) and skulls made of sugar, pan dulces (sweet breads) with faces of sugar baked into the crusts, and all manner of garish plastic trinket or toy featuring skeletons or ghouls practicing their arts.

"JUSTICE FOR OUR DEAD"

If the city is in turmoil--and I don't presume that quiet is the same as resolution--it is less obvious to me now than it was this summer. While there are military patrols there is not the same presence of force observed during the Guelaguetza or the August 5 election. While there is still the tug of war between political graffiti artists and the city crews whose job it is to follow with whitewash and rollers, especially in the zocalo and other central points, there does not appear to be, in the past two weeks since our return, the protests, demonstrations, ad hoc public kiosks demanding the release of political prisoners or the further investigation of human rights abuses or the removal from power of Governor Ulises Ruiz Ortiz. I'm not saying these things aren't happening, I'm just saying that, for me, they are not as visible as they were in the peak of the summer.

The tone right now to the casual eye is much more neutral, except for all the empty tables in all the restaurants that rely on tourism for so much of their business, which is very nearly all the restaurants in the centro historico. For these owners and employees I can only wonder how much the emptiness is costing in lost profits and wages. I wondered out loud the other day how many empresarios have gone or are going deep into debt in order to keep their businesses running throughout the tourist drought of the past 18 months. And who are the few creditors bankrolling much of the city as the lull endures? The way things work in Oaxaca, I think, there will be three or four very powerful people with their thumbs on all the commerce of the city. Of course when I read about Mexico in general I get the sense it is the same ten families who, when you cut through the smoke and paperwork, appear to run everything, so maybe nothing is so unusual after all.

I haven't been keeping up with the papers since we returned but intend to start reading again soon, now that we're settled. This week marks the year anniversary of the murder of American independent journalist Brad Will, and that's generated its own bit of attention, though moreso outside Oaxaca and Mexico, as far as I can tell, than here in the city where he died (see here to scroll through various posts on the subject). Outwardly things are calm. I am not informed enough at present to suggest what may be going on under the surface.

El Dia de Muertos: Images

The streets flow over with excitement as Oaxaca prepares for el Dia de Muertos next weekend. Fireworks go off nightly, though that's hardly limited to the holidays in Oaxaca. Brass bands and throngs of dancers fill the zocalo while religious ceremonies overflow the sanctuary of the great cathedral at Santo Domingo and into the front courtyard, illuminating the night. Colorful altars, populated with images or likenesses of deceased loved ones and adorned with offerings of chocolate, candies, cigarettes, mescal, sweet breads, flowers, fruits, toys, trinkets and more are installed in homes, restaurants, bars, galleries, souvenir shops.

Here two men in the zocalo labor over one of the many sand illustrations that have cropped up before the holiday.


And here are some striking images from the Alcala, one of the wide stone avenues in the historic center of town. These displays are made almost entirely with sand, though some incorporate maize, flower petals and more. Enjoy!

El Dia de Muertos

I often find the Oaxaca Times to be brazenly biased and hopelessly in need of a decent editor (hmmm . . . maybe they're hiring). The paper is chiefly a means of advertising to tourists, dressed up as a newsletter and distributed free throughout el centro. That said, I found this article about el Dia de Muertos to be exciting and enlightening, especially as the event draws near.

The Day of the Dead is a blend of cultural traditions: the pre-Hispanic cult of death, the veneration of ancestors practiced both by the indigenous people and by Spanish pre-Christian pagans, and the commemoration of Catholic Saints on All Saints' Day. Above all, it is a wholly Mexican occasion. The most ostentatious Christian festivity of the year—more exuberant than either Easter or Christmas—it illustrates the special relationship that Mexico has with death, a laughing, mocking familiarity embodied in the portrayal of grinning paper mache skeletons performing life's everyday tasks. Dancing on someone's grave, an action which carries negative connotation in the rest of the Christian world, here represents a reaching out of the living to the dead, a reunion in the most festive spirit.

I don't know enough about the holiday to say if the writer gets it right, and I don't have the will to go fact checking it now, but it's a pretty thorough article and offers insights on the customs with which I am unfamiliar. Of course there's a plug for tours run by Oaxaca Times, but that's how it goes. You get what you pay for, as the saying goes. This time it turns out pretty good.