Pollos y Pollas

It's 6:30 and my alarm is going off beside my head. My first thought: not a chance. I'm supposed to get up to climb the stairs again, but there were a few cervezas last night and I've only been asleep for about 6 hours. I close my eyes and I'm about to go back to sleep when the thought occurs to me: What if, by some miraculous occurrence, Shayna gets out of bed and goes? Or worse yet, what if Al Nochecito* makes it? I drag myself up, throw on my clothes and head out the door. Not surprisingly, neither of them is waiting for me at the appointed location. At that point, I should have gone home and back to bed. Instead I soldiered on. A few minutes behind schedule, I ran halfway there to meet up with the others and begin the ascent. There was a big turn-out that morning, and they were unfortunately (for me) all the sporty ones of the group. Ann and I brought up the rear while the others set a torturous pace. 3/4 of the way up, my body decided it would go no further and I headed home, tired and a little light-headed.

Despite my big plans for that day, which was Saturday by the way, Friday had turned out to be the best so far, so I wasn't too upset when my plans were derailed. It all started at 10 am, with a trip to the Municipal Archives. This time our guide spoke slowly and clearly, and we were treated to some amazing registers. During the Porfiriato (1876-1910), various types of workers were required to register with the city and have their photo taken. The most interesting of these books was the register of prostitutes, who were provided European finery from a closet of clothes and posed for a professional portrait. Alas, I've not yet read any of the books on this subject,** but was filled in on some important details, including the fact that modern prostitutes in the city of Oaxaca will advertise their services by knitting on the streets. Wouldn't you know, just a few short hours later we passed a woman knitting as she walked down the street.

That afternoon we all headed to a restaurant in Colonia Reforma called Itunaní, where we were able to sample a few dishes and a number of fresh juices. The owner of Itunaní prides himself on organic ingredients and his working relationship with the people who farm his corn. The foods we tried were amazing and unique, and led Shayna and I to contemplate giving up academia altogether to sell street food. I don't know the name of this thing, but it was incredible: a baked tortilla shell stuffed with queso fresco, crema and chicharron. I took some abuse when Bill French saw me taking photos of it, but seriously. This thing was life-changing.

From the restaurant, Shayna and I headed down the zocalo and Alcalá, the main tourist street and pedestrian mall, to do some exploring. We have discovered that not only do we share a love of food, but we also have similar taste in kitsch and thus make the perfect shopping partners. We finally found just the things we were looking for in Oaxaca: local folkloric art. While I won't go into detail here, I suggest you look up the Mexican calavera to get an idea what I'm talking about. It's the figure of a skeleton who performs all the activities of day-to-day life, reminding us that death is always around the corner. Death, and depictions of it, play an important role in Mexican culture. We also discovered a tendency toward the vulgar, as we looked closely at the sculptures and metal art only to find numerous depictions of scrotums, penises, naked breasts, and, in one case, a calavera figurine of a doctor with a patient on a gynecology table - legs spread. This city just keeps on surprising me. We also found a vendor selling miniature rubber chickens in the zocalo, which we couldn't resist. I suspect you'll be seeing a fair amount of our pollitos, Manuel y Miguel, from here on out.

We've found it surprisingly easy to run into people here, and our wanderings soon brought us back to some friends and we all headed to a place called La Mescalera to sample some local mezcal. Having discovered that I don't really care for mezcal, I had half a shot and moved quickly to beer while the others continued to sample the local specialty. The most amazing thing about La Mezcalera that night? The music. A few drinks in and we were rocking out to Metallica, Rick Astley, Coolio and Cher, among other things. All the while, our little pollitos danced along. We wandered out of La Mezcalera sometime around 11:00 and went in search of  food. Fully satisfied, I headed home while the others carried on to the karaoke bar down the street from my house.

And that brings us back to 6:30 am and my torturous walk up the mountain. When I saw that nobody was waiting for me on the corner, I should have just gone back to bed. My victory at getting up that morning was not worth my suffering as I trudged my way up those stairs.

*This pseudonym has been chosen by the subject himself, although it has been slightly altered to suit my preferences.
**I've been told that the best of these is Visions of the Emerald City, by Mark Overmyer-Velazquez.