Se fin.

It's official: Oaxaca XIII is officially over. I'm almost home and I need to wrap this up, but I've been thinking for days about what I want to say and I'm still not sure.

Let me start with the departure scene in Oaxaca and take it from there. After a last trip to the organic market for breakfast, Bill and Maria walk me to the bus terminal, where James, Rob and Shayna are already waiting. I'm glad to see Shayna there, as only two hours earlier she had been comatose and missed our market date. As we prepare to board, I hug Bill and Maria goodbye and finally burst into tears, as I knew I inevitably would. I should have warned them ahead of time, but I didn't have it in me: I'm a crier, I can't help it. After losing a battle with the bus attendant, I'm forced to put my precious calavera under the bus and I board, close behind James and Rob. One last wave to Bill and Maria through the window as I take my seat. But where is Shayna?

Outside the bus (and out of my view), Shayna is having her own battle with the bus attendant. They seem to have objected to the bottle of mezcal in her carry-on, despite numerous assurances that it's not meant to be consumed on the bus. The fact that she's clearly still intoxicated  from last night is probably not working in her favour. They want the mezcal to go under the bus, but she no longer cares and leaves it instead on the curb. As she turns to wave at Bill and Maria, they both look back over their shoulders, pretending not to the know who the drunk girl outside is waving at. She finally boards the bus and hugs me for the next half hour as I cry all the way out of Oaxaca.

The last month was exhausting and now I'm sitting in the Mexico City airport, anxious to get home. We tried to explain to someone at the hostel why we were so tired: trabajo y fiestas, trabajo y fiestas, y mas trabajo. The seminar was exhausting and I got nothing else done, but no-one else did either. Long days were followed by long nights, staying out til midnight and getting up again at six. But it was worth every minute and I wouldn't give it back for anything. It's a rare thing when you meet someone that you connect with immediately and on a profound level, and never before have I made so many close friendships in one place. Over the course of the last week I've had to constantly remind myself that this isn't the end, it's the beginning.

As I tried to decide what to write here, I was once again trying to figure out how to cover another week's worth of events - a curandera, the botanical gardens, lucha libre, the good-bye dance party, and three crazy days in DF - but I'm going to leave all of that alone. If you want stories, you know where to reach me. All you really need to know is that Oaxaca was an incredible experience and that, on some level, I'm going home a different person than I was when I left.

To close, I'll leave you with a couple quotes that I felt the need to write down over the last week. I wish I had recorded more, but oh well.

Hasta luego.

"I wanna be put in a quesillo prison and have to eat my way out." - Al Nochecito

"Hopefully we get diarrhea." -Shayna

"No te ahuites Micheal. Eres el mas guapo." - Martin

...Oaxaca Nights

As we rounded the halfway mark of the 13th Annual Oaxaca Summer Institute, a phrase began to surface more frequently among the group. It is a phrase that I'm sure must have emerged early in the history of the seminar: What happens in Oaxaca stays in Oaxaca. Given the numerous hours spent in the local karaoke bar (and the impromptu karaoke sessions in the streets, in class, and at Maria's apartment), it isn't surprising that this has come up. Staying true to our motto, I'm not going to name names, but I do have to mention a few musical highlights (or lowlights, depending on your perspective).

We finally found a local watering hole last week, where we can get two peers for fifteen pesos, which is under $1.50. The other night we were thrown out after a rousing rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody, which I can assure you was of the highest quality. Our singing is always better after a few liters of beer. Now, to be fair, the bar was closing, but we didn't see them kicking anyone else out. I know at least one of the staff appreciated our show, however, as I saw her hiding behind the stairs laughing. Oh well, down the street to the karaoke bar we went. The guys already know everyone there, and the bartender is more than happy to ply us with drinks, although we do suspect he's over-charging us. No wonder he's always smiling when we walk in the door. The selection of English music is basically limited to Michael Jackson, so the night kicks off with Billie Jean before we begin massacring Mexican classics, to the horror of the patrons, who soon reclaim the microphone and attempt to show us up with their amazing vocal skills. What we lack in ability, we make up for in enthusiasm.

Then there was the 4th of July party, which ended up having very little do with U.S. independence and much more to do with the Mexico vs. Chile football game, the outcome of which I will not discuss. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. Everyone started to file out around 9 pm, leaving the fridge full of beer. Our host told the six of us who remained that we had to finish it and, to be honest, I didn't think we were up to the challenge. Three hours later I had the last beer in my hand. What transgressed in those three hours will be the stuff of legend in years to come. Our host, scarf tied Rambo-style around her head, worked her way through the most amazing playlist of 80s and 90s tunes I've ever heard. No more than a minute for each song, and at least three of us knew almost every word. The most impressive skills came from a certain individual who knew all the words to Alanis Morisette's greatest hits. I will not say his name, but he is an inspiration to us all. By far the highlight of the night came when we were treated to an interpretive dance, performed to Madonna's "Like a Prayer," and featured a special guest appearance by the Black Jesus. I don't throw this term around loosely, but it was an epic night.

Those of you who know me well will wonder what my role has been in all of this debauchery. Of course, I take myself far too seriously to participate in this sort of public embarrassment, verdad? But Oaxaca does strange things to people, and for whatever reason, Shayna and I bring out the best (or worst?) in each other. Even when no-one else is singing, we can be found wandering the streets, re-enacting the off-tune performance of Baby's sister Lisa in Dirty Dancing, subjecting all of Oaxaca to our unfortunate vocal stylings.

That's all I have to say on the subject for now, but I'm going to leave you all with a couple songs that I think a few of us will hold close to our hearts after our time here. Enjoy.

Oaxaca Days ...

It's hard to believe we've already passed the halfway mark here. In fact, as of tomorrow I only have one more week in Oaxaca.

I realize that I haven't said much about the actual seminar thus far, and I wouldn't want you to get the impression that I'm just down here shopping and eating and drinking - that's just what we do whenever we can find a spare minute. Mornings are usually spent reading, and thinking through the material when there's time. Classes generally start at 1 or 2 in the afternoon, and there are normally two sessions every day. There's no way I can cover everything here, but topics so far have included family relations during the Porfiriato and beyond, love letters from mining communities in Chihuahua, ethnographic photography, and the construction of indigenous identity, to name only a few. Next week we will be looking at public health and medicine. We've visited numerous archives, one archaeological site, and an artisan community outside the city. We've watched three movies so far (with another on the schedule tonight), visited the rehearsal space for the state band, and learned to dance the Son (although not with much success). The days are long and there hasn't been much time for anything except school work and the occasional beer to unwind.

The seminar has been an amazing experience, and I have no regrets about what I chose to do with this summer. I've had the opportunity to work with some incredible faculty members, I've been inspired by a few, and I'm coming home with a bibliography that should set me well in the right direction when it comes time to start reading for my PhD. One of the best things about the seminar so far, however, has been my peers. And I'm not just referring to karaoke here. The conversations I've had with my fellow students have been enlightening on many levels, especially as I prepare to apply for PhD programs. It's been an eye-opener, to say the least. When I was deciding whether or not to come down here (or "up here", as a wise man once told me), my supervisor pointed out that these will be my peers for the remainder of my career. I got to thinking about that the other day, and I look forward to meeting up with all of them again in the years to come. This may sound a little sappy and sentimental, but our time here is rapidly coming to an end, and it's reassuring to think that this is only the beginning of many relationships that I hope will carry on after we all go our separate ways.

So, the final week approaches and it will be hectic, as we try to do all the things we've not yet done and make the most of what's left of our time here together. There will also be a last, frantic attempt for Shayna and I to eat all the food that remains on our list. Yes, we have a list of food we need to eat. Are you really that surprised?

What is the difference between art and kitsch?

The theme for the seminar this week has been cultural history, with a focus on music. The highlight of the seminar was two talks by Raquel Paraíso from the University of Wisconsin, who studies the traditional Mexican musical form known as Son. Son is generally played on a series of string instruments accompanied by the rhythmic stomping of dancers. It is played all over Mexico, with different variations in different regions. After taking us on a musical tour of Son throughout Mexico, with numerous audio and video files, Raquel taught us all two very basic steps. Let's just say most of us should probably stick to academia.

In addition to classes this week, we were also assigned group projects looking at different aspects of daily culture in Oaxaca. Topics included prison art, the Oaxacan soundscape, and fireworks. Vero, Shayna and I jumped at the chance to do a project on calaveras, the skeleton figures that can be found all over Mexico and are particularly prevalent in Oaxaca. Calaveras have been around for a long time, as they are associated with the Day of the Dead celebrations that take place throughout the country on the 1st and 2nd of November. At the turn of the 20th century, a cartoonist by the name of José  Guadalupe Posada began using them as form of political satire, mocking the country's elite and reminding us all that life is fleeting. Posada's most famous figure was the Catrina, the Porfirian woman in skeletal form who can now be found in shops all over Oaxaca. While locals continue to associate calaveras with the Day of the Dead, it is the Catrina that draws in tourists and it is this market that she really caters to. 

I have to say, this project was perfect for us. What better way to spend our spare time than wandering in markets and shops doing 'research'? At one point I mentioned that we should have done our project on food, but since that's basically a running research project anyway, it was good to learn something else too. All three of us have acquired a love of calaveras and used the project as an excuse to justify the purchase of some amazing examples. One of the questions that has driven the project, and which has always been present in our minds as we look at tourist wares, is: what is the different between kitsch and art? Oaxaca surely has a lot of kitsch, but are all calaveras kitsch? I found an amazing specimen in one of the markets, but she was placed on a wall along with hundreds of others, clearly mass produced and meant to supply the demands of the tourist market. This calavera was unlike any I'd seen up to that point: she was indigenous, carried a machine gun, and had ammo belts strung across her chest. This was my calavera, but could I find a nicer version of the same model? Actually, yes. Friday night Shayna and I stumbled across a little shop we hadn't seen before. Unfortunately it was closed, but through the window we spotted a calavera in the form of a nun and we knew we had to go back. When we returned yesterday and went  inside, we were amazed. The shop was full of beautifully painted calaveras, saints, and alebrijes (a topic I'll come to shortly). Not only did they have a nun, but they also had my soldier woman, and a much nicer model at that. The man who owned the shop sat painting a Catrina at his counter, and his work was beautiful. Although I found the woman I'd been looking for, ammo and all, there was another beside her who drew my attention. This one was indigenous as well, but she was a dancer. She wore a shawl, and held up her green skirt as she danced. I had to have her. That night, Shayna, Vero and I all walked out a few hundred pesos lighter, each with an amazing calavera in hand. I bought my dancer, Shayna her nun, and to my relief, Vero took home my soldadera. These models were clearly of better craftmanship than those in the market, but does that make them art? We all justified our spending as having invested in art, but I'm pretty sure none of our new purchases would ever show up in an art gallery - at least, not in Oaxaca. And yet, to me at least, she is a work of art.

 

Let's turn to another example. Another piece of tourist kitsch that is unique to Oaxaca is the alebrije. Alebrijes are brightly painted wood carvings that became common here a few decades back and continue to be marketed largely to tourists. Now, when I first got here, I thought these things were tacky and rarely gave them a second glance. However, on Friday we took a field trip. We went first to Monte Albán, the ruins just outside of Oaxaca, and then we headed to Arrazola, which is a local village known for its wood carvings. A few years ago, there was a good market for alebrijes, but with tourism down in recent years, the carvers have been struggling. One group, Ecoalebrijes, has begun marketing itself as an environmentally sustainable union of carvers, and it was this group that we visited. While most of the alebrijes found in markets and street corners in Oaxaca are cheap and show shoddy workmanship, I acquired a real appreciation for the form on our visit to Arrazola. One of the men took out his machete and demonstrated how they make the carvings. In most cases, the carvers are men, but it is often the women of the village who do the incredibly intricate painting. The carvings are generally animals, and I saw examples of giraffes, cats, praying mantises, and one breathtaking octopus that I just couldn't afford. Some of the pieces are quite large, and the more expensive ones are carved from a single piece of wood. They are also priced according to artists, as some of them have started bringing in high prices for their work in the U.S. and abroad. I looked up one local artist on e-bay and found his work selling for about $400. Many of us did our part to keep the local economy going, and some people even bought 4 or 5 pieces. Again, we justified our spending as purchasing art, but only days ago I would have told you these were kitsch. So which are they?

Can we differentiate between pieces that are mass produced and those that are lovingly created one at a time? Is the difference found in the quality of the workmanship? Does it matter if I buy a piece in the market or at a higher-end shop? Is it ethnic folk-art, or is it kitsch?