[Continuing and final journal entries written by Chiripa partners on the August 2008 buying trip.]
August 25: Dinner with Friends
This evening we had dinner in Oaxaca with our good friends, the Chavez y Santiago family (and friend Elsa). The family carries on a long hand-weaving tradition in Teotitlán del Valle, the renowned weaving village. The oldest son, Eric, recently took a position with the outstanding new Textile Museum in Oaxaca. The museum has both a Mexican and a worldwide focus, and houses an astonishing collection of the best natural textile craft from throughout the world. If you are ever in Oaxaca, you should not miss it.
Federico, Eric, and Elsa at Chiripa.
After dinner, we went back to the hotel to finish labeling and packing the small items we had collected. This is an exhausting task at the end of a long day. A friend will pick up the packed boxes in the morning, consolidate them with later deliveries that we have ordered in the Oaxaca area, and eventually send the consolidated shipment to our exporter in Guadalajara. The exporter will add the Oaxaca shipment to our shipments from other areas; check the packing, labeling and paperwork; and put the whole works on a truck for the U.S. We hope to receive the complete shipment, with a minimum of damage, in October. We always enjoy rediscovering our treasures when we unpack them at the shop.
August 26: Last Day in Oaxaca
On our last day in Oaxaca, we decided to travel (via the Abastos Market) to the village of Atzompa, which specializes in lovely clay figures. There was a better selection than last year, and we bought as many as we thought we could carry on the bus and airplane. Earlier, we had also placed an order for hand-made clay Christmas ornaments, made by the well-known artisans Luis Blanco and his wife María who live in Atzompa.
When we returned to Oaxaca, it was hot and the sun was bright. People walked on the shady side of the street. Some of the men wore sombreros (sombra = shade), and some of the women carried parasols (para sol = for the sun). In the afternoon, we escaped the heat by sitting in the shady courtyard of a pleasant little café, sipping a cerveza and trying to organize our paperwork prior to our long, all-night bus ride to Mexico City.
August 26: Watch Your Step
You must be careful when walking in Mexico – I mean, careful about where you put your feet. The sidewalks are generally constructed of rough stone or cobbles, and often a stone is missing. Cavernous holes may go unrepaired for years, even centuries.
For locals, walking a sidewalk is a little like walking a mountain path – you take it as you find it. Then too, the locals are familiar with the holes, and avoid them without even looking. But you should not be tempted to do as they do. You should keep your eyes on the ground, carefully pre-meditating each and every step.
Of course, this strategy may make you more vulnerable to overhead (or nearly overhead) hazards. In many places, the sidewalks are lined with street vendor stalls that have overhead metal awnings. These awnings are high enough to accommodate a 5-ft. local resident, but they may not accommodate you. From nearly every trip, I return with a minor head wound sustained while I was keeping my eyes on the sidewalk.
August 26-27: All Night on the Bus
We climbed on the bus at 8:30 PM for our all-night trip to the Mexico City airport. This was a 1st-class bus, and there was a big show of security. We had to pass through metal detectors and leave our box of clay figurines in the luggage compartment under the bus (where we feared that they would be smashed to small shards).
At 11:00 PM, we passed the little comedor in the wild mountain area between Oaxaca and Puebla. The night was pitch black, but in the little comedor the blue fluorescent lights were still on, and people were still eating.
We got off the bus in Puebla at 1:00 AM, and caught a taxi to another bus terminal. The taxi driver took one of those disconcerting shortcuts down deserted back streets, but we arrived just fine. At the second terminal, we waited for the 2:30 AM bus to the Mexico City airport. The small terminal was lively, and people seemed wide awake.
We arrived at the Mexico City airport at 4:30 AM. By 6:15 AM, we were on a plane headed home.
[Note: The shipment arrived October 31 with almost no damage. Another trip is in the planning. We'll keep you posted!]
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on the August 2008 buying trip.]
August 25
Before we headed out of town, we searched out a small tin workshop in downtown Oaxaca, to see tin ornaments being made. The ornaments were not pressed by a machine, as you might expect, but were individually cut and then hammered into shape by a tinsmith using a variety of different small hammers.
The tinsmith’s wife then painted the individual ornaments by hand, with painstaking care. We bought a number of the lovely ornaments for our Chiripa customers.
When we are in Oaxaca, we always make the bus trip to the village to Teotitlán del Valle. This time we also went to the nearby village of Santa Ana del Valle (just up the road from the market town of Tlacolula). Teotitlán and Santa Ana are known for making fine, handwoven wool rugs. Teotitlán is somewhat better known, and a bit more prosperous.
People in these and other area villages still speak Zapotec in their homes. Our friend Eric Chavez, a weaver’s son who grew up in Teotitlán, told us that each village has its own separate Zapotec dialect. These dialects are quite different from each other, so that it may be easier for people from different villages to communicate in Spanish, rather than in Zapotec.
The route to these villages leads down the Tlacolula Valley, past the ancient Tule tree (it was alive in the time of Christ, and is now one of the biggest living things in the world). Further down the road, past the weaving villages, you can visit the impressive pre-Hispanic ruins at Mitla (although we did not have time to visit Mitla on this trip).
In Teotitlán, we bought beautiful natural-dyed rugs and runners from our friends Bulmaro Perez and Federico Chavez, both recognized masters of the weaving craft. On hand-operated looms, these families still produce rich woolen rugs in the old way. Each rug starts with wool gathered from sheep in the surrounding highlands. The wool is carded and spun, colored with natural dyes such as cochineal, indigo and witch hazel, and then skillfully hand-woven into rich and elegant patterns. The families weave their ancient Zapotec tradition and individual craftsmanship into every rug.
Bulmaro demonstrates the natural dyes used in his beautiful rugs.
In Teotitlán, we also bought some warm, hand-knit wool caps from the Women’s Cooperative. We didn’t buy anything in Santa Ana this time, but did pay a visit to the parents of a friend’s acquaintance. Even though the parents did not know us, and were bereaved by a recent death in the family, they were kind enough to invite us for a meal. We had to decline, for lack of time, but will not soon forget their courtesy and hospitality.
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on the most recent buying trip.]
August 24
In Mexico, many people work at least 6 days a week. But on Sunday, things usually slow down a little. People get up later, and some go to church. The great church bells ring, as they do every day -- often with a dry, flat resonance that conjures up the Spanish Middle Ages.
There is a big noon meal, and the family sits around talking or watching soccer. In the villages, men and women may stand outside drinking beer. But many shops are still open.
We had breakfast at our favorite outdoor terrace restaurant, which has a wonderful view of the mountains and the magnificent Santo Domingo church, originally built between 1570 and 1608 as part of a Dominican monastery.
We spent our afternoon at the Women’s Cooperative in Oaxaca, where we found a great selection of tin ornaments, decorative paper and other items. Then we trekked down to the artisan market, in the city’s market district, to hunt out more small items. In the evening, in our hotel room, we started to label, organize and pack the bewildering array of little treasures.
Today it is snowing in Madison, Wisconsin. The continuing journal of the last buying trip to Mexico makes me homesick for the warmth and color and fine friends of Mexico. Sigh. . .
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on a recent buying trip.]
August 23
Jacobo Angeles and his wife María produce the finest alebrijes in Mexico. They are also wonderful people, and it was a pleasure to visit them again this year. We found them in their family workshop in the village of San Martín Tilcahete, Oaxaca, Mexico.
Many artisans in the Oaxaca area produce alebrijes -- carved and painted wooden animals that can take many forms. But Jacobo and Maria have raised this craft to the level of fine art. Their finely carved pieces are typically produced from a single piece of wood, and have an amazingly graceful and living form. The figures are painted with intricate, precise and complex designs (using beautiful naturally-derived colors and traditional indigenous patterns) that you must see to believe. The completed figures have a pensive, elegant, almost human quality. We bought a number of fine pieces from Jacobo and María, including a big, exquisitely painted Jaguar head.
Maria with the jaguar head that she so expertly painted.
In a place of honor at Chiripa.
The road to San Martín Tilcahete goes through other craft villages including San Bartolo Coyotopec, Santo Tomás Jalieza, and Ocotlán. In San Bartolo we visited the workshop of the late Rosa Real Mateo (Doña Rosa discovered the process for producing the famous Oaxacan black pottery), and picked out a number of black pottery pieces for Chiripa.
Click on the photo to see a piece of black pottery for sale on the Chiripa website.
In Ocotlán, we visited the family workshop (commune, really) of the famous Josephina Aguilar and her extended family. Chickens and turkeys strutted through the compound, and a host of grandchildren ran about and posed for photos as we selected some of the small clay figurines for which Josephina is famous.
Between villages, we got on and off several local buses. In San Martín, we also got a ride in the little golf-cart type vehicle that serves as the village taxi. Finally, as evening approached, we climbed on the bus and headed back to Oaxaca. On our way back to the hotel, we stopped in at the Majordomo Chocolate store in the bustling market district southwest of the zócalo, where they make fresh chocolate to order, and had our traditional hot chocolate.
[Continuing journal written by Chiripa partners on a recent buying trip.]August 23: The Abastos Market
There are a large number of craft-producing villages within a short bus ride of Oaxaca. But to get a bus, you must ordinarily go to the 2nd class bus terminal in the sprawling Abastos Market. Some buses leave from the terminal itself, while others leave from various locations in the market. You learn these locations only by hard experience (you can ask for directions, but will probably get conflicting advice).
In a perverse way, we look forward to our periodic forays into the Abastos Market. The market is fascinating, but it is not easy. It is not a place frequented by the wealthy class. It is a teeming, noisy, dirty place. Dust is everywhere, and loud buses belch fumes into your face until you feel queasy. We always leave somewhat exhausted, sweaty, and abraded as if by sandpaper. Of course, market regulars live in this atmosphere all day, every day.
The government recently constructed a gleaming new 1st-class bus terminal on the other side of town. But the 2nd-class terminal in the Abastos Market has been unchanged in the quarter century that we have known it. It just gets more rundown. And God help you if you need to use the bathroom.
Ancient buses arrive at the terminal through a wasteland of dust (or a sea of mud, in the short rainy season). The potholes are legendary, and get bigger by the year. Swaying buses disappear into them like struggling galleons in a storm-tossed sea, only to climb out again and make slow headway toward port.
The rare first class ride.
August 23: On a 2nd-Class Bus
The U.S. State Department says that you should only take 1st-class buses in Mexico. That may be good advice, especially if you are taking a long trip. But I must admit that I have seldom felt happier, or freer, or safer than on a 2nd-class bus. For one thing, a 2nd-class bus is more interesting. There is also a feeling of humanity, community and courtesy that you will seldom experience in a place like an international airport.
On a 2nd-class bus, there is no pretense or falsehood, and there are no metal detectors or cell phones. The bus is friendly and comfortable, in a worn and homely way. The seats are shabby, and sometimes broken so they lean way back. The seat covers are dark with years of accumulated dust and exhaust, and some of the seats are held together with packing tape.
Some windows are cracked, and frozen in place. If the window is frozen in the shut position, you may get a little hot and stuffy. If open, you may be a little windblown. If the window can be adjusted, you may have to negotiate the adjustment with the person in the seat ahead. But all of these things can be managed.
The seats fill with beautiful, decent and patient people. They sit in the front if they can, in the back if they must. Sturdy middle-aged ladies push down the aisle and drop into their seats, maneuvering big plastic bags and wearing sweaters despite the heat. There are old people with weathered hands and faces, school girls dressed in uniform, Indian women carrying sleeping babies in rebozos, small children smiling shyly, and boisterous young men whistling out the window to buddies on the street.
The adventure starts as you roll out of the terminal, dust everywhere. The bus rocks from side to side, like a ship in heavy seas, as it navigates the enormous potholes at the terminal entrance. The rosary beads, crucifix and holy pictures hanging in the windshield sway this way and that. The bus driver, a sweating and seasoned pro, grinds the gears and hauls at the big wheel – all the while honking the horn, waiving to fellow drivers, and joking with the teenage kid who proudly “rides shotgun” to his right.
Of course, the kid has no shotgun. He just collects fares and serves as a kind of conductor for the journey. As the bus rolls out of the terminal, the kid bangs the metal side and shouts the bus’s destination with the well-rehearsed nasal voice of a street hawker. The bus picks up more passengers -- some standing at the curbside, others chasing the bus with waving arms. On a 2nd-class bus, passengers just climb on without paying. Later, when things have settled down, the kid comes back to collect. The kid always remembers, with unfailing accuracy, who has paid and who hasn’t. Of course, the people would pay even if he didn’t remember.
Looking out of my bus window.
As you pull out of the station, a street vendor or musician may climb onto the bus. The vendor may offer candy, nuts, melon with salsa, or a cream to ease your arthritis. The musician may strum a twangy, well-worn guitar, or render a nasal a cappella version of an old Mexican folk song. In some cases, the seller may have a mental or physical handicap. The bus riders, who are themselves none too affluent, always buy and contribute generously.
The bus, which may have its own name (like “Angelito”) on the front window, stops anywhere and everywhere -- wherever people want to get on or off. We remember one long night ride when groups of faces would appear in the headlights as if from nowhere, the bus would stop, and campesinos would bundle themselves, their babies, and their belongings onto the friendly bus. The bus always accepted them without fear or question.
