Exoticism, graffiti, and gentrification

I was writing this journal entry in my paper journal at a cafe in front of the Templo de Santo Domingo in Oaxaca on the important Mexican holiday, Cinco de Mayo. Time passed quickly, now it is mid-May. Obviously, during the trip, I didn’t have any urgent engagement other than strolling the streets and dodging (and occasionally buying from) panhandlers whose arms were laced with colorful bracelets and rosaries of candies. Still, it took me a couple of weeks to finish this blog. Why? Maybe because the exoticism of being in a foreign country has somewhat subsided. I felt I had to write something less emotion-driven, a more sincere account of the country that left me with a deep impression.

My husband, Steve, and I stayed in CDMX (Ciudad de Mexico) for a few weeks, then moved to Oaxaca for ten days, and then went back to CDMX for a few more days. The total trip lasted twenty-seven days. During the trip to both cities, we saw numerous graffitis accusing gringos like us of jeopadizing the integrity of the local communities. In Oaxaca, many artists were no longer able to afford to live there due to rent hikes and “Disneylandization” of the city. However, I must admit that I was grateful to be able to order a cup of latte with almond milk and pan de chocolate in a gentrified cafe without fumbling through Google Translate on my phone.

A graffiti on the street in Oaxaca Centro

Amazing street food and Montezuma’s Revenge

At about nine a.m., stores and restaurants slowly came to life and rolled up their shutters for the coming day. They were often open until 9 or 10 p.m., so we walked the streets in search of good bites and the sound of ranchera music. Both cities had their unique rhythm and vibe. I loved the taco stands in Mexico City that sold tacos con campechanos (mixed beef, pork rinds, chorizos) and Pambazo Tortas (a sandwich with juicy pork marinated in chili sauce); ceviches with shrimp and octopus, and champurrados in the morning (hot chocolate mixed with corn flour, always served with a round roll) in Oaxaca. By American standards, those delicately flavored local dishes were ridiculously cheap, around 50-80 Mexican Pesos(about 3 to 5 US dollars).

Colorful concha bread and champurrado (hot chocolate drink mixed with corn flour)

I have another reason to rave about the street taco and torta stands. We were cautious about not drinking straight from the tap and not ordering cocktails and jugos, no matter how delicious they looked. However, my husband finally succumbed to the famous “Montezuma’s Revenge (I laughed when I found this link because it was on the Pepto Bismol website) after we dined in a brick-and-mortar restaurant located in the Roma section of Mexico City. The Zona Roma, along with a few other sections of CDMX favored by expats, were supposed to be safer than other areas in the city. But Steve suffered for a full three days from severe diarrhea. He literally barricaded himself in the bathroom. I needed to convince my bladder to use the bathroom only once in a few hours, while Steve was in dire need of monopolizing the space.

Not-so-novel (but sage) advice from a tourist

You might say, “Well, you, foolish tourists! You can’t be vindictive about the whole area by your one stupid anecdotal case.” Well said. Let me share what I have learned from this exciting life lesson. I will assure you that you can take it with you wherever your next adventure will be. First of all, never trust food reviews unless the locals made them. Tourists with stout digestive systems might say sweet things about a nice restaurant they visited once, but they might have been just lucky. Second, don’t go to any restaurant or food stand if you don’t see a crowd gathering around it. If the place is good, the ingredients will rotate quickly, hence they remain fresh. Many of the taco stands we visited only offered bottles of Coke or cervezas. They knew how bad the water from the city system was, so they brought in filtered water tanks.

Many buildings need to order clean water to replenish their water tanks by a truck delivery such as this.

Wonderful? noises of the city and my childhood memories

People in Mexico City and Oaxaca work hard. I could tell they moved fast while thinking quickly about the next move. If you feel they were rather aloof or impatient with you, a traveler, it is because they were focused on making a living. When I asked for something in my broken Spanish, people there were helpful but never overly friendly. Most of them were polite to one another in public. They always greeted each other with “Como estas,” “Buen dia,” or “Hola.” They didn’t speak in loud voices in public. That reminded me of how people were in Japan. In the working-class part of Kobe where I grew up, I was constantly reminded how I should mind my manners. Whether I was on a crowded train, walking on a busy street, or buying things in a market, the Japanese managed their stress by keeping a distance from each other, lowering their voices, and not causing any trouble. At home, I shared a small room with my older sister. We shared a bunk bed until we were out of high school. Our five-member family had only one bathroom for many years. We fought a lot inside the family, but in public, we knew not to rub on other people’s nerves.

In Mexico City, the cacophony of traffic, roaring garbage trucks, and radio announcements of used household appliances pickup, mixed with the howling of dogs from inside the apartments, brought back childhood memories straight to my consciousness. I immediately felt deep respect and fondness toward Mexicans. Not to mention their keenness to preserve and create beauty all around them.

México ¡qué país tan bello y complicado!

If I reflect on this journey, one thing I can say is that Mexico is beautiful and complicated, just as the taste of their smoky Tlalpeño soup. And the way people use colors so boldly in Mexico! Everywhere I visited, I saw exquisite artistic sophistication. I saw walls painted in golden orange, perfectly harmonizing with the turquoise window trimmings. I saw a fuchsia pink candelabra on top of the green dining table in a restaurant. Bold colors are everyday language in Mexico.

Frieda’s husband, Diego Rivera, loved this self-portrait.

Frida Kahlo’s Lesson on Death

One of my goals for the trip was to visit the Casa Azul, the house where Frida Kahlo lived and died. The house was proof of how she embraced her life despite the ever-present shadow of death due to her precarious physical condition. Her attitude toward Death was indeed a lesson embraced by Mexicans for centuries.

She sometimes painted in bed due to her severe pain caused by the damage to her spine. She filled the room with beautiful objects.

In my opinion, human beings, in general, tend to hold a simple sense of purpose toward the realization of happiness and well-being for themselves and their dearest, closest community. If not for the long-standing political turmoil and interference of foreign powers such as the United States, the Mexicans could have fulfilled such wishes much sooner. I sure hope it materializes in my lifetime because I want more people in the world to learn from them the simple secret of happiness.

Live life fully. Viva la Vida. Don’t hold a single drop of bitterness, just love.

My trip to Mexico