A Gauntlet Of Grills
Oaxaca de Juarez, Oaxaca, Mexico. December 6, 2009.
The title is no longer an internet-derived translation of "barbecue corridor" (Pasillo De Barbecoa), which was my best description of a smoke-filled passageway I turned into while exploring Oaxaca's Mercado de 20 Novembre, located just southwest of the zocalo. A commenter* offered some help. I ultimately decided to go with a phrase in English.
*From "Don Cuevas" in the comments: Wonderful photos. However, it's not "barbacoa" in Mexican Spanish, but more likely "carnes asadas". Of course, there may be a special terminology in Oaxaca. The meats being cooked are probably tasajo and cecina, as well as chorizo Oaxaqueño. My humble photo of this place is here. "Barbacoa" refers to steamed, pit cooked meat, wrapped or covered in pencas de maguey; often but not always mutton or goat.
Both sides of a long walkway are lined with hot flaming grills, fueled by mesquite (?) and hand-stoked by bamboo fans. These cooking stations are paired with glass enclosures displaying the cuts of meat and sausage on offer. There were maybe 10 or 12 down each side. I jostled my way from one end to the other against the frenetic public tide as the proprietors waved, pointed and hollered.
Bundles of green onions are thrown directly on the coals for flavor, making the already smoky air thick with delicious-smelling steam. I never did work out how the meals are finally served. Vegetables? Potatoes? Or just straight meat? Watch for a follow-up report .
The Green Stones Of Oaxaca
Oaxaca de Juarez, Oaxaca, Mexico. December 7, 2009.
La Verde Antequera. Oaxaca's colonial name was Nueva Antequera. It gained the descriptor, "verde", meaning green, because of a green stone found locally and used in so much of its original architecture. The pale beauty of it got under my photographic skin.
Update: I changed the top photo. As much as I wanted to like the first one, it was soft around the woman's eyes. An unaccountable focusing error. I've relegated it to the pile below.
The green stone is everywhere - even a small slab in my first hotel room for the step between the sleeping area and the bathroom. It was once a colonial mansion. The photos here are from the streets as you walk north from the zocalo.
Worship
Oaxaca de Juarez, Oaxaca, Mexico. December 9, 2009.
Being non-religious, I can only manage curiosity and puzzlement at certain aspects of Christian symbology. And sometimes amusement. As when I peeked in a doorway in downtown Oaxaca and found a religious workshop in the business of selling Catholic imagery.
I surreptitiously entered the passageway and quickly shot this passel of Baby Jesuses, thinking I'd be chased out; but the workers there weren't bothered by me and my camera. There were also gross loads of plastic lambs and cows laid out on the floor. Nothing as lurid as the display at the entrance.
Above, I believe, is the entrance to a private residence. Possibly a hipster interpretation of the Christian message.
And, of course, the conventional. Many of the grand churches I've stepped into on this trip are in a state of renovation and repair. Maybe it's a constant thing with buildings this old.
Oaxaca Miscelanea
Oaxaca de Juarez, Oaxaca, Mexico. December 7-11, 2009.
Miscelanea being a term used in the neighborhood near Parque El Llano for tiny convenience stores. It also serves to describe this last round-up of unrelated photos from the city of Oaxaca. Obviously, the location above is no longer in the business of selling sugar-laden fruit juice and over-flavored snack foods, but the crumbling facade remains visually compelling.
An early-morning game of pick-up futbol on the grounds of Basilica de la Soledad. Oaxaca, much more than some other places I stayed, felt like a city in a good mood.
For example, street vendors were plentiful but not so desperately persistent. It's really not my place as an overprivileged westerner to criticize people who's only means to a livelihood is to sell things on the street, but what are you supposed to say when you're eating tacos and someone walks up to your table and sticks an unwrapped candy apple in your face? The strangest pitch was a little girl who stayed at my side for five minutes trying to sell me a gallon-size bottle of liquid detergent.
Above, a good old-fashioned news vendor. Having a thimble's worth of Espagnol usually made me exempt from their entreaties. This was quite early in the day when the air is still bright and crisp. By dusk, brown haze is visible against the surrounding hills. Evening winds would make each new morning reliably clear.
Sports fans on their way to the afternoon soccer game. The flag is sporting the colors of Cruz Azul (Blue Cross), which is the name of a Primera League team out of Mexico City. They have a second division affiliate playing in Hidalgo, that apparently had a brief connection to a town in the state of Oaxaca. Is that the team being cheered here? All my information is from a Wikipedia page that just left me baffled about who played where and at what level. I think you need to be hardcore to understand.
One of many entrances to the vast 20 de Noviembre market south of the zocalo. Its layout and atmosphere is similar to other large urban markets I've explored, although this gauntlet of grilling stations, that I reported on earlier, was certainly unique.
More street vending, in a square adjacent to the zocalo. A whole stretch of sidewalk is given over to balloon and toy sales. I sensed a Sunday afternoon tradition of families converging downtown and children chasing 8-foot-long balloons around the plaza.
This is an arrangement I beheld passing a doorway. I'm not sure if it's a public display or part of a restaurant. The room in front of the counter was tiny, empty of furniture and opened only to the street. There were no signs or people around to explain, but the shelves were so lovingly arranged, I thought it worth photographing.
As part of the season's celebrations, Parque Benito Juarez or El Llano, near my hotel, was transfomed into carnival grounds. The noise was embellished with the loudest firecrackers I've ever heard, some creating window-rattling shock waves and echoing off the hills around. The Latin relationship to noise is a headscratcher for someone from a country where such commotion-making would bring arrests. Put earplugs on your travel checklist.
And we come full circle. Another building with peeling plaster and rotted wooden beams, somehow wonderfully evocative.
