Another lovely flower

The bell is ringing, it’s time to go home.  I’ll get my coat. And my bike.

I have taken the liberty of writing this week’s  - FINAL - blog on wednesday preceding the end of the week in question, rather than allowing the week to end on the sunday as usual, then try to remember what happenend at some indeterminate time after that, when we’re home…

It’s going to be rather hectic on sunday, and we fly on monday. We have arranged a leaving siesta at Casa Hogar, where we bring cake and jelly - a fine tradition at the home - and the other food is supplied by the ladies who work and/or volunteer there. At times like this, some of the mum’s of the children are also drafted in to come and help out.

So. The week. It’s been busy so far. Joy thankfully arrived back safely from Guatemala on tuesday morning, having been travelling for 24 hours. She took a minivan from Lake Atitlan to San Cristobal, through the border, then hopped on the overnight bus from there to Oaxaca at 8pm the same night. She was rather tired on her arrival…

We did however both go to work. Joy has been under the weather (and has done for the last three weeks) and I had three days off last week, not to be outdone. But it didn’t deter us both from going to Casa Hogar.

By wednesday morning however, I was feeling rougher than I had for a while, so remained at home. I’m concerned not to bring back a chest infection, or pneumonia, to my friends and family from my time away. It’s a free gift, but usually not a very welcome one.

The bikes are boxed, the bags are mostly packed, but it’s striking that each of the small things that weigh nothing actually add up to weight quite a lot. I can see an excess charge being levied at check in, whether we deserve it or not. I imagine Victoria Beckham travels with less stuff….

It’s been a great way to end our trip. We hadn’t planned, at the offset, to stop in Mexico, nor had we planned to volunteer for so long; but things change, our attitudes to travel have changed, sponsorship money for Actionduchenne fritters out, and we find ourselves at a bit of a crossroads.

We didn’t want to blithely carry on, as if nothing had happened - which it hadn’t in terms of sponsorship… We didn’t want to continue cycling through the grinding poverty-ridden streets that we found ourselves in, without helping out. I think that I had become travel-fatigued too. I just wanted to stop, for a while, or for the rest of our time here.

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 During our time at Casa Hogar, we have been trying, along with Coco and her family, of ways to involve the mothers of the chidren in some more honest labours than ‘night time work’. To that end, Joy came up with the idea of cushion production…

We have seen very few cushions for sale here, whilst carpets and rugs abound.

In time, we made friends with Manuel, a chap from Teotitlan, who makes some lovely rugs for a living. We have arranged for him to make several dozen small rugs, which can then be turned into cushions by adding backs, tassles and buttons to close them. We are using some money that a friend of ours gave us before we left England, to pump prime this initiative. Apparently, about 6 or 7 of the mums are willing to make the rugs into cushions, which we will bring back, or will be sent to us at home, from where we aim to sell them and pass the profits back to Casa hogar. A small step admittedly, it means that some of the mums will make some money during the day time - and hopefully if we can shift a lot of them in England, they’ll make a lot more. AND, if the mums do the work at Casa Hogar they’ll also be in contact with their children on a more regular basis - which would be nice

So, if you would like 2 or 4 (or more) traditionally hand made, naturally dyed woollen rugs, from Oaxaca, made into cushions, with fire retardant fillings supplied in the UK, to help subsidise these womens’ transitions from prostitutes to seamstresses, and to grace your living room or dining room, please mail us at the usual address, or come and see us. We’d be glad to help.

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THINGS THAT WE’LL MISS

. The children and family at Casa Hogar.

. The continuous hot weather.

. The friendliness of the people here.

. Mexican fooooood.

THING’S THAT WE’RE LOOKING FORWARD TO AT HOME

. A nice cuppa tea and a doughnut. (Joff)

. Seeing our daffodil spiral in the garden (Joy)

. A nice bacon sandwich. (Joff)

. Sunday Roast (Joy)

. Friends and families.

. Cold air, and the prospect of having to wear something more than a t shirt every day.

. Green fields and hills and trees with masses of green leaves.

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Part two of our trip will complete the journey, from Nova Scotia to Ushuaia, at some time in the future. If we’re keen, we’ll cycle it. We have, afterall, completed just under 50% of the distance so far. Physically, it’s been fine. There have of course been some hard days, but completing this sort of distance is within most peoples’ grasp. The mental effort required is something else, however.

It proved difficult to find information on accurate distances when we set off, but in our discussions with other cyclists en route, we have calculated that we have about another 8,500 miles to do. (So far, we’ve done over 6,700)

However, having seen several motorcyclists heading south, and very few cyclists, and having heard a few interesting stories of highway safety in some Central American countries, motorcycling appeals more and more. And it might only take 3 or 4 months to complete. Which would mean we’d be home in time for tea.

So, thank you to all 3 of you for reading this blog, for the support given and the comments received. The website will remain live and as part two of our journey begins, so will my inane ramblings.

Any last minute donations to Actionduchenne would of course be entirely welcomed. Research is ongoing, but funding is, unfortunately, still required.

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THANK YOU

We would like to thank, sincerely, everyone involved in this effort, particularly to Becki and Phil, to our mums and dads, to those of you who have donated and/or emailed us en route, to encourage us, to Patrick for sorting this website out so well, to everyone across the States who put us up, fed us and listened to our stories, to Capt. Ron and Admiral David for looking after us so well for a month on board Sea Dream, to all those folks who paid for random lunches and dinners for us, and to all the people who we chatted to en route. It’s been a pleasure.

Gracias amigos, adios y buene suerte.

HOMETIME....!!

 

 

 

 

This weeks little essay, class, is about the roads in the city centre of Oaxaca. For the last few months, well actually since we arrived before christmas, armies of men have been digging up the roads and replacing them.

The historic city centre is laid out on a grid, roughly 20 blocks by 20 blocks. Of those blocks in the vicinity of our little apartment or casa, there are always not less than 4 streets being dug up, re-piped, and relaid, in concrete, or stone.

A huge digger with back hoe scuffs up all the tarmac one morning, and by the end of the day it has been piled in the middle of the road, or removed altogether. The next day, the rest of the men arrive and, with the assistance of the back hoe, dig a trench down the middle roughly 8′ deep - yes, 8′ - and about 3′ wide. Connections to all properties are then dug up and investigated, and it seems some are replaced, along with some of those linking the main pipe to the secondary pipes. The sides of the huge trenches, which could comfortably swallow small vehicles, are not supported. The men jump in with their picks, and start digging.

The speed with which the operation is carried out is quite amazing, particularly as one commonly held view over the border is that Mexicans are lazy. We’ve seen nothing but industry since we arrived here. The guys in the trench work 13 hour days, don’t stop a great deal for breaks and when it’s beating down, they are sweltering under their homemade hats and scarves.

The tremch is covered asap, soil reintroduced and flattened, before the pavements (sidewalks) are relaid in concrete. Clearly someone in government has shares in Cruz Azul cement company. Anyway, concrete is laid, sometimes up to about 10″ thick, and stamped with small rubber mats, to form a cobble pattern. The men hover over the wet stuff perched on  4″ x 4″ timbers, laid between the newly laid kerb and the doorstep of any suitable property.

Once this hardens, the road is marked out, levelled using steel tracking not dissimilar to railroad line (which would be handy if it was actually rail track, as it would at least put the rialroads to some sort of use….), and then the same thing takes place, only using larger rubber mats to press the pattern. Pretty to look at, but certainly increases car noise. Dirty, belching noisy buses need no help in being loud, but the cobbles assist them.

To the uniniciated, all this effort could look like chaos, but having watched them work for 3 months now, I can confirm that it’s not. It might look messy, but it’s ordered mess.

However, when it is decided that a 4-way junction requires lifting and all the pipes inspecting and relaying - now that really is chaos.

Unfortunately, our road, infront of our casa, has just been lifted and dug. Makes carrying all our baggage a bit more of a chore. We’ve got two bikes in boxes, two huge blue bags for the hold of the aeroplane, and two slightly smaller ones to caryr on - assuming the rules as we have them printed out, are actually abided by, by the people at check-in. A nice surprise it if turns out that they are singing from the same songsheet as their passengers.

Spotted in the mountains

The week flew and we found ourselves at the weekend. Joy’s birthday was on the horizon, so we fled to the mountains for a few days. The villages of Llano Grande, Cuajomoloyes and Benito Juarez, where the great man himself was born, were paid a visit.

Oaxaca sits at roughly 1550 metees. This triumvirate of villages are at between 3000 metres and 3200 metres, and the drive up is a lesson in slow speed control and awareness of road conditions. We didn’t care to leave the task to the local bus drivers.

The villages, which are part of a group of 7 mountain communities to the east of Oaxaca, formed an alliance 12 years ago to offer eco-tourism to the thronging masses. And it works really well. Biking, walking and horse riding are offered, with guides, or without, as befits the terrain. We opted for biking and walking. Views were literally breathtaking, particularly for an asthmatic like me. We surveyed everything around us for at least 50 kilometers. The mountains, the valleys and the pueblas were all within the State of Oaxaca. The central valley could be easily understood from on high, and Oaxaca and Teotitlan were clearly seen in the far distance.

The accommodation was lovely. Purpose built cabañas ranged around the villages, and featured  showers and log fires (both of which were need on both nights) with beds smothered in blankets (which were equally necessary).

The villages were small and fairly difficult to reach, 30 or 40 kilometers from the mian road, though they all appeared to be self sufficient. One such even sported three basketball courts… The little houses, set at seeminlgy random angles to each other, and the little roads which passed them, reminded us both of Alpine villages. All cabañas had colourful gardens and vegetable plots, with marigolds, redhot pokers, irises, potatoes and beans growing well. Random dogs roamed the streets, but as is usual over here, they appeared bewildered rather than snarling, like in the other United States.

Even the occasional donkey was seen tethered, but always wearing a decorated saddle and bridle , chewing whatever it could find on its hillside garden. One carried its owner along the track, following behind two huge oxen with enormous horns, distinctly reminscent of the extinct aurochs of prehistory.

On day two we met the tourism administrator in the village tourist office in Cuajomoloyes who, in time,  introduced us to Sonja, a diminutive Indian grandmother dressed in pinny and open-toed plastic slippers, sitting quietly on the settee behind us.

By now, we were decked out in our vibram-soled walking sandals, our polycotton, wicking trousers and our merino-wool t-shirts, designed to assist sweat control. Sonja, who was to guide us  for the three hour hike, felt that our sandals would probably be suitable.

She retained her open-toed slippers, and her pinny, because instead of the lightweight Karrimor daysack that we had brought along for our drinks and snacks, her bottle of water was carried in her pinny pocket. We felt a little over dressed.

Plastic slippers would have enabled Joy to climb the really difficult bits....

The walk was stunning and involved a climb through a rather tight canyon, which we thought might not appeal to everyone. The level of information supplied by the eco-company back in Oaxaca could certainly do with some further details… Had I eaten all my breakfast on that day, I would have had to remain at the bottom of the canyon as Joy and Sonja picked their way past the opposing the faces of rock.

Suffice to say we had a great time in the mountains, and the lack of rubbish that we encountered in the countryside was remarkable, and a sign of hope for the future of this lovely country.

We whizzed back down the shoddy roads to the valley bottom and at once revisited the litter nightmare that is this part of the State. Bins, and signs about not throwing rubbish do exist, usually, laughably, in the middle of a pile of trash several feet deep, and they remind me of the waiters who rearranged the deckchairs on the Titanic.

We arrived home mid afternoon and immediately went shopping. Joy is off to Guatemala next week and, because she doesn’t want me to starve, or get hopelessly lost in the city whilst she is away, she thought it prudent to buy me two weeks supply of everything, so that I wouldn’t need to trouble myself with things like crossing the road, conversing in a foreign language or having to decide what type of cornflakes I would like for breakfast. Marvellous.

Flower seen in Cuilapam

More fun at the kids’ home during the mornings, and more chatting with friends from home seemed to occupy the majority of the week.

The highlight involved revisiting the village where the ‘alebrijes’ are made on saturday, San Antonio Arrazolo, a few miles south of town. Beautifully carved wooden animals and fantastical creatures, 2″ and 3ft long, kept us entertained for hours, before we jumped back on the local bus, just in time for a glass of wine on the roof of our casa, as the sun disappeared and the evening gave way to night. 

Sunday saw us enjoying the sun in Cuilapam, a small town with a huge old monastery from days of yore.

It has been warm since we arrived here, and on some days it’s positively hot. Today was one such day, though we didn’t dare bare our legs. There are some things that are contrary to custom in every culture - and white legs in open-toed sandals is surely one of them…

The beautiful and very quiet courtyard in the monastery at Cuilapam

Along with struggling with cleanliness (which some might think a perennial problem for me) we also managed to get out and see some ‘culture’.

On the saturday we decided to take a bus to Ocotlan, a small and unpretentious little town south of here, where the painter Rodolfo Morales hailed from. The cathedral which he paid to have restored was a fabulous, colourful Catholic statement in stone, with a good selection of his paintings exhibited within the C18th convent adjacent. 3 famous local pottery sisters also display their wares in the convent, but none of the assembled art presumed to bother our wallet.

Instead, we took the bus home empty handed and on the sunday went back to Teotitlan, a locally well-known village to the east, where every family weaves rugs for a living. We met Manuel, who was more than half way through the rug we had commissioned from him the last time we visited, on a loom as old as we are.

He took us to a small lake behind the village which sits at the base of the big hills beyond, all part of the Sierra Madre mountains. Tree clad though dusty and dry, we did have some serious rain the other night, but not enough to kickstart the process of blooming. May is when the proper rains come.

On the way through town we managed to purchase another few rugs, smaller this time, to make cushions from. Our only hope is that Mexican customs’ weighing scales are ‘Out of Order’, broken or missing in action. Rather like their water supply.

The week went according to script. Lots of tears, food all over our clothes every morning and more blocked noses than Melvin Bragg. The children at Casa Hogar were fine though…

Hoorah. The clouds have returned.

The week began with no water in our little flat. The round black plastic header tank which sits on top of the roof, a feature of all houses in this part of Mexico, finally emptied, and when we began the motor to pump more up, it wouldn’t go. Handy, we thought.

We took a bucket and borrowed some of next doors water from their header tank, appropriately placed close to ours on the same patch of roof. We’ll replace it some day. We washed the dishes and flushed the loo with it, but obviously couldn’t wash ourselves in it. We’ve lost weight, but not so much that we could fit into the bucket.

Clothes also remained unwashed. This continued for 48 hours, until a kindly neighbour sorted out the motor pump. We had plently of time during those very long hours to consider what it means to have no water.

At Casa Hogar this is a frequent problem. Later this same week, their supply dried up - again. That’s twice so far, since we’ve been there. And that’s not counting the regular issue with the boiler, which is more temperamental than a 1974 MG Midget. Washing small children in cold water isn’t much fun for them - or us.

When the kids’ water runs out, they go without a wash, dishes only get washed in the left over clothes washing water, and loos aren’t flushed very regularly. As you might imagine, ‘issues’ build up pretty quickly, when you’re dealing with more than two dozen children…

Thankfully, their problems in this regard will soon be over. A very generous benefactor has decided to pay for the installation of two 5,000 litre water tanks, plus the necessary pumps and pipework, to overcome the shortage. When the council, in its infinite wisdom, cuts off their supply in future, it won’t matter, because 10,000 litres will last for weeks. And when it returns, they’ll pump more into the tanks to re-supply. Water cut-offs only last a couple of days at a time in Oaxaca. As I write, the huge pit is being readied for the tanks.

Nobody drinks the tap water here. It wouldn’t be very wise, apparently. Everyone has to buy the large blue bottles of water, commonly found in offices nowadays. However, we do occasionally also see dirty looking water trucks driving around town guaranteeing their water is safe for human consumption.

At 14 pesos, a bottle isn’t going to break our bank. But in the State of Oaxaca, the daily minimum wage is only 40 pesos. That’s two British Pounds, or just over 3 US Dollars.

We use a bottle in about 6 or 7 days, and that’s only because we have drinks in town. A family would go through one in considerably less time, particularly as many of the families here include three or more children. Casa Hogar is visited by the bottle lorry on a regular basis and we don’t like to think how much money is spent providing clean water for 30 people to cook with and to drink.

In amongst all the dust however, everyone appears impeccably turned out. We sometimes feel rather underdressed in our fading t-shirts, and old trousers. My feet have never been so consistently dirty and cracked as they are right now. The dust is omnipresent, though fine enough to forget about it for much of the time. Until one sneezes…

This week we’ve had some excellent food. At Casa Hogar we have a late breakfast at about 11am, which varies daily. Eggs feature highly, usually in scrambled omelette form, as do tomatoes, jalapeñoes, chipotles, onions and bread. Mexican bread, which tends to be flat and round and heated over the stove, and known as tortillas, make good sandwiches, and an excellent replacement for a spoon.

We also have bacon or sausages sometimes, but this morning (February 2nd) we had tamales. These are essentially cooked ground maize rolled into doughy long sausages, with chicken and mole (pronounced ‘molay’). They are wrapped in maize leaves, rather like the corn on the cob husks in England. The mole is a dark brown, slightly sweet sauce which accompanies the tamales - and whilst we had our bout of food poisoning after consuming some mole in La Paz a couple of months ago, we dove in today. And with just cause.  :)

Our second course consisted of sweet tamales, with raisins; and a cup of Mexican coffee. Yum. And very filling. I could only eat 2 tamales plus half of Joy’s…

Evenings usually find us cooking pasta, traditionally a cyclist’s ‘favourite’. Or perhaps I should use the word ’staple’, as the frequency of its consumption becomes a little tedious after 9 months… Or we dine out at one of the eateries in town - of which there must be in excess of 200. A dinner can cost from 2GBP.

Playtime for the kids at Casa Hogar.

After a few less than balmy days, where we witnessed grey fluffy things floating in the sky, it warmed up. Slightly cool in the mornings as we catch the bus from the town centre, by 10am it’s boiling. This week has seen fewer woolly hats and gloves but hey, it’s still winter y’know.

As our flat is situated on the first floor in a small, almost organically developed concrete complex of low level (and some might simply say quirky) design, we can sit on the gently sloping (concrete) roof of the flat below us. The view is lovely. Across the mostly flat roofs of downtown Oaxaca, the occasional church spire pierces the monotony, whilst beyond the city limits the hills in three directions enclose the city. The sun goes down behind one of the hills and as it does, it creates in stark ochre relief the opposing hills, cloaked in thick vegetation and heavy with heat. Car horns, police sirens, noisy buses and clubs with loud music continue into the night, but with the dark comes a reduction in temperature. The concrete walls slowly release their heat and allow us to sleep.

Nick and Laina have a good time with the kids and on day two they begin work at 12pm, to cover the afternoons, just as our shift finishes.

Swing time

Joy and I are having a great time at Casa Hogar. The kids are fun, but the work that the team does is excellent, bathing them, clothing them, feeding them and teaching them, all the while with love and attention. Arturo, one of the sons, really believes that with their care they are slowly changing the way that children see the role played by men. Up until the time these children join Casa Hogar, the men in their lives have consisted of abusers, alcoholics or simply as invisible. ‘Machismo’ is very much alive and (unfortunately) kicking in this country, as Arturo attests to, but with the love of Coco, her husband Pastor and their sons as role models, these kids are truly seeing something quite different, and it makes them smile. But if you were to meet Coco, Pastor, Arturo, Andres, Jose Maria and Ivan, then you would too. (www.hijosdelaluna-en.org)

We meet Rodrigo today, a teacher from Oaxaca who is heading up a construction team of teenage school girls. Honestly. Casa Hogar has managed to attract the attention of Rodrigo, who has to date overseen the construction of another similar structure, consisting of ‘tetrapak’ milk carton walls and a concrete roof. Sounds intriguing…

The ground floor slab was laid today - no foundations appear necessary - and tomorrow work begins in the tiny grounds of Casa Hogar on a library and games room. The reason being that after they have eaten, the kids can relocate to somewhere equally dry to continue playing, freeing up the dining room to allow for cleaning; an operation that takes a not inconsiderable amount of time… (Whilst it is difficult to imagine at the moment, southern Mexico’s rainy season is approximately 6 months long, beginning in May).

From what I understand, the materials and labour for the project are entirely free, as Rodrigo and his friends have involved a small Mexican airline in funding the project. And strangely enough, the central government is not involved. Photos to follow.

We have also located a place in town to take some more Spanish lessons, which are sorely needed, and apparently includes Mexican cooking lessons, salsa classes and a filmnight in the deal. We start on friday, and not a day too soon.

Hola, como estas? Friday came and went. We visited Casa Hogar on saturday as one fothe boys had a birthday (and some cake, a party and some food). How could we resist? Another piñata took place, during which the usual scrambles for sweets occured, and the inevitable crying which rapidly followed. Armfuls of sweets were carried off to hidden places, but the long arm of the law (Arturo and Andres) sought out the stockpilers and redistrubuted in a thoroughly evenhanded way. I even got some.

Sunday saw us on a rickety old bus with Nick and Laina, bouncing along an equally rickety old road to Mitla, a fabulous Zapotec temple city, which dated from the 2nd to the 16th centuries. The informality of signage and presentation belies the significance of this place, which is one of the finest standing archaeological ruins in the whole of Mexico.

Another fabulous flower

Joy had been struggling with a sore throat, headache, cough and cold for a few days, but bravely made it into work. I didn’t. A little sore tummy prevented me from getting out of bed, but I did manage to make a cuppa just as she was returning, somewhat earlier than I had anticipated. It transpired that she had got on the wrong bus, took the grand tour of the entire State and returned, too embarrassed to go to work half way through the morning.

Tuesday saw Joy get on the right bus and Joff remain in his sick bed. However, using the internet is considered therapeutic, so we managed to visit one in the afternoon to catch up.

The rest of the week saw us comparing illnesses with Eva and Francisco, a couple about to leave the country for a new life together in Canada. Best of luck to them both, Toronto is freeeezing at the moment….

By friday Joy was fine, except for coughing at night time, which kept us both awake. After geting rid of the funny tummy, Montecuma really did wreak his revenge on saturday. Still, me having no food for another 60 hours might not be a bad thing, according to Joy….

The weekend saw me in bed with more stomach problems, politely called ‘digestive issues.’ Joy bounded around like zebedee (the character from the Magic Roundabout not the old testament). Sunday saw us meet Nick and Laina, from the US, who wanted to learn Spanish and work at the Casa Hogar with us. They moved into the room below ours, right in the middle of town. Bingo. Excellent price, particularly given the location, but for that, we must of course trade certain aspects of comfort that we might otherwise assume integral to any form of accommodation…. Astoundingly poor concrete design and construction, windows that cannot - and have never - opened or closed fully, bare electric wires in bathrooms, less than 50% of electric points functioning, bulbs missing, ants as roommates and hot water heaters as temperamental as hollywood starlets, certainly lend the word  ’character’ to the tourists’ lexicon, but unfortunately in the company of other words equally colourful - but less than polite.

The new year began gently enough. Traffic light, temperatures warm, people smiling and music everywhere.

A work of art, Casa Hogar style

We’ve been back to Casa Hogar for the week, three hours a day laughing with the kids whilst washing and cleaning. On wednesday evening there was a posada for the children, which involved the attendance of the volunteers, the donors and a small horse, on which all the children took turns sitting, whilst being walked around the dusty grounds of Coco’s family’s back yard. Celia, a tall 5 year old from Honduras with short tousled hair ran up to me, open arms and requested  I pick her up. On settling in she asked whether I was her dad. I looked over at Joy who reflected my rather sad face. I could only respond with a sorrowful ‘no’.

Dinner followed, during which the piñata, a colourful seven pointed orb hanging heavily overhead, was swung at by the children one at a time, with sticks, in an attempt to smash and grab the sweets contained within. Needless to say, it was moved up and down in order to avoid the bigger ones from smashing it too early on in the evening. And, once finally broken, 20 seconds of mayhem ensued, as 25 boys and girls crawled on the floor, in their best clothes, to grab anything they could get their (until then very clean) little mitts on.

They were then given a small parcel of presents which included a pair of shoes and some food, before being taken to Coco’s house, so that the adults could have their tomales and drinks in peace. (Tomales are maize husk covered ’sandwiches’ with either sweet or savoury middles, wrapped in a maize bread. And so much tastier than my description gives credit.)

Coco gave a lovely speech in which she thanked all those concerned with the charity, particularly her boys and requested that more people be informed of its work, in order to help with funding. A huge water tank is being prepared for installation, ideas are being discussed regarding the embryonic website, child protection is being considered by Joy (who used to teach it at university level) and I’ve been asked to assess whether a concrete roof would be feasible to replace the pressed steel, asbestos and plastic ones currently in situ. Things are moving forward, as they have done since Coco began the charity 8 years ago.

Lesson time for the kiddies

It’s now an offical NGO, and while its funding is not secure, it’s in a better position now than it ever has been. For more information, and an opportunity to help with funding, see www.hijosdelaluna-en.org

The rest of the week passed pleasantly enough, but on saturday morning we briefly thought we had been transported home. It was grey, rain was hammering on the roof of our little room, and it was almost cold. Brrrr.

Sunday and our neighbours, Eva and Francisco drove us to Teotitlan, a village consisting almost entirely of carpet and rug weavers. It was fascinating, and we ended up buying a large tailor made, cochineal dyed, hand made rug from Manuel, who assured us he would have it finished before we flew home in March. Fingers crossed.

A very Mexican meal followed, at the newly opened Chinese buffet, before retiring for a well-earned, mid afternoon siesta. Marvellous.

A 1000yr old cactus in Oaxaca

The people contribute vastly to the character of a place, and Oaxaca is certainly no different. As we walk through the streets we see a collection of folk that reinforce the richness of culture that we find ourselves in:-

• Little indian ladies sit on the pavements cutting up fruit and bagging it for sale, usually accompanied by their children, who seem as bored as the stereotypical teenager in Britain;
• roadworkers wander to work in their worst clothes, their shirts literally hanging off their backs;
• children running to school in their crisp white shirts and navy jumpers, some even sporting oversized anoraks and woolly hats and gloves  (it’s cold at this time of year, after all);
• brown as berry beggars holding out plastic cups as they wander from pillar to post;
• bespectacled university students chatting in groups, as they trip over their Hugh Grant scarves, carrying books close to their chests, their slicked hair standing proud against the uncommon wind;
• teenagers drifting along, oversized headhones on, jeans hanging down around the knees, shoes with laces unlaced and usually hosting a vacant stare;
• and the ever present policemen, wearing body armour, steel helmets and huge jackboots carrying nonchalently their machine guns, standing singly and in pairs, in strategic locations throughout the city centre, (like outside Burger King) staring suspiciously at passers by - though the occasional one is spotted smiling and texting his friends or buying a drink from a vendor in the road;
• soldiers whizzing through the city, standing on the back of military pick up trucks, toting guns whilst remaining hidden behind black balaclavas;
• …. and tourists, gringos and Europeans alike, wandering, bewildered, through the city, reading guide books and drinking coffee in the zocalo.

All of life really is here; and it’s fascinating.

Joy infront of the one of the many churches in Oaxaca