Things Mexicans like #8 - Being Late (llegando tarde)

Here, like traffic regulations, time is merely a suggestion. The bell system at the Institute is one of the office workers grabbing a small hand bell and walking around the campus ringing it more or less at 9 AM. This is not exact, and even after the bell rings, people still mosey to class. I can leave my house at 9 and still be “on time” by Mexican standards. The first few weeks I was generally on time, and therefore very early and very bored in the mornings, so I started sleeping in a little later… now I’m more like my old self in the States. If you know me, then you know that I am perpetually late. Therefore, I fit right in like a native… a really obviously white, foreign native.

Thing I won’t miss #5 - Gas de Oaxaca (and various other morning vendors)
Potable water and gas (for use in water heaters, etc – not cars) are delivered to the population of Oaxaca each morning. Great, right? Exactly what you need brought straight to your doorstep. No. Mexicans have an unspoken pact to share noise. But for me, like the fireworks, dogs, and violated monkeys, the various delivery men shouting out whatever goods they boast at the asscrack of dawn is far from cool. First there’s always the guy with the bell. I don’t know what this guy is selling, but he generally paces up and down each calle at bright and early while ringing a cowbell. What the Fuh? Next comes the water truck. This one is just a dude screaming “AGUA…. AGUA.” And last but not least is the Gas de Oaxaca camión (truck). This is a truck that comes through around 7 or 7:30 every morning and honks its horn. There is a speaker attached to the top of the truck that announces “GAS DE OAXACA” and then commences to play the jingle. Yes, there is a Gas de Oaxaca theme song, and it is thoroughly annoying. I saved this “thing I won’t miss” for last because I was hoping to get a video of it to show how absurd it is, but considering how I’m usually half naked, half asleep, and cursing under my breath when it passes by, that never happened. This morning, though, my new housemate Maria (from Ireland) asked me if it was always this noisy. She, Marta, and I were laughing about all the people who come through in the mornings when I heard the Gas de Oaxaca theme song. I quickly excused myself from the table, ran upstairs to grab my camera, and snagged the above photo. Anyhow, I’m happy to be heading back to a world where people respect others sleeping patterns.

Thing I will miss #4 - Instituto Cultural Oaxaca (ICO)
I really did have a good experience at this school. It’s a beautiful, comfortable, small campus, the people are gracious, and I feel like I really learned a lot here. I met a girl at a bar who had transferred from ICO to another language school in Oaxaca because she felt that the Institute was too “capitalist”. Maybe I’m blind or numb to capitalism at this point, but I really disagree. To me, ICO feels like much more of a grassroots effort (did I mention the class bell system was usually a guy in a lucha libre t-shirt ringing a handbell?). Most of the teachers and students are incredibly progressive, forward thinking, and independent people that I had a great time associating with. I will miss sitting in the garden; I will miss watching people dance on the roof; I will miss looking out the window during class to see palm trees and mountains; I will even miss class itself.

Today is my last day in Oaxaca! Twenty four hours from now I will be near landing in Chicago. I can’t believe it’s time to go home. I have been so ready all week, but today I was walking down the road that leads to my cul de sac and I had to walk through a mariachi band warming up. It really hit me then how different my life has been here and how strange it’s going to be to go home. Tonight I’m going out with a slightly large group of people to celebrate my (and Jennifer’s) last night in Oaxaca. I’ve already booked a collective taxi to pick me up at 9 AM tomorrow. A taxi that will drive me away from this land where dogs live on roofs and spend their days talking shit to the people that cross below them, a land where it’s commonplace to yield for donkeys, turkeys, and men with scythes, a land where everyone and everything (especially the architecture) is very open. The taxi will take me to the ridiculously small Oaxaca airport, and I’ll begin my journey home, along with my funny tan lines, a pocket full of memories, and Spanish skills slightly superior to those of Peggy Hill.

I’m coming home.