Destino

I like that the Spanish words for ¨destiny¨and ¨destination¨are the same.

So I got into Oaxaca last night at around 7pm- which was remarkable on two levels- one, it was about exactly the time estimate given for arriving here and two, it was one of the more unbelievably winding, twisting, bladder-holding, mind-blowing bus rides I´ve been on. I should have known it was going to be interesting as soon as I saw the driver get in the bus in Puerto Escondido and say a 30 second prayer before starting the engine. I am not catholic but I crossed myself in unison with the driver and said a couple of hail marys for good measure.

The Sierra Madre Del Sur are what we drove through for about 6 of the 7 hour trip. The terrain is rugged- starts out from the coast as dry and barren with nothing but cactus and sickly shrubs for vegetation. Then after about 3 hours of the same scenery- it slowly starts to green. As we drove, you could see thunderheads perched atop the mountains in the distance- and both see and smell the rain in the air. I don´t think it had rained prior to yesterday for quite some time and, at least for me, having come from hot-ass Puerto Escondido, the change in both altitude and the rain made the air temperature feel like a God-send. That was until the golf ball-sized hail started to rain down upon us like some God-sent plague.

Seriously though- the ten or so of us crammed into this little Mercedes Express Bus (Imagine the Eurostyle Vans Bakeries use to transport buns around Seattle filled with seats instead of rolls) were all sleeping with windows open and noses filled with the sweet scent of dry ground being kissed by gentle rain, when Mother nature decided to remind us that she is in control, and especially in the mountains, she can get moody- fast. So we all came to pretty quick and closed our windows. The bus driver started had me roll up the passenger side window manually while he did the same with his. And as soon as we were liquid tight, the bus started to fog up.

This was funny at first. The driver cranked the defrost, but to no avail. He slowed way down (which was a nice change from having to hold the roll bar inside the bus like some stunt double in an action movie) and started wiping his windshield from the inside with a cloth napkin. He even made use of the man behind me to help wipe the full breadth of the windshield. You can imagine me sitting there watching this all, and having a very difficult time not laughing. But then came the realization that the bus driver was going to continue driving the road. And even though he was going significantly slower than before- I was sitting directly behind him and had a pretty good idea of his level of visibility and consequently his ability to safely navigate the paved goat trails we´d been traveling these last 3 hours, and I sort of pooped myself. Just a little. Ok, not really- but it was scary.

The hail just kept coming. The man who had volunteered to be 2nd in command of wiping, kept looking at me and pointing as if to say,¨isn´t this amazing?¨Which it was. But I don´t think he had ever seen a hail storm quite like that nor did he know that I am El Norwego Grande- from the mountains. Pretty funny. It hailed for a good solid 20 minutes. We slowed to a reasonable rate of speed. And then, after 20 minutes, it stopped as abruptly as it started.

The rest of the trip was defined by what seemed like a sense of having gotten off the expected time frame, and the bus driver´s desire to get things back on time (or potentially some unexpressed Jungian death wish for which he´d previously indicated a desire when having prayed prior to departure). Regardless, we literally flew the rest of the way up and down the mountains. Now I´ve travelled in Nepal. I rode buses packed with people inside as well as on the top of buses which were cruising up and down mountain passes unrivaled in steepness, shittiness, and overall potential for massive death. This was more intense.

It may have been that the bus was smaller. It may have been that I was sitting right behind the driver. It may have been that I hadn´t slept well the night before. It may have been that I drank like 5 cups of coffee before departing and I forgot to empty prior to leaving. And while I´m sure all of those elements played a part- I think it was mostly that these roads are unbelievably windy and the drivers drive them unbelievably fast. I wanted to say something at several different points during the ride- but firstly couldn´t think of what to say in Spanish, secondly couldn´t even look at my dictionary for more than about 10 seconds at a time without being tempted to vomit all over our fearless drivers neck, and thirdly, and mostly poignantly, I just couldn´t really find any words whatsoever. One of the few times in my life that I have been completely speechless (and for like several hours- pretty impressive I know).

I just hung on, said a few more silent prayers, and closed my eyes. All things helped. It also helped that I had slept like a pile of balls the night before and, despite my lack of better judgement with regards to diuretics, I had smartly chosen to drink small amounts of water (and so was a bit dehydrated)- so I was able to achieve a sleep-like state. Of course, a few of the more hairpin turns along with the super cheesy music coming from the speaker right above me (of course I got the seat right below the speaker) forced me alert at abrupt and random intervals- but my stupor proved a very effective tool for escaping the death-inviting scene occuring out the front windshield. I sat up straight when the road straightened.

When we finally came out of the mountains and on to the ¨flat¨land- the storm we had been in the middle of, was continuing over the tops of the mountains off to the west of the bus. The scene of deep purple clouds starkly contrasting with the dusty brown mountains as well as the pinks and blues of the sunset was truly magical. Mother Nature´s whims continued in the horizontal form of heat lightning (no claps following the bolts) for quite some time. Then, just as the signs for Oaxaca started to appear, huge vertical bolts made their presence felt with their accompanying thunder claps. This was how I came into the bus depot in Oaxaca.

Perfectly, as we unloaded from the bus, the bus driver handed me some random copy of some random Kerouac book that he had no use for and insisted that I take (I think because it was in English- but it could´ve been that our appearances were quite similar in terms of looking bent, worn, and slightly greasy). At any rate, we unloaded and the rain stopped. Perfect. I asked a few taxis about a place that Easton recommended I stay and they looked at me like my zipper was down and a certain mouse was looking for the local Oaxacan cheese (pardon my disgustingness, but I was silent on a bus that I almost died in for multiple hours yesterday) if you catch my drift. So I walked about the streets as the twilight was giving it´s final salute to the day, and I just looked for some place to catch my eye.

I went into a youth hostel and they gave me the same, aforementioned look. In this case it was probably warranted (the sign definitely had pictures of organized youth groups). I looked at a couple of hotels clearly out of my level of comfort and budget. And then, as my blood-sugar, level of sleep deprivation, and overall lack of patience for any more retarded linguistics- I spied a tasteful, quiet little hotel with a tasteful, quiet little Senora at the front desk. I poked my head in and saw that the price was reasonable and saw that it was quite clean and had the feel like there weren´t very many patrons at all. I took it.

The Senora showed me my room- which got me a little nervous just because it was a room with a group of beds. But as per my intuition- no one else showed. I got the one double bed. I got the one fan in the room. And I went to bed early and happy. I got one of my better night´s of sleep so far on this trip.

So I woke up knowing that I needed to do two things- one being actually locate the language school and two being get there by nine o clock for the scheduled pre-testing. I had Hector- the cute young guy working the desk in the morning call me a taxi- and I explained in Spanglish where I wanted to go. I got that look that said- Ïm sure I can find it, but I don´t really know where it is, and this is perfect because I can drive around a little extra and rip off El Gringo Grande. Turns out the look was exactly that. We drove around for about 20 minutes until we stumbled upon the school and then the driver promptly took advantage of the fact that we didn´t agree on a price before setting off and ask for 50 pesos. I argued as best I could. And I really still wish I would´ve just told him 40- as that was what Hector said. But then, of course, I felt like a moron for not having at least had the address written down, for not having negotiated the price from the get go (like I knew to do), and so I wussed out and gave in.

I got out and more closely examined my drop off point- just to make absolute sure that I was indeed where I needed to be (you all know me and details). And I was taken aback by the grandeur of the place. It was palatial. The gate was still closed and I was a half hour early, so that wasn´t terribly surprising (especially given it´s Saturday today). But the grounds were neatly kept, beautiful stucco buildings decorated the massive yard, and overall I was left with this feeling of excitement, confidence, and ease. I really hoped that this was in fact my school (and that I hadn´t somehow screwed things up and it was the small shack with a sign saying free coffee and spanish lessons on the corner with coffee spelled kofie). Turns out it is.

I went for a short breakfast at a kind of ridiculous Denny´s-like place (it was the only place truly close by enough to sneak a quick meal where I could actually sit and think before showing up at nine). And I drank my coffee and just looked out on the park that is close to the school and just took it all in. It felt so nice to just sit, know that I knew where my school was, and really start thinking about being in one place for the next 4 weeks. Which is funny, because even know I realize how short four weeks sounds, but it´s relative in this weird temporary traveling space.

At 5 to nine, I walked back to an open gate and up to the open terrace looking the most like the official entrance. I was greeted by a friendly Guerra in Spanish named Erin. She´s Kiwi. How about that? She´s assistant to the director at the school and speaks wonderful Spanish and, of course, English is her native tongue. I could tell right away by her hesitancy to speak English that she´s good about speaking as much as she can in Spanish. I respected her right away.

However, she quickly realized, that, despite my wonderful capacity for pretending like I know what the hell is going on and being said, that I don´t. And so we spoke in English. She helped me iron out all the details. We got the schedule for school worked out. I got the bill for the school paid upfront. I got the low down on the city- effects of the influenza (it´s not down here- but the awareness is). And I got directions to my host family´s place- which turns out is like a 5 minute walk from the school! Perfect.

I gathered my things and walked with my map to the helpfully marked place on the map. I rang the doorbell and was greeted by the sweetest smiling little Senora named Estela. She said my name right away and told me to come right in. She introduced me to who I believe is her husband Daniel (but with both my lack of Spanish and the funny welcome interaction didn´t fully understand if he is) who is equally smiley, sweet, and short. Daniel was cleaning the bathroom and continued doing so while Estela gave me the full tour of my room. She started right in with lessons on bed, window, desk, towel (all things I have already forgotten and realize how important my little hand-held notebook truly is) and just made me feel totally at home. I am the only one staying with them and my room is a great size and space to simply have my own space. Perfect.

I started in with taking my recently laundered clothes out of the still smoke and sweat soaked backpack I´ve had for 11 years and putting them in the drawers of my dresser. I hung the few nice things I have on hangers. I hung my running clothes with my towel. I just took everything out of the pack and found a place for it in the room. After getting settled, I laid down for a little rest and moment of appreciation. I looked up the words for payment, daily, weekly, breakfast, lunch, and dinner and then proceeded to negotiate my way through a conversation with both Daniel and Estela to simply communicate the simple and important logistics. With a little gesturing and some funny looks, we made it through and decided that I would pay once a week on Saturdays and that I would eat breakfast with them. No Comeda y Cena. Daniel was impressed by even the tiny level of vocab I possess, and said something with an encouraging tone that, ironically, I didn´t understand. But I´ll take whatever I can get.

So I left the house with my keys (after a brief locking lesson)- and went to caminar- walk around. So I just spent the last few hours taking in, orienting, and scoping out the immediately walkable downtown area of Oaxaca. So far I have seen the little cafe that I think will be my favorite coffee sho. I visited the Zocalo. I ran into a woman I met on the plane. And I saw a baptism in one cathedral and a wedding procession at the famous Santo Domingo cathedral. Not bad for two hours.

So here I sit at this little internet cafe right next to Santo Domingo and I am so glad that I made the decision to be here. In just these last few hours I can just tell that this is a wonderous place. Very little English spoken. A sense of true local pride and overall sense of liveability- you can pretty much walk everywhere. So I am truly grateful to be here.

And my stool has been totally solid so far.

Love you all and thanks for ¨listening¨-

P.S. I love getting comments and if you send me your physical address, I promise a post card.