La Lucha Diaria

Adam: I feel like writing. It has taken me nearly a month to discern any understanding of this place of contrasts they call Mexico. I didn't come here to discover any answers to big questions, but simply to be and to see. To be here, with my family, and to see what happens. I don't think I've reclaimed a profound understanding of this wild land and it's people. But I think, as we near our departure, I've come to an aceptance of my misunderstanding. I suddenly have a lot of thoughts.

Our days here have been quite simple. While the family awakens, makes juice and boils water for coffee, I start the day washing the previous day's clothes in the cooler. I scrub and rinse and wring, wishing for a lesson from the woman two roofs over who does the same with her hotel's bedding. Even though I wear each of my two shorts a week at a time, the abundance of crumbs and sauces produce a lot of grubbly little shirts from the short guys. Anyway, after laundry, I sit down with the rest of Mexico to a late and large breakfast. Usually Cheerios and fruit or Huevos Rancheros-- which I coud eat every day for the rest of my life.... After breakfast, we wash the pan, sporks an bowls and spend a while dancing,playing,cuddling and getting dressed. Sometimes Talon has Sports Camp, or we have Spanish class, but if not, we spend the morning finding a new place to explore. Without going far, we have seen a lot. From the vast tunnels beneath the pyramid, a colonial church or fort, a museum or just a random avenue of our neighboring city, Puebla, the third largest in Mexico. If we don't make it home for lunch (around 2 or 3), we find a tiny taco joint or torta shoppe. A torta is a mexican sandwich, usually with some fresh meat, cheese, beans, and chilies. They are delicous, huge, and usally a buck and a half. After lunch, we rest in a pile back at our place. Some of us sleep, some read or study. When we wake we wrestle and play again, then we head out with the rest of the town to the Zocalo (town square). There is endless fun there. A giant, slightly rusted playground that's usually packed; a DJ night and day; always cookies and corn; plenty of bugs for Eliot to admire; and a fine choice of outdoor cafe's serving everybody's favorite drinks. I could stay for hours. Just watching people. Young couples kissing openly, the line of shoe shiners and their customers, packs of teens playing soccer or just being cool, and everywhere the kids kids kids. My favorites, though, are the old men. They sit alone or together on the benches. Some just sit and watch, others chat or play dominoes, some quietly slip off their shoes and take a nap. Their faces tell stories, and each has his own incredible hat and bike. Maybe they never drove, or gave it up, but the bike culture here is owned by the old guys. Their rides are as old as they are (one guy I talked to got his from his abuelo), but they are shiny and clean, and tricked out with a lifetime of racks and horns and fenders and mirrors. We freakin love the zocalo. While we're there, we stop at the market for some freshies, the bakery for hot bread, or the tortilleria for a kilo of, yes, tortillas. Then the rains come and everybody scatters. At home we have a snack and a shower, read or watch a movie, then do it all over again.

We are accomplishing very little, save living. I came with a dream of many poems and paintings and projects. But we've discovered, I think, that simply living has taken up most of our time. Like the rest of our neighbors, we have been primarily concerned with living through the day as best we can. The washing takes a while, cooking and cleaning is slow, we have to run for water every other day. It's fun.. but it's arduous. We've had a heck of a time staying healthy, clean and fed... and raising our kids(and attempting to patiently answer each of Talon's 10,000 daily 'Why' questions). Compared to most of our neighbors, our day is a breeze. But after some time here, I think we've come to understand their attitude, and it's amazing. Let's get through today as best we can. If we make it til tomorrow and we're still smiling, that's enough.

La Lucha Diaria, the daily struggle, is a reality that the majority of Mexican people live with and accept. Sixty percent of the people live at or near poverty-- they spend what they make each day. A shrinking minority live in the middle class, with a car and a respectable house. They work hard long days to pay for their home and a decent school for their kids. The top 10 percent are wildly rich-- connected to the corrupt business and government that hoardes cash. We see them in their luxury cars and that's all. La Lucha Diaria belongs to la gente. It belongs to the kids who spend their day selling gum on the street, the women who sit with their children all day next to ten jars of honey, or cactus leaves, or vanilla sticks. Or the men who juggle fire or clean windshields at stoplights. After waving these guys off for a thousand miles, we had collected enough junk on our glass to actually need one. He squirted soapy water from a gatorade bottle, scrubbed it with a handful of rags, and expertly wiped it with a piece of shoe rubber in one hand. His speed and quality were remarkable, and his smile showed his satisfaction with a job well-done. I slipped him 10 pesos and we went forth in clarity.

I am not fooled. The poverty and desperation that so many people on Earth live through is apalling and unjust. We should always do whatever we can to raise each other up and aim for equality. But what I have seen in Mexico is that the outlook of these 60-70 million who live day to day is one I can learn from. I am not selling Pepsi to a traffic jam, but I have my own struggles. We all do, don't we... What I have learned here is that we don't always have to run from it or overcome it. We can accept our struggle--even be glad for it. These folks are not angry or wanting pity. They are hard working and true-loving. They are passionate, and genuinely overjoyed and gratetful of the smallest fortune. They are constnatly celebrating and smiling at our kids. They are anything but complacent, totally aware, and live a strong, colorful existence. Without hesitiation, they embrace life, and appreciate the miracle of existence in its totality. The saying is, " Mientras hay Lucha hay Vida, y mientras hay Vida hay Lucha" While there is struggle, there is life; and while there is life, there is struggle"

Los Hombres Voladores (the flying men)

Cora:

Seredipitously, we stumbled upon two presentations by the Voladores. First, while searching for dinner in Cuetzalan. An old woman directed us away from her restaurant (we thought maybe she was tired of cooking for the day) and toward another restaurant. There, in addition to a delicious meal of empanadas y mole, we watched our first performance.

The next time, when we had the good fortune of being there for a local town's saint's day (every town has their patron saint and it is a big holiday for the people). This town was even more authentically indigenous than Cuetzalan and in the middle of nowhere. I felt a little ridiculous as we made our way down the narrow roads in our fancy red SUV toward the festival, while families, children, and old men and women were patiently walking in thin sandals. So, we arrived to find a simple iglesia and a grander pyramid, directly beside one another. Troupe after troupe of young people danced through the street and into the church, some with instruments ( a violin too!, but my teacher would have been horrified by his technique), some with crazy masks and wigs, costumes, and giant headresses. In one of their dances, they had a large pole with fabric attached, sort of like a may pole.

Then came the Voladores performance. This time on a large tree that leaned slightly with wooden slats for clmbing, not the sturdy concrete pole we saw the night before.
The poles are at least 60 feet high. The men (and sometimes women) are clad in costumes with shoes that make a nice tapping sound. They dance around the pole in unison while the elder member of the group plays an instrument that is like a small flute attached to a little drum. Their rhythm reminded me of step performances done by the cheerleaders in my high school.

Then they ascend. Rapidly and smoothly. Just one miss-grab of the rope or slats they are climbing and they are in trouble, but they climb quickly and confidently. At the top, they sit around a wooden square that swivels and the elder member stands directly on top and continues the song and dance (at 60 ft. in the air!). Finally, they all wrap the ropes around their waists (that's it for safety precautions) and descend in unison by falling backward. The ropes are wrapped around the pole, so they gradually unwind as the Voladores "fly" down to earth. The ropes and wood square squeak with the weight. It is hard to watch at times. For this performance, an added danger--two additional men climb down with only their hands, hold the rope between their knees and hang backward. As they near the ground, it becomes clear that there is not enough room. Two men hit low hung electrical wires and one hits the tents that are shading street stalls. He gets dragged a bit on the ground, but jumps up, smiling. The audience claps and this time the men do not ask for donations. This was for their community, not for the tourists.

Where did they get the idea for this crazy stunt?, you are probably asking. It is actually an ancient Aztecan ritual that was performed only once a year. Some say to the fertility god/goddess. In fact, these people still speak the Aztecan language, Nahuatl. The key is the number 52. Four men rotate around the pole 13 times (4 x 13). The Aztecs had two calendars, one for ceremonies that was 200 some days long and the 365 day solar calendar (I don't know if they had leap year yet). These two calendars would coincide once every 52 years. Some trivia to impress your friends!


The interesting thing for me was that this ceremony was supposed to be for their town saint and it is in front of and inside the church.....right beside the pyramid, with traditional costumes and dances, culminating in an ancient Aztec ritual. I just love the way the indigenous values and customs survive, even after all these years since the Conquistadors.

Cascada

We also found a kid to show us one of the sacred spots in town, this waterfall.

Quetzalan

With Travis on vacation, we drove a few hours north to the quiet indiginous town of Cuetzalan, famous fro it's hand-paved streets and Sunday Market-- where many families walk from miles around to attend. People here were incredibly sweet to us and our kids. We all enjoyed watching, smiling at, and wondering about each other.

The abundance of juice is one of the things that makes Mexico Great. While they do have a treasury of fried and salty snacks known as 'entojitoes' or 'little whims', it's just as common to see folks snacking on a huge cup of pineapple or papya, or enjoying the fruit of the land in liquid form. This is a place down the street from us that we frequent rather frequently.

Iglesia

We went with Trav and Teo last week to a REALLY old church in a neighboring town. a steep climb led us here, to the oldest door I've ever seen. We had to spend the next few days convincing Talon that the life-like statues inside were not actually dead people...and what happens when you die...and that Jesus was actually a really nice guy, not a scary bloody guy with a spiky hat.