Here in Oaxaca

I don’t know how interesting this all will be, I’m just sort of writing half this for myself, half to archive my 1st impressions, half because people asked me to, and half because I am not having daily phone calls to ruminate about my day—which means that I must be totally confused and should write double . If anthropology is all mediated through the personal experience, then I guess it’s important to record the feelings and mundane occurrences the entering into a foreign context entails (albeit in a semi-public forum). Also, I keep meaning to take pictures because I think that Oaxaca is visually stunning, but somehow my camera stayed in my bag today…a combination of finding my feet here and often having things in my hands I guess.

I’m here with the only real side-effect of the trip a migraine that seems to come on every time I fly through DF… although I was also rocking one last night so I’m not sure that I can blame everything on Mexican air. This was the best of all the times I’ve made the trip—it seems to me to be one long stream of anxiety producing hoops: the beyond early morning arrival at LAX prefaced with a sleepless night, the mindless wait for immigration heightened by a sense of mild terror that a) they might not let me in and b) without a clock present, I might miss my flight, the couple hours of sitting in the hot airless sala B, and then dealing with my monstrously large bags in Oaxacan customs (thank god that when I hit the button the traffic light gave me a green “pase” and I didn’t have to open everything for customs). I took a collective taxi from the airport (packed as full as possible as always) and the driver was not happy with me… not only was I the last one in, which meant that my ginormous bags had to be moved every time someone else wanted to get their stuff out, but he totally tried to drop me off at an intersection 2 blks from my apt and then argued with me over where I was going. I won with my obstinacy and insistence but not exactly what I wanted to do after a long day traveling. Also, I had to give up my idea that I wouldn’t really have to carry both bags (that weighed about 140 lbs not including my two carry-ons with my electronic equipment) because I could find a cart in the Oaxacan airport (no) and pay the taxi driver to bring my bags in (no, although he did in the end drop me at the door).

I reached my building but oy, the woman who was going to meet me wasn’t there yet (I have since learned that she truly operates on Mexican time) and nobody who was knew who I was, luckily people were pleasant if a bit suspicious. I ended up meeting the couple with the apt behind mine (the apt that was supposed to be mine until they showeed up with cash and cried) who are a German archeologist and partner working in Monte Alban. L came and—this is soo fieldwork—she was late because she got a ride home from a member of the community, but he had a couple stops he had to make, so she was along for the ride. She’s really nice and our research interests are well aligned, it’s good to feel like I’ll have a friend here who speaks the same intellectual language that I do. What’s also great was that when I explained my research plans to her, she totally got it… which no one else so far in causal conversation has. She has a friend doing research on ED in Cuernavaca who has had no prob observing exams, which gives me great hope. As she said “there’s so many people in the room anyways, who cares if you’re there?” This of course raises interesting questions about the assumptions of a certain publicness in Mexican medical care—something that I want to flag and track.

My apt is really nice with high ceilings, there is a ¾ wall between the living-room/ kitchen and the 2nd bedroom, which I have turned into a study and which opens onto the street—although there are bars over the window so I have been leaving the window open to try to encourage air flow. As you walk in there’s the cutest thing, a bar/ table separates the cooking and sitting areas and there are two thin iron arches with twining grape vine motifs, one over the table and the other forming a little archway in the middle of the room (with a space next to it that’s just open)—very cute and random. My kitchen is sparsely furnished so I have started a list of basic things to get, including a firestarter to make the stove work. I have a small oven, but no baking supplies, and a studio sized fridge. I have a double bed that sags in the middle and there is a single bed in my study. The ironic thing is that I felt like I packed so much and my clothes fit exactly in the space offered (sort of) and with all the pictures and personal touches I thought I was bringing, the apt still looks pretty bare and stark (I should I have brought my NYC apt decorations and traveled like an old-school anthropologist with porters)! The only three downsides to the apt is that the only big lights are long uncovered fluorescents (although there are small lamps in every room and I am totally rocking the indirect mood lighting), there are very few windows and poor airflow, and the shower pressure leaves much to be desired. But, those are really not the end of the world. My bedroom and bathroom windows look into the shared courtyard that has a ton of plants and flowering trees—I heard hummingbirds yesterday afternoon. The only downside of this is that my bedroom is directly across from the gate to exit the courtyard so I hear it anytime anyone comes or leaves or when the Germans talk loudly in their kitchen or having a party in the courtyard.

I’m going to have to learn to get gas, water, and internet myself… all very daunting propositions.