My first cow brain.

It's a festival, but I'm not sure why. The mariachi band plays for the crowd of maybe 200 people. Fireworks go off almost in rhythm with the percussion section. Between the endless chore of keeping the beers fresh, the bartender lights the fireworks in his hand which then shoot off into the air and explode with a loud clap. The guest have all brought at least a few hundred to be lit off during the fiesta.

The food arrives after a half dozen beers. The main dishes are a soup made up of all the insides of a cow; I can only understand liver and stomach, but the list goes on and on. It was incredibly tasty and new for me. Each bite is an explosion of new tastes and textures without a vegetable in sight. The second dish is slow roasted beef in olives and prunes. A tendure and savory dish that was more familiar to me. I gorge myself to prove that I actually enjoyed all of the food. I don't realize that my true quest, to eat a cow's head, is still to come.

We stay for a couple more hours drinking beers, sipping brandy, and making jokes. I comment that the grandmother in the crowd is my "Little Dangerous Women" because of the frequency she tops up my drinks. Just as the party gets going, my "Peligrosita" says that it's time to go. We move around the crowd and I we say our good-byes. This was only our pre-party.
We drive to the family house. Introductions are quick because everyone is hungry. The cow's head, wrapped in tomatos, chilis, herbs, and a canvas sack, has been buried in a fire pit for a whole day. Everyone gathers around to watch my "Peligrosita" carve the meat.

A fatty piece of cheek is slapped on my plate with some limes and green sauce. The richness of the cut is not exactly the best for an already stuffed belly, but I press on. "Quires ojos?" I am asked. "Porque no" I respond. This little back and forth continues until I eat tongue, eyes, and brains. Brains were not my favorite, but the rest was quite delicious. Slathered in green sauce, listening to some great music, while talking with curious and interesting people, this is truely one of the great meals in my life.

I spend the next day and half with my "familia nueva mexicana" drinking tequila, swimming, playing basketball, de-combing chickens, and laughing and joking the whole time.
As different the food experience was, it felt familiar. Every family has their own traditions, customs, foods, and inside jokes; I feel priveledged to have been given the chance to share this one's.

A Regular Mexican Work Day

The lights in the smoky club seem to dim and brighten depending how many of the band members are playing. The eclectic ecltro-jazz band switches seemlessly from Jimi Hendrix to Charlie Parker to blues. I recognize from people from a conference at work earlier in the day, and we chat about international food security issues and our favorite street food vendors. For $2 I get a beer and a pile of spicy peanuts while listening to live music for a few hours. It's the perfect way to end the 10-12 hour days I put in at work.

There are some language barriers working in an all Spanish-speaking environment given that I don't speak much Spanish. We're making it work though. Currently, I'm designing a new website for two organizations, trying to get some GIS maps worked out, starting to sift through years of audio and video files to upload, and beginning to create a database to expand the international reach of the organization's research. No exciting field trips this week, but the better my Spanish becomes, the more I'll be able to conduct my own interviews in the local communities.

The photo is my little buddy Amiliano. He's the only Chicklet kid I actually like. I let him where my sunglasses around and people buy more chicklets to take his photo. He's a bit shy about his own life, but is extremely curious and likes to tickle tourists (not a strategy that works for the old street vendors I've noticed).

Tonight I've been invited to go salsa dancing with a group of Canandian and American folks. The work week doesn't actually end even though the weekend begins. Puedo dormir cuando soy muerto.

A Regular Mexican Weekend

Beer flew into my Spanish teacher's face as an over-excited fan threw his hands up in disgust. The irrate fan was too busy telling the ref to engage in various acts with his mother to notice his mistake. A band of around 100 people stopped playing their rhythmic melody long enough to give the ref a coordinated and collective piece of their minds. Immediately afterwards, the traditional flutes were once again leading the congos, maracas, and singers in the endless string of songs throughout the game. After the game, the Chiapas crowd left pleased with the 2 - 1 victory over the Michoacan Monarcas.

A short bus ride home and I had just enough time to grab a quick bite to eat and head to the club where my teacher's band was playing. Being the only white face in the crowd was a lot of fun as the band played Mexican love ballads with whooping and hollaring. Good fun! I was chastized for leaving at one. "No one is even here yet!" It's going to take some practice I think to keep up with the late night dancing here.

Now, it's back to work. I have a new house I'm sharing with a couple of other gals and life is starting to take on some sort of schedule. One week in San Cristobal and the adventures have only just begun.

Don Alfredo and Don Fidelino

Their beaming smiles and genial dispositions betray their surroundings. Don Alfredo and Don Fidelino excitedly talk to us through the bars that have held them for 5 years. Political prisoners of Mexico wrongfully held for the murder of two men because of a land dispute within an indigenous community in the state of Chiapas.

7 years ago, José Lopez murdered a man, a Zapatista, in his community. Not wanting to escalate the situation, the family of the murdered agreed not to involve outside authorities and Lopez agreed to give the widow 10 hectares of his farmland. Shortly afterwards, Lopez fled the state for over two years.
In the meantime, the widow rented her new land to two farmers and friends of the family, Fidelino and Alfredo, to make money to support herself. When José Lopez returned, he demanded his land back. The young widow would not throw Don Alfredo and Don Fidelino off of the land and refused to give the property back.
Lopez, not known for his cool-head, got into a row with another community member, José Orlando. Evidence shows that Orlando shot and killed Lopez. In revenge, the son, Salomon, and the nephew, Isaías, decided to go after Orlando.

Fidelo’s niece waits with us. A girl with the face of a ten year old, but the eyes of a women many times that age. She curiously stares at another young girl who is happily slobbering lollipop all over herself. The rest of the family sit patiently. Their simple clothes are further cheapened by the discotheque dress of the penal secretaries. The secretaries, whose minds are on all the women they sweated and gyrated with of the dance floor the night before, are serving justice to the Dons, whose minds are on the women they sweated and bled for in their fields everyday.

Forms are brought to the men behind bars and they press inked thumbs to them. A shawl-clad secretary slips the paper into a stack of papers. The case files are so large here it is one staffers job to manually drill holes through the stacks and sew the papers together.

On the stand, Lopez’s family told the jury they saw Don Alfredo and Don Fidelino shoot and kill Lopez and Orlando. A year later, their story changed, but it was too late. With Alfredo and Fidelino behind bars, Lopez's family was able to take back the ten hectares of land. For the past two years CAPISE, an research organization that focuses on indigenous human rights violations, has built a case for a mistrial based on forensics, testimonies, and police evidence for a retrial to try to free the Dons.

With broad smiles, the two men wave goodbye as they are escorted away from their families and back into their cells. Everyone must now wait longer as the paperwork is processed…

First day at work?

It's official! I am in the club. Instead of heading communications for one organization, I am going to be responsible for the sister organization as well. No pay, long hours, health and safety risks around every corner. What could I possibly be thinking?

This is no quest to find my true self in exotic lands; nor is this some decompression excursion after the stress of five years of the cheap and easy college lifestyle; nor am I hiding out for a few months from the real world to decide what I want to do with the rest of my life.

I am a student: a committed lifelong enquirer and learner. This is an intellectual expedition to expand my understanding and knowledge. I am hoping through this humble blog, folks following my trip too will pick up a thing or two here or there.

Three questions have formed in my mind over my time at school:
What shapes and directs urban development in this new century?
What shapes and directs local and global politics?
How can new communication technologies influence the political and community development?

HUGE questions. To begin to unravel them I have placed myself here: within a community that attempts to shift present paradigms of politics and progress through violent and non-violent means, and through traditional and new communication strategies.

Over the next few days I would like to examine each of these questions as I currently think about them while keeping you up to date on Valentine's Day fiestas, Zapatista rallies, and the pressures of the new job.

San Cristobal de las Casas

I've made it. Despite delays from ferrits, illness, and other mishaps, I am at my ultimate destination for this little adventure of mine: San Cristobal de las Casas.

I arrived at 6:30 this morning and was pretty excited about everything. I checked my bags into a hostel and made way for where I'll be working. It was still early so I decided to walk to Iglesia de Guadalupe, a quite sanctuary at with a great view of the city.

Though the morning fog hadn't lifted I could see that the entirety of Real de Guadalupe was strung with Virgin Mary prayer flags leading all the way up to the church.

The view wasn't great from the top because of the mist, but it was great to sit and collect myself inside listening to prayers in different languages.

I went back to speak with Ernesto about work, but one of the women at the place said he won't be back until Tuesday or Wednesday. I spent the rest of the morning looking for a good language school. My favorite is located at the top of a hill over looking the city.

I forgot how many tourists were here. After being in Orizaba for three weeks I was beginning to forget tourists came to this country at all. We're easy to spoot: nappy heads, berets, scarves, fanny packs, spindly white legs poking out of shorts are all dead giveaways. Like lumps of pork fat in a can of bakedbeans, the tourist slog through the crowds; and just like cubes of fat, some relish in the richness it brings, while others would rather do away with it all together.

Luego

The Big City

The world's largest city openned up before the us like an ocean of lights as we drove down into the valley of Mexico City. The city boasts high violent crime rates, expanisve slums, near-blinding smog, nearly a fifth of Mexico's populations, and the world's second-highest number of reported kidnappings: I was anticipating a stab-a-minute cough fest fighting through the hostile throngs of this goliath of a megalopolis.

After navigating nearly every line in the metro –the sixth largest in the world– and covering just about every major neighborhood in the District Federal over two days of ferret liberation efforts, I truly enjoyed Mexico City. Public transportation was fast, reliable, and cheap (about $0.20 a ride). The people were infinitely patient and helpful (aside from two gals at the airport). The food, from the 4/$1 hotdogs to the street vendors flutas to the Chinese food was all fun and enjoyable to eat.

The only bummer was the beaurocracy Anna and I were trying to navigate through to get Crackers out of the airport. All my paperwork was sufficient to bring in a domesticated animal, but Crackers is a wild animal being held by 3 different departments. At the third place, we were told he is a "rare" animal and that international certification was required to bring him into the country. A $2000 sum (20,000 pesos) was requested as insurance to guarantee we would not sell the ferret on the black market. At this point, we decided to go to the embassy and ask for Uncle Sam's help.

Our "day-trip" to Mexico City turned into four. To make the best of it, we visited the pyramids at Teotihuacán, shopped our way through animated street bazarres, visited the anthropolgy museum (free on Sundays), the zoo (free all the time), walked around Chapultepec Park, and just tried to make the best of the situation.

We had to bring Crackers food before leaving. Who ever knew the phrase "Where can I by cat food on the way to the airport" would ever come in handy...