Digging into the past (continued)

Run-up on pavement...

Next stop after Veracruz was Oaxaca (wah-ha-cah), the capital of the state of Oaxaca. A beautiful colonial city where the heritage of the Spanish conquest and French occupation is visible in its architecture, arts and people. A very pleasant city to walk through. The first thing I noticed, however, was the huge presence of foreigners. Before arriving to the city I had rarely met fellow travelers firstly because of the Couchsurfing project, secondly because I visited unpopular Lonely Planet destinations. Oaxaca was definitely a LP highlight. It was strange to see so many güeros (caucasians) all of a sudden. It became to clear to me why Mexicans love to make fun of light-skinned, blond-haired people: they do in fact look funny. And this is without offensive connotation; I've discovered that I myself am subject to mockery coming mainly from Mexicans. Anyway, I wasn't sure whether I felt comfortable being around a tourist hotspot. I guess that's a detail one as a traveler has to accept in popular destinations that are actually worth visiting.

My host Pedro lived about 12 kilometers from town, which means I had to take one of those collective cabs to go to-and-fro. Those weren't vans but regular four-passenger cars. Generally they cram up to six people inside: two in front (that explains the little cushion between both front seats) and four in the back. That goes fine, unless some of your fellow passengers are slightly overweight. Now, Pedro is the kind of Mexican who's had the opportunity to travel elsewhere than the U.S., which has given him a broader perspective on cultural differences, etc. Also, he is a fiery Couchsurfer. Each weekend he converts his house into a CS hostel by trying to host as many travelers as possible (I hadn't thought of doing that actually. Usually CS hosts only allow a couple of people in, but he sees things bigger.). So, that means he receives a lot different nationalities and personalities each with their own habits, ideologies and so on. Therefor he can relativize his own culture and put it in a broader perspective. With other words, he likes to criticize with touch of humour the 'Mexican way', e.g. machismo, collective ignorance, government,... In fact, that's yet another thing I've noticed mostly with educated people (and with less educated too. They're at least aware that there's a few remarkable flaws in Mexico generally speaking.).

At the time I was staying at his house a total of eight travelers inhabited temporarily his dwelling. Two French couples, a German couple, a Spaniard/American and me. That created an interesting dynamic. I mainly hung out with the last mentioned: Fernando. He was quite an interesting character. I don't recall from what city he started, my guess is New York. He had been covering that whole distance on motorbike. He had left behind about a year and a half of wandering and was headed - like me - down south. This man, a disillusioned architect in another life, dedicates his life to explore the Latin American continent. Meanwhile, he tries to visit his family in Spain at least once a year, preferably twice. Then I remember vaguely something about returning to the U.S. to buy or construct a catamaran and sail to a South American country. There he would give up his vessel and buy a lama to hike on it through the entire Andes. Pretty amazing if you ask me, and an inspiration. Furthermore, since he's an offspring of mixed parents like me, I could identify myself with him. At the time I was still struggling with the futile recognition and acceptance of my Mexican half. Maybe it was a minor identity crisis of some sort. I didn't suffer from it up to psychiatric proportions, but it did fill my head with bothersome thoughts. He too had lived a similar experience and now he had found peace with himself, accepting the limbo he hovers in. Undoubtedly he was an enjoyable companion. Another and last example thereof is the day we played soccer with the neighbourhood kids. We had returned to Pedro's house from touristing in town. Outside were a couple of kids messing around with a ball. Fernando felt like joining in, while I wasn't too keen on it. He explained to me that soccer is the one thing that brings together people no matter their nationality, colour, style, age, ideology and so on. He had a point right there. Soccer does have a uniting power despite its horribly aggressive and heavily ideology-charged border-culture. So he, a giant blond long-haired güero, went up to the kids and proposed a match. To my surprise, in a matter of minutes two teams with kids from all over the neighbourhood - and us - were formed and the game was on. I hadn't done considerably much exercise on this trip so I had my heart beating at the back of my mouth, but the effects of that little game of soccer were remarkable. Fernando walked off, having reached the limit of his energy (sickness nailed him), while I stayed talking to the kids. That was cultural interchange right there. Eventually they invited us for another game of soccer the next day but we couldn't make it. I believe I visited the archeological site Monte Alban then. Apropos, there occurred an interesting anecdote too worth sharing.

To start off, during the time of the event I was still in belief that I could make Mexicans accept me as one of their own. That stubborn martyrdom came to an end tragically that day I visited Monte Alban. In Mexico on Sundays citizens are allowed free entrance to any archeological site anywhere in the republic, while foreigners aren't - which I completely understand. To enter one simply has to show any kind of identification. In my case I would just have to show my passport to prove my citizenship. Of course, forgetful as I am, I left my passport at Pedro's home while I was already on my way to the site. 'Not a problem', I thought. I figured i'd just say that I'm from Guadalajara and that's it. At the ticket office I told the lady I'm Mexican but that I forgot my ID. She was understanding and asked from where I was visiting Oaxaca, to which I replied 'from Guadalajara'. 'Oh, how nice. Welcome, please proceed.' So far, so good. Although I was met with the final and deciding obstacle. The man who's in charge of ripping the acquired tickets to let the visitors in asked for mine. It went more or less like this:

- Douchebag: 'You're ticket, please.'

- Me: 'Oh, I don't need one. I'm a Mexican citizen.'

- D: 'What? Don't be stupid. You're not Mexican. You're like a Central American or something (mocking).'

- M:'No man. I'm from Guadalajara. Go ask the lady at the ticket office. She allowed me in.'

- D: 'What? Really?' (mumbles something unintelligible, obviously bothered)

The ticket man walks to the office and said:

- D: 'Did you let him in for free? Do you really think he looks Mexican?

- Lady: 'Well, ehm, yes. He told me he's from Guadalajara and I believed him.'

The douchebag continues to be suspicious and starts to involve bystanders into the impromptu trial, asking them the same enquiry. Also, supposedly the manager of the archeological site just happened to be present. Now, I don't know about the authenticity of his position, perhaps the douchebag was just trying to deter me. Meanwhile I heard people standing by deciding whether I was or I weren't. As you can imagine, this circus quickly turned into an utterly humiliating spectacle, ran by an individual who seemed to have made it his herculean final task before heaving his last sigh to reject my Mexican identity. As follows:

- D: 'Okay, do you think he looks Mexican?' (directing himself to bystanders)

- Bystander #1: 'Uhm, well, I guess so.'

- Bystander #2: 'No, not really.'

- Bystander #3: 'Yeah man, he looks like someone from Guadalajara.'

- D: 'Hey manager, look at this. He's claiming he's Mexican. What do you think?'

- Manager: 'So you say you're from Guadalajara, huh? Alright then, what's the capital of Guadalajara?'

On a side note, GDL doesn't have a capital. It's the capital of the state Jalisco. A very poor attempt to outsmart me. I reply that he is mistaken and that Guadalajara doesn't have capital. I don't remember what happened exactly afterwards, but the opposition was way too strong and by then I'd had enough of their humiliation. I ended up paying the 51 pesos (3 EUR) entrance fee. Don't get it wrongly, it wasn't about avoiding the fee. It was simply a test to see whether I could be convincing. That proved not to work. That minor incident at the entrance of Monte Alban ended for good my Via Dolorosa of futile attempts and more important provided a change of mentality. Once I got in, I took my time to meditate on what had just happened. Inside waged alteration, total dismay, discouragement. At rest was the last thing my mind was. Finally, sitting on top one of the temples outlooking the site which rests on a mountain plateau that guards over Oaxaca city, I came to the conclusion that people are idiots. Ha, well, I'd come to that conclusion before. What I mean to say more precisely is that only I know who I am and no one else. That's how simple it is. I can't be told what I am or what I'm not because those comments are based on individual perceptions, also called 'prejudices'. Especially in my case. I've had to endure people who think they know how I'm made and having them telling me what I am. Having split nationality implies being none of both, not being accepted a 100%. In country A you'll be told you're a B and vice versa. Those misinformed people will always remind you that you're not one of them. That I had lived on numerous occasions in Mexico. For a very long time I tried to keep up the battle, but the circus at the entrance of Monte Alban sealed off that period for good. From then on, I concluded, I would have to quit trying to make people clear who I am. One can only know one person well in his life, and that's oneself. Even so, sometimes we feel alienated from ourselves and we are incapable of knowing the self. Whatever the others claim you seem to be, unless they're more or less right, is total bullshit. Science can dissect a man's heart to learn how it works for educational purposes, but they cannot look inside it. So, from then on, I can say I've found peace with myself. I've learned to put myself above the ego and let it go. Wisdom comes not from others, it comes from inside. Only sometimes it needs to be instigated.

To end this quasi intellectual enclosure, I'll illustrate my conclusion with a phrase from the following poem by beat poet Allen Ginsberg, released posthumously:

It’s true I write about myself

Who else do I know so well?

For the full version click on: http://brechto.blogspot.com/2009/04/objective-subject.html