Street Art Of Mexico

So I've been on the road for almost exactly three months now, and at this point have amassed well over a thousand photos. Sounds like a lot, doesn't it? It ought to be noted, however, that that big number is due in large part to a few huge clusters of photos taken at particularly unique areas, or during special events. For example, I took a shit-ton of photos when I climbed Paricutin back in January, and also when I visited the monarchs in early February. There are also far too many pictures of old ornate churches, galleries, and other city-stuff like that.

However, I have recently noticed that apart from these big clusters, and the obligatory touristy shots, there is another species of photo that crops up more or less consistently throughout my travels, namely, shots of street art: graffiti, stencilwork, stickers, paste-ups, and random installation art. Now, there are lots of photos I could post, but for the purposes of this entry, I'll restrict myself to graf and stencils.

Although big centres like Guadalajara and Mexico City obviously had more than their fair share of street art, I've noticed these past few months that there is also no shortage of sweet work to be seen even in smaller cities. The following is a little taste of what I mean, plus some stuff from the big cities too.

(Click on images to see them larger.)


This piece is the first I photographed in Mexico. It was easily over twenty feet long, in full color, and pretty much blew my mind. It must have been quite new, because it was basically flawless. I found it on some dirty back street in Ensenada, a smallish town in Baja California, just a few hours south of the U.S. border. I had snapped a few shots of big pieces in San Francisco and L.A. but this piece is what prompted me to start keeping my eyes open in Mexico.

These next few characters of similar style were all found hiding out in Old Vallarta - I think we eventually discovered that they were tied to a local clothing line, and that if you came at them the right way, they kind of led you to the shop in question.




The following set are all from a little town in Michoacan state called Uruapan. This is where I stayed when I climbed Paricutin. This particular corner wall was covered for about a half-block in each direction.






Now, here are a few stingers from Guadalajara. I was even lucky enough to catch buddy right in the middle of one.





Finally, here are a few artsier pieces from downtown Mexico City.





But to be honest, the real inspiration for my putting this entry together were my experiences in the city of San Cristobal de las Casas, in the southern state of Chiapas. This region of Mexico has a long and painful history of social unrest, and this city in particular was an important site in the uprising of the indigenous peoples under the banner of the Zapatistas back in the 90s. As a result, its sreets are well-marked with revolutionary and resistance-themed stencil-art. All of the following were taken over the course of a few random walks about town the past few days.

While few of them employ multiple colors or layering, many are quite detailed cuts, such as the red face in the piece that reads "SOLIDARIDAD" and the big Frida cut at the end.













That's all for today. Hope all is well.

A Little Bad News

I guess it had to happen sooner or later.

And I suppose I can't complain too much about my first piece of bad luck coming after having been on the road for nearly three months - I had a pretty good streak going there, really. So, in the relating of the following unfortunate story, I'll do my best to look on the bright side, but it's still pretty fresh, so bear with me.

I left the beautiful beaches of Mazunte a few days ago, on a Tuesday morning, after a lovely eight-day pause - my longest yet. I had soaked up a good deal of sun, made full use of the ocean - swimming daily - and met some interesting and friendly beach folks. I was ready for a change, however, I thought to myself as I packed up my little tent and made for the street.

I had planned to make my way out to San Cristobal de las Casas, a reportedly beautiful old city nestled in the mountains of Chiapas, but it seemed a bit far to travel in one day, so I broke the journey in two, stopping at the close of my first day in a little Oaxacan town by the name of Tehuantepec. It was a dingy little place, but I found a cheapish hostel and enjoyed the quiet and privacy of a room to myself after so many nights on the sand.

A good place to take stock, and assess things a little before moving on, I told myself. I laid out all my belongings - not much really - and put aside some of the rattier items to be considered for dismissal or repair. I know many of you will likely be laughing, but I take some pleasure in such things, and sat happily into that first evening, hand-sewing torn pants, or mending buttons here and there.

The following morning, as the noon sun rose high and the wind picked up some, I set about hand-washing my clothes on the little concrete roof-top washboard - I had gone to drop them off for cleaning earlier, but none of the lavanderias in town could have my things ready until Friday. Besides, I still had some leftover laundry soap that I'd been carting around since the Baja, and nothing better to do this fine day.

The other thing is that laudry service here can be quite expensive - sometimes as much as 6USD or so for a medium sized load. Despite having just spent a relatively cheap 8 days on the beach, I'd been thinking a bit about money-matters recently - I still have a lot of miles ahead of me - and so was happy to do my best to conserve wherever possible. Every little bit helps.

Anyway, Thursday morning I packed up and made for the bus station early, and finding that there were no direct buses to San Cristobal until later that afternoon, had a quick chat with the ticket lady and worked out a cheaper way round involving four shorter trips, the first of which I could still catch if I ran. Happy with this budgetary maneuver, I paid and dashed out the doors to catch my just-leaving bus.

So three bus-changes and many pee-breaks later, I step off my last bus around 4 in the afternoon, in beautiful San Cristobal. The bus station is lively, and the streets are full of people. I have no idea how the city is organized, but this is nothing new, and I head down toward the center of town.

Happily there are plenty of hotels and guesthouses varying from the luxurious to the lousy, and I pop my head into a few as I walk along to ask about prices and what not. I resolve to find a nice cozy cheap place and settle in for a few days of conservative living - no big sights, no big excursions, just mountain life in Mexico. Before long I find just the place - La Posada De Zapata - a neat little guesthouse named in honor of the famed revolutionary and decorated throughout with his image. It's set back from the road a bit with relatively cheap dormitory rates and a quaint public kitchen space.

A little tired from the day's travel, I head off to the grocery store and stock up for the coming days. It's nice to be buying groceries instead of always dining out, and I am excited to cook myself a decent supper. I return home, stow my food in the kitchen, and head to my room to settle a bit. The dormitory room is pleasant; modestly decorated, and large enough to accomodate the three single beds, each with a sturdy wooden chest at its foot which is to serve as a kind of locker.

I have purchased a lock, and have used it at times, but resent it a little - I dislike the feeling of locking up my goods in front of the people I am staying with. I understand due caution, of course, but this idea of thinking that I could be among theives, of maintaining even slight suspicion of those around me is not a mental posture I enjoy or want to cultivate.

At any rate, I have been told that there is one other fellow staying in this room, buy I have yet to meet him, so having stowed my few valuables, I listen to reason, lock them, and head out for a walk to catch the remainder of the day and look around a little. It is pleasant outside. Lovely old buildings, music, and plenty of people out and about in the square. Soon enough, however, I begin to get hungry, and return home to make supper.

I struggle with the little gas range for a while, and eventually realize that there must be no gas. I confirm this with the staff who promise to have it all set for the morning. Looks like I won't be eating pasta tonight - I decide instead to make up some avocado and cheese tortillas, and munch on a few potato chips. Some guests from down the hall - a group of young people in from nearby Tuxtla for the weekend - notice my cold supper, and offer me a can of the tuna they've been reduced to, and a glass of soda. We laugh a bit together about the lack of gas, and chat over our modest supper. They are partying however, so I retire to my room to read some.

My roommate is back. He is a Mexican man of maybe thirty years, clean-looking and polite. He has good English, so we chat a little about where I'm from, and my various travels. He makes me a peanut-butter sandwich, and pours me a glass of juice - his version of a stove-less supper - which I happily accept. I ask him where he's from, and what he knows about the area, and he offers a little information, as well as some ideas about things to see and do up in the Yucatan region. We talk a bit about the price of travel, but how this place is nice enough, considering, and I tell him about Couchsurfing. He has never heard of this, but finds it an interesting idea. He cracks a few jokes, and we laugh a little together. Nice fellow, I think to myself.

Eventually, I return to my reading, and he excuses himself to go to sleep. After reading for a time, I decide to do the same. I take off my clothes, pile them at the foot of the bed, shut the light, and crawl under the covers. Our young neighbors are still up and talking - they haven't even gone out yet - but eventually I manage to pass out.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I am woken up by the sound of them coming home after what must have been a good night out, but eventually this too dies down and I manage to fall asleep again.

I wake slowly in the morning to the sun through white curtains. My roommate is up and stirring quietly in his bed. I think for a moment about getting up, but then recall that I have absolutely nothing to do today, and can sleep in as long as I please. I hear my roommate quietly leave the room, and settle back to sleep.

Some time later I do decide to get up, and head out to grab a coffee from a shop around the corner, and an avocado for lunch. I return to my room, grab my book, and head to one of the few chairs outside to read in the morning sun. No sign of my roommate. Must have gone out for breakfast, I think to myself.

There's still no gas in the kitchen, but I'm assured by the staff that it's coming, and so decide to go for a little walk to kill some time before brunch. The city is bustling in the morning light, and I snap a few photos of historic buildings like a good little tourist before growing weary and deciding to sit for a cappucino. Delicious. When it comes time to pay, however, I realize that I haven't enough change - spent it on my avocado - and so have to dig for a bill. I pull out my wallet, and reaching in notice that about 3500 pesos or so are missing.

I am a bit confused. Now, I just went to the ATM the other day in Tehuantepec, and as I mentioned earlier, have been pinching pennies pretty hard lately, so I know this is not a mistake on my part. There are a few hundred pesos still in there, but all of the larger bills are gone. Nothing else is moved or tampered with. Suddenly, a kind of cold rage sweeps over me such as I have not felt in a long while. I don't like it one bit, and it's all I can do to calm down and think for a minute.

What this must mean, I tell myself, is that my friendly roommate must have waited until he was certain that I was asleep, and then in cover of night, rifled through my clothes (which I of course neglected to lock up), found my wallet in my pants pocket, removed nearly all of the money inside (what a prince), and then gone back to bed as if nothing had happened. Then in the morning, he rose slowly, and quietly left without making a fuss.

It was ballsy of him, to be sure - how did he know I wouldn't rise before him? Perhaps he waited for me to stir, and then slowly made his way out? At any rate, by the time I realized what had happened, many hours had passed, and I know that if it were me, I'd be miles away on the next bus out of town by now. 3500 pesos is not a whole lot of money - maybe 280USD - but down here that's more than enough to get on for a few weeks if you know how to spend it. I know that's how far I was hoping it would take me, anyway.

So, I do my best to swallow some of my anger, pay for my coffee with some of my remaining pesos, and make for the hostel to make some lunch, and try to chill out. I look a little harder at the room, and notice that my roommate is most certainly gone, and not coming back if he knows what's good for him. My first instinct is to pack up and leave too, get away from this place, but I've bought my groceries, and I figure it's a pleasant enough place besides. No sense both of us leaving.

So here I am.

All this took place only this morning, and although I've since made some tasty lunch - the gas is on, thankfully - I was still a little tense as I ate. It's hard to describe. I have only been stolen from a few times in my life, but each time it makes me sick to my stomach for a little while. I suppose it's a mixture of emotions and impulses.

Part of me feels a little like how I imagine boxers must feel before the big match - all psyched-up and ready to hurt someone - like you can't sit down, should be running, chasing, searching, punishing. Another part of me is more sad, and wishes that so-and-so were still here, so I could talk to him like a little child, and try to teach him that he's made a mistake, that such behavior is not conducive to the building of a strong character, that he'll regret it later in life, etc. Then all of a sudden I just want to whack him again. Fucker.

Your one selfish action, roommate, has thrown me into that very state of wary suspiciousness that I so abhor. Anyone who has been stolen from will know what I mean. Suddenly, people all around - even strangers passed on the street - are transformed from shiny, happy, good-natured people, into shady, shifty-eyed characters, each one looking over their shoulder at their neighbour, hands gripping their belongings. Damn you, roommate, for bringing me down into this Hobbesian world!

Anyway. I'm nearly over it now. People are starting to look like good people again, and I am wanting to hit them less and less. Can't let one bad apple spoil the whole bunch as they say. Writing about it has helped a lot too, and I thank whomever made it all the way through the present entry despite the conspicuous lack of photos of things exploding. We'll see if I can't find something to blow up in the days to come.

In other news, I have begun working on the mailing address thing again - Buenos Aires is too far away afterall, I think. My recent hope is that I'll be able to have mail sent to some Canadian government office or something, or that I may be able to contact some post office down the line directly, and have things sent there. Anyway, it's in the works, and I'll let you know when the powers that be get back to me.

Otherwise, things are moving along well. I am healthy and happy, reading lots, and looking forward to a few more days here before moving along deeper into Chiapas, and eventually up Yucatan way.

I hope everyone is well and in good spirits - talk to you soon!

Sitios Arqueologicos Y Fuegos Pirotecnicos

Well, I'll tell you, it's a hot day here in Mazunte, a quiet little puebla on the Pacific coast of Oaxaca state, and I don't feel much like writing - I'd much rather keep on with the gentle hammock-swinging and dozy reading that's been occupying pretty much all my time of late - but I have a few things I feel compelled to tell you about, and if they don't come out now they may never do, so here goes.

So I wound up spending three nights in Oaxaca city. The plan had been two, but my hosts were very lovely indeed, and kind enough to invite me to stay a third in order to attend a rather special event which I will tell about in a moment. The first day was easily burned away lolling about in the city's beautiful old Zocalo; after my late night arrival, I woke, breakfasted, and set about poking around all the huge ornate churches, listening to all kinds of street music and reclining with a book under cover of shade, munching on tamales and coffee - rare now is the tamale lady who passes me by un-patronized.

That second evening, my hosts and I discussed some of the to-sees and to-dos of Oaxaca city, during which was raised the posibility of paying a visit to some nearby Zapotec ruins. I realized that I had yet to visit any sizable ruins, and that I should probably not leave Mexico without so doing, and so made plans to go the following morning. Only a half-hour or so out of the city, Monte Alban, I learned, apart from being one of the earliest cities of Mesoamerica, was in fact the central hub (socially, politically, economically) of all things Zapotec for close to 1000 years! Most agree that it was founded some time around 500 BC, and was pretty much in full swing around 100 BC-200 AD, expanding and dominating throughout the Oaxacan highlands. Come 500-750 AD however, things had calmed down, and the place was essentially abandoned after that, apart for a few small-scale reoccupations, or the occasional re-use of various structures or tombs, etc.

Apart from all the historical acclaim, the place is also quite beautifully located, set upon a vast levelled plateau, some 6400 feet above sea-level, and about 1300 feet above the surrounding valley floor. The center of the site is a kind of rectangular courtyard, bordered on all sides by strings of pyramid-like structures, the two largest of which flank it on each end. Sheer steps almost twice as tall as they are deep make climbing these pyramid faces a little risky if you're not paying attention, but the view from the top is well worth it, nearly 360 degrees, gazing down into the main yard - in the center of which sits the astronomical observatory so central to the daily and ritual life of this star-gazing culture - and also out across the valley and onto the outskirts of Oaxaca city below.



Outside this main area there sit several other beautiful pyramid structures affording similarly beautiful views, as well as a number of smaller sets of ruins more on the edge of the site - mostly tombs, we learned. It was not dificult to kill a few hours wandering about the site, gawking, snapping photos and talking idly with the various traveler people who invariably find themselves in such places, but there's only so much you can write about it.

One detail in particular, however, does merit mention, I thought. Rather awesomely, among virtually all the pre-Colombian peoples of Mesoamerica, there was played for some 3000 years a ritually significant game, now referred to as the ball game. The exact rules are not known, of course, but based on the available information, it looks to have been something like volleyball, in which participants would strike a sizable rubber ball (weighing up to 4 kilograms!) usually only with their hips, but occasionally with forearms or elbows as well, with the objective of keeping it in play.

Some 1300 ballgame courts have been found througout mesoamerica, and although they vary considerably in size, they all feature the same long narrow alley, bordered by sloping walls for the ball to bounce off of. While the ballgame seems to have been widely played recreationally, major formal matches were also held, and there is plenty of evidence suggesting its frequent correlation with ritual, and even with human sacrifice. I was pretty stoked about all of this.

So anyway, upon returning to town and supping with some fellow travelers, I returned home, where I was to meet with one half of my hosts - Willem - to help organize a smallish surprise party for the other - Hilary. As it happens, Hilary was turning 10000 days old on this day (about 27 and a half years, incidentally), and so guacamole and crepes, and beer and friends, and a sizable piñata in her likeness were all arranged to celebrate. It was a lovely night with much laughter and conversation, and I was very pleased to be there, and to have met so many more fun and interesting people. I left the following morning (after tamales of course) quite content and quite ready for the beach.

My first stop was in a spot called Puerto Escondido, widely-known, apparently, for its good surf, and low-stress lifestyle. I was pleased to find that while it was undoubtedly touristy, it was still quiet enough to find a private corner of beach if you wanted. My first few nights there I kept to myself mostly, enjoying the weather, and spending slow days meandering around the beaches. Soon enough however, I fell in with a gaggle of Aussies staying at my hostel, and drank far too much beer playing all kinds of crazy card games. Folks would see how much fun we were having, and invite us out on the town, but we were content to stay in, and the party often came to us. There is a great late-night burger scene in Puerto Escondido, and we ate our fair share I can tell you.

So one night, about 7:30, as I'm coming home from a Valentine's day SKYPE with my mom in New Brunswick, I see my Aussies all geared up to head out somewhere. Oh yes, there's a little fiesta happening a little ways out of town, and aren't you coming? Just what that means I have no idea - I figure it's a bar or something - but I've got nothing important planned, so I decide to go for it. They all leave in a cab, and I make my way out there a little while later with some other hostel people in a cab of our own. I ask around about what this place is all about but no one can tell me anything, but it takes us some fifteen or twenty minutes to drive out there, on a silent vacant road, under the light of the Mexican stars, and I begin to realize I am likely not going to a bar, anyway.

I am quite hugry at this point, and so am pleased when we drive into what appears to me to be a sizable night-market - they always have good food. We are let off at the mouth of a great long stip of little puestos selling everything from baby-shoes and fruity-sweets to hand-made leather machete-holsters, and begin to make our way into the fray. It soon becomes evident that far more than just a market, we have arrived at a full-on Mexican carnival, complete with games and spinning, twisting rides of all sizes, and shiny brown youth running around shoulder to shoulder beneath the blazing neon lights. There are doughnuts and milkshakes and pizza and tacos everywhere, and the music is too loud and babies are screaming and I don't know where to begin.

Now, everyone's been to a carnival, they're all kind of nuts, right, so I don't have to spend ten paragraphs describing it, but it ought to be noted that in Mexico, things are just a little - how can I put it - looser. There is no ticket booth, indeed there are no tickets anywhere, if you want to take part in some game or ride you just step up and pay cash money, or rather, you force your way to the front and pay cash money - there are no lines either. When the gates open, folks of all ages simply dash up the stairs to their favorite rotating contraption and have a seat. Indeed, many rides have no gates at all, but swing or twist quite openly, and it is up to the responsible carnival-goer to not walk too close lest he get kicked in the pants by a circling elephant, as one of my travel mates learned the hard way.

Having indulged myself in a good many tacos, I was not tempted to hop on any of these rides, but took some pleasure in watching my companions flail about on one particularly unforgiving ride. This torture machine would likely run for a minute or two anywhere else in the world, but I watched it spin for what must have been six or eight, and thanked my better judgment for sitting out. This had all been good fun for me, and I was glad to have come and enjoyed the welcome break in my otherwise slow beachlife very much, but the highlight of the whole evening was still to come.

Making my way around a few bends and kind of following the crowd, I eventually came to a large-ish open square within and around which were seated or milling about some many hundreds of people. At one end of the square was a small stage upon which some traditional folklore type song and dance were being performed, which the crowd seemed to be enjoying very much. Now, the square would normally have been wide open to the street along one side, but on this occasion was hemmed in by some very unusual structures the likes of which I had never seen before.

They looked like great communication towers, some three or four stories tall, all constructed of thin wood beams and strips crossing all over in supporting Xs, or at least they would have looked so, were it not for all the other ornate circular crisscross objects fastened to their surface, or dangling from crossbeams. Some of these structures looked like great flowers or palm trees or birds, and the whole lot were covered in what looked to me like little white plastic birthday candles that ran across every line of the things, usually spaced an inch or two apart.

Well, they were very elaborate and beautiful, I thought, but it was quite dark, and I couldn't quite figure out what to make of them. Besides, people didn't seem to be paying them much attention, anyway, so I took a seat among the crowd and enjoyed the show - I had heard there were going to be fireworks. Now again, everyone has been to a fireworks show, but I'll tell you a Mexican fireworks show is another thing altogether, or at least this Mexican fireworks show was, as I will do my best to describe here.

Once the dance performance had finished, a male voice came over the loudspeaker and shouted some indistinguishable but deafening words, at which point the band began once more, although with a much jauntier tune, and a figure emerged in the center of the square wearing atop his head a kind of piñata-like effigy of a bull wrapped in light scaffolding and adorned with all manner of those little birthday-candle looking things, like the big towers behind him had. He began to dance about, and the square began to fill with people, also dancing, young men mostly, I noticed.

Suddenly, someone came up behind the dancing bull and struck a match, and the next thing you knew, that sucker was sending out a splay of sparks that must have been twelve feet long. The crowd cheered, and as the sparks grew the structure all about the bull effigy began to twirl and pop and crackle, and the young men in the center square began to taunt the bull. He responded to this by chasing them about a little when they got too close, shooting sparks after them as he went. I began to get the idea - like the running of the bulls, only a little safer.

It wasn't long however, before one of the boys grew bold enough to make a grab at the crazy exploding bull, and yanked it apart, taking one flaming piece, and running after his mates, while others fought violently over the remaining pieces, tossing aside those that had finished exploding, and running about with those that did. It was a bit like a riot, really, and for a moment I thought that something had gone wrong, but as more flaming-sparking-firework-bull-effigies emerged, sometimes two by two, and each was torn apart and fought over by raucous young men, and paraded about the square, I realised that this was just how it went.

It was nearly pitch black, and the fireworks put out a great deal of smoke, which, when lit up by the sparks made for quite a scene. More than once the action came a little too close for comfort, as some drunken fellow would come sprinting toward our end of the square, flailing some crazy sparkling piece of bull effigy above his head like mad, and it would come apart, sending flaming bits into the crowd which often had to be kicked away or stamped out before they exploded in our faces. One girl I was with had a sizable hole burned in the bum of her dress when she fell back and accidentally sat on one such piece of debris. Like I say, these things tend to be a little looser.

Anyway, this went on for quite some time, and it was only about half-way through that I realised that if the little birthday-candles on the bulls looked an awful lot like the ones on those huge ornate towers... What are they going to do just blow them up right in the middle of the square? Well sure enough, after the bull-fighting had ceased - as it happened the police had to be called in, and a few of the more problematic folks were carted away, so it actually was kind of like a riot - that's just what they did.



Folks were shooed away from the base of the towers, and someone walked up underneath them and lit them up, and they full-on exploded, in about ten distinct phases, over the course of about a half-hour. The great big circular bits rotated burning now green now white, and the parts built into things like birds and trees blew-up and crackled and spun around. Sometimes fireworks would explode into words, other times they would detach from the towers, and spin off into the sky to blow up. I couldn't belive it. I sat there with my mouth wide open laughing through the whole thing, that is, until it began to fill up with smithereens, and I had to close it. There were also conventional fireworks going off at times, bursting loudly and filling the sky above with pink and gold light, and trickling down onto the crowd.

It was well past midnight by the time they were finished, and I got home much later, a little tired, but well-fed and pleased overall with how the night had turned out.

I left Puerto Escondido the following day, yesterday, and made the short trip down the coast to tiny Mazunte. It's still touristy, to be sure, and although I'm crashing in my tent, I'm hardly roughing it, but it's a bit quieter anyway, and I will likely spend another night or two here before shuffling further along the coast toward Chiapas.

Talk to you soon!