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Mitla, 21 May 1999

21 May 2009

It's been ten years and I still don't know how to pronounce the name of this site.

Mitla, 21 May 1999

On Friday, May 21 we visited Mitla, the famous Zapotec/Mixtec ruins.  I couldn’t tell you anything about it.  I got off the bus and headed to a drink vendor, and when I turned around everyone was gone.  Instead of attempting to try and find everyone, I opted to go shopping with some of the girls from our group.  This was really interesting.
 
There was a cul-de-sac of makeshift kiosks, each stocked with its own goodies and token Mexican woman.  As repetitious as the process was, I still found it interesting.  One of us would walk past a booth and hear “Hey, meester!  Hey!  Jew are my frien!  I have good thing, meester!  Hey!  Where are jew going?  (Muttering in Spanish)”. 
 
The thing I remember most is when the ice cream man pulled his cart into the middle of the road.  People generally either ignored him or walked toward him calmly, but one little boy squealed with excitement, raced from a shop directly toward the ice cream cart and then called for his mother.  When I saw this, the first thing that I thought was that we, as a global society, aren’t all that different.  I did the same thing when I was his age in New Jersey, and kids all over will do it.  We spend so much time concentrating on our differences, we often fail to see how similar we really are.  That’s the beauty of Anthropology, focusing on old – and new – societies to learn from each other, and ourselves.

I did explore Mitla, and it was interesting.  I enjoyed crawling through the catacombs, so to speak, reading – or at least looking at – the writing and designs on the walls, and simply observing a place that only a few years ago, in the grand scheme of things, was a functioning, lively society.
 
Later that day we went to the Tule Tree.  It is exactly what they said it is A big tree.  NEXT!

Okay, news flash.  I just spoke with my host father about the funeral we attended today and who it was for.
 
The three people who died were:
 
One man: Oaxacan consulate to France
 
Another man: Deputy in the Oaxacan police
 
Second man’s Wife: Head of the Oaxacan Red Cross, Women’s Chapter

ALSO:  The Bishop performed the mass.  After mass, I was walking with my host father and we were approached by a lone man (obviously a member of the clergy by the way he was dressed) who said hello, shook our hands, smiled and wished us well.  That was the bishop of Oaxaca.  What an honor!  I just wish it were under other circumstances.

I am tired; I’m going to bed.

No Worries!

06 June 1999
Oaxaca, Mexico

 

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