WE'RE FULLY BOOKED. DO YOU HAVE A RESERVATION?

While Santa was busy bestowing gifts north of the Rio Grande, down here he was sending refugees from the cold Empire State and neighboring environs. In addition to the Canadian and Australian friends from Guanajuato, and Lois, Phil and Elizabeth down from Mexico City, December also brought the guest-of-honor bar none: Mrs. Betty Warren.

Mrs. Warren (AKA Señor's Mommy) escaped New York at the end of December just as a huge winter storm was bearing down on the old homestead. When she eventually emerged from the Oaxaca customs line into the sunny, warm late afternoon I don't know who was happier: Mom (to be here in Mexico, rather than New York) or Ed and I to have her here with us.

After a short spell on the back patio Mom was fully rejuveinated and ready to really begin her vacation. She was the perfect guest and we all spent nearly two weeks enjoying siteseeing excursions as much as quiet times reading or writing postcards under the shade of the bugambilia and jasmine. Whether squeezing through the stalls and stands at the Central de Abastos, Oaxaca's biggest and most overwhelming market, or gazing admiringly at the Precolombian art in the Rufino Tamayo museum (which is home to some of Mexico's best ancient art and artifacts) we all enjoyed the best that Oaxaca has to offer, including the great weather.

AND ON OUR LEFT PLEASE NOTICE THE ROAD DISAPPEARING OVER THE CLIFF . . .

Mom and I made a trip to the nearby Zapotecan ruins of Monte Alban. Ed had gotten an English language guidebook so I was able to fake my way through the site as our "expert guide" (uh, yeah, this was where the . . . uh. . . UFO's landed and that big square building . . is the site of the . . . er. . . ancient ceremonial dinner theater and drag review. . . "). In between semi-authentic, detailed descriptions I would work to keep the salesman with "real Zapotec pottery" at bay. Whenever Mom asked an interesting question without a corresponding answer on my crib-sheet I'd distract her with the old, "HEY, can you BELIEVE this view?!" trick. Actually, the mountaintop setting, the amazing architecture and the expansive view as we sipped coffee at the café made for a great day.

Later that week Ed, Mom and I updated our wills, signed our organ-donor cards and piled into a tour van and headed to Maket Day in the nearby village of Zaachila. Each town around Oaxaca has it's own market day. Some towns are known for a particular craft or product and each market day is a chance to see the rural Mexico not designed with tourists in mind. Live turkeys dangling upside-down by their feet held fast by women strolling with large bushels balanced on their heads past rows of stands hawking everything from fresh veggies to pirated CDs. The sights, sounds, and (especially) smells make these village markets incredibly vivid.

In addition to Zaachila we also stopped in Ciulapan, the site of a former convent (a term that refers to both monasteries and nunneries alike here in Mexico). There is also a monument to Mexico's second president, Vicente Guerrero, who was executed here.

Another afternoon, and a first for all three of us, was the trip to see the 2,000 year old Mexican cyprus tree in the neighboring town of Tule. A quick local bus ride and we were walking the circmference of the "oldest tree in the Americas". Just on the other side of the church that stands next to the really old tree is another old one, though at a mere 1,000 years old, it doesn't get any attention at all. We listened as a young guide (about 1,990 years younger than the tree) shared insights and interesting phenomena with a group of Mexican tourists, ". . . and there you see the face of the Pope, the Pepsi logo, the starting players of the Cruz Azul soccer team, a wooded knot resembling the wart that the wife of the mayor reportedly has . . .". A real entrepreneur.

I CAN'T RECALL THE NAME, BUT IF YOU SCREAM A FEW BARS IT'LL COME BACK TO ME

On Friday night we all headed to the fancy Camino Real Hotel for dinner and a dance review, known as a Guelaguetza. The official Guelaguetza actually takes place in July under a searing and unforgiving Oaxacan sun. We elected to take in the "Guelaguetza Lite" show since it included some yummy food as well. An entire rainbow of Mole (sauces usually containing chiles and chocolate, pronounced: MOE-lay), including yellow, red, and black. We stuffed ourselves sick, then settled back to admire the bright costumes and lively dances. The mood music for this event was the large, mostly brass, mostly loud local band. The musicians were every bit like the local church parish ensembles that stroll through the streets at all hours on a seemingly daily basis. Clanging, banging, shreiking, wheezing, squeeling and unable to keep a beat without the tuba to oompa-oompa to, the band entered with fanfare and exited 90 minutes later to a grateful audience. I think my Mom was aurally transported back to my 5th grade band "concert" for an evening. All 300 people left humming the exact same tune.

. . . AND HOLD THE SALT THIS TIME!

During Mom's visit we spent several afternoons and evenings at the Zócalo, sipping cofee or margaritas, sampling the local cuisine (though Mom couldn't be tempted by the fried grasshoppers), chatting and people watching. Mom didn't need any help keeping the numerous peddlars away. The look and shaking finger stopped them in their tracks and sent them on their way in much the same manner that my siblings and I were kept in line as kids! Trust me, the peddlars didn't stand a chance!

WHAT HOLIDAY IS IT TODAY?

New Year's Eve was celebrated quietly (by us) and with lots of explosions (by our neighbors). If you have a nervous condition or are unsettled by sudden, LOUD noises, you want to be sure to avoid Mexico during a festival (that may mean passing through Mexico on a Tuesday in August when I think they may be celebration-free for a mere 16 minutes).

Ed and I celebrate Winter Solstice each December, and while we love our evening of reflection, in terms of duration it pales in comparison with Mexico's marathon December observances. In fact, Christmas here in Mexico starts WAY before the 25th of December and continues on WAY past the New Year. Many government offices are actually closed for the entire period, which may begin on the 16th with the Christmas Posadas and continue into January. The Posadas ("Inns") refer to the whole Joseph/Mary/No-Room-At-The-Inn thing. Here in Oaxaca the Posada processions reached a climax on Christmas Eve when every little church in Oaxaca (of which there are about 1 for every 3 people) makes a float with a general "heavenly" theme, heavy on the Nativity scene recreations, of course. All the floats from all corners of the city converge on the Zócalo that night and make several passes around the circumference of the Plaza before heading back to the local church in time for a midnight service. There is a nearly-all brass band attached to each contingent, blasting their way through the crowds with suspiciously similar cacophonous accompanyment. In the meantime there are guys running ahead of the floats with long sticks to raise pesky tree limbs and electric lines (no preplanning on what the height clearance for the floats, duh) as some lunatic fireworks guys blast their way ahead, literally. There are actually TWO guys: One carries a long pole on the end of which is set a bamboo circle with several fireworks fastened. The second guy follows Guy #1 with a wheelbarrow full of more bamboo reenforcements. It's a requirement that Guy #1 be an avid smoker, since his duties include lighting the round of fireworks as well as running into the crowd with sparks flying and explosions deafening the onlookers. You can tell which of the observers are gringos: We're the ones ducking, covering our heads and trying to maintain a respectful distance from the firey festivities. Most Americans hail from a culture that values maintaining all 10 digits, both eyes and hearing in working order, all of which leads to a most un-Mexican suspicion of allowing fireworks too close. Finally there was a towering display of pyrotechnics (again, with absolutely no rules about how close you could get to the tower of flame itself) ending the evening (for us, at least) on a decidedly bright note. That night was easily one of the noisiest of our stay here in Mexico, making it pretty damn deafening.

December 25th contrasted the previous night as one of the absolute quietest on record. Hardly anyone on the street and not a peep out of the usual BANG-happy crew.

Continuing on with the ghost of Christmas Interminable, there's the Three Kings' Day on the 6th of January. That's when lots of folks exchange gifts, corresponding to when the Wise Men were said to have reached Bethlehem. On that day folks also gather together and share a Rosca de Reyes, which is a big baked oval pastry. Inside are hidden several little plastic figures. The three of us decided to sample one and after several slices no one had gotten the "lucky" figure. Suddenly I found myself chomping on a distinctly non-food, potentially choking-type object and sure enough, I got myself a figure. I was feeling pretty triumphant, since I figured that my good luck (in not having choked, first of all) would pay off in everyone throwing a party for me, the new king. Then I found out what the deal with these little buggers really is: If you get the figure YOU have to through EVERYONE else a party (with tamales, etc. . . ) sometime before the 2nd of February. Why this wasn't explained to me clearly beforehand is a mistery, since I obviously would have just swallowed the stupid thing and worried about it showing up later in the digestive process. I did get a strange revenge, in a way. Figuring that I had gotten the only figure in the Rosca I started serving up slices with abandon, and suddenly found myself with one-half a little red guy on a plate, with the legs still sticking out of the pastry. Like some sick magic trick gone tragically awry. Oops.

WHERE DID YOU GET THAT FABULOUS NEW FROCK?

Speaking of February 2nd: This day is also celebrated here as the day when the Christ-child sits up for the first time. Folks get themselves a small, just less than life-size doll and take him around town to various professional tailors who design and sell fabulous and happening new outfits for one's "God Child". We're not talking cheap, tacky, "Malibu Stacy Doll" outfits here either. Your doll can be dressed in a miniature Pope-outfit or in a King's robes. And, of course, simple white is always nice (there are no "No-White-Before-Memorial-Day" rules here). People take their newly-garbed babies to church that evening (though throughout the month of February you could still see these dolls being cradled in folks' arms as they made their way around the city. On the way to the tailor? Didn't get him to the church on time back on the 2nd? On their way home with a new outfit? Just out for a stroll?) There is DEFINITELY a sense of some celestial fashion show in which neighbors and friends are making every effort to "out garb" each others' Jesus-babies.

WE NOW PAUSE FOR YET ANOTHER HORRIFYING GLIMPSE INTO THE MEXICAN BUREACRACY

Ed, Mom, and I reluctantly headed to the airport on Mom's last morning here in Oaxaca. We were sad to see Mom go, though we've already begun plotting out the next exotic destination the 3 of us can head to (preferably a place with potable water and honest cops . . .).

A QUICK MATH MOMENT: If "Bill" gets a 30 day visitors visa when entering "Foreign Country M" from the neighboring "Foreign Country G" on the 12th of December, 2000, what is the date on which "Bill" is officially an illegal resident of "Foreign Country M"?

After seeing Mom get on her plane Ed and I headed to our favorite Oaxacan destination: The Mexican Immirgation Office. You may recall that when we reentered Mexico from Guatemala back in December, we were only granted 30 days to visit Mexico (even though the sharper readers may also recall that American citizens are entitled to 180 days. Of course, the sharpest of you all will also remember that in Mexico one is not "entitled" to anything, even those things guaranteed by law). Since we were told (and our handy guide book agreed) that you can't show up to extend your visa until LESS THAN three days before it expired, we headed over to the Immigration Office with little time to spare, but, having been through this process once before in Guanajuato, with some confidence borne of our previously positive experience and buoyed with our tenacious naivtee. It makes you wonder when we are EVER gonna learn?!

With our big American smiles glued to our faces, we approached the Immigration Officer who only broke into a smile of his own when informing us that: 1) the entire office had changed personnel since the new political party had taken office (on December 6th Mexico experienced the first peaceful exchange of power since before the Aztecs. The incoming conservative PAN party didn't waste anytime clearing out the old political appointments with their own political hacks. See, Mexico isn't really all that different from the USA after all!) and 2) one crucial regulation had been changed. Previously it was sufficient to show that you had a credit card. Now you had to produce a monthly statement that showed a balance of $50/day for the duration of the days you were asking to be extended. Huh? We don't get our credit card statements delivered here in Mexico. I managed to keep a smile on my face throughout this, but the Officer's final words managed to change that silly-ass grin into a much more hopeless look. "TODAY is the last day of your Visa, we close at 2PM". That meant that Ed and I had no more than TWO HOURS to get your American butts from the Immigration office on the edge of the city to the city center ('cause you may also recall that extending your visa requires forms filled out in triplicate and the payment of a fee. The forms are only available at ONE paper store which is a 15 minute cab ride from the Immigration office and the fee has to be paid at a bank, and banks have HUGE lines since there are lots of things that have to be done in banks (no one ever mails a bill, for example, since it will NEVER arrive)).

The short version (which is also the "Family-Friendly" version): Ed and I tried to get American Express to fax us something saying that their much touted "No Spending Limits" motto would demonstrate that "No Limits" must include $50, no? NO! AmEx (henceforth out of MY will) told us no dice. Having used up lots of our precious 120 minutes at this point we did what any self-respecting survivor of the Mexican nightmare would do: We went to the American Consulate and complained. They then contacted the Immigration Office and got us an extra day to produce the credit card statement (which, thanks again to my WONDERFUL sister Sue, we got faxed to us the very next day). After taxiing frantically around town, taking turns in lines as one of us shuttled back and forth between the bank and the paper store (where a young woman was typing out our forms in triplicate with carbon paper and 2 fingers), frantically placing (unsuccessful) calls to American Express and eyeing the price of one-way plane fares to the USA, we finally breathed a sigh of relief at our 24 hour reprieve. In 2 hours we HAD managed to get virtually every other necessity arranged. The following day was a mere formality. We handed our paperwork over to the Immigration folks who eventually returned them with all the requisite stamps, seals and signatures. We were a bit nervous in the meantime, but we soon were heading out of the office with the Immigration official's last word ringing in our ears, "If you want to stay in Mexico longer, just come back and we can extend your stay again . . ." I wonder if the last thing he heard from us was our outburst of laughter at the absurdity of it all.

BYE BYE MOM, HELLO JORDAN!

The day after Mom headed back to NY to face the rest of winter my great friend Jordan caught a flight from NY to Mexico to spend a bit of time with his temporarily expatriate friends. Thankfully we were fully recovered from the immigration ordeal, and we were deliriously happy to see Jordan (not just because of the mail, CDs or bagels and tea that he brought, either!).

Jordan's visit was a non-stop laugh affair. For an entire week he and I giggled and joked our way through topics as diverse as 70's Pop Culture and the stolen presidential elections. Ed is always conflicted about the best course of action when Jordan and I get together: Hang out with us and endure our incessant laughing, or send us off so he can get some work done and miss how much fun we have.

Jordan's visit allowed us to see Mexico with a fresh perspective. Whereas we had become slightly irritated by the barrage of noise that greated every single dawn, with Jordan we were able to appreciate each individual disruption. The CONSTANT AND UNRELENTING, "AGUA", "AGUA", "AGUA" bottled water guys on bicycles to the Nightmare Before Christmas Propane Gas trucks (dragging chains behind them like some kind of Santa's sleigh on an acid trip, beeping horns, blaring a fog horn, and as if you missed those clues that the delivery guys were coming down your street, the men on the truck scream out "GAS", "GAS", "GAS" as well. Could anyone have possibly MISSED the chains and fog horn?!). The chimes of the ice-cream guy (who slowly walks up and down each street with one flavor of ice cream in a tin container strapped to his back), the boisterous hawking of the various furniture, broom/mop, vegetable/fruit sellers, the bird-like whistle of the knife-sharpener (the balloon salesmen have a similar whistle, though you also see the balloons floating above the door on the street side of the patio) and our unanimous favorite: The tamale guy, who rides around on a three wheeled contraption too fast for anyone to actually buy from him as he WAILS out "ta-ma-LAYS", with the stress so completely on the wrong syllable that it took me nearly 2 months to figure out what the heck he was trying to unload. Of course, these sounds don't include the knocks on the door requesting help for the payment of some outrageous medical bills that the supplicant is eager to share with you or the daily phone calls which are virtually always wrong numbers and that end with some stranger asking me MY name (after I tell him that no, Elena/María/Lupe or Roberto does NOT live here!). Sometimes you can be pleasantly surprised as well. I was walking to the grocery store this morning and as I passed the Barber Shop I heard the strains of some procession-worthy tune floating out from the open door. Sure enough, just past the striped pole was the old barber sitting in an poen door with his music and saxophone set in front of him. It was one of the nicer sounds that one has heard on our street lately!

CAN YOU SAY, "TRAGIC HEADLINES IN THE NEW YORK POST?" *

*This was our friend Mimi's reaction when we told her about one of our recent adventures which is detailed below . . .

During Jordan's visit we toured lots of sites in and around Oaxaca, many of which I was already familiar with. One site that was a first for us was the local gay dance club, which is known more by its address than it's name. Now THIS was a cross-cultural experience. First of all, the 3 of us headed over there after dinner one night, and when we arrived at about 11PM, the door opened enough to tell us that we'd have to come back in a little while because it was just too darn early. For 3 guys that need naps to stay up until midnight, this was not an auspicious beginning to our evening on the town. We wandered around the neighborhood for 20 minutes and when we again knocked on the door, we were admitted to the dance club. For starters, we were frisked (for weapons, I hope) and as we made our way inside towards the dance floor you could hear the door being locked behind us. YIKES. I'm sure my Spanish-English dictionary lacks the term "Fire Trap". The security precautions are apparently necessary since the cops and other bullies sometimes show up to harrass the gay folks or extort money from them. A situation not too different from many parts of the USA, actually, where even in 2001 gays and lesbians are a convenient target for violence. Still, it was a nice place and though we were the only folks there for a long while, others have assured us that by 1AM people really start showing up. By then, of course, we were long gone, but Ed and I may head back at some point (if we can get a nap in first!).

ARE WE BACK IN GUANAJUATO?

While we were back in Guanajuato last August we were fortunate to have met Michael and Gary, a great couple down here from Philly. Turns out that Michael was back in Mexico in January, this time studying Spanish here in Oaxaca for a couple of weeks. We were glad to have this chance to visit with him again, and in addition to movie night (Jordan and I joined Michael and some folks from his language institute for "My Beautiful Launderette" on the unofficial "Gay Wednesdays" at the free art cinema), we hung out with Michael after his studies/home stay ended and before he headed back to the chilly Northeast.

January brought lots of other things, including lessons on how to keep red wiggler worms in your kitchen to help you compost your organic waste (interested in learning more? Check out: www.cityworm.com) , knitting (thanks to Naomi, the Worm Lady who shared not only how keep worms in your kitchen, but how to knit one as well. Who says we just came to Mexico to learn how to make tamales and dance the merengue?!). I have, of course, continued with yet more Salsa lessons (though strangely, I'm really not getting any better at this). January also brought a couple of colds that I suspect traveled South in one of our visitor's suitcases from New York, hoping to find some unsuspecting, winter-avoiding, new victims here in México. A VERY busy but ultimately very rewarding 31 days, let me tell you. We had a little time to recover before our February guests begain arriving.