Myths and Legends of León

I start the day in a nice way.  Breakfast by the pool at Hostal Mariposa and an email informing me that my shipment of textiles, wood and ceramics I sent from Guatemala 7 weeks ago (!) has finally cleared customs.  The import duties are higher than I expected (about 25% of the value of the goods) for artesian products coming from within Central America.  I'm concerned about the cost impact but basically just relieved that these goods will soon be in Roatan (as soon as I pay the bill of course).

I don't have any big plans for the day.  Just to wander around in León and see what the city is like with people in it.  On Wednesday it was almost deserted due to the May 1st holiday.  I take the bus into Parque Central (only 4 cordoba!),  stop for a coffee, check out my map.  First thing I want to book my bus ticket back to Honduras.  TicaBus has a service from Managua direct to San Pedro Sula (via Tegucigalpa) which arrives same day so I don't have to overnight in Tegus - much better.  The bus route passes the outskirts of Leon so I hope I can board in Leon rather than travel back into Managua which is nearly two hours in the wrong direction.  The address for the Tica Bus office is "de la Inglesia San Juan, dos cuadras al Norte" (from the San Juan church, two blocks to the North).  It's a part of the city I haven't seen before and my route takes me through the Leon mercado - a couple of bustling blocks in the centre of the city filled with market stalls selling everything from mobile phones to watermelons.  I enjoy the sight of a farmer with his horse and cart loaded with fruit and vegetables, waiting in the line of taxies and lorries for access to the narrow inner roads of the market.  The little horse stands patiently in the heat, seemingly unfazed by the constant flow of people, baring horns and the buzz of tuk-tuk engines as the little 3-wheelers weave in and out of the crowd.  TicaBus agency is easy to find. The super-polite and efficient agent says "no problemo" to me boarding the bus in Leon and even organises a taxi to pick me up from Hostal Mariposa at 5:20 the next morning.  Excellent!

The highlight of my day has to be stumbling across "Museum of Folklore and Legend" just a couple of blocks south of the cathedral.   The museum is housed in a prison known as  "La XXI" (The 21) named for the year it was opened (1921).   For 50 cordoba (about 2 US dollars) I get a personal tour guide who, after apologizing (unnecessarily) for her english, leads me from cell to cell narrating the popular Leónese myths and folklore which are depicted by funky life-size papier-mâché dioramas.  Highly entertaining insights into the cultural history of Nicaragua.  It's likely the stories evolved as a way for repressed or marginalized minority groups to express themselves without fear of consequence. The stories have been, in context of the time, a way for the indigenous people to ridicule the Spanish for their general ignorance of cultural and spiritual etiquette.  Or for women (who until quite recently had very little freedom of speech) to tell of revenge exacted upon no-good, cheating, wife-beating Spanish husbands (usually from beyond the grave).

In between the cells are wall murals depicting the horrific human rights violations that were routinely carried out in the prison during the Somoza regime and didn't come to an end until La XXI was successfully secured for the Sandinistas in 1979.  I find it sometimes a bit hard to keep up as my tour guide cheerfully switches from narrating the quaint folk stories to describing the gruesome physical tortures endured by the prisoners. 

- ".... and this little Indian man with the big head will dance at your wedding.  His head is so big to show the Indian man is more intelligent than the Spanish man.
"...and here is where the prisoners were hanging upside down by their feets.  And here is where the head of the prisoner was held under water.
"...and this is the ghost of La Mocuana, daghter of an Indian king.  She was forced to marry a Spanish man from the army.  He tricked her into telling where is the gold of her father.  Then he killed her.
"...and this is the ghost of the women who married a Spanish army officer.  He gave her a baby, beat her and then went back to Spain.  She drowned her baby in the river and killed herself and now her ghost is always searching for her baby.
"...and this is the ghost of Grabhertit who....."
- "Sorry, who?"
- "Grabhertit".
- "Oh OK".
- "Jes. Grabhertit she was a very tall women who's husband was always cheating her.   Now her ghost is tricking the men by asking them to grab her tit.  When they come close she crush them against her chest until they die".
- "Er, right.  What a way to go".

After a really superb vegetarian lunch in the cool and tranquil courtyard of CocineArte I visit the Museo de Arte Fundación Ortiz-Gardián.  A stunning collection of contemporary Latin American art displayed in the shady courtyards and spacious rooms of a beautiful Creole Civil home.  I enjoy the arabic tiles and original flagstones floors, interior gardens and fountains as much as the art.  Given my recent experience buying art for LALA my mind is boggling at the work that must be involved in curating such an impressive collection.  I feel so appreciative for what they have accomplished.

Take an ice-cream break at this fantastic old-style ice-cream sundae bar and then head back to Hostal Mariposa for a swim, dinner and early to bed.    I say good night to my hosts Severine and Mike.  I've thoroughly enjoyed my stay. I hope to be back.

León Cathedral

Courtyard in the Spanish/Arabic colonial style

León Mercado

The courtyard at "La XXI"

The catwalk around "La XXI" where the prison guards would patrol

"Museum of Folklore and Legends".  The ghost of the Indian lady searching for her drowned baby.

"Museum of Folklore and Legend.  The ghost of Grabhertit.

Now for the tricky bit. Getting the pottery out of Nicaragua.

OK this time I actually have a plan for shipping my purchases back to Roatan.  Having a plan feels good and avoids a lot of unprofessional behaviors such as coercing hapless backpackers with tiny little packs to fully utilize their baggage allocation and carry one of my boxes on the bus for me.   A friend recently introduced me to JC McCormick of McCOS shipping in Tegucigalpa who is helping me sort out shipping routes from each of my supplier sites to his DC in Teguc. At which point his company will take receipt,  broker the Honduran customs clearance and forward the goods to Roatan.  Brilliant.  Smooth sailing now.

I contract a taxi to get me and all my boxes (OK I'll be honest also some plastic shopping bags) full of pottery from Granada to Managua airport.  The very professional and polite Wilbert Carrion receives me at the Copa Cargo office and does not so much as raise an eyebrow at my bulging plastic shopping bags, just diplomatically suggests I could pay an extra $10 to have my shipment professionally packed.  Yes, thank you very much.  Excellent idea.

The paperwork and customs clearance take longer than I expected.  There I was thinking I had the customs thing all under control only to learn that Nicaragua has export customs on any shipment more than 10kgs.  I have 25 kgs.   Wilbert is able to grab me a customs broker at short notice who does the necessary paperwork.  It seems quite extensive and is, I am soon to learn, quite expensive.  Equal to the actual shipping costs it turns out.  Grrrrrrr.  There is some talk about having to apply for permission (in writing of course) to the Ministry of Culture and Tourism for permission to export the ceramics.  After some serious consideration and consultation with other colleagues it is decided that permission from the Federal government  will in fact not be required and my goods are cleared for "export".  What a relief.  I decide NOT to mention the other 10kgs or so of ceramics I have packed carefully in my suitcase.  I pay the man (cash only of course) and hit the road.

That all took longer than expected and its nearly dark but the time I'm done.  I decide to skip the bus and pay the extra for a private taxi to Leon (about $65).  Tomorrow is May 1st, a bank holiday, and the city is already buzzing with people gearing up for a night of party and the vacation day tomorrow.  Rollando my taxi driver is a lovely man who keeps me entertained with family stories for most of the 2 hour ride.  He found the love of his life in his second wife.  After 5 years of marriage she is diagnosed with cancer and dies shortly after leaving him a single Dad with 5 kids (2 from the first marriage).  It's a sad story but he tells it in a matter-of-fact kinda way and quickly moves on to some amusing anecdotes about his teenage son and daughter who are apparently causing him grief in all manner of ways.  

Not much more to tell really.  Rollando gets me safely to the door of Hostal Mariposa, which is about 10kms outside of Leon on a dark little dirt road, and we say our fond farewells.  I leave him with the last half of a pack of plantain chips we had been sharing on the drive down.  He's a big guy - probably needs them more than I.  The Hostal Mariposa is not that welcoming from the outside.  Blank concrete walls topped with rolls of barbed wire and steel gates are all that you can see from the drive way.  Passing through the gates I am treated to a lovely surprise.  A little tropical oasis with winding paths through a lush gardens,  softly lit swimming pools and thatched bungalows scattered through out.   Severine (one half of the french husband and wife team who built Mariposa) greets me and offers to cook me dinner.  I am famished and would have eaten pretty much anything.  Imagine my delight when I am served a delicious filet of fish smoothered in basil cream sauce, pan fried potatoe with rosemary and a crisp green salad with home made dressing.  And fresh baguette.  I love the french. They always have good bread.  

I don't really have any interesting photos from today so why not look at this little map of my route so far.

Pottery of the Nahuatl

I'm on my way back to San Juan de Oriente to pick up the ceramics that Juan Carlos has (hopefully) finished up for me.  I walk down to the UCA bus station by the mercado central.   It's super hot on the little bus which is not yet ready to depart so I stand in the shade of the open-air office/kiosk.  The old CRT TV up on a shelf behind the counter is tuned to Animal Planet and Steve Urwin Crocodile Hunter is doing his thing.   There are a couple of guys completely captivated by his crocodile-wrestling antics and turn to include me in their conversation.  "Loco" one of them says to me making the universal crazy sign by swirling a finger beside his ear.  "Muy muy loco".  I nod my agreement.  Conversation moves on as it does at a bus stop.  They want to know where I'm from and are very impressed to learn I am from Australia just like Steve Urwin.  The next question was kind of inevitable I guess.  Do I know Steve Urwin?  "No" I reply.  "No le conozco.  él está muerto".  I could've bitten my own tongue off.  The look on their faces.  Total devastation.  They LOVE Steve Urwin in Central America.   Of course they want to know how.  "Crocodillo?" they ask.  I don't know how to say "Stingray barb through the heart" in Spanish so I do some kind of miming.   They discuss this with looks of grave concern on their face and look set to ask me more questions.  I figure it's a good time to board the bus right about now.  I wonder if I've just started a rumor that Steve Urwin was stabbed by a giant bird.  

UCA bus lets me off at the turnoff to Masaya and I walk the 8 or 9 blocks into town from the main road.  A brief circuit around the old craft market (as opposed to the "new" municipal markets) to pick up a couple of things I had seen there on Saturday. I take a break at the cafe in the courtyard to have one of the excellent fruit smoothies.  The young guy remembers me from Saturday.  "Hola Senora.  Una liquado sin azúcar?"  He finds it amusing that I want my smoothie without sugar - I find I have to request pretty much everything "sin azúcar" or it comes loaded with sugar and super super sweet.  Today's smoothie flavour - green coconut, pineapple, orange, banana, mango, ginger.  Yummmmmm.

I take a private taxi from Masaya to San Juan as I know I'll be carrying loads of pottery back.  No chicken bus today!   Go direct to Juan Carlos' house/workshop.  It's a single cinder block room with a concrete floor and an open gap in the front wall to enter and exit and allow ventilation.  No door.   A bed made from bamboo poles is pushed against the back wall draped with a mosquito net.  The rest of the room is taken up by plastic chairs and tables on which sits clay, actylic paints and pots in various stages of completion.    Juan Carlos is 31 years old and has been working with clay since he was a young boy.  But, he tells me, his work wasn't good enough to sell till he was 15 years old.  He learned from his father who learned from his father, who learned from his father.  They are direct decendents from the Najuatl people and it's possible, even likely, this ancestral chain of knowledge transfer goes back unbroken thousands of years.  The original Nahuatl (pronounced nah-wahl) Indian tribes settled in this region of Nicaragua approximately 5,000 years ago.  The Nahuatl of San Juan de Oriente have been known for centuries for their beautiful pottery and there is evidence of this ceramic tradition dating back 1,000 years.  Juan Carlos learned the traditional Nahuatl designs from his father but has over recent years evolved this into something that is very uniquely his own.  I love it.  He has indeed three new pices of pottery for me and I am delighted.  

I stop off to a few more workshops and load up the taxi.  That's a hard days work over and done with.  I am heading back to Granada with nothing more on my mind than a swim in the pool of Casa Silas.  That and how the hell I'm gonna ship all this stuff back to Roatan.  Oh well.  Lets deal with that tomorrow.  Something will work out - it always does.

Old markets in Masaya

Street in San Juan

Juan Carlos outside his house

Pottery by Juan Carlos

Cermamic vase by Juan Carlos

Sunday on Lake Nicaragua

Today I wake to a clear blue cloudless sky.  at 7:30am its already very very hot.  Forecast is for temperatures in the high 30's.  It's Sunday and I have only one plan for the day.  Explore the lake.  But first breakfast and a swim.  Breakfast at Casa Silas is, as always a very relaxed affair by the pool.  This morning Claudia and Rob prepare nacatamals.  Nacatamals are a very typical Nicaraguan meal of course corn flour molded around chicken, potato and vegetables then wrapped in a plantain leaf and boiled.  It's more delicous than it sounds. Pleasant smokey tobacco kind of flavour from the leaves.   Of course  we have also fresh tropical fruit and excellent coffee.   I swim and read for a while (just started "Hologram for the King" by Dave Eggars.  Already I have trouble putting it down).  Then to the lake.

Lago de Nicaragua (or Cocibolca in the Nahautl language) is the largest lake in Central America and the 19th largest in the world.   The lake is ringed by volcanoes and there are two volcanic islands in the centre.  It's visually stunning and there is nearly always has a cool easterly breeze flowing across toward the pacific.   Just off the shore from Granada there is an archipelago of 360 tiny island formed during a violent volcanic eruption more than 10,000 years ago.  I take one of the little boats that make a tour of las isletas.  It's a pleasant hour of voyarim checking out all the amazing vacation homes on the privately owned islands.  Most are just big enough to support a regular sized mansion, pool, lush gardens and of course all have their own private dock.  Apparently you can buy an island with a one of the more modest houses for around 120,000 USD.  We also visit Monkey Island and I feed the spider monkeys.  I feel kind of sorry for them - 4 spider monkeys marooned on this tiny rocky island.  Apparently they hate the water so are not going anywhere. There are a few trees. No food but they get fed by the tourists.   My boat captain didn't know how they got there.  

I go back into town for a late lunch and a gelato at the very excellent gelateria (today's flavour - chocolate and tiramisu).  Stroll back through Parque Central and decide to finish my book by the pool.  Not a bad way to spend a Sunday.  I'm pretty happy.    Would highly recommend Casa Silas as a place to stay in Granada.  Its a lovely spanish colonial home in the centre of town.  Two guest rooms both with private bath.  Courtyard garden and pool.  Breakfast included.  Rob and Claudia are wonderful hosts. http://casasilas.com.

San Juan de Oriente, Nicaragua

Today’s highlight has to be the bus ride from San Juan de Oriente back to Granada.  The chicken bus is such an icon of central american travel that riding one is always a cool experience for me.  I love the idea that a second-hand American school bus can have this fabulous second life barreling around rural back roads totally blinged out with extra chrome, custom paint job, carnival lights and her name (“Lupita”!) emblazoned across the front in glitter cursive.  

Today’s bus (Guadeloupe!) does not disappoint.  She appears on the horizon in a shimmer of heat and petrol fumes.  I signal using the standard Central American gesture to flag down any kind of moving vehicle - extend arm horizontally in front, palm down, and move up and down vertically.  Guadeloupe pulls to the edge of the road and slows down but doesn’t actually come to a complete stop.  The ayudante  (literally means “helper”) hangs out the door of the bus holding on with one hand.  After assisting a couple of people to leap off, he fixes his eyes on  me.    “Venga! Venga!” he yells beckoning wildly with his free arm.   I’m carrying about 10kgs of fragile pottery in plastic shopping bags which are already starting to split under the strain and am not feeling particularly speedy or agile.  However Guadeloupe shows no sign of coming to a halt so I loop all the bags onto my left arm and with my right arm grab the door bar as the bus rolls past. The ayudante grabs my left arm just above the elbow and somehow hauls me up onto the bus which immediately picks up speed and pulls back out onto the road.  

Trying to keep my balance I move down the centre aisle of the packed bus stepping over feet and trying not to land on someones lap.  A young man about half way down is beckoning to me and gives up his seat.  The lovely young girl I sit down next to offers to hold one of my shopping bags on her lap, giving me one free hand to hold on the seat as we take some corners at a high speed.  Awesome!  There are floral tapestry covers over the back of each seat (just like at your Nanna’s house), gauzy curtains flapping at each window, multi-coloured flashing lights running around the ceiling, and mariachi music blaring over the sound system.  Every seat is taken and we are flying down the road creating a beautiful cool breeze, passing alternately through villages, farmland and lush jungle blazing with tropical flowers.  All for the price of 12 cordobas (about 50 US cents).  

Oh, and about the pottery.  San Juan de Oriente, (small village known as the pueblo blanco because all buildings, including the church are painted white) is quaint, picturesque, friendly and a fabulous fabulous treasure hunt. Many artisans working form their home making a very special unique pottery in the traditions of the Nahuatl people.  I purchased some beautiful pieces for the gallery.  Im very happy that I was able to track down Juan Carlos Jiminez.  I found some of his ceramics in a gallery in Antigua about a year ago and have been determined since then to track him down.  And I did!  Will go back on Monday to pick up the pieces he is finishing for me.    A wonderful day but long and hot - temperature reached 38 degree centigrade!  Am very happy to finish the day pool-side in the oasis which is Casa Silas.  Disappointingly all my pictures turned out kind of crap today but I am posting least worst ones.  

Cafe in main square of Masaya - stopped enroute to San Juan

Church in San Juan de Oriente

Teller (workshop) in San Juan de Oriente

One of Miguel's amazing creations

Poolside at Casa Silas, Granada

Granada, Nicaragua

The trip from Managua to Granada on the UCA bus takes about 45 minutes and costs only 24 Cordoba (about $1 US).  I'm excited to reach Granada - I've heard such good things about it.  I'm staying at Casa Silas - a B&B I found on TripAdvisor.  Got my little notebook with directions from Rob (the Canadian owner) carefully copied down.  As is typical in Central America, I don't have a street address but a set of directions from a reference point.   In this case the Inglesia de Merced.    "From Inglesia de Merced walk 2 blocks towards Vocano Mombacho.  Turn right.  Walk half a block.  Casa Silas is the blue house on the right".  Too easy - I find it with no trouble at all.

And it's absolutely perfect. A  private home in the Spanish colonial style with high, gated wall facing the street, red ceramic tiled roof, gates opening into an internal courtyard garden and pool around which the living area is situated.  I am greeted by Rob and his wife Claudia, shown to my lovely room with private bath opening directly onto the pool.  
I'm tempted to stop for a swim but decide to explore.  Drop off my bags and head into town.   

As seems typical in these spanish colonial towns, everything is situated around the parque central which is lush with green spreading trees and has the requisite bandstand and fountain.  Granada was founded by the spanish in 1524.  The buildings reflect this heritage with a distinct Moorish and Andalusian flavor which recognizes the cities namesake in Spain.  I wander around and find to my delight a really excellent gelateria.  Last thing I was expecting and such a treat - Im starved for good ice-cream.  Spend a nice time people-watching and reading with a cup of dark chocolate-almond gelato then head back to Casa Silas for a swim.   Tomorrow I want to visit the famous markets in Masaya and also the Nahuatl village of San Juan de Oriente where beautiful Nahuatl ancestral pottery is made.

La Inglesia de Merced

The shores of Lake Nicaragua

Parque Central in Granada

Inglesia San Francisco

Inglesia San Francisco

The courtyard of the community art centre

Calle La Calzada looking toward Parque Central

Typical interior courtyard

The Granada Cathedral

Masagua, Nicaragua

An early start this morning.  4:45am at TransNica bus station in Tegucigalpa.  Boarded the bus and fell asleep immediately.  Woke up just before the Somoto to Choluteca high-altitue border crossing.   As usual, had to disembark and cross the border on foot.  TransNica conductor collected all the immigration, customs forms, passports and $10 entry fee on the bus and then handled all the paperwork leaving us free to wander the no-mans land between the borders - great!  The air is pleasantly cool due to the altitude and amazingly there is a Cafe Americano (Honduran coffee chain) next to the immigration office - I've never been so glad to see a cafe latte in my life.  There is the usual bustle as we are surrounded by men making currency exchange and a few skinny boys trying to maneuver our luggage to the inspection point in return for a couple of lempira.   Local women have set up market stalls to sell  cashews, baskets, textiles and hot food.  The Nicaraguan man who was sitting behind me in the bus seems to have assumed some responsibility for my well-being and hovers protectively, shooing away the beggers and vendors if they come too close.  

Doze and read for the rest of the trip.  Arrive the Nicaraguan capital of Managua around 12:30pm.  I'm staying at La Pyramid Hotel, which I found on TripAdvisor.  

The street address for La Pyramid Hotel is:  
Reparto San Juan
Gimnasio Hércules, 1c. al sur, 1 c. al este, 2 1/2 c al. sur
Managua

It has taken me a while not to be totally confused by this way of giving an address. As is typical in Central America, it's a coded system of landmarks and directions rather than street addresses and numbers.  For example, this address means:
"From the Hercules Gym, go 1 block (cuadra) to the south, 1 block to the east, then 2 1/2 blocks to the south.   Easy!!  It helps that there is often a handy landmark like a giant volcano to get your NSEW bearings from :-)


Arriving at Pyramid Hotel brings a huge smile to my face - it is literally a giant yellow and blue pyramid.  I can't wait to meet the owner, who gets rave reviews on TripAdvisor.  Manfred Maratzke is every bit the charming host he is reputed to be.  He is German and has been in Nicaragua for 20 years.  He is an engineer and came to Nicaragua the first time heading a German relief mission to rebuild a town that had been devastated in an earthquake.      

I have time to check out the local markets in Managua for a couple of hours.  This is my favorite starting point for a buying trip because I get an overview of all the indigenous arts and crafts that are made in the different regions of Nicaragua.  I can then decide where I want to travel to.  Managua is the third largest city in Central America with a population just over 2.2 million but does not give me the impression of such a large city.  Mostly sprawling low rise, my impression is of clean orderly streets with lots of parks and trees.  Well established houses (cinder block of course but no raw rebar poking out) with front fences and gardens.  One or two high-rise housing international hotels.  Not what I was expecting at all!    

Then back to the hotel to work some more on my "Stories behind the Art" as I'm now calling them.    I'm on a roll.  My writers block seems to have gone completely.  Travel seems to be the cure for me. Good to know.  I have a nice dinner at the hotel and early to bed.  Tomorrow I leave for Granada.

From the open-air dining room at Hotel Pyramid

On my way to Nicaragua

I'm in Tegucigalpa (Honduras) on my way to Nicaragua.  Figured a little trip was just what I needed to get me motivated and energized again.  I can use it as a scouting mission and maybe even buying trip for the gallery.  I've never been to Nicaragua and have always wanted to check it out.  About a year ago I saw some amazing ceramics by a Nicaraguan artist in a gallery in Antigua.  So why not use the time now before the gallery opens?   

I left Roatan today on the 7am ferry to La Ceiba (Galaxy Wave).  From Ceiba the Hedman Alas bus to Tegucigalpa (via San Pedro Sula).  Tomorrow there is a 5am TransNica bus from Teguc to Managua, capital of Nicaragua.  I feel better already.  I even broke my "writers block" and finished two of the "behind the art" stories while I was on the bus.  Awesome.  

I love the spontaneity and sense of adventure afforded by bus travel in Central America.  The international and local bus networks are so extensive you can get pretty much anywhere and, assuming you have time to spare, little forward planning is required.  The international buses are super comfortable and I love being able to watch the landscape transition from city to village, jungle to desert. Mountain to sea.  It is necessary to leave the bus and cross international borders on foot which for me really enhances the thrill of exploration.   

The local bus rides are a wonderful cultural experience and a chance to meet some of the local people.  They nearly always find it amusing to find a tall blond women riding alone and want to know why I am traveling without my husband or my children.  They are kind of wide-eyed to find I have neither.  I have received many marriage proposals on local buses in Central America. 

All this waiting around is getting me down.

Waiting around is getting me down.  Three full weeks since my Dad left and over a month since I got back from the buying trip.  I’m still waiting on stuff to arrive.  All the lovely things I shipped from Guatemala are sitting in a warehouse somewhere waiting for customs clearance.  Despite daily communication with my customs brokers (DHL) I don’t get the feeling we’re making any real progress.  The clearance process has been delayed multiple times due to rotation of the customs inspection crew and some back and forth as to whether a physical inspection is necessary (then open the bloody boxes already) and only god knows what else because its really hard to get a straight answer.

Cabinets, shelving and lighting for the gallery, that Dad helped me to order when he was here, have finally left the US and are slowly making their way to Roatan by ship.  They should arrive first week of May.  Best case scenario I can expect to open by mid-May.  Best case.  

A frustrating delay but I am trying to see the positive side.   I can use the time well.  There are many many things I need to be going on with before LALA gallery can open.   All of which, by the way, are carefully documented in my 30-day start-up plan, complete with deadlines and dependencies.   For example, I still need to:

• Design, build and launch the website.  
• Create the written material (the stories behind the art) for the gallery display.  
• Frame the paintings. 
• Finalise inventory records and pricing.  
• Price and tag everything.
• Catch up my blog from my crazy illegible handwritten notes taken during the buying trip (this is probably the least essential item but the one that Im most annoyed at having let slide). 

A lengthy list.  Important activities that must be completed before I open.  Creative fun things that I really love doing.  Knowing all this it’s very hard for me to explain why, for the last three weeks, I have done very little except: 

• Clean my house  (like every day from top to bottom).  
• Take the dogs for loooong walks on the beach (dogs have never been happier).
• Go snorkeling.  
• Shop for and prepare complicated healthful meals.
• Make countless cups of tea. 

When I force myself to sit down in front my macbook it goes something like this.  Open a new document in “Pages” and decisively write the title.   Stare at otherwise blank page.  Atl-Tab to Facebook and check whose status has changed. Check inbox for new messages.  Back to “Pages”. Stare at blank screen.  Atl-Tab to FB and check who is online.  Chat.  Back to Pages.  Write a sentence.  Delete.  Rewrite. Delete.  Flip back to FB.  Open a new Safari tab - read something about the Maya in search of inspiration (or Olmec, or Zapotec or......). Alt-tab back to FB. Get up and make a cup of tea.  Notice the floor could use a sweep.  And so on.  

My focus and motivation for LALA has been declining by the day leaving plenty of empty space for my doubts and fears to creep in.  I feel lethargic and start to loose my faith in the whole concept.   I HATE feeling and thinking like this.  What can I do to snap out of it?  

Long walks with the dogs. Just one of my procrastinating techniques.

San Martin Tilcajete (Oaxaca, Mexico)

San Martin Tilcajete is a small town (circa 1,500 inhabitants) about 25 kms outside the city of Oaxaca.  The turn-off from the Ocotlán road, where the bus drops me off, is an inconspicuous corner seemingly in the middle of nowhere.  A 20 minute walk through flat scrubby farmland takes me to the centre of town.    Framed by jacaranda and drooping eucalyptus trees the dusty town square is devoid of life except for a couple of skinny dogs panting in the shade.  Stucco single-story houses, a spanish church behind a high gated wall, municipal buildings squatting behind the curved arches of the zocolo arcade (painted jacaranda purple!). No cafes, no restaurants, no people at all.  It is eerily quiet and still.  I would think myself totally lost were it not for the giant jewel-coloured paper-mâché lizards crawling across the facade of one little house on the main street.  Across the road a bright orange wooden giraffe stands in a doorway or another.  Two doors down a fantastical creature,half rabbit half antelope, is peeping out from an internal courtyard.   And just off the square, nestled like jewels in the dusty earth-toned stucco, a row of three houses painted in candy stripes of vibrant colour: green, orange, purple, yellow, turquoise. A work of art which could have come straight from a Tim Burton film set.  Not a heat-induced desert hallucination.  All signs that I am in the right place.  

San Martin Tilcajete is a farming town, historically of the Zapotec people, but today is better known as the artesian enclave dedicated to the art of alebrije.  Alebrije are woodcarvings of animals, real or imagined, painted with intricate designs drawn from mythology and symbology of the Zapotec people.   They are the result of two artistic traditions, one ancient and one contemporary.  The Zapotec, a pre-columbian civilization which flourished in the Oaxaca Valley since 500 BC, used carved wooden animals for personal totems.  These totem animals were used in special ceremonies and also in day to day life to encourage good fortune in hunting, harvest and fertility.  In the mid 1900’s, influenced by the surrealist art movement from Mexico City (in particular that of artist Peor Linares) and a surge in popularity of Mexican folk art, the contemporary alebrije evolved.  Wonderful fantastical creatures made purely as a form of artistic and cultural expression.  

The alebrije artists of San Martin all work from their homes, hence the slightly surreal exterior decorations, and it is often a family business (gender roles seem to be pretty strongly defined.  In most cases the men carve and the women paint).  Walking the dirt roads of the town is like a treasure hunt.  I’m on the look out for a flash of bright colour which may indicate there is art work within.  In most cases it is possible to simply walk in off the street into a cool dim room, calling out “hola”, where you are welcome to browse and even watch the artists at work.  I was lucky to see one carver just starting a new carving.  He has a 2 foot section of tree trunk and a machete.  Nothing more.   It’s incredible to watch the wood chips flying as he swings that machete with total certainty and fearlessness,  following his mental vision.  The work of a very accomplished carver will depict the animal caught in a posture or gesture that is particularly lifelike and reveals the spirit or nature of the animal, often with a sense of mischief.  I saw one fantastic depiction of a typical Mexican street dog captured slinking away with such a sheepish expression. Exactly like my Sami when she has been caught lying on the couch - something she knows very well is forbidden.  

I stop to look at all the tellers I pass, but am really on my way to the house of Jacobo and Maria Angeles - a husband and wife team who produce arguably the finest alebrijes of their time.  It is my second time in San Martin so I know where I am going.  My first visit I wandered around lost for quite a while before finally finding their distinctive purple house.  I am really happy to find Jacabo and Maria home - I didn’t meet them on my last visit.  They are warm, welcoming and inclined to chat.  They express real appreciation that I would seek out their work for my gallery ( and are convincing in their sincerity despite the fact their work is shown in some of the very prestigious galleries in North America and Europe.  That’s how nice they are).   I mentioned that my love of albrijes started more than 10 years ago when I was living in Philadelphia.  There was an alebirje gallery in New Hope, PA, which I loved to visit and from which I purchased two alebrije lizards.  Since then I had always had a desire to visit Oaxaca.  Angelo is pretty excited by this news.  It turns out the gallery owner was a good friend of his and he supplied much of the alebrije art.  Cool!  Maybe I have some early pieces from the Atelier Angeles without even realising it!  I spend a happy hour browsing their recent work and watching Maria paint her trademark intricate design onto a new carving.  Its truly amazing to watch her work freehand with these tiny brushes that look like they have about 3 hairs in them.   I carefully select a few pieces for LALA.  Growing international recognition for their work has pushed prices up and I can’t afford more.   But having to to select so carefully makes each piece, which takes over one year to make, more special to me.

While they are carefully boxing my purchases I re-visit a couple of the other workshops and carefully select the pieces from the other artists that I liked and who are making high-end, quality, labor intensive and artistically original pieces (as opposed to the low-end repetitive pieces which are produced for the tourist market).  I am happy with my purchases.  Seeing that I now have two boxes to take back with me Maria offers to have her nephew, Angel, drive me back to Oaxaca City.  He keeps my thoroughly entertained with a story of how he once took a 32-member Oaxacan youth orchestra, all under the age of 12, to Utah for a concert.  He offers to come with me to two additional shipping companies to get quotes for shipping to Honduras.  I am really so warmed by the generosity and friendliness of people here.  The new quotes are consistent with the ones I have already - in other words too bloody expensive.  I am happy at least to verify the first  quotes were for real and not an inflated “gringo” rate.  For now, I opt to take my purchases back to the Casa del Sol and figure it out from there.  I have two more days in Oaxaca.  Something will work out.  It always does.

Entry to San Martin Tilcajete

The church at San Martin Tilcajete

Brightly coloured homes off the main square of San Martin Tilcajete

Alibrjes within!  San Martin Tilcajete.

Starting a new alebrije carving

Carving a new alebrije from the soft wood of the copal tree.

"Koala Watching" by Jacobo and Maria Angeles

Alebrije by Jacobo and Maria Angeles

Painting the alebrije - one of Maria's students

This shameful dog looks just like Sami when I've caught her on the couch.  A new carving waiting for painting. 

Alebrije lizard from Joaquín Hernández 

Oaxaca (Mexico)

Oaxaca is both city and state (like New York, New York) and I have high expectations of it as far as my gallery is concerned.  Oaxaca is famous for the artistic and cultural expressions of her indigenous people (predominantly Zapotecs and Mixtecs) and within the city are several small but impressively curated galleries featuring the work of artisans from across the state - in both contemporary and pre-columbian styles.  I am searching in particular for excellent examples of alebrijes (brightly painted wood carvings), barro negro (black pottery) and textiles to build my knowledge before traveling to the rural  villages to buy directly from the artists workshops.    

Searching the galleries of Oaxaca City on foot is a pleasure - the city seems made for walking.  On tree-lined streets and wide pavements you pass seamlessly by stately spanish-colonial buildings and through shady city parks. On this lovely spring morning many of the trees are covered with pink blossoms and fountains send sprays of water in  to the air.  The chilly morning air quickly retreats from the sun and I am stripping off layers of clothing until at midday the heat is too fierce and I make my way to the cool shaded arcades of the Zocolo in search of lunch.  I pick a table on the terrace with a good view of the park and order a mole amarillo.  It is delicious and the complex flavours impossible to describe -  smoky, slightly picante, earthy, nutty.  

I stay too long at my table watching the parade of shoppers, buskers, and merchants.  I do not relish my job for the afternoon - to find a shipping company that will carry my products back to Honduras. I fear that my limited Spanish is not up to the task and that, in general, logistics are going to be troublesome.  My fears are quickly proven to be well-founded on both counts.  At the first company on my list, my inquiries are met with blank looks of incomprehension.  I believe my Spanish to be at fault so start supplementing my communication with mimes, drawings and other visual aides.  This generates quite some amusement but not the “yes-certainly-Señora-we-can-ship-your-delicate-wood-carvings-safely-to-Honduras” kind of response I was looking for.   

The helpful girl at Estafeta Mexicana is very determined to get to the bottom of my request.  

HER (with an impatient tap of long painted fingernails on counter top and one raised eyebrow):  “You want to ship the boxes where exactly?”

ME: “Honduras”

HER: “Yes, but what country?”

ME: “Ah... Honduras, Honduras is the country”.

HER (looking highly skeptical): “Where is this country.....Honduras?  How far away is it?”.

ME: “Not far.  Its south-east from here.  Just next to Guatemala”

HER (with open-mouthed look of horrified disbelief): “In Central America?” 

Me (with relief) “Yes, right!  It’s in Central America”.

HER: “You want to send your boxes to Central America?”

ME (wishing I had also long painted fingernails to tap impatiently on the counter top) “Yes. Thats right. Honduras in Central America.  I want to send the boxes to Honduras in Central American”.  

Then follows a lengthy discussion with her colleagues in rapid spanish, of which I follow absolutely nothing.  Based on the horrified looks they send my way I start to worry I that something got lost in translation and I accidentally told her I want to ship my first-born child to Peru.  Or some such thing.

Finally I get a quote for a standard sized 20”x20” carton with 25 pound of weight to the Honduran port city of La Ceiba (Roatan it seems is not possible).  Its my turn to send  looks of horrified disbelief over the counter.  The estimate is wildly expensive  and far more than I have in my budget.  My feeling of despondency grows as I get a similar response (both the horrified looks and the quote) from the next five shipping companies I visit (strangely enough the quotes for air freight are slightly less than for ground transport).  It seems none of them routinely ship goods to Central America and, quite frankly, can’t imagine why anyone would want to. 

Day grows to a close.  I am tired and disillusioned.  My feet are hot and sore.   I am no closer to solving the logistics problem but have a valuable cultural learning.  Mexico is part of North America and Central America is. a. different. continent. Not part of North America. It seems this geo-political distinction, of which I was only vaguely aware, is actually very significant.  

There is an abundance of trade and supporting logistics to the north.  To the south, not so much.  Actually, none.  On learning that I live and work in Central America the people of Oaxaca are puzzled, concerned, bewildered, and always sympathetic.  They want to know “but isn’t it very poor/dirty/dangerous/primitive down there?”  “Isn’t the food very bad?”  “Are there even cities like this down there?”  

The perception of Central America as a vastly inferior sub-continent is not working in my favor and people quickly loose interest in my shipping dilemma (no doubt putting it down to yet another inexplicable gringo idiosyncrasy.  We are after all the ones who seek a better quality of life by leaving behind the developed world and traveling south).   I am loosing interest myself by this point and decide to call it a day.  I am filled with inspirations and great ideas from my morning in the galleries.  I am eager to get on with the fun business of shopping and leave the frustrating boring business of logistics behind.  I will leave early the next morning for the village of San Martin Tilcajete where can be found the most accomplished alibrije artists.  I will visit the atelier of Jacabo and Maria Angeles who are considered by many to be the true masters of this art.  I will buy many many lovely alibrijes.  I will sort this shipping thing out later.   It will work out.  It always does. 

Spring blossoms in Oaxaca City

City park El Llano

The Cathedral Santa Domingo

Calle Macedonio Alcala

The Zocolo

City park "El Llano"

Calle Macedonio Alcala