Ternura Radical December 31, 2022
Feliz Cumpleaños, Theo. Tu Primer! Te quiero mucho.
Old Year’s Night is the appropriate time to present the Best of Oaxaca 2022, although I am hardly the man to do it. After all, Vanessa and I have only been living here for seven months. However, since Alfonzo Galinda’s Oaxaca Post has gone silent for the holidays, I suppose it is up to us to fill the void.
Best Cafe: Cafe Marito y Mogli, near the corner of Calles Hidalgo and Xicoténcatl (Aztec emperor), is where I am presently scribbling notes, and this is typical of so many options on the north side of the city—that is, overpriced coffee, cramped and uncomfortable seating, but with a pleasant colonial courtyard, an orange tree, potted plants, wandering black cat, and, most importantly, good wifi.
Best Flower: The winner in this category, hands down, belongs to the one tall tree directly outside our apartment on Calle Colon. In December, already well into the dry season, this species, Tabebuia donnell-smithii, bursts into blooming clusters of yellow flowers. They radiate sunniness through the winter solstice. Locals call it a Primavera tree, whereas the high-hanging golden bouquets are referred to as “Lluvia de Oro.” Bees and hummingbirds seem especially happy.
Best Festival: This is, of course, a trick category. In truth, the festival never really ends in Oaxaca de Juaréz. It merely changes locations and tenor, as each particular day requires. Whether partisan political or patriotic or religious or cultural or completely fabricated, find the festival simply by looking for that ubiquitous white globe, which spins lopsidedly throughout the city. The ball will likely be accompanied by a well-dressed, if wobbly, couple. Truth be told, the lady and gentleman are completely plastered and unresponsive. They stand about 12-feet tall, with disproportionately small feet. Enjoy the parade.
Best Bird: California Nuttail Woodpecker, without question. This poor speckled girl, her shackle of captivity forever clamped to her ankle, has been banging her face against our window since at least June. According to the charts, she really ought to be flying to the Baja peninsula. For her the flight is free, if she only knew.
Best Crime: First, it is worth noting the most popular crimes these days, at least as reported in both my hiking group and other barely relevant posts. Each describes 2 young masked men (any 2 will do), with guns and knives, on motorcycles or in cars, late at night anywhere in the city, even in the pricier northern neighborhoods like Xochilmilco de los Arcos, Reforma, and Jalatlaco. These are all drive-by encounters, and gringos are lead to believe they occur frequently. On the narrow one-way streets, therefore, it is advised to always walk against traffic, so the muggers are forced to turn their vehicles around to give chase. Or, more prudently, simply take a taxi. This brings us, then, to the bashful winner in the aforementioned category.
The taxi-driver’s name is rumored to be Manuel, but this could be wrong, so it is best to check the pinky on his left hand to see if it is bent out of shape. This is the hand he uses to assist you into his cab. He slams the door shut, then mimes excruciating pain while imploring you to open the door immediately, which he makes difficult by leaning against the car and screaming. He shows you his crooked finger like it is a newly acquired condition, and you pay him generously for his pain and suffering while in your service. No guns, no knives, only fond wishes for a quick recovery—Best Crime 2022.
Best Asian Restaurant with Lily Pond: Mia Arroz is a restaurant that does not so much translate as “my rice” as it does “this rice is mine!” It is the same kind of awkward pride that inspires Chinese restaurateurs in New York to call themselves “A number 1,” even when the health inspectors post a giant C on the front door.
Thus, we are pleased to report that Mia Arroz has the best Chinese and Thai food in the area. Lily ponds, fresh ingredients, and prayer gardens, however, require a pastoral setting, which frankly does not exist anywhere near us in Centro; so, finding Mia Arroz requires jumping into an overpacked taxi-colectivo at the very end of Calle De Las Casas and heading north of the city, 10 miles, to San Agustin, in a cluster of pleasant hillside villages collectively known as Etla. If you manage to reach CASA (Centro de Arte de San Agustin), an old renovated textile factory from the steam-era, your taxi driver has driven too far up the hill. Beg him to descend. Check for a crooked finger. The spring rolls are excellent. I am confident Manuel will agree.
Best Street Food: Closer to home, in the open plaza of Templo San Agustin, a church seemingly forever closed, a food festival is underway thanks to Chef Cecy, and seating is extremely cramped for a fast cheap feast—Tlayudas, Empanadas, Molotes, Quesadillas, with drinks including Agua de Jamaica, Horchata, and corn-laced Atole, the last of which tastes like sweetened chalk. As is often the case, the fastest and cheapest wins, so this year’s prize goes to the Memelita, 25 pesos, a local favorite consisting of freshly-prepared, doughy tortilla lathered with beans, crumbled white cheese, and salsa rojo. One is not nearly enough, but I hear the approaching horns of celebration. I quickly pay Cecy for Una Memela—singing the Nat King Cole hit, “Memelita, men adore you”—and flee just before catching sight of two bobbing heads and a rotating ball.
Best Grafitti: Only two words. Painted on walls throughout my neighborhood, occasionally in cursive, by different writers, somehow in solidarity: “Ternura Radical.” Radical Tenderness. I see it everywhere, suggesting this may be part of a larger subversive movement. Authorities must be worried, as people wonder what it all means. Radical Tenderness, really? What exactly is the agenda of these people, what is their angle? In 2023, I am determined to get to the bottom of this radically tender threat, employing some good-old deep-diving gumshoe immersion. I shall report back before the tenderness subsides.