Teotitlan del Valle

Headed out this morning with intentions of "just hopping on" one of the many city buses that go out to some of the craft villages, Teotilan del Valle. We read (and were told) that we just go to the bus station, ask, and voila..... After taking one of the centro buses there from the apartment, we arrived with ten minutes to spare. The bus station is a maze of little alleys and appears to continue on down the main boulevard for a block with buses everywhere. We asked the first guy we saw about their departure point and he confidently pointed to a crowded area under a tree, off the main boulevard. "Viene ahorita", he said. So we hustled across a couple busy aisles of traffic (both vendors with carts and buses) and waited a few minutes under the tree. To be sure, we asked one of the bus drivers, who pulled up from the station. He pointed back to the other side of the bus station and said, "viene ahora." We started to hustle on back in the direction from which we'd come but decide to ask another official-looking person for the Tenotitlan bus. He literally pointed in a completely different direction (other way down the boulevard). Decided to go with the only direction that got a two-person response after about 20 minutes of this. At one point, when we were off in another aisle, the bus we wanted had arrived already so we had another half hour wait packed against the side of a CD vendor's wall in the bus exhaust-heavy air. When a bus going (eventaully) to Teotitlan came along, we went ahead and happily got in (paying $1.50 each for a 40 minute bus ride!)- even though it was twice the length of time necessary to get there because it passed the road we needed before turning back around. We were just happy to finally be on board.
It was worth it. Teotitlan del Valle is a beautiful village at the base of lush-green mountains. Cobble-stone streets, white washed walls and in every doorway or garage area: a massive loom (just like this picture)! All the beautiful rug work known throughout Mexico comes from here and it does seem like everybody and their brother work with the wool somehow. Market vendors selling what looks like dried piles of coal, plants, and seeds (all dyes), wool creations of every sorts, mingle with the tamale women (except here they're filled with mole!) The whole time we wandered, church bells clanged in the direction we were heading. The narrow streets wind up through the little market and end up an an immense colonial church. (Can't make captions on the photos but K&M are peering through the fence at a gobbling flock of turkeys in a backyard.)
Because of some sacred festival of a saint (involving sangre), everyone was out in the main plaza/ market area for the mass. Not sure of the connection, but the feather dancers which we were there to see (reinacting a colonial dialogue between Cortez and Montazuma) also coincided with this saintly day. The entered the plaza donned in their finest colorful, embroidered smocks and wraps and carried bouquets of roses or irises. As we milled around the square, they listened to the priest, who was acoustically projected onto the large square. In fact, during the two hours we milled around this main square, the sounds eminating from this church area transferred almost continuously from priest, to firecrackers (literally blasted off from a corner of the plaza every 10 minutes), to practicing bands, to the continuous church bells. The bells were great and didn't seem to be an interruption to the priest. We spent several minutes watching the small figures of the bell boy shadows jumping up and down pulling on two of them from the top of the bells themselves and others pulling it in different directions with ropes to make different sounds.
Immediately following mass and the ringing of more bells and blast of more fireworks, the exiting procession streamed out of the church with alter in tow and church-goers trailing behind. At this point, the band struck up leading the feather dancers with their giant headdresses. The congregation grabbed some of the many available folding chairs and created a circle around the dancers. The video at the bottom of this entry is not great quality and does the performance no favors, what-so-ever but will give you an idea.

A few weeks ago Scott had emailed a "friend of a friend" he works with about our impending trip here and she gave him the name of a master weaver that we had to call on in this town. So after the plaza activity was cut somewhat short by the usual downpour, we began asking for the street and made our way to the other end of town. His studio was open, with two large looms and beautifully dyed yarn dangling from the walls. Sr. Chavez himself gave us a very warm welcome (even though we'd interrupted his big meal of the day: lunch at 3pm). He proceeded to give us a very thorough and professional lesson of his quest to keep the trade alive using only natural, local materials. He focused on the kids, allowing them to touch the solidified indigo and dried plants and insects. the insects are called 'cochinillos' and live in the nopale cactus. Once they're dried, they are used to make an amazing rainbow of reds. Kaya and Max took turns grinding them in the big stone mortar. He put the red powder on our palms, added lime juice and it turned orange. He added a little baking soda (not local, but I didn't say anything) and it turned purple. The dried red pommegranites he had apparently are used for the greens. The coffin-sized spinning wheels he had and demonstrated upon made us understand Mum's facination with this trade.
After an hour, he brought us into his shop area to show us some samples. Scott had intentions of buying a rug but we knew that one from "a master" and done in this natural process would be significantly more. I could sense his panic as the weaver and his son carefully pulled out a bench and began explaining the weaving process involved with each piece. One thing we knew of the rug trade here is that you don't bargain with them. The prices are fair and established. He had several piles of different types (ranging from traditional Zapotec designs, complicated spirals, modern patterns, Mayan....) I finally asked what the smallest of the small would cost which led to another half hour of stressful Abby-Scott glaring at each other through polite translations to the onlooking weaver family. Anyone that has seen Scott's agony at having to choose a pattern/ color and spending money for it will understand that this time was painful. Sr. Chavez was tolerating Max and Kaya's insistence at pulling their own favorites down as they tried hard not to step on these masterpieces. Scott's face was bright red the entire time. He almost gave up, at one point mumbling, "I really don't love any of them", claiming the pressure shouldn't make him "have to buy one". Which was true. the problem was, he wanted one. Soto the relief of all of us, he finally picked one and we snapped this we snapped this photo with Sr. Chavez. Although the villages assured us that the bus to Oaxaca would be there "ahorita", we caught a taxi back to Oaxaca (a big $1.50 for each of us!)
Loaded up with groceries on the way home and made fajitas. They were supposed to be Phili-cheese-steak-sandwiches (for which Kelsey and Scott have a nostalgic fondness) but it sounded better to have them with fresh tortillas instead. So KKM had theirs with catchup, so that they retained their "Philiness" and SA used salsa and called them fajitas.