jetaway

When I come home and think back on a recent journey away, I can measure the value of that adventure in the contact I make with the people who live where I venture. That value is multiplied if I can travel in a way that supports the community I'm visiting and is sustainable to their way of life. While visiting the city of Oaxaca was politically rich and vibrant giving me a glimpse into one family's way of life (primarily taking in foreign students) and beach combing in Mazunte and Puerto Angel was relaxing, the highlight of my trip to Mexico this summer was contained in the last three days of travel in the mountains of the Sierra Norte. An ecologically rich area of the state of Oaxaca, the people of the Sierra Norte recognized the potential for outsiders to be captivated and educated by their way of life on the land. A grassroots effort to bring people to their villages in a sustainable way is the foundation of the mancomunados. Along the Sierran ridge there are villages, some w

Every summer the teachers from the state of Oaxaca gather in the capital city of the same name. Their intention is to ask for more money and to raise awareness of some of the dire conditions they face in order to educate Oaxacan youth, especially in the more rural locations. They meet in the Zocalo, or the city square, because until last year all of the government offices were held there. The governor of the state could not miss their petitions, though he could and usually did dismiss those petitions. In the summer of 2006 the annual teacher's march and protest was backed by the Section 22 union, otherwise known SNTE (Sindicato Nacional de Trabajadores de la Educacion). In 2006 the teachers set up an encampment, blocking the usually busy tourist-commerce center of the city and decided to stay until their petitions were met. Throughout the state there was an overwhelming sense of dissatisfaction with the governor Ulises Ruiz, contemptuously referred to by his first name only, who is

"What I'll remember most is the mother's face, so aged but beautiful it was," Chencho says when they get back in the van to return to the city. The mother, Angela, lives in the small village of Teotitlan del Valle, just thirty minutes outside of the city of Oaxaca. She's lived there her whole life. She grew up speaking not Spanish but Zapotec. Only in the last four years has she begun to understand and speak the national language with her grown children and her growing grandchildren. Angela is not even close to five feet tall. She is round in the middle with muscular legs and arms from her years of labor on the land. Her skin is the deep color of cafe, dotted with freckles. In her skin are the lines of her time in Teotitlan. These are lines that tell stories. She cannot be old, but must be in her forties. But her forty years are wiser, softer, and less rushed than forty years in a city. Angela sits on the small chair, small enough for an infant, and cleans the lam

They always tell you not to drink the water here. They say don't eat the fruits or the vegetables. When you brush your teeth, you better have bottled water nearby so you don't accidentally put your brush under the tap. Close your mouth in the shower. No ice in beverages. Some people go as far as to say you shouldn't eat the salsa. No salsa in Mexico? But, if Moctezuma is really out to get his revenge, he will find you even if you follow all of those rules, as I followed all those rules these last five days. For me, it't now a diet of rice and bananas and te de manzanilla (chamomile). For now it's sipping a banana-colored chalky medicine every four hours followed by two more days of antibiotics just to make sure Moctezuma is really gone from my bowels. The doctor reassured me that it wasn't anything I did wrong; after all, I didn't eat the street food. He said, "This is the rainy season and with it come the bugs. Lots of people get this problem right no