Septiembre

Approaching our move-in anniversary.

September gently arrived in Oaxaca.

So far this has been an easy month, but one of great, surging emotion. Our last visit to New York City before the baby arrives in November was bittersweet, a time of calm, unscheduled relaxation in a place where our lives previously felt rushed, cramped, and fulfilling. Being in a place we love and miss without the burden of responsibility or the structure of everyday life made the city feel even more magical than it normally does.

The great sadness we felt upon our return to Oaxaca, though, was blunted by the immediate charms of this place. Our dogs welcomed us, as they always do after a long absence, with the enthusiasm of someone greeting a loved one they never expected to see again. When I went to pick up tortas from the local comedor—this week opting for ones stuffed with beans, cheese, chipotle peppers, and chile rellenos con pollo (roasted poblano peppers stuffed with pulled chicken which are then battered and fried in oil)—I almost couldn’t believe it when the ladies running the restaurant told me the price for the heavy bag they handed me was 90 pesos, about $4.50. The sandwiches were outstanding, some of the best we’ve ever had.

This is a shoulder month for Oaxaca, a time when tourism in the Valles Centrales is at a low and Oaxaca is, for a brief period, primarily being enjoyed by Oaxaqueños, the mood swinging between celebratory and placid. I’ve found myself on mid-morning walks, the sky a vivid blue with thin clouds that help to break the hot energy of the sun. The mountains around us are hugged by low-lying clouds which keep the slopes a verdant green. Suddenly there are praying mantises everywhere, stalking along the cacti and vines.

Mexico is preparing for its big national holiday, el Día de Independencia, and as a result, Oaxaca, normally very indigenous, suddenly feels much more broadly Mexican. The flag is everywhere, brass military-style marching bands practice in the street every evening, rain or shine, and menus are flooded with foods featuring the red, white, and green colors of the Mexican flag. The most famous dish associated with Mexican Independence Day, at least in our part of Oaxaca, is called chiles en nogada, a roasted poblano pepper (battered and fried, or not) stuffed with a mixture of pulled chicken and dried fruit, bathed in a thick, creamy, and sweet plaster-white sauce made in-part from puréed walnuts, sprinkled with pomegranate arils right before serving.

In our house, though, we’re preparing for our own upcoming celebration. Our incredibly generous friends and family, and some of Andrea’s coworkers, dug deep into our Amazon baby registry and we carted home from the U.S. as many items as we could fit into our suitcases. We’ll soon buy baby furniture and complete the decorations for the bedroom which has been converted into a nursery, and we’ll make the five-hour pilgrimage north to the Costco in Puebla to buy diapers and other items (not-so-fun fact: the average baby goes through 7,000 to 9,000 diapers before they’re successfully potty-trained). Our parenting classes also begin soon, entirely online.

This is a memoir-style newsletter about life in Oaxaca and I do try to make it more about Oaxaca than it is about me, in part because I think Mexico is a more interesting subject than I am. It has been hard to write of late, though, in part because I find my thoughts are more drawn to my personal life than to the place we are inhabiting. Today’s entry was published a day late because I’ve been so occupied with thinking about life in Mexico that I haven’t been spending enough time writing about Mexico.

Sitting down at my desk to write makes me realize my thoughts and various worries are grounded in this place:

• What does it mean for our baby if we give him a name that is either too American, or perhaps not American enough?

• What will it mean to raise a child as an immigrant? Because we are, let’s be clear, immigrants here.

• What will it mean to raise a child as a Mexican, in a culture his parents don’t belong to?

• How do we prepare our home, and what does it mean that we’re able to afford a level of care and comfort the average Oaxacan would find impossibly inaccessible?

• How do we make more friends, and connect with other new parents? (Please, god, let the answer be something other than Facebook.)

• How do I get past the guilt I feel for not raising our child in New York?

I have no answers for these things, at least right now. All that’s left to do is figure it out as we go.

Now, Andrea and I will drive into Oaxaca de Juárez to buy an artificial Christmas tree, an act which must be done months in advance if one hopes to even be able to find one, as they sell out shockingly quickly. That itself is another primer for thought, as we imagine our baby’s first Christmas here in Mexico.

This coming week marks our first anniversary in Mexico. Much has changed, and there’s a lot more to come. It does seem as if this weekend, and hopefully the coming year, will be marked by calm weather, new adventures, and the type of days that drew us to Mexico to begin with.

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