From My Notebook in 1975: On the Road to the Land of Gringos

Still in Oaxaca 1975, I was going to continue with extracts from my notebooks as I moved on through Mexico to the USA, but I find them harder to transcribe. Compared with the bare-bones existence of the Andean lands of “No Hay” Mexico seemed quite prosperous, but the prosperity was an illusion. It was created by the availability of goods from the USA which only a few Mexicans could afford.

I arrived in Oaxaca at lunchtime and found it full of Gringos.

“Find a vegetarian restaurant with rooms, called ‘Pices’, opened some years before at the prompting of US visitors.. Meet a Gringo who lives in Oaxaca and trades Indian stuff to (American) stores. He has a small eagle he offers to show me but doesn’t return.

Instead, I meet three other Gringos: A disillusioned screen writer and wife, and a highly nervous dislocated person who walks with short arthritic steps and flits disturbingly from topic to topic, anxious to communicate, fearful of boring, hard to follow. He’s a law school student, probably the victim of a breakdown. He too is planning to trade hammocks. The others are into blankets. Christ, everyone’s at it!”

The hotel had an outside shower with the water heated by a small wood-fired boiler. There was a small stack of firewood. The guest lights the fire and goes on adding wood as long he or she wants more hot water. I was taken by the simplicity of it.

“There must be things to see here but now my interest in Spanish towns is satisfied by a glance at the facades and an hour in the plaza. Church interiors disappoint, and it’s the general disposition of buildings and spaces that please, or otherwise. The Cartesian arrangement of Spanish towns is very apt for Spanish thought, echoing their ideals or wishful thinking. They would like everything to be orderly and just but are hopelessly exposed within these rigid frameworks.”

Well, that’s what I wrote at the time. I don’t know if I agree with myself now.

“On towards Mexico City. Uneventful ride. Stopped to look at small village, but less interesting close up. Went to another to get water from a tap. Took pictures of church and children.

Later followed a path uphill towards micro-ondes (short wave) transmitter to sleep away from the road. Was attended by peasant and his son as I made camp. Others on bikes had been here before me. The man had worked in California (as a bracero) and been badly treated but was evidently pleased to see Gringo visitors. Had my usual dinner, though Oaxacan chorizos were starchy and inferior.

Next morning mother and son came to visit, with tortillas. I offered tea and cheese. Rode on to Mexico City, but now one cylinder is smoking badly.”

In Mexico I was hoping to find Bruno at his girl-friend’s house, and got thoroughly soaked while looking for it. but he had left for France three days earlier. She and her friends let me stay while I found a mechanic called Cojuc, who did some work on the bike. I knew that if I could make it as far as L.A everything could be taken care of there. On a Sunday in June, I left for Guanajuato.

“Easy ride. Good roads. But beginning of valve trouble (still unknown). Begin to experiment again with plugs, under flyover bridge. Very hot. Set off expecting more rain, but country looks dry and sky is clear. The ride into G. is astonishing, because of the endless vaulted tunnel that winds round the top of the hill apparently beneath the foundations of the town to shoot up eventually into the heart of it, by the plaza.. Altogether as impressive an example of preservation and restoration I have seen – (Ouro Prêto, Salvador, Cuzco, Paita, Antigua).

Good feeling. Strange that I’ve never realised before how much more self-respect a city or town has when there’s a university. There’s a graduation party in the square. Small group playing – girl with tambourine, two guitars, drums. Stands all around the dance floor with chile achile, choklo, tacos, and ice tubs full of soft drinks. Watched a cockroach make its way unscathed among all those scuffling feet – a lesson in probabilities.”

I remember that a shiny new bus drove up and disgorged a party of high school kids from the US. The girls all wore shorts and it was the first time in probably six months that I had seen a naked leg. I found it shocking, and almost obscene. The Mexicans around me, who always covered their legs, must have seen this many times, and were unaffected. Another cultural lesson.