It’s been two months since I left North Carolina and arrived in New Mexico, where life is more like Mexico than I ever imagined it would be. Spanish is a predominant language here. Indigenous Native American culture and artistry is powerful. Time moves slowly. There is no urgency and many people here say Taos means maƱana. I am constantly reminded of the mantra told to me years ago in Teotitlan del Valle by my host family head Federico Chavez Sosa: Calma. Patiencia. Tranquila.
Big Sky, Taos, New Mexico
Life takes on a different meaning when the focus is on landscape and the whirl of city life is in the past. I’m utterly astounded by how the vastness of sky and horizon opens life to a defining purpose of expansiveness, the natural world, and infinite possibilities. Even as human life is finite, there is a sense of timelessness here that offers peace and solitude.
Almost sunset, through the sage brush
As I write this, a lone coyote dances through the sage brush traveling east to west toward the gorge. Only moments before, a white tailed rabbit came up to my patio door and peered in, ears and nose twitching in unison. A flock of magpies chatter on the fence posts. Small pleasures.
Right in my backyard, Rio Grande River Gorge
Out here on the Rio Grande River Gorge Mesa, I find comfort in budding friendships with people who are drawn here with similar vision, purpose, politics and lifestyle. I am also comforted by dear friends Karen and Steve who live a mile up the road from my rental house. I have known them for almost 45 years. She and I raised our children together, opened and closed a gourmet cookware shop and cooking school, remained constant and supportive. Their land has become mine. We walk the gorge rim trails, smell the sagebrush, look for Big Horn Sheep, comment on new construction taking shape.
This is a soul-satisfying place.
Adobe in Black & White
It is a small town. There is no Whole Foods. (There is Cid’s.) There is no shopping mall. My drive to town takes a good twenty minutes. One could say I’m isolated. And, this would be true, more or less. It is perfect for writers, photographers, creatives who find sustenance in simplicity. For my city fix, I drive 75 minutes to Santa Fe. I’ve been going regularly since I’ve had a steady stream of visitors. I’m not sure when the feeling of being on perpetual vacation will end.
Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.
Unedited Red Sky at sunset on the mesa
I’m here because of Covid. Sequestered for over a year in my Durham, NC, historic renovated tobacco warehouse condo gave me plenty of time to reflect. I felt trapped in an edifice of impenetrable brick with a view to the high school across the street, electric lines above, and elevator access to the outdoors. It served me well before Covid when I was spending more time in Oaxaca. Was Durham where I wanted to grow older? The question of values kept coming up. So, while my decision to move here was, by many accounts impulsive, I realized I wanted direct access to nature and a long view. After spending a month in New Mexico in November 2020, even before I was vaccinated, I realized that life here could be almost normal even in the worst of circumstances.
Vintage pottery, Mabel Dodge Lujan house
That’s not to say, I wasn’t scared of making this move — leaving good friends behind, a network of the familiar, with the best medical care in the world at my fingertips. I lived in North Carolina for twenty-two years, the longest sojourn of my life except for growing up in California. Fear is powerful. It freezes us and keeps us from exploring. It is also liberating if we allow ourselves to move through it and have confidence in our ability to adapt and thrive in new circumstances. I also realize I have the vagabond gene in my family. I have lots of practice making change. This is learned behavior. Over the years I have pried myself out of my comfort zone. This propels me forward.
Vintage pottery in B & W
Still, I continue to wait. Buying land and building a home is a process and anxiety provoking. After months, we have still not broken ground because the county has not yet approved the building permit. Lots of moving parts. Lots of puzzle pieces to fit in place. The bank cannot finalize the construction loan until this happens. The site cannot be touched until the loan is signed. Infrastructure needs to be put in place. The road I will live on, Camino Chamisa, needs to be grubbed out. A trench needs digging to hold the lines for well water, electric and fiber. Poco a poco. This is the main reason I cannot get back to Oaxaca. I’m waiting for this to start.
This is what CHAMISA looks like
Covid Bonus: being closer to family.
In September, my son and his wife-to-be will move to Albuquerque. This is a gift beyond my imagination. When I committed to buying land and making the move, this was a dream, not a promise. He has approval to work permanently from home, and we know now that home can be defined as anywhere! My sister and brother are in California. They will visit in August. Durham was not on their travel radar.
When will I get back to Oaxaca?
It’s Dark Sky here. I am star-gazing. The Milky Way and North Star provide no clues for me, although the ancients grounded their beliefs in such spectacular displays. I know for certain I will be in Oaxaca in mid-October to lead our Day of the Dead Culture Tour (three spaces open). Returning this summer depends on timing to certify the construction here. Time will tell.
White water rafting, Rio Grande River, Pilar, NM
I guess the next best thing to being in Oaxaca, Mexico, is being in Taos, New Mexico. They call it New Mexico for a reason!
We spent the night in Gretna, Nebraska just outside Omaha off I-80. Janet Chavez Santiago, my Oaxaca goddaughter is traveling with me. I drive. She feeds me orange slices and bits of smoked turkey jerky. The sun is shining and we move from the flatlands of Indiana and Illinois, crossing the Mississippi River and onto the rolling fields of Iowa crossing over into Nebraska. Today, we will drive seven-and-a-half hours to Denver and do a bit of sightseeing before landing in Taos, NM on Sunday.
Janet makes a book cover at Sam’s Art Camp
We pass an Iowa road sign, Montezuma it says, exit here. Why Montezuma? We are out in the middle of rural Iowa where silos and neat red barns dot a landscape of slender trees with bright green leaves flow with the horizon. Look it up, I say. Montezuma, Iowa, population 1,338 (2019), It was first established in 1848 when local veterans of the Mexican-American War named the city after the last Aztec Emperor of Mexico.
Eating ice cream at Jeni’s, Columbus, Ohio
Next to our motel is a Walmart. It is the only place that is walkable and we need a stretch after our picnic supper on a green patch beyond the parking lot. At the check-out, a young Latino is in front of us. He looks at Janet and smiles at me. Where are you from? Our interchange is in Spanish. Mexico, he answers. Where in Mexico? I continue. Campeche, he says. Do you like Nebraska? I ask. Yes, very much, he says and waves goodbye.
Under the Golden Dome, University of Notre Dame
When we left Durham, North Carolina, on May 6, we drove eight hours to Columbus, Ohio, to spend two days with friends we met sixteen years ago in Oaxaca. Frances has a nickname. It’s Sam. Her husband is Tom. They are photographers who taught workshops with Oaxaca Cultural Navigator in Teotitlan del Valle and have a collection of Chavez Santiago family rugs. Making art is in their DNA and we immersed ourselves in what I call Sam’s Art Camp, making book covers. Tom became an outstanding woodturner and makes amazing turned wood vessels. You can find them on Instagram at Birch Mountain Crafts.
My Alma Mater, MS ’88
Our next stop was South Bend, Indiana, a short five hour drive from Columbus. This was the place I lived for almost twenty years, raising a child, opening and closing a cookware shop and cooking school, starting my professional career in university continuing education, marketing, communications and development. Lifelong friends still live there. Who knows when I will get there next.
Department of Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg hails from here
So, here we are. On our way west. The time changes. The air is dryer. The cooler is filled with food. I have my mezcal. It is a passage overland to what is next.
Yesterday was a long travel day to get from Oaxaca, Mexico, to Durham, North Carolina. On the early morning flight from Oaxaca to Mexico City, I met Carina Pacheco from San Pablo Villa de Mitla, Oaxaca. She was on her way to Cabo San Lucas where the family has a shop that sells famous Mitla woven cotton textiles.
Where are you from? she asks me. Teotitlan del Valle, Oaxaca, I say with some pride in my voice. And, now I’m sure to add, Durham, North Carolina, too, also with equal pride. Durham will be my new home, too. Carina and I promise to stay in contact. I’m certain we will. OaxaqueƱos keep their promises. Plus, we live only a few villages apart down the Panamerican Highway.
Weaver Arturo Hernandez, San Pablo Villa de Mitla, Oaxaca: “I made your clothes.”
In Houston, a young man named Stefano helps me load my two giant suitcases (I’m moving, after all) onto a trolley to go through customs. Stefano is from Puebla. His great, great-grandfather came from Italy. He lives in a small town near Cholula, Puebla, populated by Italians, and speaks excellent English.
Mexico is a melting pot, filled with immigrants: Africa, Italy, Eastern Europe, Germany, France, Philippines, China, and yes, the USA. They are Catholics, Jews, Protestants, Muslims, Hindus and more. A long history of diversity shows in their complexions and features. Racial and cultural intermarriage is accepted here.
Where are you from? says Stefano. Two places, I answer. Oaxaca, Mexico and Durham, North Carolina. It’s beginning to sound real as I prepare to move into my apartment/condo in downtown Durham, which is why I’m here now. We sit down to share a meal together before he goes on to Tampa, Florida. This only happens to me with Mexicans!
Durham is an old tobacco town undergoing urban revitalization. Its downtown is filled with great restaurants and street musicians who are steeped in the South’s blues culture. It’s a pedestrian lifestyle. I’ll be close to good, longtime friends who I miss.
Downtown Durham, NC — where I live now, too
I’m also here in a Blue Bubble, where I can make a difference by participating in the NAACP and changing the course of my state’s and country’s political history. Ojala! (That’s Spanish for, god willing.)
It’s been four years since I’ve had a home in North Carolina and I’m grateful to be back. Oaxaca is my home, too, where indigenous identity speaks to me. This is where I look out over mountains and valleys where textiles woven and dyed with the hands of the artisans are a song.
And, what are in my suitcases? Oaxaca whole bean coffee. A cotton bedspread woven by Arturo Hernandez. A rebozo from Tenancingo de Degollado. A blouse from Cuetzalan, Puebla. A poncho from San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas. Borders are seamless in the end.
Yet, an airline representative steps onto the plane in Houston and says that due to heightened security, we will be escorted to immigration. I don’t remember that. Another new form of intimidation?
Why We Left, Expat Anthology: Norma’s Personal Essay
Norma contributes personal essay, How Oaxaca Became Home
Norma Contributes Two Chapters!
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Norma Schafer and Oaxaca Cultural Navigator LLC has offered programs in Mexico since 2006. We have over 30 years of university program development experience. See my resume.
Study Tours + Study Abroad are personally curated and introduce you to Mexico's greatest artisans. They are off-the-beaten path, internationally recognized. We give you access to where people live and work. Yes, it is safe and secure to travel. Groups are limited in size for the most personal experience.
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Oaxaca has the largest and most diverse textile culture in Mexico! Learn about it.
1-Day OaxacaCity Collectors Textile Tour.Exclusive Access! We take you into the homes and workshops of Oaxaca State's prize-winning weavers. They come from the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, the Mixteca, Mixe, Amuzgos and Triqui areas and represent their weaving families and cooperatives here. For collectors, retailers, buyers, wholesalers, fashionistas.
1-Day Oaxaca Textile Walking Tour When you visit Oaxaca immerse yourself in our textile culture: How is indigenous clothing made, what is the best value, most economical, finest available. Suitable for adults only. Set your own dates.
2022 Going Deep, Not Wide--Extended Tours
July 25-31, 2022. Oaxaca Textile Adventure Tour: Sierra Norte Mountains. Visit two remote mountain villages where silk and cotton are woven into glorious cloth and dyed with natural plant materials. Come early or stay later for Guelaguetza! Not too late to join!
October 28-November 4, 2022: Womenās Creative Writing Retreat in Teotitlan del Valle ā Memory and Tradition. Click this link to read about it. ONE SPACE OPEN FOR SHARED ROOM.
October 29-November 4, 2022:Day of the Dead Culture Tour. We meet locals and visit 4 villages to experience this mystical pre-Hispanic observance, awesome and reverent. Still space for a few more!
February 5-13, 2023: Bucket List Tour: Monarch Butterflies + Michoacan. Spiritual, mystical connection to nature. Go deep into weaving, pottery, mask-making and more! We haven't offered this tour since 2019 and we anticipate it will sell out quickly. TWO SPACES OPEN
February 21-March 1, 2023: Chiapas Textile Study Tour--Deep Into the Maya World Based in San Cristobal de las Casas, we travel to distant pueblos to meet extraordinary weavers --Best of the Best! Just a handful of spaces open.
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We require 48-hour advance notice for map orders to be processed. We send a printable map via email PDF after order received. Please be sure to send your email address. Where to see natural dyed rugs in Teotitlan del Valle and layout of the Sunday Tlacolula Market, with favorite eating, shopping, ATMs. Click Here to Buy Map After you click, be sure to check PayPal to ensure your email address isn't hidden from us. We fulfill each map order personally. It is not automatic.
Dye Master Dolores Santiago Arrellanas with son Omar Chavez Santiago, weaver and dyer, Fey y Lola Rugs, Teotitlan del Valle
Where are you from? Where are you going? Oaxaca, Mexico. Durham, North Carolina.
Yesterday was a long travel day to get from Oaxaca, Mexico, to Durham, North Carolina. On the early morning flight from Oaxaca to Mexico City, I met Carina Pacheco from San Pablo Villa de Mitla, Oaxaca. She was on her way to Cabo San Lucas where the family has a shop that sells famous Mitla woven cotton textiles.
Where are you from? she asks me. Teotitlan del Valle, Oaxaca, I say with some pride in my voice. And, now I’m sure to add, Durham, North Carolina, too, also with equal pride. Durham will be my new home, too. Carina and I promise to stay in contact. I’m certain we will. OaxaqueƱos keep their promises. Plus, we live only a few villages apart down the Panamerican Highway.
Weaver Arturo Hernandez, San Pablo Villa de Mitla, Oaxaca: “I made your clothes.”
In Houston, a young man named Stefano helps me load my two giant suitcases (I’m moving, after all) onto a trolley to go through customs. Stefano is from Puebla. His great, great-grandfather came from Italy. He lives in a small town near Cholula, Puebla, populated by Italians, and speaks excellent English.
Mexico is a melting pot, filled with immigrants: Africa, Italy, Eastern Europe, Germany, France, Philippines, China, and yes, the USA. They are Catholics, Jews, Protestants, Muslims, Hindus and more. A long history of diversity shows in their complexions and features. Racial and cultural intermarriage is accepted here.
Where are you from? says Stefano. Two places, I answer. Oaxaca, Mexico and Durham, North Carolina. It’s beginning to sound real as I prepare to move into my apartment/condo in downtown Durham, which is why I’m here now. We sit down to share a meal together before he goes on to Tampa, Florida. This only happens to me with Mexicans!
Durham is an old tobacco town undergoing urban revitalization. Its downtown is filled with great restaurants and street musicians who are steeped in the South’s blues culture. It’s a pedestrian lifestyle. I’ll be close to good, longtime friends who I miss.
Downtown Durham, NC — where I live now, too
I’m also here in a Blue Bubble, where I can make a difference by participating in the NAACP and changing the course of my state’s and country’s political history. Ojala! (That’s Spanish for, god willing.)
It’s been four years since I’ve had a home in North Carolina and I’m grateful to be back. Oaxaca is my home, too, where indigenous identity speaks to me. This is where I look out over mountains and valleys where textiles woven and dyed with the hands of the artisans are a song.
And, what are in my suitcases? Oaxaca whole bean coffee. A cotton bedspread woven by Arturo Hernandez. A rebozo from Tenancingo de Degollado. A blouse from Cuetzalan, Puebla. A poncho from San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas. Borders are seamless in the end.
Yet, an airline representative steps onto the plane in Houston and says that due to heightened security, we will be escorted to immigration. I don’t remember that. Another new form of intimidation?
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Posted in Creative Writing and Poetry, Cultural Commentary, Textiles, Tapestries & Weaving, Travel & Tourism
Tagged Durham, home, immigration, Mexico, moving, North Carolina, Oaxaca, travel, where I live