Hugo ended the last section with the rebellion of 1832 and the building of the barricades on major Paris streets. He starts this section off track again as he described the barricades of 1848 as being much larger and better able to be defended.
As he described them, my mind slid back to the last time I visited Oaxaca. It was (and probably is) a beautiful city with a pretty and relaxing zocolo, bordered by shops and restaurants, with a gazebo in the middle, trees and benches. Vendors were everywhere with crafts, balloons, and toys. Just a lovely central park.
But this last time, there had been a teacher's strike. A teacher of more than twenty years at the time, I was inclined to sympathize with the strike, but, it seems other people all over the city had joined the demonstrations, and we arrived in the city as the same time as the forces sent out from Mexico City. I had flown down alone and the taxi from the airport stopped at a restaurant outside the central part of the city (just a little hole in the wall place, but at least it was open.) The driver refused to drive any further. The owners of the small restaurant were scrambling to find places to put people up (blankets on tables) and I was fairly sure I didn't want to stay there (especially being alone) since my accommodations downtown were already paid for. A few of us went outside to attempt to hail another taxi. An enterprising young man showed up after awhile and told us that he and two other drivers were still going downtown and he could hail them on his radio. He picked up the people ahead of me and said to the four of us still left that his buddy would be along soon.
Soon was about an hour, but this man took us all to the door of our hotels and was lovely about it. I hope those three young men made a fortune that evening. They certainly deserved it. My friends, Peggy and Ruth, were already at the hotel, having arrived earlier that day, but I learned they had walked about twenty blocks, with their luggage after being unable to get a taxi.
The next day, we saw why. Burned out city busses were in all of the approaches to the Zocolo where the demonstrators had barricaded themselves and now the troops from Mexico City were camped in the Zocolo. There was no danger to us--looking very much like the tourists we were. The troops were even most helpful in pointing us to the very few restaurants still open. With the exception of the troops, the city seemed deserted...
Down near a church not far from the Zocolo we found a nest of activity--shrines to the movement, the lives lost in the strike/rebellion and pamphlets explaining their demands. Of course the pamphlets were in Spanish, so I never did know what the demands had been... Some people tried to convert us to their way of thinking, but we just said we were teachers and were already converted.... without really understanding what their way of thinking was...
Overall, it was a sad visit. The beautiful city had lost its spirit and its beauty. Burned out busses and unhappy people and troops with big guns.... I probably will never get back, but I hope it has gotten its mojo back.
