The largest sunflower sanctuary in Oaxaca, a refuge for bees

Author: Source
/ Monday, February 10, 2020 9:51 am

The largest sunflower sanctuary in Oaxaca, a refuge for bees

The largest sunflower sanctuary in Oaxaca is located in the municipality of Villa de Tututepec; It covers three hectares and is part of the Foundation's International Corn and Wheat Improvement Center

The largest sunflower sanctuary in Oaxaca, a refuge for bees
THE DAY

Oaxaca.- A field painted yellow by more than 200 thousand sunflowers that give life to bees, insects today in danger of extinction, is part of an agrotourism project that was born as a pilot test in 2019 with 80 peasants affiliated with the Agribusiness Integrating Society Río Verde, which this year organizes for the first time the State Sunflower Fair, which is held in the Llanos del Espinal community of the municipality of Tututepec and will conclude next May. 

The three-hectare land that houses the Rural Technology Validation and Transfer Center, located in this municipality, is considered the largest sunflower sanctuary in Oaxaca, which awaits families and students in the flower plantations, and in crops such as native corn

In the place, specialists and farmers share their knowledge about the importance of privileging the countryside and improving ways of life in the face of climate change.

The International Center for Corn and Wheat Improvement of the Walmart Foundation promotes the Sunflower Sanctuary, where producers are advised by students and specialists from institutions such as the Autonomous Chapingo, Sea and Coast Universities, and the Pinotepa National Institute of Technology, who instruct them in the development of techniques for resistance crops.

The site gathers five sunflower species: 354, Fool Zoom, Daytona, Hornet and Confitero, which can be appreciated until the end of March, when the flowering stage will conclude. Visitors can buy flowers by piece or volume, explained José Esteban Sotelo Malinche, representative of Río Verde, who commented that sunflowers were planted in the region as a crop of resistance to climate change.

Once the flowering is finished, the natural residues of sunflowers are used as feed for cattle and as fertilizer for other crops made the rest of the year as native corn, pineapple, coconut palm and lemon.

According to Sotelo Malinche, the sanctuary is part of a tourist corridor where it is expected to produce edible sunflower oil and not only sell honey from the apiary, but also make shampoo, creams and soaps with it.

Chinese honey fight

Beekeepers of the place indicated that although they produce honey in the area for five years, their product used to cost 50 pesos per kilogram and today it is offered at 20, due to the invasion of the candy of Chinese origin, of lower cost.

Pirate honey that comes from China contains fructose and they sell it cheaper; This has damaged our economy, we no longer sell as before, so now what we have done is transform honey into products such as soaps, shampoos, creams and honey (sold) per liter and half a liter, they detailed.

Jorge Salinas Ramírez and Juana Gómez Ramírez daily go to their apiaries, watch their bees produce honey, and agree that the Sunflower Sanctuary has been elementary for insects to proliferate, because with the drought they die due to lack of flowering .

This is a cycle, and as such should be respected, explained the beekeepers, who said they will continue to privilege the Sunflower Sanctuary to protect bees and encourage their reproduction.

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@NZipolite

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The last countercultural coast of Mexico By Freda Moon

https://www.infobae.com/america/the-new-york-times/2020/02/08/la-ultima-costa-contracultural-de-mexico/

THE NEW YORK TIMES

The last countercultural coast of Mexico

By Freda Moon
February 8, 2020

On a wild stretch of the Pacific coast, Costa Chica attracts artists, architects, surfers, yogis and "naughty friends." (The New York Times)

After getting off the plane in Puerto Escondido, on the Pacific coast in Oaxaca, I filled my lungs with dense and tropical air. After spending three days on the heights of the capital of Mexico, inhaling the penetrating smell of the sea and the wet vegetation was like resurrecting. I got into an "authorized" taxi and headed northwest from the airport, going through papaya crops and low hills full of rocks. The landscape was bright green and pale yellow with touches of fuchsia and fire-colored bougainvillea, while in California, where I live, that ornamental plant is in pots, here it grows to the size of an apple tree.

There were delays: a young man on horseback struggling with a white ox and a group of road workers who, with machetes, waged an endless war against the invading jungle. Finally, we left the highway and entered a narrow dirt road flanked by a fence of branches and barbed wire, in addition to the tall grass that surrounded the windows, as if we had entered a dusty carwash. With each vehicle that passed in the opposite direction, the taxi driver played the game of the slowest hen in the world.

My plan was to spend the next five days walking from one beach to another along the Costa Chica, which stretches from the neighboring state of Guerrero to approximately half of the Oaxaca coast. My family has visited the Costa Chica, which is famous for its extreme surfing, since before my birth. I have often wondered if the murderous waves that initially attracted my dad and my uncles - but that they turn the water too treacherous to visit the beach by chance - have saved this area from unbridled development in the style of Cancun, which has been the destination of many of the most beautiful coastal places in Mexico. Instead, the Costa Chica has developed slowly and organically over the decades. Its economy, based long ago on agriculture and subsistence fishing, It now includes a modest tourism industry. It is relatively difficult to reach this area (there are no direct international flights), but that - like all the peculiarities of the area - ends up being a strength instead of a weakness. The outsiders who end up on this stretch of the Pacific coast are here for a reason. Beyond its bohemian surf cities, the evolving culture of the coast includes world-class art and architecture at Casa Wabi, a space for modernist artists and an exhibition venue designed by the award-winning architect Pritzker Tadao Ando, ​​among others ; a small but notable gay community in the city of Zipolite; and the followers of the New Age and the yogis of Mazunte. but that - like all the peculiarities of the area - ends up being a strength instead of a weakness. The outsiders who end up on this stretch of the Pacific coast are here for a reason. Beyond its bohemian surf cities, the evolving culture of the coast includes world-class art and architecture at Casa Wabi, a space for modernist artists and an exhibition venue designed by the award-winning architect Pritzker Tadao Ando, ​​among others ; a small but notable gay community in the city of Zipolite; and the followers of the New Age and the yogis of Mazunte. but that - like all the peculiarities of the area - ends up being a strength instead of a weakness. The outsiders who end up on this stretch of the Pacific coast are here for a reason. Beyond its bohemian surf cities, the evolving culture of the coast includes world-class art and architecture at Casa Wabi, a space for modernist artists and an exhibition venue designed by the award-winning architect Pritzker Tadao Ando, ​​among others ; a small but notable gay community in the city of Zipolite; and the followers of the New Age and the yogis of Mazunte. The evolving culture of the coast includes world-class art and architecture at Casa Wabi, a space for modernist artists and an exhibition venue designed by the Pritzker Tadao Ando award-winning architect, among others; a small but notable gay community in the city of Zipolite; and the followers of the New Age and the yogis of Mazunte. The evolving culture of the coast includes world-class art and architecture at Casa Wabi, a space for modernist artists and an exhibition venue designed by the Pritzker Tadao Ando award-winning architect, among others; a small but notable gay community in the city of Zipolite; and the followers of the New Age and the yogis of Mazunte.

Arriving at Tiny House

By the time we passed by Casa Wabi, founded by Bosco Sodi, one of the most celebrated contemporary artists in Mexico, I was very hungry. Between Wabi and Hotel Escondido, the glamorous $ 325 boutique hotel the night next door, I assumed there would be somewhere, anywhere, to eat near there. A palapa-style seafood shack facing the sea, a simple shop ... something. Apparently I was wrong.

The road reached a sandy point with no exit and the driver pointed to a wooden gate integrated into a wall of tropical dry forest. There, but not in sight, was my accommodation that night, a small cabin with which I had dreamed awake for almost a year before, when I wrote a profile about the architect who designed it Aranza de Ariño, who lives in Ciudad de Mexico. It was the first major project of Ariño (who at that time had just graduated); the photographs of the simple structure, which is available on Airbnb, had been recorded in my mind.

It was just me and the cottage inspired by Henry David Thoreau (there were "Walden" books in several languages ​​on a shelf). I admired the contrast of textures created by the smooth concrete and the cobbled floors, the basket of indispensable rustic products (repellent incense, a portable horn, a deck of cards, candles and matches), the bulky clay utensils and the rusty stove with two burners A long concrete table was the focal point of the cabin; On it was a decorative bowl of apples, cucumbers, green oranges and some mottled bananas. I opened the frigobar. It was empty. That confirmed my fear: I would have to eat fruit for the next 24 hours.

Casa Tiny was as minimalist as promised, a magical escape from things (cell phone service, internet, distractions) that suddenly alarmed me not to have.

The hottest part of the day was approaching, a bad time for a walk. But I was hungry and needed to know what I had gotten myself into. I took a shortcut to the ocean along a deteriorated path through a cactus field. The beach was long and wild. At one end there was a rock wall sculpted as if it were a monument of nature in honor of itself; on the other, the sand seemed to extend to the horizon. Burning, he slipped into my sandals and punished my feet.

Finally, I arrived at Hotel Escondido, sweaty, thirsty and overwhelmed by the frenzy around me. The hotel, which had been reserved for a wedding, was closed to the public. They told me that the event would be one of the “biggest they have ever had”. However, recognizing that I was in trouble, the hotel manager invited me in. I found a cool space under a fan, ordered a pina colada and some takeaway food.

While preparing my marlin ceviche with guacamole and grasshoppers, I went out to take my first look at Casa Wabi, next to it. I had missed the only opening to the public of the day. But with a wink, the staff at Hotel Escondido encouraged me to go anyway.

In a hole near the complex, I entered shyly. After reading about Wabi's design, I expected to find a museum, a gallery, a colorful institution. But instead, I found an outdoor ceramic workshop surrounded by dense foliage, outdoor tables, half-finished projects and a large oven. I went through a maze of carved brambles with winding paths of my size. Here and there, structures rose above the sea of ​​weeds: an elegant half-built brick tower, an abstract mud pavilion, and a long black rectangular building that looked like a modernist museum. However, when I approached, I noticed the shelves that went from floor to ceiling and white birds. He was a chicken coop. At that moment I understood that that wasWabi house. All that. It was not a single structure, but an idea of ​​how art can and should work in the world.

Next stop: surf city

Although the enclave of Casa Wabi is a surprising mix of cosmopolitan and casual qualities, my next stop, Brisas de Zicatela, is a bohemian and hectic surf town. After a 40-minute trip, they left me in La Punta - as the locals say to this area, just south of Puerto Escondido - where is the Hostal Frutas y Verduras, a backpacker accommodation painted with bright colors where I had booked A modest room with a shared bathroom for 500 pesos (about $ 27) a night.

After my time alone at Casa Tiny, the surroundings of La Punta was a cultural shock. An international crowd of beautiful people wore the unofficial beach uniform: the women wore ultra-short denim shorts and blonde dreadlocks, and the barefoot muscular young men had chongos and arms full of tattoos.

Everyone seemed to be accompanied - from a friend, a lover or a future lover - and the music rumbled constantly, as if he had come to an endless party. I longed to be back at Tiny House.

Over the next two days, I rested under a palm umbrella on the party beach while watching people. I drank a mezcal cocktail at a beach bar, sitting on swings instead of benches, where my feet touched the sand. I ate in a palapa roof restaurant run by a lovely couple of Argentines, while I watched them carry babies, and drink wine and mate when socializing with friends. I saw surfers without a board, who were dragged by the waves that broke on the shore, but I did not dare to do so. Not there. Instead, he walked and watched, and then walked and watched a little more.

Despite my aversion to tourist tours, I signed up for an afternoon trip to the bioluminescent lagoon of Manialtepec. For 350 pesos (about 17 dollars), along with five other travelers, they took me by car to the lagoon, where they introduced us to our captain and his crew, a father and his son, in the age of going to primary school. They pushed the little panga through a tangle of tangled ropes to take it to the narrow dock. The water was crystal clear, and the air, almost at eight o'clock at night, was warm and still. I felt relaxed by the mezcal I had after dinner and the excitement of an uncomplicated adventure.

I had been warned that the Moon, one day after being full, could eliminate bioluminescence. However, when the captain told us to put our hands in the water next to the boat, light trails were painted in the middle of the warm, black and still water while thousands of small aquatic organisms defended themselves with light. When we stopped, I took off my dress and dived. With the movement of my arms and legs, the water became blue and gray as it came to life.

In Zipolite: 'Welcome to those who misbehave'

The next day, I shared a taxi with German backpackers who got off in the small Japanese city of Mazunte before letting me continue to Casa Sol Zipolite, a boutique hotel of the founders of Red Tree House, in Mexico City, one of my places favorites during the time when he had no children. For years I had been a fan of the couple responsible for the hotel, Craig and Jorge, so when they bought a former nudist complex on this remote stretch of the Oaxaca coast, I was curious.

Zipolite is known for its openly nudist beach, one of the few in Mexico, and the week I arrived was a particularly entertaining time for a first visit. A convention of swinger couples - mostly older Americans - had reached the small town. The hotel next door had a sign in front that said: "Welcome to those who misbehave", a phrase that became a recurring joke among the boys of Casa Sol.

Every night, Ernesto, the right hand of Craig and Jorge, and the soul of Casa Sol, organize a happy hour for the guests, who gather to enjoy the daisies and the conversation. During my stay, the place - which is often reserved from a year earlier - was extraordinarily quiet. It was just me and two couples. After a few drinks, I joined one of them, Renée and Matt, from Vancouver. They, who were about my age, offered to guide me from the dark elevation of the hillside where Casa Sol was located.

I did what Ernesto advised me and I got into a taxi that took me to La Pizzería in Mazunte. The area around Zipolite is full of Italian restaurants, so, with the philosophy of “if you can't against them, join them”, I found a table available outside next to a burning pizza oven and under a series of lights. The site seemed to be run almost entirely by minors, including a teenager in front of the kitchen, who kneaded the dough with an empty bottle of Corona beer and baked beautifully Neapolitan-style pizzas. A boy who did not seem to be over 14 years old was the only waiter in the pizzeria and attended the tables like an experienced professional.

At the long table next door, there was a group that, as I imagined, was foreign exchange students who were on vacation. I had a conversation with a young Londoner. He was there to solve a trauma, he said. He was surely a guest of one of several spiritual and healing centers in the area. He mentioned that there would be a "play" in a bar just around the corner, and he invited me to go. I had already drunk enough wine to accept.

© 2020 The New York Times Company

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No estoy seguro de quiénes son estas personas; Desde el lunes tour de avistamiento de ballenas. Gente feliz. :)

Not sure who these people are; From Monday whale watching tour. Happy people. 

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 MARÍA JULIA HIDALGO

Travel is for the rich. The phrase was recorded when the mother told her sister that she was crazy for wanting to travel to Europe: "You have air in your head, that's what happens."

His sister believed it because, to tell the truth, he did have a little wind that sometimes clouded his reason. But she was more modest in her claims, at least at the beginning. It started without a fan or ads. Just do it , I had listened. His first detachment was from the paternal home. He got roomies and then planted himself in the capital in a modest apartment. He took a little air and without runaway made his first flights; although she would say jumps. He knew what the north was, but rather what he called it was the south.

He made the list. The famous list, the one that should not be missing when you go to cook, to the supermarket, to the pharmacy or to the doctor so as not to forget to mention the evils; traveling was no less important than those domestic endilgas. Organize routes and lodgings, choose loose, comfortable clothes, something light to feel, to live freedom. He made a backpack. He was 22 when the course of his life changed. Nobody knows well what would have happened with the stroke that was intended, because life is chosen and the rest is forgotten. He did so. Now, at almost 50, he wanted to resume and revisit those places on the list. Those he discovered despite the maternal prognosis. He did so. He started with a beach. She, and the list, were, again, in Zipolite.

The dim light that came from the focus of the balcony was the perfect start. Reggae sounded all night and he had no choice but to get up and do something. Leaving with them was not so simple, you had to go down the spiral staircase and walk through the unlit courtyard. Last night I had seen a swarm of wasps and ant paths along the path. I didn't want to turn on the light, it wasn't going to be that someone woke up, and what I wanted. He resisted, he doubted, but what else, what was not back in each place to revive something? He returned not in the flattest sense, but in that meditative, conscious, one that makes recapitulate and shape things; as said. He turned on the phone screen and went down carefully. He guided himself to the beach. There they were as God brought them into the world.

To be continue…

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