I am now are in Oaxaca (Wah-HAH-kah, for you gringos that are Spanish deficient) in the south of Mexico. The journey down took several hours and 2 chicken buses, the first like a freezer on springs and the second like an oven on springs. Mainly due to me having the last seats, right at the back of the bus - like a local and all. Loud tourist - some Brits - guffawed and yelped up front with the quiet locals behaving in the middle.The scenery from Guanajuato to Oaxaca was amazing - vast rolling mountains, volcanoes, black and grey plateaus, fertile green valleys and beautiful forests rolling off into a quiet horizon all under that bright clear blue Mexican sky.
Ever since I saw Jack Black in Nacho Libre I’ve been looking forward to coming to Oaxaca. I pictured the place in my mind like it appears in the movie - a little dustbowl of a town with narrow streets, outdoors markets, and quirky locals. In reality its much bigger, although the streets are narrow, and trying to maneuver on them is like going through an obstacle course. There are people everywhere, and most of them are all on the hustle.
Oaxaca is much different to the other cities I have been to, there is a much larger indigenous Indian population, and no high rise buildings due a series of earthquakes, throughout its history. 70% of the city was destroyed 30 years ago, in the last big quake.
On the bus, I struck up a conversation with a thin lad named Eduardo. He was traveling from Mexico City back down to Oaxaca to stay with his family. He confided in me that he was living in Central California working the wine fields when immigration swooped in and deported him and his friends. Again - another hard worker, not breaking any laws, just staying long enough to send money back to his family. He grinned and said he will be back working in California the following month.
It was good that I met Eduardo, he knew the city well. I explained what I was doing and he agreed to hook me up with cheap digs and after returning home - to meet me later in the Zocalo to take me around town.
We took a taxi to the small hostel Eduardo recommended and luckily they still had a room available. He’d found me a nice little place called Hostel Santa Isabel - very laid back place with mostly Spanish speaking bohemian travelers. We checked in and chilled out for a while over coffee, noticing how much hotter and humid it was this further south. The hostel is really cool, small spartan furnished rooms set around a cobblestone courtyard just a short walk from the centre of the city.
I check out the room, threw my bag on the floor and did some sight seeing as Eduardo left to visit his family. He explained he would be looking for me in the Zocalo in a few hours.
My unguided and random tour round the city was enjoyable yet uncomfortable at times due to the searing heat of the sun. It was markedly warmer here (especially in the evenings) than in the previous cities I had visited, being 1000m closer to sea level and that bit closer to the Equator, I recon.
Sitting in the Zocalo, the charming flower and fountain filled main square of Oaxaca, despite the barricades and riot police negotiated at its entrances, you are surrounded by a wonderful sense of calm which is only enhanced by a plate of nuts, lime and an icy cold corona. It would be nice to say that I did something other than sit in a cafe around the Zocalo during my time in Oaxaca - but to do so would require me to lie. And as regular readers would know, this blog contains only complete truths.
Indeed, Oaxaca's Zocalo is magnetic - its tranquil presence conspiring with the forever closed museums and galleries to ensure your constant return. And so, as American writer sits in the Zocalo - his companion arrives inviting me to embark on the great Oaxaca Market Shop of the Devil of the Death - the words 'una mas cerveza' appearing frequently on his lips...
So, a little heady from the heat and booze, Eduardo and I headed to The Meat Market. The Meat Market?? Is he hitting on me? The meat market is an experience in itself. Let me explain... It’s a long steamy corridor in a huge indoor market with many butcher stalls lining the walls on both sides, all calling to you to buy their meat and whistling in some sort of code to each other.
Each stall has a BBQ, which they cook your meat on after buying it. You also pick some onions and chilies from another stall and place those on the coals to cook. Another stall brings Tortillas and you put all the food in a big wicket basket. Its a bit confusing, we had no idea who to pay for what and we hadn’t even got to the tables yet!
When your meat and vegetables are cooked you take the basket to the tables, stopping off on the way to pick up your sauces (Cactus Salsa, Guacamole, etc) then you snuggle in with the locals and tuck in. Great food in a amazing atmosphere, my best meal yet.
With our appetites generously satisfied, Eduardo and I had a hot chocolate, another specialty of Oaxaca. We exchanged stories and traveling plans - Eduardo was a very funny and sincere guy. He is the reason for this trip, to get away from the gloomy effects of America on the Tijuana locals and to seek out real Mexico and their people. This boy is so cool - not fake, pretentious, or out to swindle a buck. Just a friend for a friendship’s sake.
Eduardo told me, Oaxacans love their chocolate. A bowl of steaming hot chocolate and a sweet bread roll to dunk is the perfect warmer when the winter sets in at 1500m above sea level. The mix to which water or milk is added, typically contains cinnamon, almonds and lots of sugar as well as ground up cocoa beans. There are many chocolate shops here, where you can watch it being made, the smell is delicious. Decided to pass on the chapulines which are fried grasshoppers with chili powder, onion and garlic, high in protein and supposed to be good with a squeeze of lime, maybe manana.
We visited El Tule to see the biggest tree in the world which is over 2000 years old. Caught the local bus, leaves right beside the big market. The tree is the widest in the world, so don't expect the tallest. Worth a gander though.
Suitably adjusting to the Mexican lifestyle, we took a late afternoon siesta before venturing out for an evening of Guelaguetza entertainment. I was unfortunately visiting Oaxaca at the wrong time for the actual festival of dance, but Eduardo assured me, I would be witnessing the next best thing.
When we arrived at the venue, I felt a little disconcerted by the fact that Eduardo and I were the only ones there. I had anticipated some amount of audience participation, but had expected it to be shared around a much bigger crowd. No amount of Mezcal would prepare me to be dragged on stage for the duration.
Thankfully, a party of just over a dozen French tourists arrived, shortly followed by a separate family of three - my odds of surviving had just increased. That evidently turned out to be the sum of the audience, which was a real shame for the fantastic dancers, who took us through an amazingly colorful routine of regional dances. Eduardo was in his element, and I happily looked on. Until it was our turn to join in.
We were both gently 'persuaded' to partner up with a dancer of the opposite sex and perform The Ejuteco Dance, somewhat poetically, I thought, related to the celebration of home-made Mezcal! I was fine at the stomping part, but was seriously out of my depth with anything that required finesse, or in fact, co-ordination and rhythm. With my eyes searching pleadingly around the room, an overwhelming sense of gratitude filled my entire being as the music stopped and we were led back to our table.
Once we recovered, my new friend and I hit the town for a night of traditional drinking at a bar recommended by Eduardo, one of the men took a bit of a shine to me. Instead of defending my honor, Eduardo decided to take embarrassing pictures and videos of the incident on his cell phone with which to humiliate me at a future point. However, even the gays of Oaxaca - though still under the confining shroud of Mexico Machismo - are the most friendly people I have encountered in many a moon. Eduardo and I stood at the bar with other friends of his - drank, laughed, chatted. At the end of the night, I was so bushed, I just stumbled back to my room and fell into a fitful sleep.
So, a little heady from the heat and booze, Eduardo and I headed to The Meat Market. The Meat Market?? Is he hitting on me? The meat market is an experience in itself. Let me explain... It’s a long steamy corridor in a huge indoor market with many butcher stalls lining the walls on both sides, all calling to you to buy their meat and whistling in some sort of code to each other.
Each stall has a BBQ, which they cook your meat on after buying it. You also pick some onions and chilies from another stall and place those on the coals to cook. Another stall brings Tortillas and you put all the food in a big wicket basket. Its a bit confusing, we had no idea who to pay for what and we hadn’t even got to the tables yet!
When your meat and vegetables are cooked you take the basket to the tables, stopping off on the way to pick up your sauces (Cactus Salsa, Guacamole, etc) then you snuggle in with the locals and tuck in. Great food in a amazing atmosphere, my best meal yet.
With our appetites generously satisfied, Eduardo and I had a hot chocolate, another specialty of Oaxaca. We exchanged stories and traveling plans - Eduardo was a very funny and sincere guy. He is the reason for this trip, to get away from the gloomy effects of America on the Tijuana locals and to seek out real Mexico and their people. This boy is so cool - not fake, pretentious, or out to swindle a buck. Just a friend for a friendship’s sake.
Eduardo told me, Oaxacans love their chocolate. A bowl of steaming hot chocolate and a sweet bread roll to dunk is the perfect warmer when the winter sets in at 1500m above sea level. The mix to which water or milk is added, typically contains cinnamon, almonds and lots of sugar as well as ground up cocoa beans. There are many chocolate shops here, where you can watch it being made, the smell is delicious. Decided to pass on the chapulines which are fried grasshoppers with chili powder, onion and garlic, high in protein and supposed to be good with a squeeze of lime, maybe manana.
We visited El Tule to see the biggest tree in the world which is over 2000 years old. Caught the local bus, leaves right beside the big market. The tree is the widest in the world, so don't expect the tallest. Worth a gander though.
Suitably adjusting to the Mexican lifestyle, we took a late afternoon siesta before venturing out for an evening of Guelaguetza entertainment. I was unfortunately visiting Oaxaca at the wrong time for the actual festival of dance, but Eduardo assured me, I would be witnessing the next best thing.
When we arrived at the venue, I felt a little disconcerted by the fact that Eduardo and I were the only ones there. I had anticipated some amount of audience participation, but had expected it to be shared around a much bigger crowd. No amount of Mezcal would prepare me to be dragged on stage for the duration.
Thankfully, a party of just over a dozen French tourists arrived, shortly followed by a separate family of three - my odds of surviving had just increased. That evidently turned out to be the sum of the audience, which was a real shame for the fantastic dancers, who took us through an amazingly colorful routine of regional dances. Eduardo was in his element, and I happily looked on. Until it was our turn to join in.
We were both gently 'persuaded' to partner up with a dancer of the opposite sex and perform The Ejuteco Dance, somewhat poetically, I thought, related to the celebration of home-made Mezcal! I was fine at the stomping part, but was seriously out of my depth with anything that required finesse, or in fact, co-ordination and rhythm. With my eyes searching pleadingly around the room, an overwhelming sense of gratitude filled my entire being as the music stopped and we were led back to our table.
Once we recovered, my new friend and I hit the town for a night of traditional drinking at a bar recommended by Eduardo, one of the men took a bit of a shine to me. Instead of defending my honor, Eduardo decided to take embarrassing pictures and videos of the incident on his cell phone with which to humiliate me at a future point. However, even the gays of Oaxaca - though still under the confining shroud of Mexico Machismo - are the most friendly people I have encountered in many a moon. Eduardo and I stood at the bar with other friends of his - drank, laughed, chatted. At the end of the night, I was so bushed, I just stumbled back to my room and fell into a fitful sleep.
Oaxaca really is an amazing dream...
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