Reflections: October 2017

We made it through month one without a hitch. Having had to return home years ago from an intended three month trip to Honduras after only two weeks, we honestly expected our plans for this journey to go up in flames within the first few days. Still adjusting to life abroad but feeling a bit more confident that this grand plan to backpack from Mexico to Patagonia might actually work out, we took a ten-hour bus from Mexico City through the high altitude desert of Puebla to Oaxaca, our home for the next seven weeks.

People back home who had been to Oaxaca had told us stories of this magical place where tradition is woven into daily life, ancient dishes bursting with flavor are prepared in every home and eatery, and rugged mountains plummet into the sea. Wanting to slowly explore this dreamy state, we decided to rent a studio apartment just blocks from the historic center of the city. Though we planned for this apartment to be a home base, we never anticipated the family of fellow travelers and locals that would make this place feel like a home.

Unlike the massive square that is Mexico City's zócalo, Oaxaca's is much smaller and filled with shoe shiners and people selling raspados. People dine in the outdoor cafés that wrap around the square and children chase each other with balloons. We spent our first few days eating popsicles and fresh potato chips and people watching. On any given night, the zócalo would erupt into festivities. Mariachis played old songs that people knew by heart. Women in traditional local dresses danced and carried ornate floral arrangements. Bottles of mezcal were passed around for all to enjoy. Fireworks banged and crackled through the night. It seemed like there was always something to celebrate.

Men have their shoes shined in the zócalo in Oaxaca City.

Fireworks light up the Cathedral in Oaxaca City's zócalo.

We went to see the ancient ruins in Mitla, the religious center of the Zapotec empire. We got to admire up close the detailed geometric designs that don't exist anywhere else in Mexico.

Oaxaca is considered the culinary capital of Mexico, and we dove head first into tasting everything from chapulines (fried grasshoppers) to tlayudas (large flat tortillas topped with beans, cheese, veggies, and meat). But to really understand Oaxacan cuisine, we took a cooking class and learned how to make the king of moles: mole negro. The smooth, rich blend of chilis, chocolate, spices, nuts, and dried fruit was to die for.

The final product: a decadent mole negro.

After enjoying the fruits of our labor and washing it down with a little too much mezcal and beer, we followed Scott and Nimra, friends we made that afternoon, to their apartment rooftop and watched the sun set and the city light up.

We went to Santa María del Tule to celebrate the Tule Tree, the stoutest tree in the world. The tree, located on the grounds of the church, was decorated in flower garland. A brass band played to honor the tree and people walked around pouring shots of mezcal for the crowd. Later, as we sat in the adjacent park eating a mango chili ice cream, we heard a loud bang and a mushroom of smoke grew in the sky. A firework factory nearby had exploded, and miraculously no one was hurt.

The tule tree and the church of Santa María de la Asunción.

We saw several exhibits at the Textile Museum and tried our hand at quilting. We dipped into art galleries and admired paintings, fabrics, and pottery. Our new friend Claudia just finished her printmaking class and invited us to her exhibit. Little did we know that Claudia would become like a sister over the following weeks.

We took the bus to Mitla and then hopped in the back of a pickup truck that took us around switchback roads up into the mountains until we reached Hierve el Agua. We swam in the cyan pools at the top of the petrified waterfall and basked in the sun. As the crowds cleared, we grabbed a piña loca, a hollowed pineapple filled with fresh mandarin juice and mezcal, decorated with pineapple slices, and topped with chamoy and chili. We brought our tent in case we ended up camping, and as a man announced the last colectivo was leaving for town, we looked at each other, our massive piña loca, and the sun hanging just above the valley ridge, and decided to stay the night.

The petrified waterfalls at Hierve el Agua.

A piña loca, made with fresh pineapple, mandarin juice, mezcal, chamoy, and chili.

One by one, people left Hierve el Agua and we soon realized we were the only ones camping. After reading a review online that fake police men had showed up in the middle of the night and demanded money from some campers, we were a little worried we'd exposed ourselves to the same situation being alone in the mountains. Afraid to fully set up camp to deter anyone from finding us, we looked for shooting stars to distract us from the plummeting temperature and mist. It was a long and cold night, but the sunrise we caught the next morning was one of the most serene landscapes we've ever seen. We had the place to ourselves and even took a dip without bathing suits.

When we finally went up to the parking lot to head back to town, we were told it would be another hour for the next colectivo to arrive. A Mexican family noticed us and asked if we needed a ride. Grateful to not have to wait in the crisp morning air another hour, we gladly accepted Zaira's offer. But what started as a ride back to Oaxaca city turned into a deep friendship and one of the most magical days we've had.

When she found out we hadn't had breakfast, Zaira took us to the market at Tlacolula to eat at her sister-in-law's booth. The whole family gathered around the table and feasted. Traditional Oaxacan hot chocolate and mezcal were passed around. With full bellies, we zipped off to the Zapotec ruins of Monte Albán and admired the views of the valley below.

New friends and the ruins at Monte Albán

When Zaira heard that we loved barro, the traditional pottery used either for cooking or decoration, she insisted on taking us to the artisan market in Atzompa where locals buy their barro. It happened to be the market's 24th birthday and the entire town was celebrating outside. Children and abuelas sat at long tables to eat. A multi-tiered cake was on display. After we bought some barro for Rebecca's mom and left the market, some people came up behind us to grab our attention. "Here, have some food. Grab a beer. Come celebrate with us." Before we knew it, we were sitting at a table with full plates of chicken and mole and tiny cups of mezcal in front of us. With our bellies now bursting, Zaira took us to her home to meet her family. We picked up her youngest daughter and drove to Huayapam to try what Zaira said is the best tejate (a traditional drink made of corn and cacao) around. As we watched the sunset in the park, we looked at each other in disbelief of the warmth of the people we'd met in Mexico.

We met up with Claudia and two friends, Julian and Chabi, and tasted pulque, an alcoholic drink made from fermented maguey sap. The next night was Chabi's birthday, and Julian threw him a surprise party at their hostel. That night we met so many people who would in one way or another become part of our journey in Oaxaca and beyond.

Though we'd drank our fair share of mezcal since arriving in Mexico, we wanted to visit Matatlán, the capital of mezcal, to sample and stock up on this beloved liquor. Expecting a big town full of tourists with the same idea, we were shocked when it turned out to be a single dirt road devoid of visitors. We found a few stores that were open and posted up at the bar. A woman placed tiny cups and a plate of peanuts, lime, and sal de gusano in front of us, and we tried all the mezcal we could dream of. Espadín, tobaziche, tepeztate, pechuga, reposado, añejo, and every flavor of crema. We left with seven bottles and a bag of sal de gusano.

We went to the ethnobotanical garden with Zaira and learned about the plant diversity in Oaxaca. We crushed cochineal, a small bug that lives on nopales, to reveal the bright crimson color that is still used to dye traditional fabrics.

Native Oaxacan plants at the ethnobotanical garden of Santo Domingo.

Walking around the ethnobotanical garden of Santo Domingo.

Later, Zaira and her sister-in-law took us to the night market to buy fresh ingredients for her sister-in-law's restaurant. It was a bustling scene of chilis, tomatoes, pineapples, garlic, jamaica, peaches, and corn. We devoured tamales and the best esquite we've ever had. Zaira was taking us to places even our other local friends didn't know about.

The last Sunday of the month, we ventured out to the market at Tlacolula, one of the biggest and oldest markets in Mexico. It was especially grand that Sunday because Day of the Dead was coming up in a few days and everyone was shopping for flowers and food to prepare their altars. We got lost among all the livestock, fruits, flowers, barrels of insects, and chocolate. Oaxaca is known for its elaborate Day of the Dead festivities, and the market was just the beginning of preparing us for this holiday that overwhelms the senses.

Women cook meat and vegetables at the market of Tlacolula.

In the zócalo and surrounding streets people painted caterinas, the iconic and elaborate Day of the Dead skull, on faces. Hundreds of people paraded around the streets at any hour of the day playing music, drinking mezcal, and carrying enormous papier-mâché puppets. Fireworks drizzled from the sky.

People paint caterina's on their faces in honor of Day of the Dead.

A comparsa takes place in the streets of Oaxaca in celebration of Day of the Dead.

The last night of October, we met our friends and drove out to a cemetery in Xoxocotlán. Families crowded around graves adorned with fresh flowers, photos, and bottles of mezcal, and thousands of candles lit their faces with a warm glow. Mariachi bands played beloved tunes while people danced, and women walked around selling tacos to keep everyone fed through the night.

Graves at the cemetery in Xoxocotlán are decorated for Day of the Dead.

Two brothers light candles at a family grave in the cemetery of Xoxocotlán.

Family members play music at a grave in the cemetery of Xoxocotlán.

We stayed there until the wee hours, huddled with one of our friends at their family grave, and passed around a bottle of mezcal to stay warm. It was a gloriously festive end to our second month on the road.

Mexico, ReflectionsRebecca Nieves-McGoldrickNovember 7, 2017Mexico, Oaxaca, Mitla, Monte Alban, Ruins, Day of the Dead, Dia de los Muertos, Tlacolula, Matatlan, Mezcal, Hierve el AguaComment