October 12, 2001
A church in Antigua, Guatemala. Beautiful architecture like this also reigns in old colonial cities like Oaxaca, Mexico.
I spent the last two and a half days here in this old colonial city tucked in a valley in the state of Chiapas. You fall right in love with Oaxaca (wa-HA-ka) upon seeing the tree shaded zocalo (square). Brightly painted buildings in deep blues, pinks, yellows and greens line the streets, while polished wood doors beckon.
The people charm away any remnants of the seige mentality inhereted from any time spent in Mexico City, where one watches over one's shoulder for pickpockets like bin Laden looks for Delta Force. Many other travelers I spoke to left Mexico after a day or so and gravitated here.
My first stop, following two German backpackers took me to a hostel recommended by the Lonely Planet, costing just P70 ($8) per person. I wandered over and opened the door to the communal toilet and found the set from Trainspotting. Bidding my cheaper German friends farewell, I hustled down the street to a hotel for double the price, but newly renovated and clean - and a bano privado (private bath) - Hotel Aurora.
For a while I recalculated the cost of a P150 room ($17), doing my best mental F9 and projecting the cost over the next year. After some mental gyrations I figured that the bank would not be broken and I could "rough it" and save on food instead. Good choice.
Food for the adventurous comes cheap, hot and plentiful, amidst a colorful setting too. Taking a break from the 36-hour endurance ride from Tijuana to Mexico City, the driver beckoned us off the bus in a small town. I grabbed my passport and got ready to run for it, sure we were being handed over to gunmen.
Instead, I found myself wolfing down some tacos at a sidewalk vendor, literally sitting under a street light with the smoke from the skillet, mounted on some contraption with two bike wheels, wafting into my face. Six tacos and P30 later, I thanked the driver for pulling us to his favorite spot...I never found out the city.
Similar dining experiences awaited me in Oaxaca, where a doorway leads to a old woman deep frying quesadillas in a wok for P4 each. Filled with cheese, coriander and covered with frijoles negros and a green salsa, I delighted in the authentic Oaxaca cuisine.
Mexican beer and salted peanuts heralded the night, seated in one of the sidewalk cafes lining the four sides of the zocalo. The distinctive Zapato indian people resembled American Indians, with sharp features, jet black hair and brown eyes. Tourist mingled with locals and other Mexican vacationers circum-ambulating the square.
After a day trip to the nearby Monte Alban ruins, just 30 minutes away, I prepared to leave my newly adopted home in Mexico. Two other travelers from the UK shared drinks with me last night, passing thru Oaxaca for a second time, so strong was their infatuation with the city. I plan to return also...someday.
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