We walked up Xicotencatl, which I always call “sheep and cattle” street.  It becomes Pino Suarez north of Independencia.  Not a single restaurant door was open on a Sunday until we arrived at El Pipe, where we had a nice breakfast before going across the street and up a bit to the OLL (Oaxaca Lending Library).  They were renting out tables for their annual fundraiser, and the place was filled, upstairs and down, with vendors and craftspeople, Mexican and expats alike.  It was fun to look at but of course, we have one stuffed suitcase and no more stuffing is possible.  However, we met an osteopath named Scott Beaver who’s lived here for eight years and he invited us to come and sing with his acapella group tomorrow evening at four, just two blocks north of the zocalo.

We found a delightful second floor patio cafe next door to the OLL that serves guests of the Mahagua hotel.  Like many little hotels, it is discretely hidden and doesn’t seem to need to advertise.  It serves the kind of western breakfast we enjoy, so we’ll eat there next time we visit the OLL.  Quiet little rooms away from street noise are what I prefer for meals. We were impressed although later we discovered a downside to this breakfast spot. Afterward we walked home through the neighbourhood of small artisan shops that serve tourists; one collection of such shops was down a long narrow passage with great plants on either side.  We enjoyed the greenery and took a few photos.

When we reached the zocalo we strolled through (little happening there in the daytime) and I was magnetically pulled into the buffet on the eastern edge, which included many traditional Oaxacan dishes.  One was stuffed poblano peppers, which Deborah ate until she got to the seeds near the stem, which were too hot for her so she pawned the rest of it off on me.  There’s a warning that if you don’t eat everything you put on your plate they’ll charge you 50% extra, and she was afraid to challenge that.  I had fruit for dessert, and stewed guava which I love.  You have to eat the seeds whole, though.  Chewing them would break your teeth.  Another nice touch was the bottle of mescal on the end table along with jugs of horchata, jamaica and tamarind juices, which are called aguas here.  Agua normally means water, but there is always an “agua del dia” as part of a menu del dia (or “comida corrida”), that is always actually juice.

There were shot glasses on a tray beside the bottle of mescal, and anyone who had the buffet could help themselves to shots.  I did, although I hated the sour green oranges and powdered salty “worm chili” that you’re supposed to bite down on while sipping the mescal.  Actually they call it “kissing” the mescal. You don’t “shoot” mescal, they explain.  You taste it, rolling it gently around on your tongue.

After dinner and a nap we did our evening stroll to the zocalo, where the DJ was back.  80 couples or more were doing cumbia, salsa and other bouncy dances.  It is a carnival atmosphere there.

Feb 2nd.  This being Candelaria (Candlemass), a significant religious holiday, I expected many places to be closed.  People dress up baby Jesus figures (or a doll as a facsimile) and carry them through the streets to churches for blessings.  However, instead of the small processions we expected to see, a large contingent (several thousand) of marchers from regional indigenous pueblas and areas arrived at the zocalo for a 45th anniversary protest and calls for justice for people killed and disappeared during the event, and for continuing violence and impunity for perpetrators.  Today is a national holiday, so I guess that they felt it was a propitious time to organize people who weren’t going to work or to school anyway.  There were as many flags as people, and the women all wore red patterned dresses with ribbons, rather like our indigenous ribbon skirts, but mostly vertical.  The marchers are demanding an audience with the state government.  There were bullhorns and chants, and we can hear them from four long blocks away, through all the concrete buildings.  If they don’t get their audience they might do a sit-in that lasts for more than a day, but that would be unusual.  Most will have jobs to go to tomorrow.

The traditional food today is tamales (several types of fillings) and atole, a warm corn-based drink.  I had a nap, ignoring the explosions of cherry bombs and fireworks going off in the streets nearby every few seconds, which perhaps represent revolution but they seem to be commonplace on any holiday.  We headed to the markets for those traditional foods for our mid-day meal but we were already too late.  In any case, the popular tamale here is rather sweet, made with chocolate mole and chicken, and I would prefer a more piquante tamale verde.  So we split a tlayuda and a bowl of chocolate atole, and walked slowly up to Scott Beaver’s acappella singing experience.  

It turned out to be the local chapter of an international group called the Threshold singers, who comfort people who are sick and some who are dying and agitated about it, by singing acappella to them in soothing harmonies.  Deb loved it, almost as much as our free symphony last Thursday.

We walked home and had some tamales - not the ones I like, but interesting - given to us by a young Mexican family who are spending a few days in one of the units here.  They went to Santo Domingo today and were given more free tamales themselves.  It seems to be a thing on Candelaria, to give out free tamales, which are basically just a pocket of nshima with any kind of filling, inside a banana leaf which keeps them moist and lends a tiny bit of flavour.  The tlayuda was better.  It had refried beans, stringy white Oaxacan cheese, fresh tomato slices, pounded flat pork scaloppini on one side and pounded beef on the other, and reddish chorizo in the middle, all on a placemat sized large thin crispy corn tortilla, like a giant cracker.

Feb 3rd.  It was 4 degrees when I woke up this morning.  After breakfast, a short walk and a nap, it is now noon, and it is 24 degrees.  

Jalatlaco is a famous neighbourhood in Oaxaca because of the impressive murals painted on the walls around the streets. I guess the practice began as a neighbourhood improvement project, perhaps to attract tourists away from the center of Oaxaca to a poorer, older part of the city. Deborah collected some good photos, not that there aren’t very good ones online already.  It is better for photographs to go early in the morning (which was cold) or in the late afternoon, so that the sun is on one side or the other rather than beating straight down.  We walked to El Pipe for supper and then onward to the barrio.  Supper was great - a delicious bean soup, and I had Hawaiian chicken - a “smashed flat” cutlet with ham and pineapple on it.  These are the sorts of surprises you might get with your Menu del Dia in a restaurant that is connected to a hotel, since it caters to international tourists.

After the cobblestones of Jalatlaco I got within three blocks of home when my knee very suddenly and dramatically cried out “Enough!”.  That was after about 8,000 steps, 4.65 km.  I stopped, took a Celebrex and continued, and it soon became easier to walk.  In the evening, after a nap, we walked to the zocalo and discovered it was covered on every park and sidewalk surface with small tents.  It is part of a sit-in protest by phys ed and technical secondary teachers who say that they’ve been unpaid some work hours for up to ten years.  Some critics claim little sympathy, though, and assert that teachers are hired with barely a high school education, and largely on the merit of knowing the right somebody.  I don’t know the truth of this assertion.  I also don’t know how long the job action will last; I hope it doesn’t prevent the orchestra we’re planning to go and see in the zocalo on Thursday evening.  We’ll see.

While there, we met Vic, who we’d met at the Aloha Tiki Bar Language Exchange last Wednesday, and who turns out to be a software engineer from Regent Park in Toronto.  He wanted ice cream, so we went to Michoacan ice cream bar for frozen ice bars.  His was a kind of fruit we don’t know called manchi, and Deb had that too, but she bought me a pineapple and chili bar instead.  It wasn’t great.  She thought I’d like it because I like chili and I like pineapple, but frankly, not together.  But we ate them all up.

Feb 4th. I was uncertain whether I wanted to go to the Rufino Tamano museum of prehispanic art, but I reflected that Laurence Wright would be aghast if I came all the way to Oaxaca and didn’t view the figurines there, which Rufino had carefully preserved from people who would sell them to collectors outside the country.  It was free but we made a donation, and it was interesting.  We spent a couple of hours there, absorbing the personality of prehispanic people through their stone and clay creations.

On the way home we had hot chocolate made with water rather than milk, as recommended by a guy from Queretaro, Mauricio, who is staying here with his wife and infant son, Alejandra and Julian.  I think that I still prefer my chocolate with milk.  Or in solid form.

We ate our supper at Cafe Mook.  We each had an alambre sencillo, which is Deb’s favourite food.  We got unapologetically overcharged for a jug of jamaica.  This is colloquially known as the “gringo tax”.  We continued to the restaurant Oruga, which has a very tiny sign on the outside beside the main door - very difficult to find.  Oruga means caterpillar, rather than the horn on a 1920’s automobile.  Inside was an amazing space, built with the eye of an artist, and originally functioned as a preschool.  It is a bar, a gallery and an “audiobar” with lots of albums you can choose from.  The organizers, pencil thin young ladies, had set up taller stools with candles in the middle of each, and lower stools to sit on, and cards with conversation starter questions in English and Spanish.  I don’t think anyone used them, but conversation flowed.  The music and the loud voices made my partner and I move away from the group a little.  My partner was Molly, a caterer from New Jersey, but she spoke Spanish well enough that we could work as a pair, practicing Spanish.  After the first hour I met Deb’s partners David and Meseti.  Meseti spoke very clear and easy to understand Spanish, which I thought was amazing coming out of the mouth of a Mexican.  It is commonly said that Colombians speak the best Spanish, but she was better.

Feb 5th.  We walked to the Mahagua hotel for breakfast, next door to the OLL.  The open air second floor dining room was pleasant but I’d neglected to reflect on the fact that there would be street noise, including trucks that are allowed to use airbrakes, police sirens, and the honking of frustrated drivers.  I had an ok breakfast and a very good fruit salad with granola on Greek Yogurt.  

After breakfast we went downstairs to the OLL and played Mexican Train, a dominoes game that Laurence and Joan taught us several years ago.  Laurence loved Oaxaca and told us about the lending library, so my speculation is that he learned to play the game here and bought one when he got home.  We have one now too.  We met several expats, including a guy who’d come to live in Vancouver after being conscripted into the Rhodesian army.  He'd served eighteen months there and came under fire from insurgents on the border from the Zambian side.  He decided that was an unhealthy place to live.

Oaxaca is kind of a sleepy little town.  Buildings are uniformly two stories tall with central courtyards, and like in any small town, you meet the same people here and there.  We bumped into Julie and François and chatted for a while.  For our afternoon meal we tried a place with a cheap menu, but it was a disappointment - very sour lemonade, a half bowl of watery bean soup like dishwater, and two rather small meat enchiladas apiece.  No dessert.  So we went to Mayordomo in the zocalo, where they have great meals but also lots of chocolate and desserts.  We shared an apple strudel and a bowl of chocolate. It is diagonally across from the hotel that we think Lili and Delio stayed in when they were here.  We guess that it is expensive, certainly much more than our airbnb, but at the same time ours may be quieter, not being on the main square.

After dinner, we hoped to see the orchestra playing at six in the zocalo, but the teachers’ occupation had continued and the orchestra wasn’t able to set up. There seems to be a convention of vendors covering almost every inch of sidewalk, though.  However, we discovered that there was a concert at the Cultural Centre of San Pablo. It was a world class virtuoso Mexican pianist named Liliana Obando in a duet concert with classical saxophonist Filomeno Ortiz.  It was powerful and amazing.  Another peak experience that we had to come to this sleepy little town to experience - for free, third row from the front, and within a short walk from our residence.  Nothing is too far away, and I’m comfortable walking a few kilometres per day.  

Feb 6th.  Today the tents are finally gone from the zocalo, and the bundles of strikers’ belongings are slowly being removed.  It will be a toss-up for us between a parade and or a choral performance.  It may be difficult to choose between them but I think the parade will win.  Seems more exciting, and will have dancers and brass bands.  There are also performances of traditional music, jazz, and an organ concert in Jalatlaco.

Breakfast at Suites de la Parra was excellent.  Lucera, who spent many years in North Carolina, has warmed to us and Flor makes great breakfast plates including aguacate, which Deborah loves with every breakfast.  After that we had little to do…we walked around, napped, went to Cafe Dubai for a decent and fair-priced menu del dia, then waited at the zocalo.  Amy was taking a tour and spotted us.  I waited for hours for the calenda (a parade), just hanging out on benches and concrete walls, and finally it happened.  Three distinct groups accompanied by brass bands, with Monos de Calenda dancing, along with kids dressed up as old people and as elegant Spanish ladies.  After those three groups passed through a parade of kids came, accompanied by more brass bands and by marmotas.  They were from a folkloric school and were celebrating the 65th anniversary of the school.  They had walked and danced all the way down from the Templo de Santo Domingo Guzman.  Different age groups took the stage. I didn’t like sitting too close to the loudspeakers, subjected to Mexican decibel levels, and I noticed that there appeared to be a rooftop for customers at the top of Mayodomo.  Vic had joined us, and he went to scope it out.  He texted us that there was an elevator to the top of the building, so we went up, had a bite to eat and watched the stage from there.

When we returned to the airbnb there were two girls there who’d been sent by Josue to check things out.  They were shocked when we chatted and they discovered that I was the guy in room 6 who’d been complaining about a lack of clean bed linen for my first three days here.  But they wanted to know more, and to learn what other things we’d spotted that needed to be improved.

It will be our last full day in Oaxaca, which has turned out to be a more pleasant two weeks than I’d expected by the end of the first week.

Feb 7th.  We walked almost seven kilometres today - just under 11,000 steps on Deb’s phone counter.  We first went to OLL, where we had a very productive session of language intercambio, one hour in English and one in Spanish.  Vic was there, and François and Julie met us there.  We walked to the little market in the parking garage near our house and had puebla food and ginger beer.

After our nap, Deb was committed to joining the Threshold choir a second time, and they were meeting all the way up in Jalatlaco.  My phone was acting up so Didi wasn’t an option.  We walked.  Afterward we both agreed that it wasn’t as satisfying and fun as the first time.  We’re going back to our own musical outlets and probably won’t bother with Threshold choir in Toronto.

I wanted to listen to an organ recital on one of the oldest pipe organs in N. America, one of about sixteen that were brought here in pieces from Spain four hundred years ago.  They are all being restored, funded by concert donations.  Chatgpt was convinced that it was happening in the cathedral on the zocalo, but there wasn’t the peep of an organ when I walked up to the door.  There were people dancing to a band not far away, and there was a quintet playing instrumental tunes outside a restaurant farther down the square: marimba, alto sax, trumpet, drums and bass.  They were good.

We were hungry by then and had our last Oaxaca supper at Chili Guajili, an amazing fast food restaurant that focuses on Oaxacan dishes in generous portions.  We’d noticed people lined up at that restaurant before, and it soon became clear why.  Deb had tacos that you couldn’t pick up because they were heaped so high with beef, peppers, onions and cheese; I had a large tlayuda with a tasajo steak on top.  We could barely walk home.

Feb 8th.  After our last breakfast in Oaxaca we took a yellow cab to the ADO bus station.  We checked into the special departure lounge where I’m typing this, and where we’ll wait until we board our top tier bus and ride it for seven hours to Mexico City.  Deb bought sandwiches and peanut cookies  in the station so that we will survive on our journey.

The Platino class departure lounge is intimate and quiet, with comfortable couches and armchairs, security, device charging stations, private bathrooms, and a deal for a free Americano (espresso machine) coffee if you present your ticket at a neighbouring coffee shop inside the terminal.  Once on the bus, conditions were amazing.  The seats were ergonomic, reclined enough for comfortable sleeping, and made your back happy even until the end of a seven hour ride.  They had controls to bring up your foot rest, leg room for a seven foot person, perhaps, air conditioning, a USB charging station for your devices, free water and pop plus ear buds as you board, WIFI, and a large screen that you can tilt up if the guy in front of you reclines his chair.  It was half the price of airfare with twice the comfort, except for the amount of time to get there; but it was silent, with great shocks on the bus, and a cheap Uber ride once you reached the ADO terminal.  Taxis to and from the Oaxacan airport are notoriously expensive and with check-in and security time, and tight seats on the plane, I was happy to have chosen the bus.  I watched four movies in Spanish (no subtitles offered, at least none that I could find.)  In short, the bus was all that U.S. and Canadian long haul buses ought to be, but aren’t.

Feb 9th.  The uber to Claudia’s airbnb, where we stayed three years ago, was only $8.  The bed is super-comfortable after the one we'd slept on for the last two weeks, and everything is spic and span.  The only downside is that the jets  from the airport next door begin to take off bright and early in the morning, as soon as the light allows for safe take-offs and people are safely in their seats.

The only drawback to Claudia’s place is that she and Fernando are expanding, so there is noise from bricks and bags of concrete arriving, and some pounding and electric tool noise.  And of course the workers need to be kept cheerful so there is loud “mariachi opera” going on at times, punctuated by trumpet fanfare runs and riffs in thirds.

Las Delicias restaurant is three blocks away and breakfast is as complete and delicious as we remembered, if not more.  There’s a charge for extras like milk for your coffee instead of Coffeemate powder, and a small bowl of butter for your bread.  There are two parks nearby, side-by-side, and we’re close to the airport for the morning.  Deb did our check-in 24 hours in advance from here, and then we went for a hike to the bus and metro system. I overrode Deb’s shyness and anxiety about asking for directions. With coaxing and prodding, she approached people, and we got where needed to go.  We met the kindest and most helpful people imaginable, and Deb kept giving out her little Canada lapel pins.  We rode the double decker red Metro bus that crosses the city on Avenida Reforma, and re-familiarized ourselves with landmarks from the upper deck.  As we were falling asleep last night, Deb asked if I’d written about the really nice people like Diana who’d taken care of us on the metro.

I'd left my phone in the room, charging, but we got Didi to work on Deb’s phone, using my account. We ordered up a ride to La Isla Bonita, which we’ve enjoyed three years ago, but this time it was completely transformed. It is party central, with an all you can eat buffet of shrimp dishes and people throughout the room celebrating birthdays. Waiters and neighbouring tables sang Las Mañanitas at the top of their lungs while fireworks candles sprayed sparks and the birthday person was presented with a slice of fancy cake. $22 apiece included a stack of dirty plates, including desserts, a large goblet of horchata and a tip for the entertaining waiter. There was a DJ, and Deborah was shoulder-tweaking, which got him going as well. 

Sadly, we returned to a room with no Wifi. We can't find our thumb drive with shows and movies from Laurence, and the library has reclaimed the book I borrowed, so we might be going to bed early, like peasants in the middle ages. This text is only possible because it saves on my tablet while offline. 

Feb 10th.  The wifi came back on.  I’d been concerned about being able to order an Uber on my phone.  After a great La Mexicana omelette at Las Delicias, we chatted for a while and then hugged goodbye with Claudia and Fernanda.  We met a Belgian and a farmer from eastern Saskatchewan, both of whom spoke solid Spanish.  The Uber to the airport was easy - $4 - check-in was a breeze and the flight was great.  Good movies and beverages, and a soft landing in chilly Toronto, but the thawing has begun so it was clear and easy to drag our suitcase up the street to our house. 

It was a successful choice of destinations, and a good 28 day adventure.