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  Oaxaca De Juárez, Oaxaca, Mexico
Friday, July 3, 2009

It's about 11:30 p.m. already. Long day. We woke up this morning and I was immediately smacked with the reality that I don’t know what to do with myself if I don’t have a list of things that 'have to’ be done. So I busied myself out on the hammock with the chore of trying to figure out a travelog setup that could reach everyone simultaneously. I still haven’t worked out the kinks, but there’s always tomorrow. The wireless setup they have here unfortunately does not reach my room (we’re the last in the row) so I have to park myself elsewhere on the property with the computer to get things done.

There was a private school pool party here this morning, and about 30 (I would guess fifth grade) kids frolicked around in the water as there teachers chatted on the sidelines despite the fact that it was cold and pouring rain

Outside my window

. They transitioned continuously to the trampoline like seals to a rock, and I was surprised that the school would take on the liability of allowing the soaked children to knock each other about on the slick surface. By the time we headed out there weren’t any injuries to be seen though, so I chalked it up to being one of those ‘organized chaos’ scenarios that inexplicably just seems to run seamlessly.

I had a nice breakfast of granola and fruit—mangoes, papaya, apples, and melon. Jurni opted for some good ole’ Wonderbread and butter. We decided to trek downtown with the British boys so that we could get a feel for the ride/directions before having to do it on our own. The hill is a nice walk, with alternating rural slum-type dwellings and upper-middle class villas set back from the road. Mangy mixed-breed dogs roam the streets and often followed us for a few paces before giving up on the chance of a donated bite. Jurni whined the whole way about walking, and eventually James and I alternated carrying her until we got to the bus stop.

The bus is simple, because the roads are one way and the buses don’t turn off them. It’s a straight shot down to the ‘zocalo’, or center square. It costs four pesos to ride the bus, and we also donated a peso or two to a woman in a uniform who gave a very convincing speech about someone somewhere in need of the money she was collecting for some reason outside of my Spanish comprehension

Jurni and Andrea, also age 4

.

The zocalo is a brilliant town square, with only foot traffic permitted and a thriving daily marketplace composed of an interesting mix of cheap plastic imported crap (which the locals seem to buy) and beautiful handmade crafts (which seem to be a hit with the foreigners). The only brand of tourism that I can really make out here is the ‘hip, young European traveler’ set. Most of the people who travel here know Spanish or are immersing themselves in it with a driving desire to learn. I am becoming the latter.

We walked by the Santa Domingo Church, but I guess you need to take a tour to get inside, and the male half of our little caravan had already done so. Jurni and I have time anyway, and will probably double back another day. Jurni picked up a little leather purse that was hand-painted for the raging sum of 10 pesos (about 75 cents) but later left it on a taxi. So much for her first souvenir. We ran into the only other person in Oaxaca whom I know—a woman Lisa I met yesterday on the plane—and she spent the remainder of the day in our company.

So at this point it was Danny and James (the Liverpool lads), Lisa, Jurni and I on an adventure to see the ‘world’s biggest tree’

Strange shadowboxes on the wall

. But what would an adventure be without some local cuisine to satisfy our hunger first? I ordered a Oaxacan appetizer sample platter and got to taste-test some of Oaxacans most famous flavors: fried bananas, tortillas doused with a creamy mole negro (a traditional Oaxacan black sauce made with cocoa, chile, and other spices), guacamole, fried Oaxacan queso (a mozzerella-like locally-made cheese [Mmmm]) and refried black beans. I passed on the stuffed chiles, as well as the grasshoppers.

It turned out to be an incredible hassle to get to the damn tree. Though the necessary bus stop was quite clearly labeled on the map, in real life, it was not so much. We traversed some less than desirable streets in an effort to find the place, and when we finally found the station, it seemed to be somehow entirely unaffiliated with the actual bus we needed to take. Not to mention the station attendants excitedly spouted out bogus directions to us with the intention of leading us to god-knows-where, though their heckling at our backsides and the ‘turista’ comments blew their cover. We eventually settled on a taxi.

The five of us piled in, and Danny was quite confused in the comfort of his passenger seat when the driver pulled over and attempted to pick up another fare (which would have required Danny’s six-foot self to straddle the gear shift?)

Jurni's favorite mode of transportation

. Jurni sprawled out across the three of us in the backseat and slept the entire length of the bumpy stop-and-go ride. (Enter: Lost souvenir.) The tree was impressive in size, but hell, you can’t climb the thing or anything. You can’t even step back far enough away from it to get a comprehensive photograph. So we got a few shots of the trunk and some of the branches. And some of the strange neighboring garden in which someone had laboriously shaped all of the bushes into animals. Hmm.

We headed back to the zocalo in the end and did the only natural thing—order more food and more beer. Then we taxied it up to La Villada and tallied up Coronas on my ‘honor’ sheet, as the boys are no longer registered at the inn. It was a good day all in all. Good food, good company, and a really big tree. And we booked a bus tour sort of thing for tomorrow that stops at three of the notable artisan villages and ends at the acclaimed Ocotlan market. Lisa’s going to return first thing in the morning, as they’re going to pick us up right at La Villada. We also talked one of the other girls into coming along, and possibly a forth. I’m looking forward….

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Jurni asleep across our laps en route to Tule	Curiously shaped bushes at Tule	Fountain	Our crew
Anybody know what these are?	Another Jesus	Santa Domingo	A tree outside of Santa Domingo
Our hostel	Our hostel and James	Danny and Lisa

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