Oaxaca, Part II

Judy. After I sent some photos to a friend, she wrote and asked me about the city of Oaxaca. In her imagination, it is a small town, a pueblo, made up of mud brick houses and a great deal of poverty. It’s a fair assumption; we know so little about cities outside what we read in the daily news, especially in Mexico. Most of us who have visited have seen only border towns or resorts, so a city in central Mexico can be beyond our imaginations, especially one nestled in a valley where two mountain ranges come together. 

Oxaca sign by the Templo

First of all, it’s not tiny. In 2010 the population was listed at 255,000. It’s noted for its colonial architecture, much of it using a pale green-colored volcanic stone. There are dozens of old churches, some from the sixteenth century. In particular, the Templo of Santo Domingo is huge, beautiful, and popular. I’m told there is a months-long waiting list to use it for weddings. The Zocalo, or town square, is surrounded by old buildings as well as booths where locals sell their wares: colorful shirts, dresses, skirts, silver, pottery, etc. Interestingly, many of the local women wear these; they’re not just for tourists and expats. There’s been a soap opera filming here, and I’m told it’s being used more and more as a set because of the beautiful colonial buildings.

 

Oaxaca has an interesting past. Many indigenous tribes were here, particularly the Zapotec, who populate pueblos nearby. These people were the first to cultivate corn and develop chocolate. They have created beautiful silver jewelry from the ore here, and their black pottery from the dark clay is famous. There are ancient ruins here in the mountains of government and religious centers. It is a very old culture.

Adobe, limestone, & stucco

Many of the buildings in the center of town ARE adobe, but covered with stucco. It’s easy to see the adobe underneath because of the earthquakes we’ve been experiencing. Daily we see workers repairing these buildings. Some are built with cinderblock and stucco, and most of the newer buildings use rebar for stabilization during an earthquake. We recently met at woman who was terrified after our last 4.7 quake because she lives alone in a 200-year-old building. I would say it’s worth being scared.

Door to our Airbnb

Inside the door

Walking down the streets the houses are closed off—not very inviting. But if you happen by when a door opens, you often see a lush patio surrounded by rooms—the Spanish/Moorish influence. A Miscellanea  (convenience store) might only be recognized because the door is open. It is, in a word, quaint.

Our rooftop patio

Streets and sidewalks are not so quaint. They’re often filled with potholes, elevation changes, broken concrete, and metal pieces randomly sticking up from the walkways. Recently I read through a guidebook that mentioned these, reminding us to watch our step. Traffic can be rough, which means crossing the street is iffy—but not as scary as Cambodia was.

I walk twenty minutes to my well-taught yoga class at Prana Yoga, and seven minutes to a local spa where I got a killer hour-and-a-half massage, complete with wine at the end. There are high-end dress shops (modern) and thrift stores, just like in any major city. En Via, the foundation that sponsors our English classes, has its offices fifteen minutes away in a gorgeous gated compound, which houses the Cultural Institute. The grounds are green and lush, and the buildings are clean and fresh, built in the colonial style.  

The nearby park is used all the time: kids skateboard or skate around the fountain, lovers kiss in the shadows, teens giggle on their way home from school, and food vendors ply their wares. On Fridays the perimeter is lined with a traveling market, where you can get tacos for about .75 each, while you share a table and condiments with whoever sits down. Saturdays there’s an open-air Zumba class that’s packed with dancers.

Parque El LLano

Speaking of dancers, there are Salsa, Cumbia, Rumba, and other dances taught at Candela, which we pass when we head downtown. The students are glorious to watch.

We can spend $60 on a meal with wine in an upscale and beautiful restaurant, or eat a cup of esquites (corn soup) we buy from a street vendor for .90 each. Once we stopped at a bar to get out of the rain and bought two beers ($2), and the waiter brought us each a bowl of soup. There is terrific food in all price ranges.

There are big grocery stores, but we do most of our shopping at the Mercado down the street. However, eating out is so cheap that we usually eat at least one meal per day out. By the way, we do eat the fruits and veggies, and some street food, and have yet to get sick.

However, lest you think we are living in a little pueblo, once you step outside the Centro, the scenery changes. Our bus to Tlachochahuaya, the village where we teach, takes us past modern buildings on good roads. (The bus, however, is a collectivo, an old bus with no schedule—a conductor stands by the driver and yells out the name of the town they’re headed to, then takes your ten pesos when you get off.)  Last Friday evening we attended a movie at the Oaxaca Film Festival, located in a mall beside a big department store called Fabrique en France. I peered in the door and saw makeup counters: Mac, Estee’ Lauder, etc. Things were definitely more modern there.

There are many expats (Ted has a blog on that), and some tourists, though that number is expected to go through the roof closer to Dia de los Muertos. We attend church in an American mission, and on Saturdays go to the Oaxaca Lending Library to practice Spanish in an intercambio—one hour in English and one in Spanish. My second week of speaking was definitely better, and we both can tell our Spanish is rudimentary but improving. We try not to mix too much with other Americans, basically because we want to practice the language here. The Oaxaquenos  are friendly and helpful, especially if we greet them in their own language.

Living here is not always easy. Our big jug of drinking water needs to be replaced soon; in most public buildings you must put used toilet paper in a trash can, not flush it; we’re not quite used to the soft, sweet bread. But to us, it’s worth it. Big time.