I started a draft of this post a couple weeks back, at that time I wasn’t all that enthralled with Oaxaca. I was certainly having fun but as of then I hadn’t seen any reason to return. It’s the end of my trip now and rereading what I wrote two weeks ago, and rewriting to reflect a newer and more holistic reality, is kinda trippy.

In the past couple weeks the city and I have finally melted together somewhat. It’s still not quite what I expected, a lot more tourists and a lot more tourist focused than I expected. I would guess I arrived about 10 years too late maybe 20. In one of my favourite books the main character travels to Oaxaca in 1984 to try and get his ex brother-in-law out of cartel controlled jail. The way that Oaxaca sounds is what I was looking for. The fat German tourists with their socks and sandals he describes are still present 40 years later, I just fear they’re me.

I’d still love to come back for longer though. It took time to start finding what I was looking for and I really feel I was just starting to get it towards the end. I really love the feeling of starting to add this donut shop, that taco place, the bar behind the alley wall, to my quiver of local knowledge, it’s a wonderful feeling of a particular kind of learning experience.

The centre of Oaxaca City is basically divided into two areas, northeast of the highway is Reforma, the newer part of the city core, think wide streets and nice sidewalks, in a month staying here I never got a chance to visit Reforma even once, next time though.

A 25 minute walk southwest of Reforma, south of the highway, is Centro, the old city centre, the UNESCO Heritage site, etc, where we stayed.

Centro is situated around the zocalo (central square). North of the zocalo is the historic, pretty, clean, touristy area, where we stayed for the first three weeks. South of the zocalo is the market area, more local, rougher around the edges, more lived in, we moved here for the last week and a bit.

The city, especially the historic area north of the zocalo, is the first place I’ve spent significant time where it’s clear from most interactions you’re not a person but a tourist, at least until you put in some work to break through that. The old city feels somewhat sanitized and artificial. I certainly did not have a bad time staying here, but what was pushed aside to make room for tourists is probably what’s missing for me (and yes, I realize I am just another tourist too). Locals are less than thrilled by this situation as well. I understand nothing about the economic impacts of a city becoming a tourism destination at all, and I also understand I’m part of the problem but at the same time it’s a reminder of reality to be hanging out in a city full of graffiti telling me to go home. There is a tent city near the zocalo that stretches a few blocks, we spent some time there, translating the protest signs and at least making an attempt to understand how the recent rapid changes to Oaxaca City are affecting people.

The old city, while undoubtedly beautiful, with street after street of old Spanish block construction, felt oppressive to me on some level. The endless walls and complete absence of greenspace make a lot of the streets in the area a concentration of heat and noise and exhaust fumes. Hiking through these gauntlets just to pass shop after shop of tourist focused items I have zero interest in, to get to tourist focused restaurants that were almost never as good as they had been hyped to be, left me feeling a bit woozy.

I think a certain type of person is going to be most happy staying in Reforma and a certain type is going to be most happy staying in the old city north of the zocalo but we eventually figured out we were neither of these people and we moved to a new place further south, a block south of the central market. Within hours we realized swapping cocktail bars and jewelry stores for tire shops and chocolate processors was more what we were looking for.

The location change also helped the food situation. One of the main reasons for planning this extended stay in Oaxaca had been years of hearing about the amazing food culture in Oaxaca. While we were certainly able to find good food eventually, especially after moving away from the tourist areas, the Oaxacan cuisine was quite different from what we had expected, either that or we got extremely unlucky over and over with restaurant picks. I had a list of must-try restaurants in the old city and we tried them night after night for the first while, coming away disappointed every time, the restaurants look great, the food looks great, but when you actually eat it the realization that it’s quite mediocre, and expensive, hit us again and again. After a while it sorta started to feel like a joke was being played on the dumb tourists.

Some dishes were not great, some were pretty good, none were worth the money when compared to what you could get in the street or the market. On our last night in Oaxaca I decided to give one last try to the local fancy dining scene, I did a ton of research, found a place that seemed more than just an Instagram filter and we went, it was quite good, I’d say B+ overall but it still had the typical ice cold Mexican service and the cost was, to me, way out of line, we shared two appetizers and one entree plus cocktails and the meal came to $12o Canadian, I just don’t see why anyone would pick this over the better tasting four course lunch in the market for $7.50 Canadian.

Eventually we gave up on all but a couple restaurants and spent more time in the market food stalls and around street carts. Even here however there was much more mediocre food than anything notable. After a month I have a good list of good foods but after coming from Mexico City I still found the Oaxacan food experience quite surprising, and really disappointing.

The bar scene in the old city mirrors the restaurants, the area is packed with interesting looking cocktail bars, often with lovely rooftop patios, but once you spend some time in a few and scratch the surface a bit you realize the drinks are really not very good, nor is the service and most of the bars feel like they were assembled with parts ordered from the same “build your own rooftop cocktail bar” catalog. Not terrible but pretty soulless. A perfect example is the seating in these bars, most of these bars feature consistently bafflingly uncomfortable seating, forcing you to pretzel yourself to sit, to me this indicates an understanding that clientele will visit once or maybe twice ever, leading to an apathetic feeling all around.

As you move further south the cocktail bars are slowly replaced with saloons, which were honestly the most consistently interesting piece of local culture I found. Utterly honest and unpretentious beer halls, frequented mostly by locals, a lot of fun and good times. We ended up familiar with half a dozen of these, where the undefinable feeling of authenticity somehow comes through.

At our favourite saloon the bartender Rene, when I mentioned my shock at being served mediocre margaritas at so many of these lovely looking cocktail bars, just nodded silently and pulled out a dusty shaker, I had no idea he even did cocktails, he proceeded to make a margarita that absolutely shamed every one from every fancy bar in the tourist areas.

Every time I leave a new place I invariably come away with the feeling I was juuuust starting to get it, to understand a few things. This time in Oaxaca is the longest chunk of time I’ve ever spent in one place other than home and the feeling of juuuuust starting to get it is no different than while leaving any new place after 3-4 days.

If there’s anyone I trust to make a quality knock-off Clamato it’s an amphibian.

I just realized that some of the time when I mean to say:

“Lo ciento, no habla Espanol.” (I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.)

What I’ve actually been saying is:

“Lo sierto, no habla Espanol.” (I’m right, I don’t speak Spanish.).

That would explain a few things.

I don’t like posting anything negative, especially when there is likely some explanation that I can’t see as an outsider…

buuuuuuut….

MEXICO CITY TRAFFIC COPS ARE TRYING TO GET EVERYONE KILLED. (lol)

Most of the time Mexico City traffic seems to flow pretty well, considering the sheer amount of it. However, during rush hour Mexico City cops appear in all the busy intersections, with their whistles in hand, and take over the directing of traffic, to keep things moving.

Good idea, right? Great idea, absolutely. Could not agree more. If not for one, little, thing…….

THEY.LEAVE.THE.TRAFFIC.LIGHTS.AND.CROSSWALK.SIGNS.OPERATING.AS.NORMAL.THE.ENTIRE.TIME!

You’re just supposed to ignore them.

It’s…. insane. The lights continue to cycle as normal, on massive, massive intersections, but you are supposed to completely ignore all the lights and do whatever the cop is motioning. And…

1. The police wear black.
2. The sun sets before rush hour.
3. Over half of drivers do not use turn signals.
4. About a quarter of drivers don’t use proper headlights.
5. Pedestrians absolutely do not ever have right of way at any time, even in a crosswalk, let alone when the traffic lights and crosswalks are to be ignored.

Yeah, have fun not dying if you are a pedestrian and don’t notice the cop, in black, at night, across four lanes of traffic, standing under a tree, on the median. Cuz you will get run over pretty much immediately.

It’s not much better for a driver. As you approach each intersection you have to be aware if it’s rush hour, ignore whatever the lights are telling you to do, if you spot a cop, who could be standing pretty much anywhere.

So yeah, traffic deaths per km driven are 600% higher here than in the rest of North America.

6pm – I had big plans for Friday night, but after a walk to take some sunset pics the number of late nights lately finally caught up with me and I went back home and crashed for 14 hours.

10am – I assume R has already headed out for the day until I hear her snoring from her room, she’s as bad an insomniac as I am (worse actually) so I leave her sleep and head out.

We moved to a new place the other day, further south from the more touristy areas. As it turns out our new place is in the chocolate processing, jewelry selling, car part dealing part of town. I have to pick up my laundry from our old neighborhood so I head north, checking out a few jewelry places as I walk. I buy some piece of jewelry in each city I travel to, I’ve done this for a decade now, it works well as a small, simple piece of remembrance. The jewelry here is all of a style I’m really not into but it’s not like I’m going to actually wear it, will swing back again in a few days and look closer.

I know I’m back in our old area once I walk past the clothing store that inexplicably plays bird songs at deafening volume all day, every day.

10:30am – I grab my laundry, the guy who likes to tease me about my Spanish isn’t working today, too bad, he’s funny. I grab my stuff and walk back to the breakfast place we’ve been going to most mornings, it’s a bit far from our new place so this might be my last chance.

I’m too lazy to make a nice video so here’s what picking up laundry looks like, shrug. (also, damn my wheezy breathing is eternal)

As I get to the restaurant the doorway is blocked by three Americans debating if they should try the place, I would let them know the food is amazing but I don’t want to risk them taking the last table, selfish jerk that I am. The Americans decide to move on and I head in, it’s nice to have a place while travelling where the staff all know you and greet you. Everyone here is extremely friendly.

11:30am – I finish breakfast and my iced latte and head back into the rapidly growing heat. The only way I’ve been able to handle the daily heat here is the fact that all these old Spanish style buildings have foot thick walls that keep the interiors surprisingly cool. Air conditioning isn’t really a thing here and really isn’t needed as far as I can tell.

12:30pm – After breakfast I start walking back south towards our new place. I don’t know exactly why but I rarely feel right while around people who look and talk like me while traveling. Maybe I’m just snobby, I don’t know, but it never feels much like travel when I’m surrounded by like kind and the businesses that exist to cater to us. Each block I walk south removes a bit of the sheen and brings a bit more character, by the time I pass the zocalo (square) it’s a pretty good balance. A few blocks further south I’m at our place and in an area again alien enough to feel I can melt into and be comfortable.

1:30pm – After more aimless wandering I pass a torta shop I noticed the other day and take a pic to remember to come back later.

2:00pm – My day gets interrupted by a work call, I’d forgotten I’m on call and head back home to put out fires for a couple hours.

4:00pm – Work is done and I am hungry. I head down the block to the torta shop I found earlier. In a weird repeat of breakfast I find the sidewalk near the torta shop is blocked by a different group Americans, this time they are talking about how grungy this street is, I slip around them and down the even grungier alleyway to the torta shop, trying not to feel smug.

The shop smells amazing and is pretty busy, I notice the familiar “gringo has entered the building” chill but predictably once I start blathering to the ladies there in the tiny bits of Spanish I know, and ask the gentlemen how they are doing today, the chill melts and I am offered a seat with others waiting for their orders.

A couple of the items I want are out of stock and I am amazed that I am (just barely) able to discuss alternative options with the staff, I order two and sit to wait. The food all looks so good and the staff are clearly proud, my order taker tells me (I think) that they gets fresh bread delivered every two hours.

6:00pm – Back home, the two sandwiches are huge. R is back home as well so we share food and beers and plan the evening.

8:00pm – We’ve got a mezcal tasting booked for 8, we walk about 25 min north to the mezcaleria.

We tried 8 mezcals and similar distilled alcohols, super fun, met a neat couple from Tijuana, confirmed I still do not much care for mezcal.

10:00pm – A planned quick stop in to see Rene and Monika for a nightcap stretches itself a bit, we make it back home, tipsy and tired, around midnight. Good day.

R was feeling wiped and wanted to stay in so C and I decided an unplanned and random Dynamic Duo evening was in order.

We started by discovering the best taco stand, by far, so far…. most of the way through our trip of course.

C discovered a lovely rooftop bar above the taco stand, we let our empanadas settle a bit and watched the city for a while. An extremely unusual icy breeze came up and our waitress brought us heavy ponchos, which we needed, poor Canadians can’t handle the cold.

After 20 minutes the weird temp drop ended and the night returned to it’s normal 26c. We headed out again and accidentally ended up in a mezcaleria. I’ve avoided them to now as mezcal is not to my taste, basically anything with smoke it in tastes like dying to me. I’ve tried a lot of mezcal based cocktails both in Mexico City and here in Oaxaca City this trip and all have been rough, I do not understand smoky stuff. I asked Google if non-smoky mezcal is a thing and was assured by multiple articles that this is not a thing and that all mezcal is smoky.

This kinda seemed like bullshit though… non-smoky scotch is certainly a thing, and non-smoky cheese…. bacon…. anything with smoke seems logically to likely have a smokeless option. The world said no though.

Yup, total bullshit. We tasted 8 different local artisanal mezcals…. AND NONE OF THEM WERE SMOKY! Like, you could sorta get a hint of smoke from a few of them, barely. The bartender explained that the heavily smoked mezcals are really more of a thing with the industrial distilling process, and that the small producers do it much less often.

The flavours were amazing, we liked every single one, you can tell it’s a cousin to tequila for sure but there is a consistent difference too. Almost like comparing bourbon to Japanese whisky.

Our mezcal hostess poured some pretty generous tasters so we paced ourselves as best we could and stumbled back into the street a couple hours later. After a long walk in the cooling air to sober up a bit we came across a group of students graduating…. something, around midnight. C let them all know how proud we are of them, lol. Was a wonderful interaction, no idea what they were students of but they were so very proud to have their robes and mortars.

After ensuring the future intellectual wellbeing of Mexico is in good hands we headed off again and ended up at our favourite local bar, Los Coco, the bartender there, Rene, has kind of adopted us this trip and most nights we try to swing by to say hello at least once and pass pieces of life stories through the language barrier. He has invented a cocktail for R and we had a round of them in honour of our missing third member tonight.

We left Rene’s and popped into one of the oldest places in town, Mesa del Mezcal, C hadn’t been before so I enthralled her with the tale of how R impressed all the old guys at the bar last week, I’ll post that one later, hopefully I remember to mention the urinal in the middle of the room everyone can see you peeing at too. Our eyes were crossing a bit by this point and we headed back into the night, counting on the crisp night air to straighten our gait yet again.

We ended up further south, away from the tourist areas, in a local bar I don’t know the name of. I’ve definitely noticed at places like these that our presence results in a frosty reception but every single time that frost vanishes pretty quickly after some respectful behaviour, our best attempts at Spanish and just not being shitheads.

This time the frost stuck around a bit longer so I popped out the door to the woman selling candy on the corner and got a box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates to share with the bar, it worked, really well, lol. Maybe too well.

To my memory C was the only woman in the bar that night, pretty quickly the saloon became a dance club with C taking turns with some extremely charmed local guys. Always interesting how much more English locals here speak after a couple beers. My Spanish gets better too.

The bar got a couple notches wilder and we decided it might be prudent to make our exit. You know that thing where you both assume the other has cash? Yeah… we had nothing.

I threw C back to the wolves and hustled out to find an ATM, I’ve had pretty shit luck with ATMs this trip, it’ll be a post of it’s own later. A few blocks away I found a working ATM and got cash, on the way back I walked past a lonely hamburger stand and had a flash of genius.

I figured if Ferrero Rocher was our in maybe burgers could be our out.

I ordered half a dozen burgers “todo”, meaning with EVERYTHING. Seriously, everything, lol beef, hot dog, corn, fried egg, grilled pineapple, onions, peppers, lime mayo, about 4 sauces, amazing.

As the chefs wrapped up the massive burgers to go I received a text from C “HUUUURRRRRAAAAAAAYUPPP!” and I trotted back to the bar. I gave the bouncer a burger to let me in and passed the rest out to the guys overactively admiring C on the dancefloor. We settled up and ran out while the quizzical looks were still firmly on the burger recipients faces.

We came across the burger chefs again and confused them further by plopping down on the curb and ordering two more todos.

A night can’t go better than this so we pulled the plug and headed back home as I have work in a few hours.

On our first beach morning a local guy came up and started chatting with us in quite good English, his name was David, we discussed a lot of things, had fun communicating with his English and our basic, basic Spanish. Eventually he asked if we’d like him to get us a couple fresh coconuts to drink. I’ve never had and I think store-bought coconut water tastes like swampass, but the best answer is still almost always yes. David disappeared, up a tree, and cut down two coconuts, he prepped them for us, they were amazing, I had no idea.

For the rest of the weekend we ran into David over and over again, each time picking up our conversations where we’d left them, learning more about him and what he does, a completely fascinating person.

He told us how a few years earlier he’d spent a couple months in Canada, mostly on Vancouver Island, and how he had loved it, especially apples, (“ape-pulls” with his accent). David really, really, REALLY likes apples. He marvelled again and again at how all these types of apples just grew all over the place. I pointed out that every second tree from our rental house to the beach was loaded down with 150lbs of mangos but he didn’t really think that was all that impressive.

We struck up a deal for future exchanges of cases of BC apples for wild mangos, lol.

David lives just across from the beach and appears to have at least half a dozen jobs, selling coconuts, selling puppies, connecting anyone who needs anything with anyone who has anything, whatever you need, David is the guy who knows who can get it for you. You want lobster? Well, David just so happens to be a free diver and will vanish under the surf, coming up with as many hand-caught lobsters as you want.

We shared many beers with him through the weekend and I grew an appreciation for this person and how he has chosen to live life. Clearly a lot of hard work, and a lot of good cheer and laughter, and openness too.

The only thing better than a trip is a trip within a trip, right?

The endless stone walls, noise, and the dearth of greenspace in Oaxaca City have worn me to the point where we’ve decided a weekend beach getaway is overdue.

The plan was to grab the rental car on Friday morning and head out of town. A dodgy bowl of street soup Thursday night had other plans for us however and Friday morning ended up being a debate about whether the trio was well enough to survive the 9 hour drive through the wildest mountain highway any of us have ever seen.

We decided to go for it and after electrolytes and Pepto and Imodium we were on the road around 2pm.

The drive is staggering, mountains roads like I have never been on, hour after hour of switchbacks and rapid climbs and falls.

Around dusk we stopped to San Jose del Pacifico, which claims to be the birthplace of magic mushrooms, we didn’t get a chance to partake but found a lovely roadside, cliffside cafe to eat and take a break and swap drivers.

The road past San Jose del Pacifico became even more windy and utterly pitch black so our original planned beach arrival of 6pm ended up being an arrival of 11pm.

We checked in to our rental house, strolled the 5 minutes to the amazing beach, found a wild “anything goes” beach nightclub and started melting into what seemed a weekend from another world.

There are few greater gifts than travelling with the right friends, the ease of everything, the wandering aimlessly down perfect beaches, running in and out of the surf, grabbing a drink and this beach bar or that beach bar, for days on end.

Four days on that beach lasted years and minutes. I feel like I could write a book on just this short hop.

Don’t need no George Clooney or even Sinatra, we’re three against the world now. Posts might get even less frequent for a while. We’ve got a car for four days and plans to fall off the world. It’s the ultimate heist.