In the Magical South

On Tuesday December 14 at 11:15pm Laura and I boarded our bus in Mexico City for Oaxaca City. After a long and winding journey of halting sleep, we arrived in Oaxaca the next morning at 5:30am. Oaxaca is a state in Southern Mexico, near Guatemala, the first or second state with the largest indigenous population.

After staying in the charming cobblestone and colorful capital city for two nights and visiting with our other Fulbright friend Naomi, we left early morning yesterday, Dec. 17 for San Jose del Pacifico, which a friend recommended to me. It is halfway between the capital and the Pacific Coast, a town hidden in the forresty mountains, free of any desmadre (mess). Indeed, there is no bank, no supermarket, no convenience stores, nor cell phone service. It has been such a refreshing break from the pollution and desmadre of Mexico City and Cuernavaca. The air is crisp and smells of firewood. The sun is strong; five minutes in its path and I already start to burn. Clouds and mist wrap their way around the mountain peaks in the late afternoon and settle until nighttime, when they lift and make room for the stars and moon.

Some say this town is magical; many say it is a place of spirits. I believe it. There is no church--untouched by the Spanish conquistadors. Just a small, pure pueblo, inhabited by beautiful people with dark skin who greet every passing tourist with a ¨Buenos dias¨ and a smile.

Last night after a brief hike, Laura and I ate at one of the small handful of restaurants which exist on the main drag. It is owned by a woman named Ofelia. The taquería across the street is owned by her 20-year old son. The mini-super up the street is owned by another son of hers. The restaurant down the street with Italian food and a Corona sign outside is owned by her other son. And the youngest, Alan, the 12-year old, helps out in her restaurant, and as Ofelia told us, will probably never leave. As Laura said to her, ¨hay que guardar uno¨ (you have to save one for yourself).

At dusk, the sight of the town from the restaurant looked like a scene from a snow globe, except instead of swirling snow, it was fog and clouds that drifted in and out of every crevice of the mountain. Houses dotted the hill. Fires blazed outside the little wooden cabins. A truck wound its way up the only paved road. Lights began to blink on as night fell on the mountainside.

In the 1970s, the town of San Jose still lay hidden in the wild mountains of Oaxaca. The roads were unpaved; two restaurants existed, as well as two mini grocery stores--mostly for people passing through the narrow crooked roads on their mules. If today it is a pueblito, 40 years ago it was a pueblitito. Then the outsiders discovered the magic mushroom, which grew wildly and abundantly throughout the rainy season in the surrounding land. Hippies began flooding the town in their Volkswagon vans, looking for the magical plant. Ofelia, who was 12 when San Jose was discovered by outsiders, told us how scared she was of the long-haired, tall blondes coming to the town to recreationally consume their traditionally medicinal hongos (mushrooms). But, she said, they enjoy the presence of the foreigners, who bring business to the town. Many Japanese and Europeans. Few Americans.

The people here are amazingly warm, as are their kitchens. As she stood at the oven stirring a pot of atole, a chocolate-y, starchy hot drink, Ofelia told us, ¨Si no hay cocina, la casa no está caliente¨ (If there is no kitchen, there is no warmth in the whole house).

On our way down the mountain yesterday after the hike, Laura and I saw a person outside his house hacking away at some plants next to his cornfield about 50 yards up the side of the mountain (we were on the road). He had been doing the same thing on our way up two hours earlier. Rural Mexican yardwork I guess you could say. We stopped and watched him for a few moments until he looked up and spotted us. We snapped out of our daze and started walking again, but I doubled back and waved, remembering the warmth of the people. He waved back, then watched us until we disappeared around the bend, two blonde specks.

We were invited to a wedding yesterday by Ofelia. It is starting in a few minutes. Laura and I decided to stay an extra night, delaying our arrival to the beach by one more day.

Tomorrow morning, we will continue on our journey to the coast, to the town of Mazunte.

Feliz Navidad!