It’s been an eventful year since we returned from Oaxaca to the Northwest. I’ve spent most of that time reflecting on our experiences there and wondering what’s in store for the future.
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A year has come and gone, and now we’re back in Seattle. Did it all really happen, or was it just a technicolor dream?
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When I came to Oaxaca I had hoped to learn all about Mexican music. That didn’t happen, exactly, but what did happen changed my life.
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As the end of our long year in Oaxaca approaches, there is suddenly not enough time.
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It has gotten hot in Oaxaca—time to flee to cooler climes.
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Nothing says “poco a poco” like our experiences in trying to learn a new language.
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In Oaxaca, when the heat, dust and noise of the city begin to wear you down, there’s a simple remedy: head for the hills.
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If there’s a poster child for Oaxacan cuisine, it’s mole—especially the thick, dark-brown mole negro that appears on menus in Mexican restaurants around the world.
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You are never more aware of how vulnerable you are to caricaturization than when surrounded by your doppelgangers. Suddenly, I am everywhere.
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There’s another reliable sign of approaching winter, and it would feel almost comforting were it not such a disappointment to behold here in Oaxaca: the bedecking of every public space with glittering, American-style Christmas decorations.
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