Down Mexico Way

Church in main square in Oaxaca

This past Christmas, my husband and I took a tour bus to the interior of Mexico to celebrate an important anniversary—I shall not tell how many decades. This was our third trip down there.

Our main destination was Oaxaca (Wa-ha-ca), a city of half a million, 7500 feet above sea level, with a provincial charm and delicate beauty. The city is situated in a spectacular valley where several mountain ranges converge. The area offers magical sights and flavors.

Monte Alban, an ancient city of Zapotecs and Mixtecs, was unforgettable, with its pyramids, huge platforms, and buildings. They spoke of a powerful elite people skilled in the production of fine pottery, jewelry, and codices.

We saw El Tule, the great cypress tree, which stands 135 feet tall and about as wide. It is said to be the oldest living thing in Mexico, and already growing over 2000 years—before Christ was born.

Throughout the days and nights, we visited museums with great art treasures, exquisite Catholic churches decorated in baroque carved gold ceilings, tiny humble churches, and a Dominican monastery. We strolled through patio shops, ate in sidewalk cafes, visited markets with stalls heaped with mountains of baskets, pottery, rugs, chiles, jewelry, and all things imaginable.

Since we were there for Christmas, we learned how the Mexicans celebrate the coming of the Christ child. All public celebrations take place on Christmas Eve, and on Christmas Day, the streets and plazas are empty because everyone stays home with family. The citizens of Mexico know how to celebrate. We watched a parade around an enormous plaza that continued for three hours. Our tour guide said—“Oaxaca is a city of half a million, and tonight, you’ll see every one of them downtown.” This brought a big laugh for all of us, but by the time we arrived back at our hotel, we agreed we’d seen every one of them.

We may not return to Mexico, but we have memories and visual impressions of a mostly happy citizenry, with the family at the core of their society. We were always treated politely, and when we asked for something in our halting, elementary Spanish, each person was eager to listen and help us. Not one of them laughed at our pronunciations.

And now, back to our lovely little hotel, tucked away behind walls, with a nice courtyard to sit with a glass if wine or coffee in the mornings. Only two things were wrong--no English-speaking television and no hot water unless you asked for it. Ah, cest la vive! Or whatever it is in Spanish.

One photo is of me in front of one of the smaller pyramids--I climbed it! The gorgeous hunk sitting on the fountain ledge is my darling--see how cool he is?

Celia Yeary

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