Oaxaca: A Hodge-podge of Facts and Fantasy (No Order)

Here is a back log of notes. Events and thoughts from the Christmas break:

Mexico City:

• Mauricio's Party and the confirmation of "Jace" and "Scanderay". A mantra for the road that lie ahead.
• A few afternoons at Parque Mexico.
• The introduction of Michelada Cubanas and Don Keso.
• Outdoor Japanese BBQ at Mikasa

Oaxaca City to San Jose Del Pacifico - 12/25/09 - Christmas Day

The road from Oaxaca City west can be described as nothing short of scorched. Dry barren dessert flanked us on all sides. The desolate landscape finally gave way to lightly tree peppered hills. After several hours and a federal check point, we reached the forested mountains. Once again, around any corner, the landscape of Oaxaca changes--microclimates, so they say.

We twisted our way up and west. The hillsides dotted with small chimney adorned adobes. Some were made of red clay, and others lightly stained and sealed timber splits--all were beautiful. We finally rounded the corner and arrived at our Cabanas.

Based on the internet representation of the town, one would think they were the only cabanas in town, however it was just clever marketing. They had grabbed a hold of the domain name sanjosedelpacifico.com. Turns out there were cheaper stays in town, about 1km further up the road, but how were we to know. We unloaded and settled in.

NOTE: The time of the Jeep Wagoneer must have made a big impression in these parts. Relics of those iconoclastic behemoths litter the street in various states of functionality. It made me nostalgic for 70's flannel.

We took the dogs and walked into town. Everything here, and I mean EVERYTHING, is centered around ongos (mushrooms). Every restaurant and tienda is adorned with wood carved ongos, ongos light fixtures, ongos silverware, ongos paintings, and so on. The legend here is that some witch from the north named Maria Savina, rolled into town and made a worldwide phenomenon of the local mushroom crop, which is quite abundant in the rainy season. Apparently she was the shaman for such notables as Jim Morrison and The Beatles. Regardless of her star studded escapades, she made quite an impression on this little mountain town. The local indigenous ladies all knit mushroom beanies and other small items. They sell them on the side of the road, and they look like they are tripping to me.

We had lunch at a comedor which overlooked the entire valley. This lady had one of those Hollywood Hills million dollar views. We were her only customers. She let the dogs come inside, and they promptly passed out on the ice cold concrete floor. As we waited for our mole, we stared out at the endless blue which draped over the endless expanse of the Oaxacan Sierras.

As we walked back to our cabana, I began to conspire on all that I saw; everyone was on hallucinogens, and I knew it. The old lady in the shallow grass had a crooked smile, and she seemed to be drooling. The three little boys on the curb had pupils like agate stones. The three gringos with mushroom beanies seemed to be floating through, and gafas shaded their obviously dilated pupils. We met a Colombian--he said he had come here to climb the trees, but he only found pines, and there lack of low lying branches, and their abundance of sap, made them impossibly sticky and not much fun--he was knee deep in a psychadelic trance.

At dinner time we crept back into town. We made our way into the one open restaurant. There we met Alan and Kiara, two Tijuana natives on holiday. They were just passing through for the night. They were mushroom hunting. We sipped some mescal and Alan made good on the wearabouts of the town's crowned jewel. The waiter told him to walk to the speedbump and turn left into the small house.

We all went, dogs en tow. Alan approached a wide-eyed old man and enquired about the ongos. The old man said he had some preserved ongos in honey--we were not in the right season. He produced a sick black jar of honey soaked mushrooms. His eight year old grand daughter was there to transfer the the contents of the jar for him.

It was Christmas Eve, and we were witnessing the purchase of mushrooms in a hillside shanty. After the procurement we spent the rest of the evening on the sidewalk drinking beer and clear grain alcohol from Chiapas called Posch. I snacked on chapulines, and we rambled into the night. It was an odd magical blend of lack of tradition and new moments. I told the Tiajuana Travelers that we were heading to the coast, and if they needed a ride we had plenty of space--they respectfully accepted.

Merry Christmas from the middle of nowhere.

We arrived to Mazunte on Christmas Day. The road was windy and long. The air was thick with humidity. When we finally got out of the car, I let the dogs go without much thought. I did not notice the free range chickens. Flow and Chops went right into the hunt. Flow was wrangled, and I chased after Chops who blew into the back enterance of a beach side restaurant. I went in after him. He snapped and nearly beheaded the chicken. The woman chef swung her broom at us both. I lunged but Chops dodged my grasp. He shot through the beach side seating and burst onto the epic expanse of the beach. I came flying out after him. It was like a movie--a crazy chase scene and then the odd exposure of a natural beauty. I stood on the beach in jeans and a button down shirt--it was a hell of an entrance. Chops played keep away for awhile, but finally we got back.

Basically that was the grand entrance and the rest of the week went like this:

Wake up early and hit the beach. The dogs would shit and play. Jamie and I would sort of tan and read books. We would then hit up a breakfast joint. We would return to the sun for more reading and tanning. Then at 2 we would return to our room, shower, and siesta. At 5 or so we would go check the sunset, and then hit up some grub--fish was damn good and damn cheap, I ate it every night! We would drink a few drinks and then rinse, wash, and repeat. WE DID THIS FOR DAYS. During this time we met some great peeps, had some great conversations, wrote a song about our travels, and burned the shit out of ourselves. Only now, on January 18th, am I beginning to peel--I blame the altitude

I wanted to leave the beach early, but was obligated to meet a friend--I learned that I will never again commit to setting a time frame on my travels. Lesson learned. In the end, staying through new years, was beautiful, and I am so happy that it worked out that way.

The drive back to DF was all about getting back. The drive was long, and not the same without Jamie, but it went along. I camped on a beach one night and arose for the sunshine the following day.

I have never been so happy to return to my little home.

It was a magical trip, one that deserves far more detail than this simple synopsis, but so it goes. And here I go, away to eat a cookie and drink some milk.