Dancing in the Streets

Nochixtlan – Oaxaca, State of Oaxaca, Mexico

We arrived in Oaxaca yesterday. Beautiful place. And, as I have come to understand, one of three places that you might expect to see non-Mexican tourists in Mexico. The others? All the beach destinations – Cancun, Puerto Vallarta, Tulum, etc., along with, of course, Mexico City. 

We haven’t spent any time in the beach resorts on this trip. We went to Tampico for a few days – but that wasn’t a beach resort. That was a city that fronted on the Gulf of Mexico. The beach was basically an afterthought – and definitely did not attract any significant tourists – Mexican or otherwise. 

From what I’ve gathered the beach resorts are very curated experiences. They are in Mexico – but they are hardly of Mexico. 

Several years ago I attended an annual meeting of the International Ski Federation (FIS) in order to lobby for a U.S. World Cup cross country ski race to happen in Minneapolis. (We were awarded a World Cup but it was ultimately canceled because of COVID. That is, however, another story . . .)

The meeting venue was a fancy beach resort in Greece – but my friend Al and I were on a non-profit budget and didn’t want to pay the exorbitant costs involved with staying at the resort. Al booked us an airbnb in a neighboring town. Turned out that the airbnb was just on the other side of the fence from the resort. 

On one side of the fence? Lush green lawns. Margaritas. Manicured gardens. Swimming pools with lounge chairs and gazebos. Elaborate terraces and beautiful buildings. All surrounded by an impregnable fence (Maybe Trump should consult with the resort owners for how to build his wall between Mexico and the U.S.) and a heavily guarded gate.

On the other side of the fence? Real Greece. Dirt streets. Dusty avenues. Dried out gardens and plantings. Buildings with peeling paint. Unfinished houses and dilapidated infrastructure. But also wonderful people. Amazing Greek salads and baklava and food of all sorts that was much more affordable. And a real sense for what Greeks and Greece was really all about. A lot like Mexico really . . . 

And that’s kind of how I imagine these all inclusive beach resorts. Basically the same as the place where the FIS conference happened. They are technically in Mexico. But I’m not sure there is a lot of Mexican-ness to the places. Just a curated version of vacation-land, catering to everything tourists want and need. A wonderful experience, don’t get me wrong. Just not the same Mexico that we’ve been experiencing.

As for Mexico City and Oaxaca – they provide a really nice mix. Great cultural experiences and people and food. But also a lot more people who speak English, along with fancy hotels and airbnbs that provide a window into Mexico without maybe quite the same sensation; that sense that when you go to the smaller towns and lesser known cities you might be jumping out that window without a parachute . . .

Oaxaca really does it right. We arrived on a Wednesday and Diana had done her research and figured out that on Wednesdays a band – which turned out to be a big amazing band – plays salsa music and people dance in the Zocalo (town square). We, or, to be fair to Diana, I am not a great dancer. I can’t really keep a beat. But Diana is a good sport and, as much as possible, we hid in the crowd and danced anyway. Super fun. And a great mix of Western tourists and what seemed to be regular Mexicans enjoying a night on the town. 

That sense of Oaxaca’s rightness was reinforced this morning. Diana had run to the store when some marching band type music started wafting into the apartment. At this point I had had enough. This is probably the fifth time that we’ve heard marching band type music mysteriously coming to us on our various escapades. Usually we’re busy biking through a town and the music seems to be coming from a school. Not much to do in these situations. It’s not like we’re going to burst into the school and say: “Ah ha! I have been looking for the source and now I’ve found it!”

But this morning, not being on my bike or in a rush to get anywhere, I decided to investigate. 

“Where is this music coming from?” 

I’m going to find out!

So I head out the gate. And then it’s like I’m sniffing at the air, only with my ears. 

“Where is that coming from?”

I must know!

I walk down one cobblestoned alleyway and then another. I feel like I’m getting warmer – but it always seems to be a little ways away . . .

And then I round a corner . . . and . . . there it is! Drummers and horn players. And they are not school kids – so I don’t feel like I need to sneak up or anything. 

There is a big square next to some type of church thing, and it gets even better. Not only is the band playing. But across the square a bunch of uniformed people – whom I eventually identify as the local police – are forming one of those human towers you sometimes see water skiers make or the cheerleaders at a football game – but they’re doing it on their police motorcycles. Like a really cool Mexican version of CHIPS. (Do you remember the original CHIPS? Erik Astrada? Careful. You might incriminate yourself. Only old people know that show . . .)

They must be practicing for some big to-do. I don’t know. But it seems to me that stuff like this is what real community policing is about. This is how you make friends with the people you work with. 

One more big feather in Oaxaca’s cap.

Now, not all is bright and shiny in terms of our relationship with this city. We are supposed to be enchanted with mole. I tried some for lunch and I just can’t say I love it. I’ve really never been that into sauces and stuff. And at this point in our Mexican journey it’s all about the vegetables. If you give me some vegetables I’m happy. This dish? Meat and sauce. Meh.

Their other big thing? Mezcal. Sadly, Diana and I are just not alcohol connoisseurs. If I order a beer it’s something “drinkable” – like a Bud Light or, in Mexico, Tecate Light. If we buy wine it’s the cheapest, most sweet wine we can find. Appreciating the finer points of something like Mezcal? Not really happening . . .

The mole did have its good points though. When we sat down to eat our lunch we ended up sitting right next to Don and Edith, and their daughter and friends. Don is an attorney with a practice in Houston. Edith is, I think, Iike so many people here – both Mexican and American. Not sure of her exact history but she’s lived in both places; her family still has their original Mexican home, but her parents live half time in Houston and half time here (the Mexican home is in a mountain town so they stay there in the summer when it’s unbearable in Houston). 

Don and Edith met some years ago – when Don represented Edith in her divorce. After some post-COVID roaming, Don and Edith landed in, I think, Edith’s Mexican hometown – about 300 miles northwest of Mexico City – and that’s where they live now. Don just runs his practice remotely. Pretty cool. 

Their friends? Paola and her daughter – who is here for a Taekwondo tournament. Paola worked for years for CH Robinson; that’s right, based out of Eden Prairie. She lived for years in the States, but is now the Communications Manager for a nonprofit called Feed The Hungry San Miguel. They provide lunches for about five thousand school kids. If you are looking to get involved with a Mexican non-profit Paola would, I’m sure, love to connect. Go to www.feedthehungrysma.org to find out more or to make a donation. 

So while the mole itself didn’t do much for us, it did bring us together with some amazing people. I guess that’s what food is supposed to do . . .

A few last thoughts . . . The ride yesterday was pretty nice. Still over 3,000 feet of climbing – more than many of our tougher days in the Ozarks – but it was probably 5,000 or 6,000 feet of descent. Pretty fun. Like riding an e-bike . . .

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Along the way we had lunch at a place that advertised mountain bike trails.

We never found the trails, but we did meet Carlos. Carlos splits his time between Montreal and Veracruz, Mexico. He drives tractors and stuff for a big farming operation up in Quebec during the warmer months – and then comes back to Mexico for the winters – where he stays with his wife and family in Veracruz. He has a sixteen-year-old son up in Quebec from a previous marriage. 

All around great guy! And, like Don, Edith and Paola – and so many people we have met down here – one foot in Mexico, and one foot in another country – where, I guess, there is more money to be made. 

Tomorrow we start toward Guatemala. I think it’s like 400 miles – so we won’t be arriving for a week or so. But time to start with your Central America thoughts and advice. Like, for instance, what e-sim card you might recommend . . .