Lose yourself in Oaxaca City
Discover magic moments and unforgettable flavours in labyrinth of city’s markets
The sun is just rising as I drag myself up to a rooftop patio overlooking the main town square of Oaxaca City to take in the handsome facade of the almost 400-year-old Santo Domingo Church. In the streets below, locals bustle to work, walking children to school and bringing the city to life. I always make a point of waking just after dawn when I travel because a city’s true personality always seems more tangible when most tourists are snug in their hotel beds. But in Oaxaca, I needn’t have worried about setting my alarm: the city’s personality is as soulful and unmistakable as the timbre of the cathedral bells vibrating deep in my chest.
Since I began my explorations of Mexico almost a decade ago, returning almost annually, I have been urged by fellow travellers to go to Oaxaca City, in the foothills of the Sierra Madre mountain range. Some pointed to Oaxaca’s designation as a UNESCO World Heritage site because of its classic colonial architecture and the ancient ruins of Monte Albán (the former capital city of the ancient Zapotec people who once populated the province.) Others talked about the locally-made and ornately embroidered textiles, ceramics and art. Everyone mentioned the mezcal and the food at world-class restaurants like Criollo and Casa Oaxaca. (My first stop at Boulenc, a bakery specializing in sourdough bread, confirms those reviews. The crumbling, patinated walls that enclose the open-air dining room are as beautiful as the expertly-pulled espresso and flaky pastry filled with strawberry preserves and tart cream.)
But the true draw of Oaxaca, I soon find out, is the city’s epic markets which, on weekends, spring up in virtually every available square, promenade and inch of sidewalk in the city, sometimes filling streets until traffic nearly comes to a stop. Row upon row of stalls unfold through the city, leading the way to Oaxaca’s largest market: Mercado 20 de Noviembre — where vendors sell everything
from beans and bananas, mezcal to textiles, phone chargers and luggage on stands built 20feet-high. I know I’ve arrived when I see the rows of ladies selling roasted grasshoppers in bulk, melodically calling out “Chapulines” to attract hungry patrons. (The snack tastes pleasantly of corn chips.)
Generations of women sit weaving textiles and baskets, or kneading masa destined to become tacos, tortillas or tamales. I pull up a chair at one of the open-air kitchens and order a
quesadilla stuffed with mild, local cheese and studded with epazote and deep orange zucchini flowers. I watch as the cook gracefully kneads a palmsized piece of masa before pressing it and cooking it on a
comal — a traditional clay plate heated above an open flame. Despite the crowds, there is an intimacy to her quiet, methodical process.
Satiated and dazed, I head for my hotel in the hopes of catching
a siesta, only to find myself swept up in a parade. Oaxaca is famous in Mexico for its many festivals, but today’s celebration isn’t listed on any online calendar I can find, despite my desperate attempts to look it up on my phone. Rows of dancers in colourful skirts swirl past, massive 20-foot high papiermâché puppets bob down the streets and dancers twirl by with turkeys under their arms, the birds’ gizzards flapping to the beat.
Delirious from delight, I finally put my phone down and wander into the crowd, accepting a small cup from a stranger who fills it with homemade mezcal from a gas can — my dubious decision thankfully only warms my face — and I dance and laugh until tears stream down my cheeks.