Two years earlier, I took a taxi at a terrifying speed with my classmates Annika and Hallie to Teotitlan de Valle, a Zapotec village famous for its hand woven rugs. When we arrived our taxi driver asked us where we wanted to go. We had no idea, so he drove us down the walled streets to a blue door that opened into a garden filled with pomegranate and orange trees, and a portal filled with looms.
The weavers, Estévan and his daughter Anabel, came out to show us their beautiful rugs. When Annika decided to buy one, but needed an ATM, we piled into the back of their pickup and they drove us to a larger town that had a bank. They took us to the ATM and also to see the world's widest tree, Arbol del Tule, where we all posed for pictures and and ate ice cream.
We were surprised when they asked if they could come the next day and take us sightseeing. We met early in the morning and rode all day long in the back of the pickup truck, practicing Spanish and English with Anabel while the wind whipped through our hair. They took us to the ancient ruins of Mitla, to Tilcajete, a town famous for alebrijes, and to a huge outdoor market in Zacchila where we tried interesting fruits and breads and cheeses, ate enchiladas for lunch and drank mezcal.
Anabel invited us back to her home the next day to learn how to make tamales. We wore flowered aprons and filled banana leaves with fresh masa and mole amarillo. Anabel's mother giggled as we swarmed around like paparazzi, taking photos of her grinding corn into masa on the metate. The tamales were steamed in a big pot and when they were ready we sat down at the table and raised our glasses, toasting our feast with a hearty "Buen Provecho!"
We never really knew why total strangers took us into their lives like that, but our teacher who has been going to Oaxaca for years wasn't surprised by our story. "Welcome to Oaxaca!" she said.
We were surprised when they asked if they could come the next day and take us sightseeing. We met early in the morning and rode all day long in the back of the pickup truck, practicing Spanish and English with Anabel while the wind whipped through our hair. They took us to the ancient ruins of Mitla, to Tilcajete, a town famous for alebrijes, and to a huge outdoor market in Zacchila where we tried interesting fruits and breads and cheeses, ate enchiladas for lunch and drank mezcal.
Anabel invited us back to her home the next day to learn how to make tamales. We wore flowered aprons and filled banana leaves with fresh masa and mole amarillo. Anabel's mother giggled as we swarmed around like paparazzi, taking photos of her grinding corn into masa on the metate. The tamales were steamed in a big pot and when they were ready we sat down at the table and raised our glasses, toasting our feast with a hearty "Buen Provecho!"
We never really knew why total strangers took us into their lives like that, but our teacher who has been going to Oaxaca for years wasn't surprised by our story. "Welcome to Oaxaca!" she said.
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