Lots of water under the bridge since the last post. After Mexico City and the surprisingly good time there, we caught a bus for Oaxaca. Got in late, caught a cab, and asked for "un cuarto economico y limpio" in an attempt to avoid getting another crack motel. It worked; the cabbie took us to the "Magic Hostal" of Oaxaca, allegedly the cheapest place around. It was pretty nice actually, with an international crowd of Europeans and a couple Americans staying. We had to walk through the Swiss delegation's room to get to our own, unfortunately for them. Sorry, guys...
After the 11:00 lights out, the proprietors of the hostel broke out the beer and really started partying. You could join the party if you agreed not to tell the owner the next day. We went to bed instead, drawing pissy groans and expressive tossing and turning from the Swiss. Sorry, jeez...
The next morning we slept in a bit, then caught a bus out to Hierve de Agua. If you're in the area, check it out; it's pretty amazing. Unfortunately we got there in the afternoon, and there was nobody else to take the collectivo camioneta up to the place, so the drier wasn't going to go. We were forced to either surrender and go back to town (never!) or bite the bullet and hire the entire collectivo to make an "especial" run just for the two of us. We chose the latter option, which was 20 dollars US for the whole deal- a splurge, but what the hell? For our 20 bucks we got driven way up into the mountains on a pretty intense dirt "road" with spectacular views to Hierve de Agua. The place is a giant "petrified waterfall" or actually a series of soda dams. The water comes bubbling and fizzing up out of the earth and I guess it's loaded with sodium bicarbonate or something like it. I drank some at the insistence of a local (after she drank first) and it tasted like baking soda, but carbonated. Anyway, because of whatever minerals are in the water, these huge natural pools have been formed over time, in which one can swim. It's a really beautiful and surreal place with the pools way up in the mountains and the amazing mineral formations. If you go, get there early, have a nice swim, and take some pictures- it's spectacular.
On the way back, we were talking with Eddy, our chofer, about the area, and he mentioned that there was a little mezcal fabrica on the way back. We stopped, and checked out the operation. The entire distillery was in one tiny little barn, and the owner, whose name I never did get, showed us how it worked. He was pretty drunk by then, but managed to communicate the general concept. First, the hearts of agave are buried on a firepit and smoldered for four days. Then, the pulp is put into a stone mill that a mula pulls around, and mashed flat. The mash is put into fermenting barrels and fermented, and then that fermented mush is put into a chamber with a fire under it and heated, which makes the alcohol evaporate. The alcohol moves down a spiral copper tube that's cooled by a big tank of water, which makes the alcohol condense out. It drips into a copper pot, and there you have it. Mezcal joven! After the tour, the old guy asked how much we wanted... Two liters, four and a half kilos...? Begging off by citing the small size of our backpacks, we bought one Nalgene bottle worth for sixty pesos. He said it was 60% alcohol, which means 120 proof, and I believe it. It's really delicious stuff- sweet and smoky, and pretty smooth, but it does have a kick. On the way out, his wife gave us pomegranates from the tree out in the yard. What a great life: living up in the mountains, making moonshine out back of your little cabin... Sigh.
There were lots of organ pipe cactus around, but I didn't know the Spanish name for them. I asked Eddy, "Como se dice los cactus altos?" He said, "Cactus altos." Not sure I was getting him, I pointed to another kind and asked what those were called. "Cactus pequenos." Well, alright, then...
Got back to town, took a shower and went out to find something to eat. Checked out a restaurant highly recommended by the little Oaxaca gringo tourist guide paper. Whatever you do, don't believe that rag. The restaurant (Flor de Loto) was vastly overpriced, and had some of the worst food we met up with. I suspect that the glowing review was bought and paid for... Whatever. We swallowed our insanely salty "mole" along with our pride, paid up, and went back to the hostel to crash out. This time, the hostel folks were puffin instead of drinking afterhours... I got into an animated conversation with a Irish guy about travelling, and told him that we hadn't brought a guidebook. He looked genuinely shocked, and said regretfully that although he felt constrained by his LP, he couldn't seriously contemplate ditching it. He seemed a bit wistfully envious of my freedom from guidance. The conversation drifted to politics, and I found myself at pains to try to explain that not all Americans are lobotomized Bush supporters. The conversation got a bit more animated until a Swiss girl poked her long-suffering head out and asked for "please, some peace and quiet, ya?" Ya, sorry... I finally climbed into our room through a window rather than the door to avoid arousing the ire of the Swiss once again. I thought of suggesting to them that they invest in some earplugs, but on second thought didn't think they'd appreciate the suggestion.
Next installment: San Cristobal and points south...