We´ve definitely had some growing pains as we´ve learned how to live like the Oaxaqueños. The day after we found our apartment was a Sunday, and we decided to take a colectivo, a red and white taxi that is invariably an early nineties nissan, to Tlocolula, a village half an hour down the eastern valley.
The market was incredible, fruits of all kinds-papaya, pineapple, coconut, watermelon, and many that we had no idea what they were. There were vegetables just as varied, a distinct string-cheese like cheese that they roll into balls, thinly sliced slabs of meat hanging on the side of stalls, chicken, live or roasted, and the list goes on. All of this in January! Flowers and clothes and toys and crafts and even yokes of oxen! Many of the vendors were indigenous villagers who came into town for the day. Mexico, it turns out, has one of the greatest numbers of indigenous languages of any country in the world. The majority of the people at the market in Tlocolula spoke Spanish as a second language.
I was feeling adventurous, and I tried the tejote, or curded corn milk. It tasted like a sandy, sweet coffee, and it looked like something half digested.
It is always risky to drink any liquid here that isn´t bottled, but I was feeling adventurous. I didn´t regret it, a day and a half later when I was facing Montezuma´s full wrath, but I haven´t had any of that delicious corn water since.
