Oaxaca during rainy season is a sight to see. For about eight months out of the year, Oaxaca's climate is as unchanging
as any other high-altitude desert. Days are hot. Nights are cool. Every
day is dry. Many people think deserts are boring. The brown landscape
seems to be dead and dessicated under the unmerciful sun. I lived in
Oaxaca two years ago during the driest part of the year which is April
and May. Water was scarce and the water company was saying the wells
were dry. Everyone was waiting for the rains to come, but I didn't. I
left to moist, cool San Cristobal. This year, though, I am here for
rainy season and I am glad. Many travelers hear "rain" or "rainy
season" and head the other direction. Oh, but to see nature rejoice in
what it waits all year for is quite the event.
The
mornings are fresh, chilly, yet steaming as the sun dries up the
puddles on cobblestone streets. Afternoons heat up, dry and deserty,
like the Oaxaca of other months, set below a white and blue calico sky.
As the sun goes down, thunder cracks imitating the inaudible sound of
breaking heat. First, faintly across the valley, the rumble rolls in
ahead of grey-black clouds louder and louder as the day darkens.
Amazing lightening shows can be enjoyed from any rooftop. This is life
lived in a valley. It's like a natural stadium where the sky is the
stage.
As
the storm blows closer, thunder builds with momentum. The heat gives
way to gusting winds bringing in raindrops refugees before the
stampede. Drop by drop, tip-tapping the metal corrugated roofs, this is
only the beginning. A small moment passes, minutes where the evening is
shrouded in shadow and half-basking sunlight. Then, as if on cue, a
soft shuffle explodes into a BOOM! so strong one's chest reverberates
with the thunder's echo. BOOM! FLASH! As if waiting to be formally
announced, the sky opens up to baptize everything with furiously happy
rage. The rain is the main attraction.
All
evidence of urban breath, smog, even urban noise cowers away in the
face of the season's daily exercise. People run for cover, stay inside,
give thanks as the rain falls hard. From under certain roofs the sound
of a million raindrops falling on corrugated metal can drown out even
wall-shaking thunder claps. Conversation is muted, TVs
are silenced and the only thing to do is watch and listen with marvel.
Life pauses during one of these storms. The pouring, drenching rain
only lasts about fifteen minutes, climaxes and only a cuddling drizzle
wets Oaxaca. Sweet dreams are had falling asleep to the sound of rain
only to wake up to a sunny fresh and chilly morning in which the
ritualistic ceremony will repeat itself once again.
Everything
about the rain is truly magnificent. The smells it carries from the
mountains on its winds, the immensity of its cacophony and release it
abates. Oaxacans
love rainy season. Rainy season is when a desert comes of age and
presents its beauty, its charms and fertility. Dry river beds fill with
muddy torrents. Dormant cacti lazily bloom into fleeting flowers. June
bugs come out of hiding. And the hills cupping beautiful colonial
Oaxaca appear to have been painted, reupholstered, every ridge, nook, cranny, and ravine is blanketed in the soft green fuzz of life.
Rainy season may not be the ideal tourist season nor may it be all that spectacular
to someone who is not intimate with deserts' nuances. However, to those
who live here or to those who know desert locations, rainy season can
feel like the unveiling of one of nature's most delicate masterpieces.
