February 28, 2010. We wandered through the labyrinthine Sunday market that sprawls along the streets of Tlacolula, a Zapotec village in the Oaxaca Valley:
Spectacular offerings of papayas, plantains, peppers, roasted peanuts and spices. Molcahetes, lime for tortillas, flour, machetes, chisels and hardware of every kind.
Morose turkeys with legs bound. Flowers, hanging beef haunches, and strings of spicy chorizo sausage.
Sweet, smoky smells of roast chicken, onions and charred peppers rising from do-it-yourself charcoal grills.
Beautiful young women and tough old great-grandmothers in decorative dresses and aprons.
Back in the City of Oaxaca, we took an evening paseo around the zocalo, the site of violent political protests a few years ago. Tonight, the battleground is occupied by scores of balloon vendors holding gigantic bouquets of floating color.
Children are chasing everywhere, batting each other with big balloons, and filling the night air with their joyous chatter. Prosperous and desperately chic young people are clutching their cell phones and heading for bars and clubs that throb with noise. Tourists drik cervezas and fend off mariachis and street vendors int he cafes under the arched porticos. A few blocks away, in the working class market, tired workers stuff unsold goods into plastic bags and huddle around dimly lighted food stands--chatting and eating tortillas. Beggars wrap their shawls around them, and count the day's few pesos.
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