So, I just got back from Oaxaca, and let me tell you, the best things to do in Oaxaca are not listed in some shiny travel guide. No, that stuff lacks the grit, the messiness of real experiences. It's all about the surprises and the moments where everything feels a little off-kilter, you know? Grab a coffee; I'm gonna ramble about it.
This spot? Total surprise.
I arrived in Oaxaca with a bunch of expectations, thinking I'd be ticking boxes like it was some kind of brand-new adventure challenge. I mean, who doesn't want to visit ancient ruins and try every mole dish in the city, right? But when I stumbled into this tiny café called Café de la Reforma—totally unplanned—I felt like I hit the jackpot.
Honestly, I wasn't expecting much. Just another quaint little café, maybe an Instagram backdrop, but then I took a sip of their café de olla and it was a revelation. They brew their coffee in clay pots with cinnamon and piloncillo (that's a type of sugar). The vibe was laid-back, with a couple of locals playing cards in the corner, the air thick with warmth and laughter. I ended up chatting with the barista, who filled me in on the best taco spots in town (more on that later), and suddenly, my perfectly-planned trip felt so much more genuine. It was as if a little bit of magic slipped in, right when I needed it.
The afternoon that changed my whole mood
The first day was a whirlwind. I was bouncing from place to place, trying to fit in as much as possible. I sometimes forget that travel isn't just about seeing stuff; it's about feeling things. After a few hot hours wandering through the markets, I hit a wall. My feet hurt, my expectations felt heavy, and for a second, I thought, “Why am I even here?” It was one of those moments where you think maybe you overscheduled yourself.
But then, a funny thing happened. I decided to duck into this little escondite (hideaway) called El Pochote. It was a cool organic market, bustling with people and the scent of fresh tamales lingering in the air. As I wandered through, I turned a corner and found this impromptu cooking class going on. A local chef was showing how to make traditional tortillas. Without thinking, I joined in. I fumbled my way through the process, completely out of my depth, but it didn't matter.
That afternoon turned everything around for me. There's something about making food with your hands that connects you with the culture more than any museum ever could. I got my hands all doughy and messy, laughed with the people around me, and for the first time that day, I felt like I belonged.
I almost missed this, no thanks to my bad sense of direction
Listen, you wouldn't believe how many times I took a wrong turn. I have this thing where my sense of direction runs away faster than I do when I'm trying to catch a bus. So naturally, I missed the famed Monte Albán—you know, the archaeological site everyone talks about—because I didn't actually read the directions. Seriously, how did I end up in that random art gallery instead?
But here's where it shifted from a goofy detour to some real magic. Inside the gallery, I bumped into an artist named José, who was so passionate about his work, explaining the history of these vibrant paintings that echo the Zapotec culture. His words wrapped around my thoughts like a warm blanket, and suddenly, I was less frustrated about the wrong turn. He invited me to a small exhibition later that evening, and it turned out to be a gathering of local artists, musicians, and, like, a dozen curious travelers just mingling.
I'm not gonna lie; there was something in the air that night. It felt weirdly connected, like all of us were castaways on adventure, sharing stories, laughs, and just genuinely being there together. I mean, who knew a wrong turn could lead to something that beautiful?
That one meal I can’t stop thinking about
And then there was the food. Oh man, the food. I committed the cardinal sin of (gasp) not having the name of the place written down. I just remember the word tlayuda floating around in my head before I wandered into this hole-in-the-wall place, La Tlayuderia. It was ridiculously cheap, just plastic chairs and tables, but when they set that enormous, crispy corn tortilla covered with all kinds of toppings in front of me—oooh boy, I almost heard angels singing.
It was the crunch of the tortilla, the smoky flavor from the grilled beef, the fresh avocado, and that spicy salsa that lingered long after the meal, igniting my taste buds in ways I didn't think possible. I still dream about it. The memories are wrapped up in that spicy goodness, and now, I find myself wandering through my own kitchen trying to recreate it.
Anyway, as I was leaving, I noticed the owner, a little elderly lady who had been busy serving and chatting with everyone—her smile felt like pure warmth. She caught my eye and said something in Spanish that I still can't translate, but the spirit of it hit me. “You're welcome here.” And that just made me feel human in a way I can't fully explain.
This trip made me realize something
At the end of the journey, it struck me how the best things to do in Oaxaca weren't really things at all—they were moments. Those little, messy, chaotic encounters that didn't play out according to my carefully crafted itinerary but ended up feeling like the highlights, you know?
So I sipped my coffee, feeling that familiar wanderlust stirring inside me again. Every tasty bite, every wrong turn, and all those unexpected conversations added color to my experience. It made me realize—you don't find adventure in perfection. You find it in the imperfect, human moments. And that's exactly what I found in Oaxaca.
As I wrapped up my thoughts, I could feel my trip still lingering in my heart, like the last sip of coffee warming my palms. Some adventures just stay with you, right?
