So, I just got back from Oaxaca, and let me tell you, the trip was a whirlwind of colors, flavors, and some seriously unexpected moments. If you've ever thought about going, you're in for a treat. I mean, people say there are the best things to do in Oaxaca, and honestly? They're not wrong.
This spot? Total surprise.
Honestly, I wasn't expecting much on my first day. I had this vague idea that Oaxaca was going to be all about ancient ruins and pretentious art galleries. But then I stumbled into this little corner café called Café Brújula—word of mouth, nothing fancy. The place looked like it'd been thrown together from mismatched furniture, but it had this vibe that pulled me in.
I ordered a cappuccino, half-embarrassed that it was my fifth since I'd landed, and plopped myself down next to a group of locals playing chess. I didn't think much of it until I overheard them debating the nuances of their favorite local dishes, the kind of conversation that, frankly, made me wish my Spanish was better. Suddenly, I was hit with this pang of excitement. I was in a place where food and culture meant something, not just a trendy Instagrammable backdrop. It was like I was part of a living tapestry, and honestly, it felt incredible.
The afternoon that changed my whole mood
Then, there was that one afternoon when the clouds rolled in. I'll admit, I was feeling pretty aimless, just wandering the streets, which is not how I usually travel. I'm more of a planner, y'know? But I ended up in this bustling market, Mercado 20 de Noviembre. I took a deep breath and dove in, half-expecting to be overwhelmed.
If you've never been to a market like this, it's sensory overload—like a carnival for your taste buds. Imagine stalls piled high with vibrant fruits, spices that made my nose twitch, and smells wafting past that left me utterly distracted. But I got distracted a little too well and lost track of time. Before I knew it, I was deep into a conversation with a lady selling tlayudas—these giant, crispy tortillas topped with beans, cheese, and a whole party of flavors. She was chopping ripe avocados like they were the most precious thing on earth.
I wasn't planning on a cooking lesson, but that's exactly what happened. We spoke in broken Spanish and exaggerated hand signals, and somehow, I ended up with a giant plate of what I'd bought in my hands. I felt so alive and connected at that moment, like every worry just drifted away. I swear that tlayuda tasted better because it wasn't just about food anymore; it was about connection, raw and real.
I almost missed this, no thanks to my bad sense of direction
Oh, and let's talk about getting lost—like, really lost. I decided to venture out to Santo Domingo de Guzmán, thinking it'd be a leisurely stroll, but somehow, I ended up wandering down some random alley that didn't really feel right. I mean, I had a map (or so I thought), but the streets in Oaxaca love to confuse you.
Just when I thought I might as well give up and grab a drink instead, I passed this small artisan shop. The owner, an older gentleman with hands that told a thousand stories, was weaving textiles right there in front of me. So, instead of heading to the church, I found myself sucked into this world of colors and patterns I knew nothing about. He started explaining the significance behind each thread, and wow, it hit me—these weren't just souvenirs; they were little pieces of history.
I ended up buying a woven scarf, which is now one of my favorite things I own, purely because of the story behind it.
The meal that left a mark
Now, if there's one meal that will haunt my dreams, it was the mole I had at a little place called Casa Oaxaca. Seriously, I don't understand how some people just casually throw around the term "mole." The best word I can find to describe it? Transcendent. The complexity of flavors was mind-blowing. It was like each ingredient had its own personality that came together to create pure harmony.
The waiter recommended I try the traditional mole negro, and I didn't question him. Honestly, I wasn't sure what to expect, just knew it was a classic. When it arrived, steaming in all its dark glory, I felt like I should've taken a picture, but instead, I dove in. Each bite was like a narrative unraveling on my tongue—chocolate, spices, a hint of earthiness—it just knocked me out. I think I muttered something stupid like, “This is life-changing,” but who cares, right? I was in Oaxaca; I could say whatever.
A dance of missteps and discovery
And let's not ignore the missteps, because those are where the best memories are made. Like trying to blend in with the locals, accidentally walking into a wedding parade, which was a bit awkward at first. There I was, looking like a confused tourist holding a taco, watching people dance and celebrate life.
Somehow, they pulled me into the dance for a moment—probably because I looked so out of place. They chuckled at my awful attempts at salsa dancing, and it was one of those beautiful moments that reminds you there's something bigger than just being a tourist. It tied my entire experience together, like a ribbon on a gift I didn't expect to receive.
So, when I think about the best things to do in Oaxaca, it's really about the little things that caught me off guard: the people, the meals that spoke to my heart, the moments that made me feel one with everything around me. This trip was messy and impromptu in the most beautiful way, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
I'm still sifting through the memories as I sip the last bitter draught of my coffee, letting the warmth numb the edges of this lingering wanderlust. I think I might be ready to book my next ticket somewhere, and who knows? It might just lead me down another path of serendipitous moments waiting to unfold.
