Mountains and moles

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It’s another early start. Our bus leaves the central station at 8.25am and that’s right on the other side of the city. We have packed our bags and are just deciding whether to return the fan to the room we purloined it from...after the hassle involved in changing rooms we decided just to help ourselves to the missing items in the new room rather than to ask! We check out. It’s the sour faced woman that wanted to house us in the hell hole. She takes our key unsmilingly and not so much as an adieu...clearly she has not forgiven us for standing our ground!

Our Uber arrives promptly and we are at the bus station within half an hour giving us plenty of time to purchase goodies for brunch. Security is cleared and our bus both arrives and leaves promptly. We have managed to secure the front seats on the bus again so we have some good views for the journey. We appear to be in a minority amongst a number of tour groups with their guides today. The bus is completely full.

There’s a lot of traffic today and we’re in a huge queue to join the toll road. As usual, there are guys walking between the lines of traffic selling their wares...can you imagine rolling down your window on the slip road to the M25 to buy a sun hat? Well it’s the way of things here, as I just saw it happen! And now having cleared the pay booths, it’s nothing to use the hard shoulder as a pavement - we are speeding along the toll road and there are groups of people just walking at the side of us.

We have turned off the toll and joined a single track road flanked by mountains. Maybe that’s why our driver was so keen to overtake that car on the interchange! The bright blue skies have turned to grey as we climb higher. Still, it’s a pretty good straight road without too much other traffic. There seems to be an indicator language going on between our bus and a large lorry in front. At first it’s confusing...a wink, followed by a move into the hard shoulder...our bus pulls forward but has the grace not to overtake on the blind summit. We pull back and a different combination of winks accompanied by no move over...ah, we have just passed a police car...that would explain it!

We’ve just about reached the top and in another traffic queue...more road works. Grey clouds seen from the side window and bright blue sky ahead! Now we appear to be in a narrow mountain pass, hurtling downhill at an alarming speed. Our driver appears to have a death wish as he attempts to double overtake a huge lorry and a pick up...look mate, the pick up can’t make it and its a fraction of your length...plus I’m pretty sure a double yellow solid line means, no overtaking! No matter, he does it anyway, despite the completely blind bend and no visible winking from the lorry in front. You have never seen anyone get their seat belt buckled up so quickly! We are about a third of the way - only two more hours to go.

We’re back in the valley, blue skies and a nice straight road - pity there is no one to overtake here.

Now another mountain pass...probably the most spectacular that we have seen to date. A huge sign states ‘take care, dangerous bends’ or words to that effect. I hope our driver has taken heed! It’s seriously like flying as we gain height and cross viaducts whose height represent fantastic feats of engineering. And there is also the occasional hold up where the road is being rebuilt due to land slip!

We’re back in the valley, and oh, oh, our driver is back to his old tricks. He starts to overtake a car transporter, despite the ‘caution, double length’ warning in large letters on the rear. There is a car coming so he pulls back but, undeterred, takes it at the next pass! One more hour to go!

Now we’re at a road block...it looks like a bunch of students protesting. They have red plastic cones in front of the entrance to the toll booth. Our driver opens his window to speak to them. There are no raised voices or cash exchanges, so we can only presume he said something along the lines of: move your bollards or I will drive through them! Whatever he said, the bollards are moved and we continue our journey.

We have arrived in Oaxaca (pronounced wa-hack-a) and there are no Ubers here so we are at the mercy of the local taxi mafia. He asks for 60 pesos which is probably double the going rate but not worth arguing about. He deserves a little extra for lifting our heavy bags into the car!

We arrive at our town centre hotel and check in. We have a lovely room with a huge super king size bed, a small balcony overlooking the street and lots of little extras in the bathroom. We are also presented with two chocolate lollipops by the lady at reception. Think ‘wagon wheel’ minus the biscuit, but with proper thick chocolate coating (like they used to be when we were kids) and jellies stuck on top for eyes and mouth. Yum...they don’t hang around long...but it’s far too hot to leave chocolate hanging around in any case. :-)

We decide to go for a tour of the town. We are just two blocks from the zocalo, the traditional ‘green’ square at the heart of the historical centre of most Mexican towns - this one is no exception. Tree-lined, a fountain at the centre, with shops and restaurants opening up from all sides. As always, the cathedral is sited next door. In this case the original 16th century structure is buttressed between solid 18th century walls, made necessary by a series of earthquakes.

We notice some sort of parade is heading up the Calle Alcalá, a pedestrianised tree-lined street comprising colonial era stone buildings, and catch up with it outside the Church of Santo Domingo. The church itself took over 200 years to complete, presumably a PFI project, and is renowned for its stunning interior decoration, something that we would have seen if we had arrived during opening hours.

We stroll down other colonial streets, taking in the ambience. Like many other towns laid down by the Spanish, the roads are of a grid pattern and are nearly all one way only - a system that appears to work.

This evening we return to the square to sample some traditional Oaxacaan cuisine: namely ‘mole’. No, it is not a small black furry creature...mole is the name given to the rich, creamy sauces that the food is cooked in. I choose leg of pork in a black mole whilst Ian goes for the slightly more spicy green mole with pork shank. I’ve got to be honest, it’s not really my thing. A huge dish of sauce arrives with the pork and a tiny mound of white rice. Less sauce and loads of veg would do it for me, it’s far too rich.

We are sitting on the first floor of the restaurant on an open balcony overlooking the square. I feel pretty guilty leaving my food when I can see a poor old man sitting down below with his possessions in an old sack beside him. I know I am about to make Ian cringe as I ask the waiter for a doggy bag...I want to give it to that man over there, I explain. My doggy bag arrives and is gratefully accepted by the old man.

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