Oaxaca City - Day 1

I landed in Oaxaca last night after what felt like a lifetime spent in airports. It was one of those epic travel days — long layovers, too many terminals, toddlers zigzagging like loose kites in a windstorm, and one glorious stretch of turbulence that shook the plane like a maraca. Strangely, I loved it. I gripped my water with both hands, grinned like a lunatic, and rode it out. 

Eventually, the hours stitched themselves together into one blurry, exhausted memory. I arrived, finally, and was greeted by my host — kind, engaging, full of warm chatter. But all I could think about was peeling off my hiking boots like two old bandages and stepping into a cold shower. Sweet, glorious water. I swear I shed 10 kilos just from the heat and airport grime. I rinsed the day off my skin, called my husband to let him know I was alive (20 hours later, in one piece), and collapsed into bed.

Slept like a baby.

Woke up to either a jaguar… or the horniest cat in all of Oaxaca.

Either way, I felt refreshed. And hungry.

First order of business: coffee.

I wandered out and followed the scent of warm bread like a cartoon character lifted by her nose. A nearby panadería reeled me in. Glorious sweet breads sang their sugar songs to me from behind glass — conchas, cuernitos, everything golden and fluffy. I resisted, barely. Ordered my coffee to go. Continued on toward el centro.

But fate had other plans: halfway down the street, I was ambushed by the scent of roasted cacao. Again, I surrendered. I found myself face-to-face with a woman selling artisanal Oaxacan chocolate — white beans, dark beans, florals, spice! She had me tasting everything: flower-infused chocolate powder, chai-spiced bars, pure dark cacao with vanilla. She spoke with such pride and love for her products, each ingredient laid out like a little altar. Of course I bought a bit of everything — plus a chili chocolate bar for my husband that will make a divine mole someday.

I wandered on, charmed and caffeinated, taking in the city’s early morning rhythm. Decorations fluttered in the streets, a slow swell of music hinted at Guelaguetza celebrations ahead. 

And then — five minutes from my destination — I reached into my bag and discovered the great travel cliché:

No wallet.

Of course.

Resolved to salvage the day, I flagged a taxi back to the hotel, grabbed my wallet (and my dignity), and zipped right back out to meet a new friend for a trip to the market. Our mission: to find the famous Doña Velas, who appeared in a Netflix special and whose salsas I’ve been dreaming about ever since.

What an experience. The market was a beast — vast, noisy, built like a maze with no apparent exits. Rows upon rows of vendors, corners curling into new corridors, the air thick with the scent of spice, meat, fruit, and possibility. We passed stacks of oddly yellow chickens, fully cooked and proudly displaying their internal organs in the cavity. Flies hovered casually. I know this is normal — cultural! — but I’m still not over last year’s esquites misadventure, and my stomach flinched on instinct.

We found Doña Velas, but only just — she was wrapping up for the day. No salsa for now. But I’ve made a mental note: I must return. Her flavors are calling, and my adventure is just beginning.

Tonight, I dine at Criollo — a long-anticipated treat.

But first… a shower. A nap. A soft reset before Oaxaca continues to unfold.