Oaxaca, Mexico

On Oaxaca’s Pochote Street, I make a game of naming the colour of every building we pass: sunbleached lilac, seafoam green, egg yolk yellow. Around the corner, rainbows of papel picado flutter above cobbled streets and technicolour buildings. Across the road, tourists crowd a quesadilla stand, curiously opening their tortillas to reveal silky mole the colour of brown clay. Vendors peddle beautiful blouses, crisp white under the vibrant otomi embroidery.

Painters can only dream of possessing a palette as rich as Oaxaca’s – but what is to be expected from a city renowned for its craftsmanship? Oaxaca has no shortage of boutiques run by artist collectives championing ancestral techniques: brocade, woodcuts, barro negro pottery. Every weekend, painters and sculptors display their works at Parque Labastida, ready for a sale. Somewhere in the chaos of Mercado Sánchez Pascuas, a woman vigorously whips tejate – an Indigenous ‘drink of the gods’ made of corn and cacao – in a clay basin, as they have been for centuries. Mezcalerias are dotted across the city, welcoming tourists eager to learn more about the Oaxacan distilleries that supply nearly 90% of the country’s mezcal.  

We arrive in October, just as the city begins to prepare for día de muertos. Our host warmly welcomes us into her family courtyard where sunlight spills in all directions.

“You are very lucky. You will see the most spectacular festivities in Mexico,” she says, referring to Oaxaca’s famous día de muertos traditions. Pointing to the marigold petals scattered on the ground near her ofrenda, she adds:

“This is to lead our relatives back home. Of course, they will want to come home – we live here, in Oaxaca.”