Sense of Gratitude

My wife Amy and I try to make the journey from our village into Oaxaca whenever events of deep cultural meaning unfold. These are times when the city reveals its soul—rituals layered with history, symbolism, and reverence. I come with my camera, ready to bear witness.

On Good Friday, we stood quietly among the crowd gathered for the Procesión del Silencio. The streets were full, yet hushed. The procession began late—the priest was delayed—but no one complained. Participants stood motionless, their black and white garments a testament to mourning and devotion. The statue of the Virgin waited too, crowned and serene, above a bed of flowers.

Nothing began until the priest finished his sermon at the steps of the Templo de la Preciosa Sangre de Cristo, a baroque church in the heart of Oaxaca’s historic center. Only then did the ancient ritual unfold—a tradition that has taken root here since colonial times and is based on Holy Week observances from Seville, Spain.

Standard bearers stepped forward, holding aloft banners richly embellished with sacred icons. Various parishes had offered their most venerated images and relics for the occasion, each one reverently borne on the shoulders of men. The weight of the divine—honored with every careful step.

Then came a procession of men wearing only loincloths and hoods, penitentes, their faces hidden, their bodies straining under immense wooden crosses. The timbers scraped loudly against the pavement, a visceral soundtrack to the unspoken agony and devotion representatively etched into each step they took. The sound echoed through the silence—raw, ancient, unforgettable.

There was no music. Only the sound of footsteps, the rustling of lace veils, the scraping of wood, and the unspoken language of shared faith.

In moments like this, Amy and I feel a deep sense of gratitude. Though we are transplanted Americans, we are welcomed here—not as strangers, but as neighbors. And in the silence of this sacred procession, we felt it again: the quiet power of belonging.

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For those unfamiliar with this powerful tradition, the Procesión del Silencio is a Catholic ritual that dramatizes the sorrow of the Virgin Mary, La Dolorosa; following the crucifixion of Christ. It originated in Spain and was brought to Latin America during the colonial period, becoming a central part of Holy Week in many cities, including Oaxaca. The silence is a symbol of mourning, penitence, and reverence.

Umbral—Threshold of Time

Umbral (50 x 40 cm), captures a native Oaxaqueña standing at the threshold of a weathered wooden doorway with deep turquoise trim. The vibrant hues of the wall—burnt ochre, orange, and crimson—frame her presence, contrasting with her humble yet striking attire. She wears a simple white blouse and a richly textured yellow skirt, cinched with a red woven sash. Barefoot, she exudes quiet strength, her expression introspective as she gazes into the distance. The impasto brushstrokes imbue the scene with movement, light, and raw emotion. 

The painting is from our studio in Oaxaca, called Dos Venados, or Two Deer. Amy and I live on Cuatro Venados Road, which goes from our village up into the mountains, and ends at a Eco-resort, called Cuatro Venados. The scene from Oaxaca is timeless, despite modernization that has occurred here.

She stands at the doorway, poised between past and future. The sun-soaked wall exudes warmth, yet her shadow lingers cool on the stone. In her silence, a story—of resilience, of waiting, of belonging.

Meanwhile, my writing continues for The Weight of Air⏤the story of a one year journey around the world in 2008. So many indelible, phenomenal occurrences and adventures to draw from. Documented in a timeline of travel blogs right here on My Fairy-Tale Life. 

See Substack: Notes from the Edge: Glimpses of the Dreaming Matrix. 

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With Fresh Eyes

This past week, Amy and I, along with a friend visiting from our former hometown of Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA, set out on a much-anticipated road trip from our village outside Oaxaca, Mexico to the Pacific Coast. With Highway 175 stretching before us, we embarked on our scenic drive. We had been to the coast on the same route about a month prior and the newly finished highway was smooth, clean and fast. This time we were stunned to find heavy damage along the way. Rocks and earth slides slowed down our drive and left us in awe and trembling. Men working heavy machinery were tasked the huge job of clearing the damage. 

Our destination was Mazunte, a small coastal town known for its bohemian charm and laid-back energy. Nestled along the shore, Hotel Casa Ofelia became our sanctuary for three nights—a simple yet delightful hotel where the ocean itself seemed to breathe tranquility into every moment. Our days melted into a dream of sunlit waves, salty breezes, the lulling sound of crashing waves, and endless relaxation. Amy does not swim, but I went headlong into the surf when I could. The ocean there is dangerous for its forceful action and somewhat steep slope, so at least once I was warned by a lifeguard to only go in up to my knees. Fortunately there is another, spectacular and safe beach called San Augustinillo, just minutes away.

Mazunte has a way of slowing time. It attracts travelers, artists, and wanderers, all drawn to its eclectic, free-spirited atmosphere. To me, it has the feeling of Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco during the height of the hippie days in the late 1960´s. Very relaxed elemental people are on a permanent free-spirit groove. The ocean, ever-present, is guide—a steady force softening thoughts and smoothing away
lingering tensions. We found a new favorite restaurant, grabbed delicious local coffee, visited a marvelous Turtle Museum. Spent sunset time walking along the shore, watching the sky transform into a canvas of fiery colors.

By the time we packed up to leave, we felt renewed. Three nights in eclectic Mazunte had worked its quiet magic, offering us space to breathe, to be still, and to simply exist in the presence of the sea. 

The drive home was reflective and slightly strained with the landscape shifting once again. Then suddenly when we entered Oaxaca city I felt it—the warm embrace of home. The cobblestone streets, vibrant markets, and artistic soul welcomed us back. Charms we had momentarily left behind now felt even richer, layered with the peace we carried from the coast.

Sometimes, a journey is not about seeking something new but about stepping away just long enough to return with fresh eyes. Mazunte gave us that gift, and Oaxaca, in turn, received us with open arms.

Winter Solstice Sojourn

For many of us, the winter solstice marks a time to reflect, recharge, and reconnect with the rhythms of nature. For my wife Amy and me, this year brought a longing for the Pacific Ocean’s embrace—a call we couldn’t ignore. After all, it is not that far a drive away. From our quiet village on the outskirts of Oaxaca, we set off on a journey to Mazunte, a jewel on Mexico’s Pacific coast. Known for its pristine beaches, bohemian charm, and soulful tranquility, this small seaside town seemed the perfect place to honor the year’s shortest day and longest night. Our plan was simple: to escape the everyday, soak in the ocean’s timeless wisdom, and welcome the return of longer days with an offering while surrounded by beauty and peace.

The joy of the Pacific Ocean is irresistible. As we reached Mazunte after a four hour drive—mostly on a new highway, the rhythmic crash of waves called us like an old friend, and soon we were in the water, laughing and leaping through the surf. Well, I was in the ocean. Amy does not swim, but likes to stride the sandy beach, waves licking her toes. The ocean’s embrace was cool yet invigorating, a timeless reminder of life’s playful, unrestrained energy. Frolicking in the shallows, we felt the weight of everyday worries melt away with each rolling wave. We enjoyed seeing people of all types and ages, in families, solo, with partners and dogs. A nude beach is not far away and sometimes young women were topless and unbothered.

Our days unfolded with a natural rhythm, guided by the sun’s ascent and descent. Walking along the beach at sunrise felt like stepping into a dreamscape—the light casting a golden hue across the sand, the ocean shimmering with the first blush of morning. As the day gave way to evening, we found ourselves in awe of fiery sunsets, their colors spilling across the horizon, mirrored in the rippling tide.

Mazunte’s vibrant charm extended beyond the shore. Strolling through town, we discovered eclectic shops offering everything from handmade jewelry to vibrant textiles. Each store felt like a small treasure chest, inviting us to linger and explore. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries often drew us into cozy cafes where time slowed, and we savored the simple pleasures of buttery croissants and rich, aromatic brews. Mexico’s coast produces some of the finest coffee in the world. 

Beachside grills became our favorite dining spots, where we indulged in fresh fish grilled to perfection, seasoned with local spices, and accompanied by tangy salsas, ensaladas, and warm tortillas.

For me, during the three day sojourn, I felt the weight of troubles lift by the hour, until a new found sense of freedom settled inside.

When we returned home, our trusted house sitter greeted us warmly, our two dogs safely in tow, tails wagging with excitement. The house was just as we had left it, a comforting welcome back to our life in the village.

The next evening, we joined our dear neighbors, Mayolo and Marta, for Christmas Eve supper. Their home is just a short walk from ours, and over the years, they’ve become more than friends—they feel like family. Sitting around their table, sharing food and stories, it was clear how much our lives had intertwined, weaving a shared sense of belonging.

On Christmas Day, our neighbor Remedios and her young daughter visited to bake Christmas cookies with Amy. Without an oven of her own, Remedios brought her heartfelt enthusiasm to our kitchen. The house quickly filled with the sweet aromas of cinnamon and sugar. Her husband has been away in the United States for several years, and she raises her two children on her own with boundless love and resilience. Watching her laugh with her daughter while they rolled out dough was a touching reminder of her strength and grace.

Just last night, we hosted a gathering of ten neighbors at our home, a beautiful mix of Mexicanos and ex-pats. Around the table, we shared a meal accompanied by laughter and lively conversation. The hours slipped by as we toasted, told stories, and celebrated the season, the warmth of connection lingering long after the last plate was cleared. It was one of those evenings that deepened our gratitude for this little village and the incredible people who make it feel like home.

Amy with Elba, on our rooftop

A Night at the Feria

Last night, Amy and I drove into Oaxaca and headed to Llano Park, where a lively "feria" has been set up for the holidays. These traveling fairs, which appear in different locations throughout the year, are a delightful mix of mechanical rides, games, food stalls, and cultural exhibitions—bringing joy to communities wherever they go.

We arrived just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the park. The feria was beginning to come alive, with flashing lights, swirling rides, and music building to a festive crescendo. The air was thick with the smell of roasted corn, sweet churros, and fried delights, mingling with the excited chatter of families and children.

Amy has a knack for games of chance and skill, so we plunged into the action. She threw darts at balloons, went fishing for surprises, operated cranes that teased at stashes of stuffed toys, bowled oversized marbles into numbered holes, and even took her chances at a horse-racing game.

Later in the evening, I decided to join her at the horse-racing table. Standing side by side, I reached into my pocket for some change, but as I faced the track, I felt a gentle tug on my sleeve. Turning around, I found a young woman looking at me with concern.

“You dropped your money,” she said, gesturing to the bills at my feet.

For a moment, my heart skipped a beat. I had left my wallet at home to avoid the risk of pickpockets, opting instead to carry cash in my pocket. I bent down to pick up the bills, feeling both relief and gratitude. Smiling, I thanked her profusely and offered a tip, which she accepted with a gracious nod. As I watched her walk away, I couldn’t help but feel touched by her honesty and kindness.

4 minutes

By the end of the night, Amy was triumphant, returning home with an armful of stuffed animals and prizes. True to her generous spirit, she plans to share them with our neighbors’ children—a small token of the joy the feria brought us.

What a fun and memorable night.

Blossoming

 Five years ago, my wife Amy and I made a big life change—we moved to a village in southern Mexico on the outskirts of Oaxaca. We are both artists and made our studio in our home, called Dos Venados, or Two Deer. We wanted to integrate ourselves into our community in a meaningful way, especially with our immediate neighbors, and that’s when the idea of offering art lessons to local children was born.

Early group picture, 2022

Every Sunday, we gather with about eight neighborhood children for a couple of hours of creativity. We provide all the materials—paints, brushes, canvases, sculpture objects—and even refreshments. What started as a fun way to spend time with the kids has blossomed into something much more meaningful. We initially thought the interest might wane as the children grew older, but to our delight, they continue to come back each week, excited for the next project.

Ebeth, then and now.

Watching them grow, not just as budding artists but as individuals, has been a rewarding experience.

The joy of these Sunday gatherings has made this one of the most fulfilling parts of our life here. We see that our efforts are appreciated. Bonding has occurred. Sometimes a child arrives at our gate with fresh made warm tortillas as a gift. It’s a beautiful reminder that sometimes, the simplest gestures can build the strongest connections.

Luna, Aram and Pilar. About 1 year ago.

An Immersive Cultural Experience

Visiting Abastos Market in Oaxaca, Mexico is a grand adventure⏤an immersive experience in the heart of local culture. As one of the largest and busiest markets in the region, it bursts with vibrant colors, scents, and sounds. Mostly sheltered, taking up about four city blocks, the air is filled with the rich aromas of freshly ground chilies, spices, grilled meats, fish, flowers and herbs. Stalls overflow with everything from handwoven textiles and pottery to exotic fruits and traditional Oaxacan foods like mole, tlayudas, and chapulines (grasshoppers). All types of hardware, household items, clothing, shoes and hats, are sold. The energy is palpable, as vendors call out their offerings, and shoppers negotiate prices. It’s a bustling hub of life, offering a true taste of Oaxacan tradition.

Woman selling fried chapulines, or grasshoppers

Amy especially is entranced, stopping often to inspect goods. I stroll through, taking pictures and enjoying the bustling atmosphere. We like to stop along the way for a cool chocolate shake made by a specialty chocolate shop called Mayordomo. Here is a six minute video of the market experience, with music:

Big Mexican markets are sensorial delights of sight, sound, textures, smells . . . . the total package. Our little village, San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, outside Oaxaca city, has its own Tuesday market, where vendors sell fruits and vegetables, homemade foods, flowers, garden plants and other items. Each week I buy fresh cut flowers, fruits and vegetables. 

Our home always is adorned with beautiful flowers.

Blessing of the Animals

 

Yesterday, Amy was particularly keen on going to the annual blessing of the animals (Bendición de los Animales) at Nuestra Señora de La Merced, a humble church in Oaxaca Centro district. The day is the Catholic feast day of San Ramón Nonato, canonized by Pope Alexander VII in 1657. 

We departed from our village under stormy skies to make the 45 minute drive and arrive by 4 PM. At first there were but few people with animals, but steadily more arrived. People carrying cats, variety of dogs in costumes, fish in aquariums, birds . . . all kinds of creatures along with doting owners. The animals behaved, though sometimes excitedly tugging at leashes.

A priest arrived to the church entrance for the ceremony. He stood beside a huge, old wooden carving of a saint that stood on a platform with myriad blooming lilies beneath. 

A wonderful litany was spoken (in Spanish so I did not understand most of it). At times the crowd with their animals chimed along in a group recitation. At conclusion the priest and helpers walked around and sprinkled holy water in blessing. 

With her little fish

Amy and I gleefully engaged and took photos amidst the friendly and unique gathering. 

This pigeon has been with the woman three years, since hatching from an egg.
In a priest outfit.

We went away  satisfied, once again thankful to be blessed living in such a vibrant and artistic corner of the world as Oaxaca. We determined that next year we would bring our two dogs.

A Visual Feast

 

Every time I drive into Oaxaca, I’m struck by the ever-changing tapestry of graffiti art that adorns the city’s walls. Each visit is like unwrapping a new surprise, with vibrant colors and bold designs bringing life to unexpected corners and walls along streets and sidewalks. 

The beauty of Oaxaca’s graffiti lies not just in its artistry, but in its fleeting nature. What was once a plain wall can become a vivid canvas, only to be transformed again by a new artist with a fresh perspective. As an artist, I find myself drawn to these urban murals, eager to see what’s new, what messages are being shared, and how the city’s soul is being captured in paint and stencils. 

Oaxacan street art serves as a powerful form of expression for marginalized communities, blending artistic traditions with contemporary social commentary. It transforms the urban landscape into a canvas for resistance, cultural pride, and public dialogue on pressing issues facing the region.

Oaxacan street art often addresses:

- Indigenous culture and identity

- Social and political issues

- Protests against inequality, corruption, and violence

- Environmental activism

- Memorials for tragedies like earthquakes and missing persons

Artists employ various techniques, including:

- Murals and large-scale paintings

- Woodblock prints on biodegradable rice paper

- Stencils and spray paint

- Poster art and wheat pasting

It’s a visual feast that never gets old, each visit offering a new layer of creativity to explore. When Amy and I go to town, I am always dazzled by some new work adorning a wall. When one piece disintegrates or gets destroyed, another goes up. The graffiti in Oaxaca is more than just art; it’s a living, breathing expression of the city’s vibrant culture.

Quinceañera for Frida

 

Last weekend, my wife Amy and I had the honor of attending a quinceañera for Frida, the daughter and granddaughter of our friends and close neighbors here in San Pedro Ixtlahuaca. We were thrilled to be invited as the event photographers, capturing beautiful moments of this special day.

A quinceañera is a traditional Latin American celebration marking a girl's 15th birthday, symbolizing her transition from childhood to womanhood. The celebration was held in a grand event hall, in an adjacent municipality on the outskirts of Oaxaca. Upon arrival, we were touched to find that our friends had reserved a table of honor for us, seating us alongside them. This gesture made us feel incredibly welcome and deeply appreciated. 

The evening was a vibrant tapestry of music, dance, oratory, and heartfelt tributes to Frida. From the lively tunes played by the band to the choreographed dances by Frida and her court, every moment was filled with joy and celebration. One of the highlights was the "calenda," a traditional parade that entered the hall and added a unique and festive touch to the evening.

Especially, the dancing of Frida and her entourage of young friends was very touching. Such respect and camaraderie, gave a touching poignancy to the evening.  

As the night progressed,  we ate our fill and our hearts were brimming with the warmth and friendship of the community. We felt a profound sense of belonging, embraced by the kindness and generosity of our friends and neighbors. It was a night we will cherish forever, a testament to the strong bonds we’ve formed in our beloved village of San Pedro Ixtlahuaca.

Congratulations to Frida on her marvelous quinceañera . . . and to her wonderful family. 

Excitement and Spectacle

The Guelaguetza festival in Oaxaca, Mexico, is an exhilarating experience and a fantastic photographic opportunity. This major annual event showcases the rich cultural diversity of Oaxaca's eight regions through traditional music, dance, food, and artisanal crafts. The festivities span about two weeks at the end of July, featuring numerous activities. My wife Amy and I particularly enjoy the massive “calenda,” or parade, that winds through the streets of Oaxaca Centro.

Unfortunately, we missed the first of the two big parades last weekend. As we prepared to drive from our village into town yesterday, clouds began to gather, and a light sprinkle of rain fell. This being our wet season, I wondered if the parade would be drenched.

Despite the weather, we decided to go. The parade was scheduled to start at 5 PM, so we left around 4, planning to arrive at our viewing spot fifteen minutes before the swirling dancers, brass and percussion bands, puppets, and other participants would pass by. It continued to drizzle as we drove, and approaching the Centro district, we got stuck in a traffic jam, barely inching forward. Meanwhile, the parade had already begun. Amy suggested we turn back, thinking it might be a wasted effort. However, we had come this far, so we decided to stay in the slow-moving lines of cars, our windshield wipers slowly slapping time. I resolved to head to where the parade would finish since we would miss the start. The route spans about a mile.

The unusual amount of traffic puzzled us until we realized it must be due to the festival. To our dismay, the police had blocked off some streets as we arrived. Nevertheless, I managed to navigate us to the area where the parade would end. The streets were extremely crowded, making parking a challenge. Eventually, I turned up a little cobblestone street. By this time, dusk was approaching, and the sky was overcast. As I drove slowly forward, I hit an unseen hole. Crunch! The car lurched with a terrible noise. This was worse than the usual for the often rough streets and sidewalks. We parked about twenty feet further along. I was upset, Amy was disheartened, and it was still sprinkling. But we needed to find the parade.

We walked about five blocks, sometimes sharing our one umbrella. The rain wasn't heavy, so I accepted getting slightly wet. A huge crowd had gathered at the corner where the parade would soon arrive and make a turn. We could get no closer than about four people back, blocked by a solid mass of humanity. Both sides of the festive streets were filled with families, some children perched atop their father's shoulders. Plenty of umbrellas were open and held aloft.

When the parade arrived, the atmosphere exploded with jubilation. Fireworks burst overhead, bands played energetically, dancers swirled in native costumes, and women with long black braids danced gracefully. Revelers shouted, "¡Viva Oaxaca!" Candy was thrown into the crowd. From behind people, I could barely see, and Amy even less, but the excitement and spectacle were palpable. Looking behind us, an old woman, much shorter than Amy looked helplessly. And there were more people behind her. We stayed for about twenty minutes before deciding to leave.

One of our favorite restaurants was nearby, so we ended up there for dinner before heading home. Thankfully, our car seemed to have weathered the hit. In the end, we felt peculiarly satisfied and agreed that next year, we would arrive much earlier.