1979 | Oaxaca (Huāxyacac)
Driving south from the astounding capital of Mexico (a huge city then of eleven million people, half its present number) toward the isthmus of Tehuantepec, where nothing at all seems to be in the way of the gales flowing freely from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic, along the way we stopped in Oaxaca after passing through eight or ten distinct regions of climate. For me, this town turned out to be exactly Mexico. We arrived in the early evening, and our travelers’ angels provided us with the last accommodation, a palatial bargain suite carved out of the old convent – veranda, sala, cocina, dormitorio, y baño.
The next morning I walked over to the marketplace, looking for a good hammock, and I haggled vigorously in my weak Spanish and made a sharp deal for ten dollars. I carried off my prize with satisfaction, but as I turned into the next aisle I found another, twice as fine in color and craft, already marked at half the price. So I bought a spare and got a story.
I did want to make pictures, so I stepped out of the close and dark market (this was during my Kodachrome period) and what I saw on the sidewalk was my first click. I like to think that even out in the open space and the bright light, Mexico always offers its mysteries.