Wahaka!

Seven passengers, 1 pilot and the Sierra Madre, that’s how we started on our 8 day expedition into the interior from the quaint international AirPort of Huatulco. A smooth touch down at Oaxaca Ciudad a mere 30 minutes and dozens of pics later and we were ready to paint the town red. 

Oaxaca doesn’t need extra paint. It is a color explosion and an absolute tourist delight. It also has a pleasant pre-global-warming temperature which caused My Captain to grab for his fleece in the evening and for a hot xocolatl at noon. We effortless shifted into our best sightseeing mode and enjoyed the hedonistic rebellious marvel that Oaxaca Ciudad is today.

We even waited in an impressive queue for 1,5 hours before we were allowed in to lay eyes on the Zapotec ruins of Monte Alban, dated 700 AD. The color red gets a whole different meaning here. As we were taking in the peaceful scene, the descriptions at each structure told a rather gruesome story of the rule by terror of the few over the many. With ceremonial altars meant for human sacrifice galore, gory images of severed heads, hearts & male genitals started to invade our brain in an “Apocalypto” kind of way.

High time to purify the mind and soul. So off we went into the mountains. Our 4 day stay in the cabañas of the Sierra Norte brought the solace we were looking for. The woods were filled with the strangest of bromeliads and the cutest of wild flowers. There was even a snake ! The views were soul soothing.

Part of the program included an energetic cleanse in the ritual medicinal center of the village of Capulálpam. The cleanse involved incantations, incense, 7 different fragrant plants, 1 egg and aguardiente. 

After having rolled the egg all over our body, it was broken in a glass of water where the yolk and egg-white created a pattern. The reading of that pattern told me to fret less and told My Captain some interesting truths. But one thing was egg-clear for the both of us: in order to reach a higher level of purification , we would definitely need some additional sessions. 

Maybe it was because we chose to skip the final step of the ritual: the spitting of aguardiente on our face and body. From behind her facemask, the mistress of ceremony seriously offered us the choice to go ahead with it or not. We politely declined.

And now we are back on O2. We’ve just realized that the yellow trimaran which is docked one pontoon behind us belongs to Architectes de l’urgence. I’m writing this post in the company of the harbor cat who is trying to seduce me. I cannot allow it. I know that if I acknowledge her she will follow me on board and I won’t have the heart to shoo her away.

And “away” we have to go.