Come the Second Rainy Season July 13, 2023
The Mexican heatwave has finally broke. Daytime highs drop to a comfortable 79 or 80. Moreover, the rainy season is in full swing—Every afternoon is marked by thunderstorms. The Milpa corn planting commences. The air is cleaned, the stench of the streets replaced by the perfume of “an early morning rain” (Gordon Lightfoot RIP) Late one evening near the Zocalo, I hear a mad penny whistle somewhere playing Celtic reels. It seems so alive within these Spanish walls, but echoes can deceive.
Sturdy stone benches and heavy planters have been placed along Guerrero and Bustamante, essentially removing the car traffic leading from the Municipal Palace. This may be due to security concerns for the armed SUV convoys that carry the Governor and other important dignitaries to the seat of government. The national guard troops carry assault rifles, bulletproof vests, and helmets, and they do not like road congestion. They demand clear entrances and clean getaways.
Despite the new developments, the bizarre and mysterious life of Oaxaca de Juarez continues through its centuries-long continuum. In Oaxaca Post, Alfonzo Galindo never runs out of weird and disturbing headlines:
“In 230-year-old ritual, Oaxaca mayor marries alligator.”
“Passenger bus falls in 75-feet-deep gulch in Oaxaca leaving 29 Zapotec dead.”
Meanwhile, the Guelagetza yearly extravaganza has officially kicked off. Tiliches and colorful paper cutouts appear again throughout downtown. Elaborately made-up women with floral dresses and red heels wander the streets in search of a dance performance. Parades, explosive fireworks, impenetrable crowds on the Zocalo—the annual flashbacks all resume. This year, however, they will do so without my kamikaze California Nuttail Woodpecker, who finally withdrew her beak for good and flew away. And there are more departures in store.
Before the afternoon rains stir, I escape the horns and ensnared congestion to my favorite retreat, into the hills on the northern edge of the city. We explore a new place, Benito Juarez National Park, which is a small federal reserve above the neighborhood of Volcanes. A morning mist is still burning away, as if the ancient volcano never died. The hillside is almost green again.