Xochimilco

7:00 a.m.:  I awake to fireworks going off unnervingly close to the window. Local dogs howl and car alarms activate in response to the booms. Pyrotechnics go off day and night across Oaxaca to celebrate the seemingly unending string of fiestas.  Today, our neighbors are gearing up for the big party tomorrow at the Iglesia del Santo Tomas one block up the hill.  A drum and flute strike up a tune to practice for the procession.

Christian and I have settled into the "barrio of weavers" called Xochimilco, the oldest neighborhood in Oaxaca.  Our little duplex is ideally situated an easy twenty minute stroll to the Zocalo, the center plaza, and a ten minute walk to my language school.  The highlights in our new home are the small library of Mexican history books and the rooftop (see above) with views of the mountains surrounding Oaxaca.  We couldn't have found a more idyllic spot.

The morning symphony revs up with a rhythmic staccato clacking across the alley as Senor Levya, the friendly patriarch of an old family of weavers, begins work. His loom sounds like a single horse cantering down a cobblestone street.  A vendor selling jugs of bottled water drives up the street calling, "agua, agua..." A small bell rings incessantly, but I have yet to discover its purpose.  I answer a knock on the door to find two smiling girls selling sweet rolls for three pesos apiece, which we'll enjoy with our coffee.  The day is underway in Xochimilco.