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Low colonial streets, seven moles, and mezcal made in villages an hour up into the hills. Slow in the way other places only claim to be.
A Zapotec city on a levelled mountaintop, half an hour above the valley.
The smoke corridor: pick your meat, hand it over, sit down at the long tables.
Three days at the end and I understood why people go straight here and skip the capital. The market is not a tourist attraction that happens to sell food, it is a working canteen for the whole city. I have not stopped thinking about the mole negro.
Four days during the holiday and it was full, in a way that felt like a city celebrating rather than a city being visited. Monte Albán at opening had maybe twenty people on it. The mezcal is the least interesting thing about the place and it is still very good.
