The street just outside the place we’re staying
I don’t want to eat gelatina for breakfast (or ever), but I feel a pleasant nostalgia seeing it set out at tiny little home-based establishments.
Pomegranate tree
“Movimiento,” a beautiful mural a few blocks away. Oaxaca’s indigenous people show up here and so many places.
Is this what happens if you let an impatiens grow into a tree? It might be. 
Día de los Muertos is coming soon and already celebrated, with cempazuchiles (marigolds) everywhere.
This made me laugh. The sign asks drivers please not to park in the pedestrian crosswalk, marked by steel bumps and orange paint. It’s having no effect.

I was headed to a café several blocks from our place, but gave up–I think Google Maps is out of date–and went to the local huge supermarket for oat milk and other necessities.

I love the way in their Mexico marketing, Kellogg’s just drops the euphemism and calls Frosted Flakes “Little Sugars.” Like Calvin’s “Sugar Bombs” in Calvin and Hobbes.
There’s great stuff at the supermercado, though, like an entire bakery with lots of fresh bread.  Naturally, I brought home one of these crocodiles.
Walking a different route home. We, too, can have sidewalks like this if we get rid of all those pesky regulations and the agencies that enforce them. It looked like a drop of 10-15 feet. Fun!
And when you come to the curb, a chasm opens between the sidewalk and the street. In case you missed the opportunity to plummet through the concrete before. US Americans, we could save so much tax money and our boring, “safe” sidewalks would soon disappear!

We had breakfast at the house and then headed to the centro. Altars and special decorations for the fiesta are everywhere.

What pictures can’t capture are the smells, like the heavenly scent of tortillas cooking all through the neighborhood. The feel of the round bumps of paving stones underfoot, and the necessity to duck now and then where a guy wire crosses the sidewalk. The sound of the very annoying truck driving all around with a recording of a woman speaking that was loud yet unintelligible. When the truck passed close by me as I explored, I realized she was listing all the tamales the truck driver sold. Yum. Maybe tomorrow I’ll flag it down, though I hate to reward such an obnoxious method of advertising. And then there were the sounds of dogs distantly barking, roosters crowing, people chatting with their neighbors. It all adds up to a place so familiar and beloved, I can’t believe we stayed away for six years.