10:28, 7 hours in your past. That’s my WhatsApp to my sister during the coffee break of a sunny morning in Oaxaca.

This morning I woke up early, at least for my standards. It’s 7:30 and I want to catch some morning lights while the city awakens.

I walk slowly towards the Mercado 20 de Noviembre. The low lights cut the streets in a way that only this time of the morning can.

I arrive at the market with people enjoying their savory breakfast. It fascinates me how different the concept of breakfast is around the world. Imagine how it could feel to have breakfast with tacos, or pho when I was in Vietnam, for a person like me, that grew up with croissants and cappuccinos.

Usually here, it is barely possible to move through the corridors without hitting someone, but now, around 8:30, it feels alive but manageable. People are enjoying their meals while there’s plenty of space for me to just be.

I cross the street and enter the Mercado Benito Juárez where I see a familiar face at a fish stall. The same face that was screaming and circling the Lucha Libre mat with a black cowboy hat last Sunday.

I approach her, you should see the sparkles in her eyes when I tell her that I saw her last Sunday. Rosalba, her name, is so proud of that that she starts shouting towards the other stands that I recognized her from the AAA lucha libre event.

I take the chance to take a couple of portraits. I love that as soon as I ask if I can photograph her she grabs a big red fish. Perfect combination with the intense blue shutters of the nearby stand.

As I get out of the market I already know that I will come back tomorrow with a gift for her. Guelaguetza right?

If you were reading Missives From Vietnam you already know that I always bring a small printer with me and I love to gift them to the people when possible.

Now, after the coffee and the message you read at the beginning, I do what I’m best at: following the sketchy streets. The small, raw paths that I have no clue where will lead me. Where things get more rusty than shiny.

My sixth sense starts to activate when I see a mini market with a caged entrance where people could order only through a small window in it. I start to look around, taking some photos when an old lady asks me why I’m photographing that ugly stuff. We chit chat a bit, her daughter is in Spain and all the family seems scattered all over the globe. Before saying goodbye, Rosalba warns me to avoid going up to the hill mimicking with the hand something. I say “they had knives?”, “no, guns” she says.

That’s when I turn and cautiously walk towards the historic center.

I’m meeting Noel, a documentary photographer from here who kindly offered to meet me for coffee. It’s quite rare to receive a response when cold messaging someone you’ve never met.

The coffee morphs into a walk, that shifts to a cantina. I’m so grateful to be with him, I’m not sure if I’d feel safe enough to go there by myself, or at least not to make photos.

Noel worked for years in a project about cantinas and knows all the places upside down, making it comfortable to walk in, drink a beer or two, and make some photos over nice chats.

Then, surprise. Noel asks me if I want to have dinner with Jonathan. Jonathan Jasberg, one of my photographic heroes that happens to be in Oaxaca as well for an upcoming workshop.

The night goes on with delicious food, another cantina, and more beers.

These kinds of nights are the reason why I decided to keep this edition more loose and not daily as the one from Vietnam.

Looking forward to the long night bus to Villahermosa, and then Palenque.

I speak to you from Chiapas.

— M