Oaxaca has a way of working herself into your heart and then one afternoon you suddenly realize that you’re home. That you understand conversations held in a language other than your first one (even though you’re still screwing up the tenses & can’t remember that one specific word you need, even though you KNOW that you know it). That seeing people in traditional dress is normal. That the woman who sells you choriqueso tacos and the guy who does your laundry not only know your name but are happy to see you, and to ask you what you’ve been up to since the last time they saw you (full disclosure: the taco lady sees us A LOT). Almost without realizing it, you’ve built a new home and created a little life full of people you enjoy.
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