Old Zapotec Man

The house we were renting had a flowing singing stream as one of it’s boundaries and encouraged by notes left by the owner, we kind of followed it back up the mountain for a lovely walk to its source. Up a broken road, past land ready to be planted, and greenhouses full of tomatoes, and closer and closer to those impressive mountains we saw everyday, we came upon the resovior, full of fish and decorated with white egrets(?) and colorful ducks. Its shores were verdant and glen like. (On later visits at different times of the year we were struck by the low level of the resovior, reveling white chalky shores. A reminder of how precious a resource the water was and how fleeting). A trail on the left side of the resovior followed the stream that feed it and lead us through fern, and forest flowers and a staggering surprise of a bamboo patch, mystical and saintly and somehow not out of place on this mountain side.

On our way back we met an old zapotec man, who seemed quite surprised to see us, out on this trail. He wanted to know where our car was and when we explained we were just out for the walk, his face held a mixture of surprise and understanding. All the time we were talking with him, we got the real sense that Spanish was as much a second language for him as it was for us. He pointed out some choice trails and recommended some other sites we had not reached. AS we parted, Tony looked over his shoulder and saw the old man scampering up a rough mountain trail we had decided was too much for us to tackle that day. The man quickly disappeared up the mountain, leaving us with a stately memory of a pleasant encounter.