Finding Home in Oaxaca

I don’t remember exactly why I chose Oaxaca for my first month-long stay in Mexico in 2015. It might have been because I didn’t know anyone who’d been here. Living near the border in Arizona, everyone went to Mexico, sometimes for lunch in Naco or for prescriptions or tile or even just warm rolls at the tienda. Sonora is right there, Alamos, Puerto Peñasco, Guaymas. But Oaxaca is far away, it seemed exotic and I liked the name.

Last year my running-away-from-home fantasies became acute. I longed for relief from house maintenance and fear of wildfires and astonishing insurance premiums. A plan gelled and I began a clean out with a vengeance in preparation for selling my home. For years I’d traveled, often resenting having to return on a schedule that seemed arbitrary. And after all that travel I’d learned how to live simply. Time to put decades of practice to the test.

September 10th, 2025 was arrival day in Oaxaca de Juarez, Mexico, for a 5 month stay. Because unknown timing of the house sale was an impediment to advance planning, the high season months were something of a trial where housing was concerned. I was able to secure a studio apartment in a popular building for the first 5 weeks, after which it was booked solid.

To simplify things I bit the bullet price-wise and used an online platform for the duration. It was a good lesson in the importance of planning ahead.

A Few Downsides

Let’s get these out of the way. None put me off being here but can still be acknowledged.

Mexico is noisy. My landlady in 2015 proclaimed the obvious as we discussed the assertion in her ad that her property in Centro was quiet. It’s like any city center—motorcycles, cars and buses, sirens and car alarms. Church bells. Other sounds are uniquely Mexican—loudspeakers, rumbling garbage collection pushcarts. Fireworks explosions, said to be in honor of saints or special occasions but I believe it’s more often explosion addiction for those who need no occasion. And dogs. The flight path for departing airliners is directly over the city. Conversations pause while they pass. Altogether, the symphony of Oaxaca.

Money. Like everywhere these days the need for cash is diminishing, but for a resident it’s often a requirement to pay one’s rent for a reasonably priced place. Mexican banks display the usual logos for banking affiliations that should render the solution a simple trip to an ATM. But no attempt is a sure thing. I never know why. I plan to sign up for a different debit card to test one hypothesis. That’s all I’ve got on that subject.

Water. There are 2 systems, municipal and private. The city pipes water from government-owned wells to cisterns under buildings which is then pumped to rooftop tanks and gravity-fed to faucets. The private system is tanker trucks that deliver water from privately-owned wells when the city is unable to provide it. Neither source is considered potable as delivered.

Purified drinking water comes in 20 liter plastic bottles and is dispensed using a rechargeable gizmo that sits on top or a metal stand that rotates the whole bottle to pour it out. Water is not something that’s taken for granted. The city is often critically short of this precious commodity and I’m careful about how much I use.

Earthquakes. Oaxaca has had some big ones but small ones are a regular occurrence. There were 4 in the 5 months I was here last time, just one so far since I’ve been back. But having grown up in California walking distance from the San Andreas fault, though maybe I should be, I’m not concerned.

Bloqueos. Blockades. The teachers’ union in Oaxaca is an unstoppable force. Their most effective method of obtaining their demands is to blockade the Zocalo and random streets in Centro, the highways outside town and … the airport. The biggest disruptions are seasonal, May and June. I didn’t know this and when I arrived by air in early June the road into the airport was blockaded, no transportation in or out. Long story short, after walking with my luggage beyond the airport road I did find a taxi. A travel adventure of a distinctly different kind and a lesson to not arrive in Oaxaca between mid-May and late June. Most flights still arrive and depart but with considerable inconvenience for passengers.

The Unquestionable Upsides

Housing. Currently I’m staying in a nice apartment, one of last year’s online rentals, booked in December for these months, directly with the owner. I like it very much but, though less expensive this time, it’s still more than I need to pay, US$1000. a month.

In February, before I briefly left the city, I signed a lease beginning in October for another furnished modern place on a hillside with an unobstructed city view, for 12,000 pesos a month, in the neighborhood of US$700. They aren’t always easy to find but there are beautiful places to live in historic Centro, in surrounding barrios and in villages farther out. There’s something for everyone who’s up for the hunt, not as cheap as they used to be but what is.

Food. It seems to me that food in general, both groceries and restaurants, is about half the price of food in the US. The city is known for its distinctive cuisine and the number of restaurants is astonishing. I’ve assembled a rotation of inexpensive nearby spots with a variety of menus for those moments when the spirit demands someone else do the cooking. Oaxacan, of course, including one on the corner with a great gourmet fish taco and posole at the organic market, a Moroccan place on the corner in the other direction, several lunch spots within a 10 minute walk with a wide range of breakfasts/desayunos and sandwiches. The best coffee in town is moments away, a tiny place right next door to the fish tacos.

If I had to choose one carb for life it would be sourdough bread. Since my 2017 visit the most wonderful bakeries have sprung up all around town, many specializing in “masa madre” in a variety of shapes and grains. There are 4 an acceptable walk from home. And all have pastry as well that have a bad and wonderful habit of getting into the bag. Woe is me.

When I first arrived last fall my studio apartment was in the south end of Centro. The big box store, Chedraui, was a reasonable walk across the highway, the periferico, and I liked shopping for food there, lots of choice including black tea which can be hard to find. This time I’m farther away from both locations and, without really making the decision, I’ve been shopping at small neighborhood stores.

Lately I’ve added the local traditional market, Mercado de la Merced, and have found the produce noticeably better. I’ve stopped looking at prices to avoid having to change kilos to pounds and pesos to dollars. But truly, compared to what we pay in the US, even my frugal self no longer feels the need. This is the same produce Americans buy but without transport to inflate the price and distance to render it less fresh. If you’re ever lucky enough to see bananas from Tabasco, buy them.

Books. If I have books I’m good. Two blocks from me is the Oaxaca Lending Library, OLL. Begun 60 years ago it serves the community, not just the English-speaking community. It’s supported by the paying members but some categories of membership are free, again, to serve the community. There are regular activities such as Bridge, a book club and the library also sponsors out-of-town excursions and group hikes in the countryside. Saturdays are for intercambio, trading language skills. Local children are especially encouraged to come for books to read.

The library is a natural gathering place for immigrants (“expat” is out of fashion I’m told) and visitors, with tables and chairs for socializing, a shady rooftop terrace, voter registration and 30,000 books to feed our minds. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, Ron is host for bagels and coffee and I am now volunteer cataloger, the job from which I retired 14 years ago. Full circle.

Marching Bands. I have no experience with other cities in Mexico but, making a wild guess, I’m going to put forth the thought that Oaxaca must be the marching band capital of the country. The universe! The official Banda de Música del Estado de Oaxaca is 150 years old. There are over 2 dozen professional, semi-professional and youth bands, the government supports more than 50 regional brass bands and most villages, hundreds in the state, have their own. They march through the streets of the city, day and night, for an occasion or leading a parade, a calenda, with a dancing audience falling in behind. When I hear one loud enough to be in my street I drop whatever I’m doing to go outside to watch. Happy people walk along the sidewalk keeping pace with the musicians in the street and never fail to honor me with smiles. I am a huge fan.

The bands are one expression of a huge and thriving arts scene in the city and state of Oaxaca. One is surrounded by music, performing and visual arts – world class classical, modern, traditional, folk and street art everywhere. If a culture can be measured by a society’s creativity, and I believe it can, then this place ranks very high indeed.

The Streets. If I’m feeling low, I know what to do. I go outside and walk. As soon as my feet land outside the gate I feel better. There are always people who smile and wish me good afternoon, usually older people, for whom I’m grateful. The city is painted in brilliant colors, so unlike other places I’ve lived, quite a miracle in that regard. I never wait long at a corner before a driver stops to wave me across and it never fails to evoke a feeling of appreciation. One is never far from an excellent $3. cappuccino. That knowledge, as well as the imbibing, encourages a general feeling of wellbeing. If I crave a more personal encounter a stop at the library will invariably do the trick and provide a book to accompany me home. Just beyond the library is Llano Park, excellent for bench-sitting people-watching as well as some of the best food around, taco stands and a french fry truck where you can watch the potatoes being chopped by a man who, remarkably, still has all his fingers.

And that’s it, a glimpse into my escape. I have no idea how long I’ll stay, which is kind of the point. What kind of adventure would it be if one knew the ending?