Oaxaca City Blues.

Editors note:  The following is an entry from Randy’s Oaxaca travel journal.  This is the first in a number of posts that will detail our trip to the Mexican state for El Día de los Muertos or All Soul’s Day.

(A mariachi band play their hearts out on at the grave of a loved one.)

Sullen sad-eyed women sell skinny wooden plank bookmarks, while their daughters moonlight as cigarette girls in the inky night.

Scenesters sit on stone curbs sipping beers and Mexican reds leaving the remains on the street as an offering to eternal youth.

Brass rules the city.  Mixteca jazz permeates the balmy night air of the Zocalo under the loud silence of the catholic cathedrals.

Demon warriors, young and old, fill the streets with mescal visions of dead celebrations only to wake in the morning to find the city one day older.

Cafes line the Zocalo like a monopoly set–from which tourist scramble with their pastel Dinero and pigeons wait for their confusion over exchange rates to steal peanuts.

Marigolds glow bright orange and exacerbate childhood autumn memories opening the door to a dead day’s night.

(Local youngsters in costume dancing on a large family plot. Shot from behind two guitar players in the band.)

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