My umbrella’s broken; my shoes, my sweater, and my backpack and all of its contents are soaked. Jumping off the bus in Tlacochahuaya, we dove into a storm unlike most I’ve seen here in Oaxaca. We stood under a bus stop with more than ten locals, but the shelter it provided was nothing in wind and rain like this. About seven of the people huddled under a blue tarp. (Seriously, it is the rainy season. I need to get a tarp!) We made the wise decision to forfeit any attempt at English classes and run across the highway and find a colectivo back to Oaxaca. The driver was very nice and didn’t seem to mind that we night only made a puddle on his fabric seats but also steamed up the car so that he had to keep wiping the windows.
(I have this one photo of wet me after we were settled in the taxi because it was too stormy for me to even think of taking a picture — even as lightning tore across the sky. I was preoccupied with the rain blowing into me.)
The funniest part about this sopping adventure was that we drove just five minutes back towards Oaxaca, and it was only sprinkling. Other people getting into the cab in Tule asked where the rain came from. Once back in Oaxaca, we had hardly a drop of rain. As you can imagine, as we were walking home in clothes so wet they were clinging to our skin, we looked super silly—as if we had strolled into one of the fountains in Llano Park.
shewhodaresnothing 