Road Trip: Oaxaca (and " Hello crazy! " )

While Loverboy is sleeping and Fauxhawk is comatose from the wrath of Montezuma, I sneak out for a bit to stalk the flower ladies. The streets of Oaxaca are full of flowers to decorate graves and erect shrines for Day of the Dead, and the effect is vibrant and beautiful.

"Hello!" I say to the flower ladies. "Can I take a picture of you?"
"No."
"But you're so pretty!"

They ignore me. I am obviously not a customer, and these ladies are all business.

"What about a picture of your flowers?"
"No."



This is a familiar tune. I skulk off feeling slightly dejected and find a more willing victim.



This guy didn't seem to mind either. Thank goodness tequila was on my side.



I wander around the market and stop at a busy corner. People are crowding the table - whatever it is that's on sale is in high demand. All of a sudden, a woman is feeding me something, and I open my mouth obediently.

A cricket. Or a grasshopper? A grasshopper fried in chili and lime. Not bad, actually, though when I see the pile of bugs, I feel a bit queasy.



Later that day, I walk by the flower ladies several times. They eye me suspiciously. The other vendors find this vaguely amusing - the gringa who is acting like a pimply, lovelorn boy rejected by the object of his affection.

I pretend to drop something under a cart, climb under, and take a few surreptitious shots. I allow myself a brief moment of delusion. This is totally what photojournalists must feel like when they're on assignment, I think to myself. Except without the bombs and flak jackets and danger. But otherwise it's totally the same thing.



An old man looks under the cart and finds me crouching with my camera.

"Hello crazy!" he says cheerfully.



It is then that I channel the immortal words of Will.i.am:

Crazy is as crazy do.



I knew that would come in handy at some point.