¡Estoy en Oaxaca!

After having been gone for one year and nine months, I have finally made it back to Oaxaca, Mexico! In case you don't know, Oaxaca is on the southwestern coast of Mexico, is one of the poorest states in the country, and is also where I served as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for nearly two years. Es la tierra de mi corazón. I had been wanting to come visit ever since I got back to the states, and now I'm finally here.
In order to make my 6am flight out of San Fransisco, I had to wake up at three-in-the-freakin'-morning. Going to bed at midnight didn't help things much. I flew from San Fransisco to Pheonix, from Pheonix to Mexico City, and from Mexico City to Oaxaca, arriving at about 7pm local time. As the plane made its descent into the valley of Oaxaca city, I was able to look out across the cloud-capped mountains and get my first glimpse of the place I had been looking forward to so much. This time of year the mountains that surround the city are green, lush, and absolutely gorgeous. As I stared out the window the feet of a large hill came into view. As I was thinking that it might be a good hill to hike, the top came into view, and I found myself face to face with the ruins of Monte Alban. I stared, transfixed, until the plane banked and the ruins dissapeared from view. What a welcome to Oaxaca.
I got through customs without a problem. In Mexico, customs consists of pushing a button and waiting for a red light or a green light. Green means go ahead, red means "we are going to search you and look for excuses to take your stuff so we can have it." I got green and got to keep all of my stuff. I had called ahead, and a family I knew said they would put me up in their house, all I had to do was get there. The taxis at the airport have a complete monopoly on transportation and wanted 300 pesos for a trip that should have cost 50. Instead of getting robbed, I paid 100 pesos for a ride down town, and caught a 5 peso bus. The Che family is very, very poor. They live high up on the side of a large hill, and usually have to walk all the way up. I got lucky and caught the bus that dropped me off a mere quater mile away from their door. I climbed the concrete step, dirt road, and steep path to their house. Although I had not walked that path in more than two years, it was still familiar and I found the house without a problem. The Che's house is made of rough cinderblock walls and a corrugated aluminium roof. There are two rooms, with part of a sheet for a door between them. One room is the kitchen, dining room, and master bedroom. The other is the living room (with TV!) and bedroom. The bathroom is a seperate "building" altogether. A total of four people live there now. I arrived at twilight and called out a "¡buenas noches!" to grey, unpainted building from the edge of the property. Immediatly the outline of a very short individual appeared at the door.
"¡Hermana Che!"
"¡Elder Hoggan!"
Two others, Brother Che and their daughter Stella, appeared on the front step, and hugs were given all around. I was fighting, not very hard, to hold back the tears.
I was treated to a dinner of two delicious tortas de quesillo. Simple but delicioso. After much conversation, it was time for bed.