Thursday, Aug 18th.

To be honest, I´m a bit homesick. At least I think I am. At least that would explain the weight on my chest that feels like something close to guilt, but I know is not. It´s either that, or something I ate. More likely, travelling to a foreign country by my self and with out any fixed plans is farther outside of my comfort zone than I thought.
The day began slowly. I woke up around 8:30 with plans to pay a visit to some friends in another part of town, then travel about an hour and a half to a town called Mitla to visit other friends. After breakfast courtesy of the Che family, I packed my bag and headed out the door (a dangerous thing, according to Mr. Bilbo Baggins. Sorry I couldn´t resist a Lord of the Rings reference.). I hiked the half mile or so down the hill on which the Che family live and caught a bus to La Central to get some cash, and then to a colonia (barrio) called Pueblo Nuevo. I had made the same bus trip probably dozens of times as a missionary, and it was strange how similar it was this time. Actually, it is strange how similar everything is. Everything, with the exception of children who have grown, is just how I remember it. It feels like I'm in the middle of having a dream that I have had many times before.
I first found my way to Bishop Raciel´s house. He wasn`t home, but I had a good chat with his mother-in-law, with whom I was also well acquainted. I was glad to hear that she has become much more active in the church since I last saw her. I left the Bishop's house and walked only about a block to the home of the Vasquez Bueno family. I was again well recieved, even invited to stay for lunch. Eddy, the oldest son, had just returned from his mission when I knew him. Now he is married with a baby boy, and another kid on the way. His wife, who I vaguely remember meeting (she lived only a few blocks away), had quite a bit to say about the length of my hair. In fact, she was quite addimant that my general appearence was not at all appropriate for a returned missionary such as myself, and that I had some major repenting to do. I of course defended myself, and I think I did a rather good job of it. However, she would not back down, and the debate stretched on for most of the meal. I left felt significantly less welcome than when I arrived. ¡A la goma con ella!
I had planned to travel to Mitla in the early afternoon, but as I hadn´t gotten to visit everyone I wanted to, I decided to spend another night in Oaxaca and go to Mitla in the morning. I called my friends to let them know, only to find that they had already rearranged their plans around my visit. So I dropped my plans, caught a bus to La Central, and, after a half-hour wait and a spectacular rain storm, caught another bus to Mitla.
Mitla is about an hour and a half out of Oaxaca, if you take the cheap bus, which of course I did. The ride was uneventful, and the scenery beautiful. Having never been to Mitla, I was a little worried that I'd miss my stop, but, as the bus only went as far as Mitla, I had nothing to worry about. A short ride in one of the three-wheeled mototaxis took me to the front door of the house of Mayra, Angela, Osmar, and Mataì, a family I had the privledge of helping to teach and baptize while serving as a missionary. Many hugs later, I was invited to sit down to a dinner of Oaxacan Mole con arroz. I don´t like mole at all, and the piece of meat I was given was quite disgusting. I think it was chicken. But I was greatful all the same.
I was exausted and just wanted to sleep, but Mayra (who had to go to Oaxaca for the night) had asked her cousin Egan to come pick me up and show me around the town. I had an hour before he was coming, so I decided to take a bit of a nap. It was while laying on the bed, stairing at the ceiling that the homesickness started setting in. I got as far as halfheartedly deciding to see if I could get my return flight changed to an earlier date before I fell asleep. I woke up at about nine to the sounds of someone (I correctly guessed Egan) talking in a loud voice outside my door. I was feeling much, much better. Egan turned out to be a very friendly 18 year old guy who was born and raised in the small, but growing, town of Mitla. We drove around for about two hours, stopping at the gas station, the Palacio Municipal (town hall), and a small food stand on the sidewalk where he bought an eskite (creamed corn) and I got a Platano Frito (deep fried banana!). We had an excellent conversation as we drove through the maze of streets that make up the town. Everywhere we went there were people sitting on porches, steps, and benches talking and enjoying the evening, or playing fùtbol in the streets. Before Egan dropped me off, a spectacular storm rolled in with spectacular displays of lightning. The town lost power, and was just coming on again when I fell asleep again, this time in a much more peaceful state of mind.