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After my border escapades, I decided to take a break on the Oaxacan Coast. Oaxaca (pronounced Wa-haka) is a state in the south of Mexico, bordering the Pacific Coast. The beaches of Oaxaca are internationally known for their beauty and simplicity. They are barely developed, offering a few palapas and AC-less hotels. It is a wonderful place to unwind and reflect.

So, after an ill-fated 12 hour bus ride (I bought my ticket last minute and ended up by the bathrooms. Use your imagination...) from Tapachula, I finally arrived in Puerto Escondido. Puerto is a chameleon. Part of its charm is the international vibe. There aren't many Americans (they're all in Cancun), but there are tons of Europeans, mainly French and Italian. On one end is Playa Zicatela, a surfer's paradise, with insane waves and a definite hippie/bohemiam vibe. On the other end is a little fishing village where fishermen leave at sunrise and come back at sunset with their daily catch. About five minutes down the coast is Playa Carrizalillo. Nestled in a little alcove with pristine water, it is easily my favorite beach of all time.

I quickly dropped off some laundry (an absolute necessity, my jeans were getting pretty ripe) and went to the pharmacy to pick up some sunblock. This is when the pharmacist went off on a rant about how all these foreigners love to pet stray animals and then don't understand why they end up covered in flea bites. Damn French people. She then grabbed me and told me intently that dogs in Puerto were highly promiscuous and have begun passing STDs to humans through physical contact, so stay away. Doubtful, yet point duly taken.

My daily routine for the next few days was solitary and wonderful. It consisted of me waking up early, eating breakfast and then heading straight to Carrizalillo. Read a chapter, go for a swim. That's how a graduate student does the beach. Every day, the surfing instructor, Carlos, would try and entice me to take a surfing lesson, or go see the sea turtles, or go watch the sunset, or go get a drink (with him, of course). I would point to my book and he would just shake his head. I even turned down the fedora-clad French guy, Julian, even though I love how Frenchmen say my name. I ended every day watching the sunset alone. It was hard to drag myself away, but I know I'll be back at some point.

I went straight to Oaxaca City, via yet another overnight bus, to go see some friends of mine. These are friends that used to work with me in a New Orleans restaurant. The husband worked there for 7 years, with only one brief break and chance to his kids due to a deportation. He quickly made his way back to make money and care for his family. His wife joined him for 4 years as their kids were watched over by aunts and uncles back in Mexico. They worked daily and diligently, clocking in 80-100 hours a week each. Finally, after years of hard work and living in the shadows, they decided it was time to go back to Mexico. They've been home for about 5 months now.

I had been to their Oaxacan house once before, about 4 years ago. While travelling through, they asked me to go check in on their kids and send back some pictures. At that point, the house was a simple cement block, with one bedroom and a living room. The extension, funded by remittances sent back by the parents, was in its incipient stages. Their children proudly showed me pictures of their parents at various landmarks in New Orleans and asked me anxiously how they were doing. They wanted to know all about the restaurant and the city their parents lived in.

4 years later, they are a happily reunited family with a beautiful home complete with 4 bedrooms, a big screen TV (for Saints games) and a video game room where local kids can come and play video games at the rate of 10 pesos an hour. The husband works down the road in construction and the wife stays at home, enjoying time with her children. Their son is entering his senior year of high school and their daughter is in beauty school, all thanks to the sacrifices made by their parents. We went for ice cream and they showed me pictures of their family vacation to Puerto Escondido they had taken right when they got home.

Studying immigration, it is easy to get overwhelmed by the impossibility of it all. The policies, the violence, the poverty, the discrimination. It's sometimes hard to find hope in such a dire situation. Seeing this happy ending made me remember why I do it.

I am now back in Mexico City, preparing for my flight home tomorrow. I have the same mixture of feelings that I always do. Ready to go home, yet sad to leave the home I've made for myself while here. My Condesa will be dearly missed. Mexico City has been a steady figure in my life over the last decade, constantly gracious and forgiving of my impatience and communication limitations. It has seen me as a flighty sorority girl, as a college graduate just starting the adventure of grad school, and as an inquisitive and slightly unstable PhD student. It has seen me with boyfriends, friends, family, and now, alone. I can only imagine how it will see me next.

In the meantime, I will continue to be grateful for the freedom of movement that I have been blessed with, as I have been so poignantly reminded that this is not a luxury experienced by all.