Monte Alban, in southern Mexico, was once one of the largest cities in Mesoamerica, built by the Zapotec civilization.  Its prominence lasted about a thousand years from 500 BC to 500 AD, at which time it was largely abandoned.  It is characterized by a large plaza, bordered by steep platforms.  I’d been there a few times in the past.  The mission now was to revisit it and take a picture of the Pertho rune, which represents luck or chance.

Following the directions I’d been given at the hotel, I walked two blocks over and was met by a woman who came bounding out of her office to sell me a ticket to Monte Alban.  There was a bus leaving at ten and it was ten now.  She wandered off to get change for a hundred pesos and then came back and told me to follow her.  At the corner she pointed to a bus that was stopped three blocks away and said that it was my bus.  I hurried down the street and jumped onboard.  Talk about wasting no time.

There were many cars lined up at the entrance to Monte Alban, perhaps a mile and a half of them.  The bus driver cruised to the front of the line and let us off there.  He said we could either catch the return bus at 1:30 or 2:30. After paying for a ticket, I walked towards the North Platform.  From a distance it looked like it might be roped off, as all of the sites had been up until this point, but most of it was open.  I walked down the steps and found a ledge to set my rune of the day on.  There were a few stone pillars, and a stelae, so clean and legible it seemed to be imported.

I walked across the grass of the Main Plaza, and made my way over to some other stelae that were lined up near the Palace of Dancers.  These are what I wanted to see the most, these tall stones with intriguing creatures carved into them, half primitive, half alien.  A German woman had the same idea as me, and was taking pictures, slowly lining up her shots, one excruciating stone at a time.  I stood off to the side and chewed through my lower lip.

From the South Platform, it is possible to get a grand view, both of the Main Plaza below, as well as the entire Oaxaca Valley.  I watched all the tourists, not much larger than ants, crossing the grass, and remembered the ant hill I had seen at Teotihuacan, red ants streaming in and out of it, so frantic to be going somewhere, doing something.  I’d been moving at a pretty fast clip myself, busting it to half the ruins in Mexico, mostly to stay engaged and keep my thoughts from crashing the party.  Where was I going?  What was I hoping to achieve?  Did it matter?

When I got back to the ticket office, there was a bus that was leaving right away for the city.  I went and claimed the only open seat, right next to an old man who didn’t seem happy to see me.  At one point he suggested that I pull down a folding seat that was next to the driver and sit in that instead.  All I had to do was shrug and he relented.  Even if he owned the bus that wasn’t going to happen.

There was so much traffic when we got back to Oaxaca, that it was easier to just get off the bus and walk.  Then, since I was already walking, I went all the way to the bus station to buy a ticket for Puebla the next day.  Now, suddenly, my feet felt too swollen to stand.  I bought some vaquero, or cowboy, comic books at a newsstand, to practice my Spanish, and limped back towards the hotel.  There, I took a shower and laid down until late afternoon.  The Spanish siesta is a brilliant way to break up the day.  I’d get up when I was ready to get up.