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2004-08-25 - 2:53 p.m. So many years ago, when my brother Michael and I made our rash and ill-planned road trip through Mexico, we were stopped at a police blockade in the south of Mexico. We were stopped at many police blockades throughout our two-week trip - standard procedure, I assume - all staffed by young intense looking men with very large guns. Michael and I would tense up every single time. But the stop in the south of Mexico was different, staffed by one kindly faced middle-aged man. "Where are you going?" he asked. "Oaxaca," my brother answered. "Ah, Oaxaca," he said. "Wakka Wakka." Michael and I were too nervous to even laugh. We didn't actually make it to Oaxaca. So this trip, I went to Oaxaca. Wakka Wakka. Oaxaca - Monte Alban I spent my first two days in Oaxaca walking around and talking to no one. I tried to meet people, really, but other than Guillermo, the Mexican boy who picked me up in the Zocalo and wanted to take me salsa dancing, I was having no luck. So I just walked around. Sat in the Zocalo. Marvelled at the anatomically correct wire statues floating near the Modern Art Museum:  Watched the sunset from the roof of the hostel:
 And, you know, went to the ruins - Monte Alban, on a hill overlooking Oaxaca.
 And then I took lots of pictures of myself.
 The self portrait. Guaranteed for hours of fun and entertainment, especially when you haven't had a conversation in two days.
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