Pluma Hidalgo: Clouds and Coffee

Before I left for this trip, I googled just about every combination of "jungle" and "Oaxaca" that I could think of, both in english and Spanish. I wanted to get out in the sticks of Mexico and see what I could see. Well, google seems to have paid off for me this time. It led me to Pluma Hidalgo, a tiny town splayed out over a hilltop in the Sierra Madre del Sur like jelly unskillfully spread over a small artisian loaf (or something like that...).

Often shrouded in wispy clouds, this town of several thousand has gained notoriety on a global scale for the quality of its coffee. It is a place where buzzwords of the socially concious upper-middle class meet reality--"organic", "shade grown", "free trade." Yesterday at a hot jungle crossroads I left the bumpy curvy experience of a ford van from Oaxaca and climbed into the back of a pickup truck to Pluma. As the dirt road flew out from under the wheels and the engine whined in tune with the other whining jungle things I knew that I had found what I was looking for.

My boots hit the street in two little clouds of dust and it was immediatly evident that depsite its agricultural significance Pluma has not seen very many roving bearded yankees with bandanas tied over their somehwhat messy hair. Go figure. After a little while I learned that I am one of three foreigners in the city, the others having permanent residences here. I asked about a guesthouse and was directed to inquire in one of the few restaurants in town. I did so and was led to a lovely little room with rooftop access overlooking the little town sqare. After arranging my things I left in search of bread and knowledge.

I found both in the shop of a man with slicked-back hair and thin lips. I bought his bread and got to talking with him. When I indicated that I had come to take a look at the coffee-making process he smiled and gave me a detailed account of how the planting, growth, and harvest works here culminating his story by giving me a huge bag of coffee to try. I continued my long tour of a short town and then came back to the room for a rooftop feast of tuna, bread, local honey and part of the 12lbs of fruit I had bought in Oaxaca's impressive market.

After dinner the sun began to fade and the clouds lowered themselves down on the zocalo bringing with them a wonderful, cool evening. Naturally I got a hankering for the coffee I´d been given earlier so I went down to the kitchen to ask if I could use the stove and a pot to brew. The lady who keeps the place (the owner's wife) was more than happy to let me and help me along the way. Having no cup, I fixed enough coffee to fit fill the stainless bowl that I brought--a great way to experience coffee. I spent the evening in and around the kitchen talking to the couple and his mother and playing with their little daughter. It was wonderful. More than I could've asked. Sipping gift coffee and acting as part of the little family as clouds drifted in the door.

Later on I took another walk and discovered that the "kiosko" in the town square had been converted into a café with the kitchen underneath and tables and chairs on top. Though I had already had dinner and coffee, the owner, a bald fellow named Paco, insisted that he made it better and gave me a cup to test his statement. It was true. I sat there under the bandstand with chef Paco as the regulars shuffled in and out for coffee and a hamburger (hey, this is coffee country, what can I say?) and we talked until closing time.

To finish off the evening I pulled a table and chair and wrote in my journal while I smoked a bowl of fine NC tobacco, all the while giving thanks for the wonderful day in Pluma Hidalgo.

More happened today... and indeed I have skipped the whole Oaxaca City part of the journey, but this little library closes at eight and I need to go have my hamburger and coffee at Paco's café. Until later, cheers.