The conference ended with an extravagant party, with food and mezcal and performances. And it was like everyone was floating on the wave of a successful, inspiring conference – and now, the wave broke. An extreme discharge of energy. Everyone dancing, from master students to world-renowned professors. And I will forever remember this: Dancing salsa barefoot on the grass under the starlit sky. A perfect moment in time.
The next morning, after only a couple of hours of sleep, My, Ashley and I got picked up for a last fieldtrip. Up to Mixteca alta, to see monasteries, geological formations, temples and learn about Mixtec mythology, handicraft and food traditions from members of Mixtec mountain communities themselves.
Beautiful, interesting, incredibly educational – but through it all, I felt like walking through a haze. Sleep-deprived, over-exposed and more than saturated with inspiration. I simply couldn’t take it all in.
At dusk on the second day, when we had started the journey back to the city along the winding mountain roads, I’d had enough of conversation. I put on my headphones and turned to the green slopes outside my window.
And without really thinking about it, I put on a mix of First Aid Kit songs. While Johanna and Klara were singing about bitter winds in Stockholm and how they’d rather be broken than empty, I watched clouds roll over the mountain ridges like dough rising over the edges of a bowl, and I remembered: I’ve felt this before. Not once, but twice. The harmonized voices of Johanna and Klara, a journey, meetings that touched something deep, and watching high mountains pass outside a bus window. The first time, between Sarajevo and Belgrade in 2013. The second time, between Å and Narvik, northern Norway, 2014. And now, somewhere in Mixteca Alta, Mexico, 2017.
Mountainous transit linkages across time.
My last full day in Mexico, My and I visited the natural pools at Hierve el Agua. They are part of a geological formation with mineral-rich water bubbling up from the mountain-side and over the centuries having created a series of pools, while the minerals have made petrified waterfalls on the side of the mountain. It is one of Oaxaca’s major tourist attractions, but somehow, this day, here, I didn’t really care about all the people. The view was too large, swimming in the cool water too soothing. The lush green sides of the mountains on the other side of the valley like someone had carelessly tried to cover the rock with a deep green velvet bed spread.
Standing there watching the mountains, with the azure water up to my waist, I felt like something fell into place. A year of work-related turmoil, a distressing arrival in Mexico, an overwhelming conference and a journey up into the mountains. And now here. Not back in one piece yet, but. I felt like it would all work out, with time. Here, now, I felt confident it would.
Katja Malmborg 