Getting to the city of Oaxaca from the UK isn’t the most straightforward.
Having looked at multiple different routes and airlines, we eventually settled on flying from London Gatwick Airport with Tui to Cancún, before hopping over to Oaxaca via an internal flight. We’ve flown with Tui multiple times and have always found the experience comfortable and easy. And this time was no different.
After the 10-hour flight into Cancún Airport, we battle through the hundreds of taxi drivers outside Terminal 3 and walk over the road to the Hilton Garden Inn while we wait for out connecting flight the next day. And it was fine. Not brilliant, but comfortable enough for adjusting to the 5-hour time difference.
The view from above
We take the 3:05pm Volaris flight to Oaxaca the next day and it’s smooth sailing.
It’s a small plane, barely an hour and forty-five minutes in the air and the views are incredible. We fly along the coastline first, the sea an almost blinding turquoise – so bright it feels unreal. Then inland, where the colours change again. Rainforest gives way to farmland, and as we get closer to Oaxaca, mountains rise up on all sides. The city sits in the valley below.
From the window, we can see the red-brown soil, neat farm plots, and strips of blue-green dots laid out with intention – agave plantations, unmistakable once you know what you’re looking for.
And when we land, it couldn’t feel more different from Cancún. It’s a tiny airport and everything feels calm.
People are friendly, unhurried, respectful. Everything feels more human-scaled. Even getting a taxi is refreshingly straightforward – we book it at a desk, pay up front, say where we’re going and that’s that. The traffic is lively, slightly chaotic, but never aggressive.
The Airbnb
Our Airbnb is just outside the centro, on Calle de los Libros.
The street itself gives us pause at first – quiet, not many people around, a bit of graffiti that feels functional rather than artistic. But then we unlock a large gate and step into a different world. Inside is a peaceful courtyard filled with plants and bougainvillea, colour spilling out in all directions. Almost immediately, a hummingbird darts through the flowers – fast, precise, dazzling.
We’re on the third floor, right at the end of the block. No one above us, no one next to us. It’s delightfully quiet. The apartment is comfortable in all the ways that matter: a firm-but-kind bed, and the best-equipped Airbnb kitchen we’ve ever had. A juicer. A microwave. A proper gas hob. Every utensil you could need. Herbs, spices, oil. Everything we could want for cooking up light meals and breakfast.
Despite the jet lag, we head straight back out.
Our first proper walk in Oaxaca is not to a landmark, but to the supermarket – and it’s brilliant. We stock up on fresh mango, pineapple, limes, bread, water, beer, tortillas still warm, chipotles in adobo, dried pasilla chillies, serranos, eggs for breakfast. At the checkout, we expect to be in the hole for a small fortune.
But we’re not.
The whole lot comes to around £25. We genuinely wonder if there’s been a mistake.
Walking back through the neighbourhood, we notice how quiet it is. How many old Volkswagen Beetles are still on the road – the rounded, cheerful kind from our childhoods. They totally fit with the brightly painted exteriors of the buildings and the friendly vibe.
First night foods
Dinner is close to home, just a block away at El Tendajón.
The restaurant is busy, clearly popular with tourists, which isn’t that surprising because the food is great. I order a skirt steak taco – rich with beef, cheese and creamy avocado, and grasshoppers. Thankfully, they’re invisible to the eye, but whatever they add, it works. My husband opts for a quesadilla trilogy: cheese and soft chorizo, cauliflower, squash blossom. Each one different, each one excellent. While we eat we excitedly discuss all of the places we want to visit and sip at our Victoria beer.
Afterwards, we wander into nearby a mezcalería: El Hijuelo.
We know very little about mezcal, so we ask for help. Daniele talks us through a flight of three one-ounce pours, chosen gently, thoughtfully, without pressure. Our favourite turns out not to be mezcal at all – the plant used is related to agave, but not quite the same. The Cucharillo from Agustin Guendulain is lightly oily on the tongue, no harsh burn. It’s quite the discovery.
By the time we head back, jet lag wins.
We’re in bed by 8pm, convinced we’ll be awake all night. Instead, we sleep straight through until 4am. The block stays quiet. The earplugs we bought just in case stay unused on the bedside table.
We can’t wait to start exploring properly tomorrow.
