Our plan for our last day in Oaxaca is to visit the ruins at Mitla, then head for Tlacolula, where Sunday is market day. En route we notice a painted wall we all want to photograph, then we notice the mezcal shop in front of which we are parked.

Mezcal has been upgraded to the latest trendy drink for tourists. In the shops in Oaxaca City, pretty young women hand out samples on the sidewalk, encouraging you to come in and buy a few bottles. It is available in dozens of flavors, from mocha to blueberry to caramel.

Several tastes (and purchases) later, we are finally on our way to Mitla, the Zapotec ceremonial center known for its intricate geometric stone decoration.

Mitla means "Place of the Dead" in the Nahuatl language. Priests were trained and kings and spiritual leaders were buried here.

A colonial church was built on the site of one of the Zapotec palaces, incorporating some existing walls and the sanctity of the location. Today's Zapotecs still celebrate native ceremonies along with Christian rites.

This "syncretism" -- the overlay and merging of cultural traditions -- is one of the most fascinating aspects of Mexico for me.

Bursting with color, the town of Tlacolula has a million photos waiting to be taken.

Although it is market day, we have no trouble finding a private parking lot for the van.

(In general, it's well worth the small fee to know your car will be safe, especially in tourist locales like this.)

In the market we buy some mandarinas and finger bananas to serve as lunch on the go.

Both require peeling and are therefore within the parameters of the basic rules for eating in Mexico: Peel it, cook it, or don't eat it.

THE BEST MEAL OF THE TRIP!

Tonight Peter and Shirley are joining us again and we want a festive, farewell dinner for all nine of us. We thought we'd return to El Vascador in the zocalo, but there is no chance of a table. It is completely packed and so are our next 3 choices. We were careful to make reservations for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but we never expected a problem on December 26.

By this time it is getting late, we have walked down to the zocalo, back to Santo Domingo, and beyond. We are tired, hungry, and feeling that our last evening is going to be a real fiasco, when we pass La Pergola.

Past the gauzy white curtains which screen the entry, we can see candles glowing on white linen-draped tables. What we do not see is a single customer inside --is it an enchanted restaurant, materializing just for us in our hour of need? Is it even open? Yes, and we decide to take our chances.

We are shown to our table by the owner, a handsome young German, who tells us La Pergola has only been open three months. Tonight, he helps his two cooks to prepare a feast for us. Even though the food is French, not Mexican, I must proclaim this the best meal we had in Oaxaca. All nine of us agree that the food is absolutely wonderful. My steak in green peppercorn sauce is tender and tasty, and the crème brulee may be the best I've ever tasted in my life.