Today we visited the charming little village of San Martin Tilcajete, just out of Oaxaca. We stopped at a families house and watched the women create the most gorgeous woven creations, the same way that their mothers did, and their mothers before them, with simple wooden instruments and a lot of patience. After a while I wandered around the garden, feeling like I was on an island oasis in the middle of the ocean. I glanced up at the blue sky and to my utter delight saw pomegranates hanging in the branches above me. To me, pomegranates are quite simply the food of the gods – I can think of nothing I would rather eat than the little ruby red jewels encased inside them. I plucked up my courage and asked the eldest of the ladies if I could buy one from her (Puedo comprar uno granada de su abole por favor) she nodded and walked off beckoning for me to follow. We stopped under the tree, she picked up a long stick and started pulling one of the branches toward her. I reached out and plucked two ripe ones from the branch. Before I could thank her, she was reaching out once again – I told her no, these two were enough but she shook her head and told me I must take more. She twisted the branch around the stick and with a sudden snap it broke free and slid down the stick toward her. We both started laughing at the same time and as our eyes made contact we leaned toward each other slightly so that our voices intertwined into one loud giggle. I thanked her, and thanked her again – the laugh stretching my mouth into a smile, and she told me I was welcome – the laughter making her voice musical and young. In that moment we weren’t a local and a foreigner, or a Mexican and a New Zealander, or an English speaker and a Spanish speaker – we were just people, and it was so so nice.