Dispatch No. 4
I’m drafting this Dispatch on my travel typewriter, on the rooftop terrace of the guesthouse where I’m staying for the next few weeks. It’s a lovely view; from this table I can look over the patio to a mountain range thick with green and seeming to emanate clouds from within. I’ve been here for almost a week now, but it’s the first time I’ve used my typewriter out in public since I purchased it in Philadelphia six months ago. It’s making me extremely nervous to do so. As I mentioned in my previous Dispatch, I am self-conscious about it. It makes me an outlier, which I fear will bring unwanted attention and judgement on me. I don’t want to be the weird guy at the hostel.
But I’ve decided that today will be the day. Why? Partially because this terrace is deserted. There are six rooms in this guesthouse (although it’s hard to say for sure - the older couple who runs it live here as well, and they seem to have a part-time family member coming and going). There are other guests here too, though, including a young English couple who just arrived last night (replacing the young German couple who took off yesterday afternoon), and a guy from India by way of Rhode Island who has been here all week too.
Other guests use the terrace, but this morning it’s empty. The couple left to visit Monte Alban, the Oaxaca area’s most-prominent pre-hispanic archaeological site which I will hopefully get around to touring and writing about next week. And the Indian guy, who I usually find working on the terrace with a laptop and earbuds like a normal millenial, is not up here either. So I have a good chance of not disturbing anyone with my key-banging and bell-ringing.
Maybe more importantly, even on a typewriter, I’m definitely not the weirdest guy here. This morning, in the shared kitchen, a white guy a bit older than me sat wordlessly eating from a bowl of rice and a can of kerneled corn, watching videos on his phone with his shirt hanging open. He was of a type that hostel and guesthouse travelers are probably familiar with: kind of battered-looking, weary in a way that goes beyond any kind of noise-disturbed bunkroom sleep, emanating an energy that’s not necessarily dangerous or creepy but distinctly defensive. A bit of me wants to know his story, but the greater part has decided to steer clear.
I’m relaxing a bit after my time in Mexico City, in which I had consistently disturbed rhythms of rest due to my hostel being directly above a series of audio-equipment vendors, a fast-food franchise, and one of the busiest areas of the city. Here in this residential neighborhood, a thirty-minute bus ride from the busy center of Oaxaca, I feel balanced enough to take out the typewriter.
Mexico City wasn’t all bad though. Being in the Centro gave me easy access to Mexico’s Independence Day festivities on the Zocalo, the city’s main central plaza that fronts the Palacio National. On September 15th, the Zocalo filled with people for an evening of musical performances, which I walked over to and poked around in with my camera. I used a type of film that I never had before, Cinestill 800T, and the results were not exactly what I expected, but still kind of cool? I suppose you can judge for yourselves:
Zocalo, Mexico City, September 15, 2026 - photographed on Cinestill 800T with my Nikon FM2 35mm film camera
The climax of the night’s festivities, which I did not stick around for, happens when the sitting President comes out onto the balcony pictured above and delivers the “Grito de Indepencia (Cry of Independence),” which re-enacts Father Hidalgo’s “Grito de Dolores.” Hidalgo, the early leader of Mexican Independence, rang the bell of his church during the night of 15-16 September, 1810. His congregation gathered and he gave a speech, culminating in the Grito, urging revolt against the crown (which around this time was actually on the head of Napoleon’s brother and not a Spaniard - click here for more on the Grito). I was in bed by 11pm, when it happened, but the ensuing fireworks were enough to wake me from my tentative sleep.
I also poked around Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera’s old neighborhood, Coyoacán, one rainy evening. I saw (one of) Frida’s homes, walked through a street-food market, and had a leisurely dinner on a covered patio while Mexico’s rainy season did its thing. It was a nice break from the chaos of the central city.
Coyoacán, Mexico, same camera + film setup as above
There are more photos from my time in Mexico City coming soon. In the meantime, the couple of posts since my last Dispatch have some good shots as well. In the first, I've got some highlights in black and white from my time on the US's East Coast earlier this year:
The Analog Nomad
And for a bit more on Hidalgo, and some color photographs of his namesake market, check out this post on Guanajuato:
The Analog Nomad
My typewriter draft is almost finished, and no one has been up here the entire time. I feel relieved that I’ve had undisturbed writing time on this beautiful terrace, but I also couldn’t help thinking that public-interactions-with-typewriter would make for great material. Now that I’ve taken the typewriter out once, I think it will be easier to do again, and if anything weird happens while I’m typing in public, rest assured it will make a future Dispatch.
Once again, thanks for reading and subscribing! If you know anyone else who might be interested in reading this, please pass it along via forwarding. And if you have the capacity, please consider upgrading your free subscription to a paid one if you haven't already, buying some of my art, or tossing a few bucks in my tip jar. Each roll of film costs around 30 US dollars to purchase, develop, and scan, so I appreciate all your interest and support!
Till next time, hasta pronto,
J. Mark Tebben
The Analog Nomad
500 Westover Dr.
Box 33124
Sanford, NC, 27330, USA
(you can write me analog letters at this address!)
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