The young man struck an easygoing attitude

When I stepped into the town of Juchitán in Oaxaca, I came across a young man lounging casually by the roadside. In Mexico, it isn’t unusual to see people relaxing like this, and for a traveler like me it felt as though the locals were living in a different rhythm of time altogether. An hour in Japan seemed to stretch into half a day here—or perhaps the reverse. Either way, I was struck by how culture reshapes our sense of time.

Juchitán is well known for its bustling market and its deeply rooted indigenous traditions. Zapotec languages are still spoken here, and embroidered garments and colorful textiles line the stalls. The air is filled with the aroma of tortillas cooking on hot griddles. The young man wore nothing more than a plain cotton T-shirt, yet somehow it blended seamlessly with the atmosphere of the town.

When I raised my camera, he flashed a smile—half proud, half boyish, yet not the practiced grin of someone accustomed to pleasing tourists. It was the kind of smile that comes when you’re idly sitting around and suddenly find yourself the subject of a stranger’s lens. Travel photography often relies on such moments of coincidence, where whether an image is captured or not depends entirely on a person’s fleeting mood.

The midday sun in Oaxaca was merciless, the air dry and brittle, as though even time itself were desiccated. And still, the young man remained there, unfazed by the heat, content simply to exist in that spot. As I walked away, I found myself quietly envious of that ease, and of the way Juchitán seemed to hold time differently from the world I had left behind.