Mexico Viaje

Paradise Restored

Leaving Guanajuato for my last destination, Playa del Carmen, meant mixed feelings.

Ever since 2004, when I'd first considered travelling to Mexico, I'd always planned to make a trip to PdC, lured by its crystal blue waters, pristine beaches and the promise that it isn't yet overdeveloped like Cancun. Hurricane Wilma rearranged the trip, which in retrospect was fortunate (for me) as it meant I went west from San Cristobal rather than spending over a fortnight in the Yucatan and another week in Spanish school.

But internet message board postings suggested that by this point PdC and other parts of the Yucatan had been patched up so here I was on my way. But the same time I was increasingly aware that the end was not far off. I planned to spend several days chilling out and not doing very much so the time would probably speed by. I didn't realise that these last five days were destined to be some of the busiest and most fulfilling yet.

But first I had to get to the Yucatan peninsular, and that meant a flight from Leon airport (45mins from Guanajuato city centre by taxi) to Mexico DF and then a connecting flight to Cancun airport. I got stung for overweight bags at Leon - when I said I would repack the case and stick more heavier objects in my hand luggage the guy behind the desk saved me the trouble by striking several kilos off the total. Still the excess charge still came to nearly half the original ticket price.

Then on the second leg of the flight I got placed behind three Mexicans who had obviously never flown before. The guy in front of me seemed convinced the plane's seats should fully lie back like they do on buses and spent the whole flight retracting and reclining his chair in a bid to make it get back further.

At the airport I got a scare when every bag came off the conveyor before mine. By this point my case was smashed up, unstitching and generally in a bad way so I wasn't sure it would survive the trip. It did but arrived burst open with several of my possessions piled on top - luckily nothing was missing. The honeymooning couple standing next to me laughed when it appeared, but lost their smiles when they realised their bags had never made their connecting flight. A very charming luggage guard led them away, but I'm sure it wasn't the start they had wanted.

So by this point I was slightly frazzled. The first sign that things were about to drastically improve was the discovery that there was a frequent cheap bus service from the airport to Playa. The second was meeting a very cool local whilst waiting for the to board. He was just returning after a month away and was about to see the damage done to his home. He'd already been told that his appartment had been looted and his computer and scuba diving equipment were missing. Neverthless he was in a good mood and the hour long ride shot by as he described in Spanish all there was to do in town.

By the time we drew into Playa it was around 10 o'clock so it was hard to see what damage the hurricane had done, although my new friend noted there were far fewer palm trees on the approach road. As we got off the bus he pointed me in the direction of my hostal which was about a 20sec walk from the station, right on 5th avenue - the main strip. I had a quick shower, changed and went out to explore.

It was obvious from the start that Playa del Carmen's party spirit had survived Wilma. Trendy bars and restaurants lining the avenue were all pumping out cool latin tunes. The resort wasn't packed, but there were quite a few others hanging out and soaking up the carribean vibe. As I later found out lots of the nearby hotel complexes have converted to all-inclusive resorts so many tourists don't go out until late. The other other noticeable change was the humidity. It was hot and sweaty - so much so that after a 20min wander I had to go back to my room and change my t-shirt!

Slightly refreshed I headed back down 5th Avenue until where it intersects with Calle 12 where one of the locals insisted he give me a guided tour to the best bars in town. Sensing a scam I tried to say no, but he was persistant and so long as I stayed to the main streets I couldn't see the harm. He tried to use me as a means of getting into one of the resort's most popular beach bar/discos -The Blue Parrot Inn - but was still turned away at the door. After about 15mins I had a better idea of what was where and managed to convince him I'd seen enough. Sure enough he demanded a tip, but seemed surprised when I gave him more than he asked since the info he'd given me was genuinely useful.

Once he'd disappeared to prey on some other tourist I headed back to The Blue Parrot. Despite its dodgy name it's genuinely one of the most popular bars in town. Owned by the nearby hotel, of the same name, it's a stylish palapa beach club. The bar us surrounded by swings so you scan rock back and forth as you sip a cocktail, or relax on one of the nearby big chairs grounded in the sand. Near midnight a group of fire dancers took over the dance floor and put on an impressive display, spinning their torches feet in front of the applauding crowd and creating paths of fire on the floor which they then walked through, all to the sound of their own drums. With light from the nearby lighthouse projecting onto the sea behind them it was a great introduction to the Yucatan.

Daylight gave me a chance to appreciate just how quickly Playa had fixed itself up after the storms. Most of the 5th Avenue buildings seemed in perfect order, although builders were still re-weaving several of the rooves. Slightly further down closer to the beach a few other properties had obviously taken the brunt of the winds and would need more work, including Playa's Señor Frogs nightclub which had been shut up for major renovations.

Along the beach itself the most noticeable thing was a wall of sand coming up to my waist at the point where the water reached its furthest at high tide (you can get an idea by enlarging the photo on the left). The hurricane had denuded Cancun's beaches, leaving miles of uncovered rocks pictured in the newspaper alongside huge estimates of how much it would cost to recover them. Playa del Carmen was the beneficiary - and as if to offer further proof it a few jcbs were out flattening the sand back down in a few roped off areas.

After a yummy breakfast at The Coffee Press (Calle 2/Avenida 5 - another great LP reccommendation) I headed off on another of my mammoth walks northwards along Playa's beaches. The sea looked like someone had managed to photoshop reality - shades of aquamarine glinting under the sun - and walking barefoot through it was like dipping my feet into a warm bath - bliss! About 45mins out, on the edge of the main developed area the hurricane's damage was more obvious. Here where the work crews were still to start repairs palm trees lay crashed against the sand, beach huts lay exposed roofless and the odd coconut laid half buried in the sand. But at the speed everyone seemed to be working I'm guessing that over the past few weeks since I've been back even these parts will be patched up and probably looking better than they were before.

Most of the rest of the day was spent relaxing under the sun, checking out the excellent local shops, sipping beers at one of the bars whist reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez's biography and generally chilling out.

I'd met a Scotsman at the hostel in the afternoon and we went out for a few drinks in the evening. He was flying off to Cuba the next day and I was booked onto a morning tour, so it wasn't a wild night - but it was good to be chatting away to a fellow traveller again - the first proper English conversation that lasted longer than 15mins since Zacatecas.

Maybe I'd been spoilt by this point but I wasn't blown away by Chichen Itza. Don't get me wrong - the ruins themselves are incredible, impressive, inspirational and other words that don't have to begin with 'i' - but the whole site has been over touristified.

The tour had set off fairly early in the morning. For the first, and only time, this trip I was sharing the van with a group of people I had absolutely nothing in common with - a group of Americans enjoying their recent retirement who were experts in motorway maintenance and a group of French who seemed to have picked up the English habit that if they repeated a phrase enough times at the rest of us we'd understand what they were going on about. I sat up front next to the bemused Mexican driver who had a fixed grin on his face and probably just wanted to get through the day as fast as possible.

I'd booked after carefully selecting what seemed the best tour cabin on 5th Avenue - but the driver explained to me that they all subcontracted their bookings to the same company anyway. They all charge the same price in dollars but confusingly convert it into different peso prices - so if you're looking to book you may as well go with the cheapest.

First stop was a weaving/artisan station showing how certain cactus plants can be turned into thread, paper and needle and thread - similar to the one on the Mexico City tour. This time though the rest of the group seemed more interested in taking a cigarette/beer break than listening to what was going on.

Then we arrived at Chichen Itza. The first inkling that things were going to be a bit different to previous ruins visits were the neon pink armbands we were given. Then entering through a huge stone entranceway and turnstiles we joined the throngs of other tourists who, despite their huge numbers, seemed to be matched by the numbers of Mexicans selling identical art, sculptures and other tat at what was admittedly very reasonable prices.

Let's face it - this is the most popular Mayan site in Mexico's most popular tourist destination, so I shouldn't have been surprised. And once I accepted this wasn't going to be the mystical experience of Palenque or even the sheer wow factor of Teothicuan there was lots to enjoy.













One highlight is the ancient city's pelota court. Archaelohists believe the Toltecs would kick and whack a heavy hard rubber ball along the 135 metre court trying to aim it through one of the hoops fixed high above their heads. The players were forbidden to use their hands so even with padding I'm guessing they'd expect to get serious bruising before scoring the 10th century version of a basket and bringing an end to the game. Worn carvings along the side depict what's thought to have happened next. The top player, and possibly his team mates, would then present themselves to the priest who rewarded their victory by chopping off their heads. Yes, you read that right score a hoop and you got to paint the ground with your lifeblood. Hardly the greatest incentive. Supposedly this was a great honour as you got to head up to their version of heaven and meet the gods - but I'm betting some of the games would have gone on for a very l-o-n-g time with many a player's aim suddenly found to be wanting.

To be honest I'm not totally convinced by the archaelogists' explanation - reports from the time of Cortes described unwilling victims being caged ahead of their sacrifice to the gods. But I guess there are plenty of kamikazes throughout history willing to give up this life for glory in the next one. All the same don't be shocked if in a few years a startling new discovery suggests it was the losers who got turned into neck fountains.

Another thing to check out before looking at the rest of the site is the acoustics. Clapping your hands produces echoes along the length of the walls - the sound produced when the games were underway must have been deafening. But what's amazing is the stands at either end. A person speaking at normal level at one end can be heard perfectly clearly at the other. Useful for a pre walkie talkie age and I guess no-one had to miss out on the death garggles of the victors offering future generations their own personal disproof of Darwin's of survival of the fittest theory.

Our guide then took us on a tour of the rest of the site, swapping between French, Spanish and English. Huge carved serpent heads, in honour of Kukulkan, the feathered serpent god, still jut out of the Temple of Venus, while nearby the platform of eagles and jaguars gets its name from the animals shown holding up human hearts ripped out of their owners' chests to keep the gods happy in between pelota matches.

Next door the Platform of Skulls holds endless carvings of the heads of sacrificed prisoners and other victims, possibly as a warning to potential invaders that the city's inhabitants were fierce, clearly psychotic, and not to be messed with.

Cheery place.

No visit would be complete without scaling Kukulkan's pyramid. The structure covers previous smaller pyramids which were built on at the end of a cycle of years to represent renewal.

In fact the whole building is an elaborate calendar - each of the four sides originally had 91 steps. Add the platform at the top and you have a step for every day of the year. Every Spring and Autumn Equinox (March 20/21 & Sept 21/22) a shadow cast by the sun creates the illusion of a snake slowly winding its way down the pyramid as if about to head off along the path in the direction of the nearby sacred cenote. A warning if you plan to visit the site on these dates - it's supposed to be absolutely mobbed. A nightly son & lumiere show recreates the spectacle and probably offers a better view for those staying at a nearby hotel.

Again the architects proved themselves masters of acoustics - stand at the bottom and you can hear someone at the top speaking at normal level, and if you shout from the bottom your voice comes back as a piercing shriek.

The view from the top gives great views to the Plaza of A Thousand Columns and the Temple of the Warriors (seen on the left of the picture). The other side is probably the perfect place to grab a front row seat on December 22nd 2012 when Kukulkan is predicted tol rise from beneath the pelota court and destroy the world.

But for those of you who manage to visit between now and then a warning - the climb up is a hell of a lot easier than the one back down. The Toltecs and Maya had little feet and obviously great powers of balance. Sliding down with your bottom pressed against the stone may not have been my most 'manly' display this trip- but it was a significantly less attention grabbing than descending towards the ground head first.

There's plenty more to see including an ancient observatory, a second ruined pyramid and lots of other half collapsed buildings and temples. Ignore the hawkers trying to convince you a fiercely ugly wooden Mayan god's face is just what you need above the mantlepiece and it's impossible not to be in awe of the number of buildings, especially when you consider several piles of stones half covered with vegetation used could be added to the total in ancient times. After the end of the tour I wandered slightly off the main route where I spotted an army of workers reconstructing a huge building away from the eyes of most visitors. While their efforts were clearly bringing this ruin back to life I had the nagging worry that too much reworking could ultimately leave this place with a theme park feel.

I guess for the best experience of Chichen Itza you should pay attention to the guide books, stay close and visit either early in the morning or late in the afternoon. But if you've got the chance to travel around lots of Mexico and see other sites I'm not sure I'd use up one of my nights this way - better to get a small taste of the place, not have too high expectations and spend more time at other less 'popular' places.

For more info on the ruins check out:

Mesoweb - Chichen Itza

Welcome to Chichen Itza

Mysterious Places - Chichen Itza

Different World - Chichen Itza

After a basic and bizarre buffet lunch - how often do you get to watch young kids doing a traditional dance balancing filled beer bottles on their heads? - we headed onto what was for me a highlight of the day and one of the most memorable hours of the entire five and a bit weeks: My first chance to swim in an underground cenote.
















Many of the group were put off by the steep slippery climb into ground at Cenote Samula's entrance. They missed out. Deep underground those of us who dared to strip off to our swimming costumes had the chance to swim in the huge natural underground pool.

Cenotes were formed when a meteorite smashed into the Yucatan Peninsular around 65 million years ago causing cracks to slowly form in the area's limestone rock. These fissures filled with water which eroded and created huge caverns which are all interconnected by a huge system of underground rivers. Samula's claim to fame is the huge poplar tree roots which squeeze through a hole in the ceiling to stretch down and sip at the water below. The temperature is warmer than you'd think - possibly in part due to the sheer exhilaration of enjoying such an extraordinary experience.

Time on site went all to quickly. A quick visit to the nearby town centre of Valladolid rounded the day off. There's a big church in the centre and some small shops to wander around and for most of the others on the tour it was probably their only chance to see the 'real' Mexico - though they seemed more interested in the bar which we'd parked by. I was more interested in a huge Aids (SIDA) rally which marched into the main square handing out condom awareness leaflets along the way. On arrival several speeches were made about the need for protected sex before the crowds dispersed - I guess quite a controversial decision in a such a Catholic country.

The Vatican's ban on birth control is seen as one of the main reasons the population swelled from 22 million in 1944 to nearly 100 million at the end of the 20th century. State sponsored family planning clinics have since been set up and the aim is to balance the number of births and deaths. But overpopulation and I guess sexual diseases remain a key issues if Mexico's hopes to raise many of its citizens' standard of living.

Just before we set off to return to playa the zocalo filled with birds flying from every direction to perch on the square's trees and sing their lungs out as dusk fell. Branches sagged under their weight and the air was heavy with their songs.

On the way back we dropped off most of the other guests at various all inclusive megabucks resots in PlayaCar - the exculsive condo/super-hotel part of town. Hotel lobby entrances revealed what looked like kilometres of marble, ornate christmas trees and huge urns of flowers. A festival of spending, a spectacle of wealth. 'Es otro mundo' I said to the driver who smiled an nodded. Another world. The attraction is obvious, and if I ever dare to total up my travels I know the final sum won't be cheap, but at that moment I had a strong sense I'll long be more relaxed in a budget setting using money to travel and tour rather than staying in one place however luxurious.

Thursday was to prove just how great high adrenaline and a lot of mud can be. I'd eyed up the ATV explorer tour on playa.info's website weeks ago and had emailed them the day before to reserve a place. There hadn't been a reply but I was keen to make use of the 10% discount offered at the below link. The normal rate is $48.50 and would have to be paid in full if I booked through an agency.

ATV Explorer Discount

By lunchtime there was still no reply, but I figured the 3pm tour was unlikely to be as busy as the morning ones and figured even if their computer had broken down they could still probably fit me in. So I hailed a taxi to get the 5km to the site and soon arrived... to find the office had forgotten to check for online bookings and wasn't planning an afternoon tour. Had this been the UK I'd have probably got a brief apology and been sent on my way. But since it was Mexico they shrugged their shoulders and asked if I'd mind a private tour. Cool!!!

The first inkling things might get dirty were the dirt spattered 10 drivers who returned from the previous tour. The hurricane's rains were still a long way from drying off so the paths were extremely muddy. My guide was a very friendly guy in his mid twenties from Mexico city who had been educated in the US so had perfect English. We'd been chatting for 30mins before setting off (I'd arrived early to ensure a place) and had struck up a rapport. He gave me a very basic guide on how to get the quad bike going and we were away.

As you should be able to see from the pics there is no protection. The ATV's go up to 60km per hour and since there were just the two of us we maxxed them out at least a few times. The sensation of zooming through a path that's not much wider than the bike at high speed is exhilarating - knowing one clumsy nudge of the wheel could send my head smashing into a tree trunk only added to the excitement. At first the guide kept the speed down but as it became clear I was sensible enough to deccelerate before the turns and wasn't going to shoot over the handlebars he took it up a notch. I felt more alive on that ride than I have done in certain years.

As we went deeper into the jungle the damage wreaked by Emily again became apparant - trees toppled and lying flat or against their neighbours, deep ditches of water and scattered vegitation. After a while we arrived at a huge cave illuminated for our visit by a small power generator. My guide told me that until a few weeks ago a huge colony of bats lived there, scaring many of his tours, but they'd fled during the storm and had not returned. Then onto a cenote where we both swam in the clear waters. A swimming mask was provided allowing me a glimpse into how deep the waters go. It was like looking into an abyss as the waters descended into one of the mouths of the underground river system.

The guide told me normally there would be many more stops and starts to keep the groups together and to calm overcoonfident drivers before they crashed into each other - the single customer tour might not earn him as much money but it was clearly a less stressful experience.

Final stop was a small ruin half covered with vegitation - then he put a finger to his lips and pointed into the undergrowth. There stood a black bob tailed deer staring at us. A sacred animal worshipped by the ancient Maya. If we hadn't cut our engines minutes before to take photos the noise would have undoubtedly scared it off. Instead it stared at us for 10 seconds, no more, then turned and then shot back into the jungle. My guide said he'd known deer lived nearby but neither he nor the other guides had ever seen one.

Back at base I realised I should have booked a taxi to pick me up earlier. The guides were keen to get away and rather than delay them I said I'd walk back. Was I sure? they asked. Of course I was. Big mistake.

What had seemed like a short burst along the motorway on the way there was a hell of a long walk back. Things weren't helped by the fact I was effectively walking along the hard shoulder. Every time a car, or worse a lorry approached I jumped into the grass verge - but it was too rough to walk in and I had a sneaky suspicion snakes lurked within. So every time there was a lull in the traffic I'd run for a stretch, then jump back to make sure I wasn't hit and turned into roadkill. After 30 mins as the sky started to darken I realised I was in trouble if I didn't get back very soon.

Not long after I came to the turn off to PlayaCar and said a small prayer of thanks to God. It seems ridiculous now but I honestly think the previous half hour was the most dangerous of my life. One distracted driver, a swing of the steering wheel and I'd be a smudge on the landscape.

But the trek wasn't over yet. PlayaCar is a maze of streets - lots of million dollar properties but also tons of plots half built or still overrun by jungle. With no street lamps it was very dark in places and what was supposed to be a 40min walk, maximum, was now more than double that. Things weren't helped when a bunch of workers sent me off in the wrong direction - only for guards on one of the barriers to set me right forcing me to double back and lose 15mins. Eventually, nearly an hour and a half after I left the ATV site, I got back to 5th Avenue and what felt like a return to civilization.

A shower to get rid of the sweat and solidified mud and stop to the next door beer shop and I was ready for the evening. I headed up to the hostel lobby in the hope of finding a crowd of English speaking fellow travellers and for the first time wasn't disappointed. A bunch had moved into the hostel that day including a laid back Dutch guy, 2 cute stripper lesbians who had cashed in their savings for the trip of a lifetime together (no, really), and Erika, a laid back English girl who was completing her diving certificate before going to swim with sharks in Hawaii for the amusement of tourists who'd watch from the safety of a boat. She hadn't told her parents yet about what the job involved and was hoping to out it off as long as possible - especially since the chain mail protective gear she would have to wear might reassure the crowds but was known to be little use at repelling a determined shark's attack.

After a few drinks I excused myself as I needed to pay for next day's tour in advance but said I'd be back shortly and would join the others for dinner. If by some weird chance they're reading apologies - I never made it back.

Seconds after leaving the tour office I did a double take. The girl in the black dress who had just wooshed past me seemed very familiar. I hadn't registered her face but on some subconcious level I must have recognised her as I twisted my head to get a second glance and realised it was Anne-Lie, the girl I'd toured with in Chiapas (see the San Cristobal Chapter).

We'd had a loose arrangement to meet in Playa if we both made it there and I'd given her my email address but hadn't heard from her so assumed she'd gone elsewhere. It turns out she'd arrived the day before and had decided to leave it to fate as to whether we'd see each other. If we did, great, if not she would leave the following morning. So by some weird coincidence we spotted each other just in time. If I'd left for the tour office ten minutes earlier I have no doubt we would have never seen each other again.

Instead we went for an amazingly tasty meal at one of the many superb 5th avenue restaurants and spent the next few hours swapping travel stories before heading on to the Blue Parrot for several drinks. As is often the case meeting new people is fun on tour, but seeing someone you've already travelled with is like being reunited with a childhood buddy so rich and intense are the experiences you share. It was great to catch up.

And so to the last day of the tour. I'd originally planned a quiet day on the beach, but ultimately decided to go out in style - a US$99 activity trip deep into the jungle. Part of the appeal was to get close to Punta Laguna, where one of my best friends spends 4 months every year studying spider monkeys, the other part was because it sounded so damn fun. In fact the day exceeded even my highest expectations.

The day started early with a 7am pickup just off 5th avenue. Most of the others were already on board. A young family from the US (North Carolina I think), a laid back father and son from Phoenix (Arizona), a French pair of newly-weds and our French-Mexican guide. As we turned off from the route to Tulum towards our destination the road became a narrow strip carved out from the thick trees and greenery on either side. Hardly anyone else seemed to be using it. After about an hour we pulled over for a coffee stop at a cafe/art shop where I chatted in Spanish with one of the assistants. When she learnt I was from Scotland she started telling me about the small magical people who lived in the jungle and asked me if I'd seen their winged counterparts in the Scottish Highlands. She told me she'd recently seen a documentary about these mythic figures and was certain they existed. I wasn't sure if she was joking at first but she insisted her friends had seen these protective Mexican 'pixies' and seemed disappointed that I'd never even heard of their Scots cousins.

Then back on the road. After a while we started to see gaps in the trees and then small lakes. Except they weren't really lakes at all. Houses sat flooded in their middle, the water flowing through the windows and doors, while trees trunks lay floating nearby. More damage from the hurricane.

"You're all going to sleep well tonight" our guide said as we got out the van. The flooding meant he had to park considerably further away than normal from the normal tour drop off point - there was going to be a lot of hiking.

Our walk took us skirting alongside a huge expanse of water until we came to a small group of Mayans all kitted out in Alltournative logo-ed t-shirts. Each of us was kitted out in a harness, given a stick to use as a break and then went shooting over the lake at high speed on a zip line. Wow! Our whole body weight was supported by a small metal clip attached to the overhead cable as gravity accelerated us over the water. The floods meant we had to hunch our legs up to avoid them dragging in the water towards the end. I managed to remember this but forgot to use the break so went flying into the padded barrier at the end, out of breath but with a huge smile on my face.

From there we canoed in pairs for about 15mins across the waters. Quite strenuous work - I had the American couple's daughter in front of my canoe egging me on to keep our lead over the others and I joked about what might eat us if we capsized. I later learnt from my Monkey-scientist friend that crocodiles had been spotted nearby. I guess it pays to be the one holding the paddle.

Then another trek, during which we saw some of the spider monkeys hanging from the trees above before arriving at a cenote. Through a really narrow crack in the rock we lowered ourselves backwards into the deep cave and swam below in the illuminated waters. My third and final time in a cenote and just as odd and thrilling as the first.

Another walk back to the van and then onward to the Mayan village, Pac-Chen. There we were again equipped with harnesses and this time rappelled down into the Te Eo Chen sinkhole. Kicking off from edge of hole's edge was a weird sensation and literally a leap of faith. Looking at the Mayan helper with a huge beergut as he attached me to the support rope it hit me again how weird it was to put so much trust in someone I'd only met 30 seconds before - especially someone who so plainly enjoyed their drink. All too quickly I reached the bottom - though thankfully not at terminal velocity. The rains meant the platform below had become submerged so I landed into a canoe which I then paddelled to the opposite wall and clambered up the sides to reach the top again.

Then we had a chance to take a wander around the village. It's a tiny place - not much more than a dirt road sporadically lined with traditionally built huts that anachronistically often had brand new American imported cars
parked outside. Construction work at Cancun and along the Mayan coast had brought money and a long commute to many of the village's younger workers whilst alltournatives seems to provide employment to many of the others. So long as the tourist boom continues so will the villages new found wealth - but I know some people are concerned at the disruption these forces have brought to traditional life. One person later told me some villagers used to party and drink once a week - now it's almost a nightly event.

The two guys from Phoenix called me over to a small fenced off enclosure. Inside was a really odd looking hairy pig like animal. They were amazed I'd never seen a tapir before - apparently they're quite a common North American animal. But even they had never seen a tame one before. Normally tapirs would be pleased to take a chunk out of any limb offered to them - but this one was happy to munch crisps out of its Mexican owner's hands. Apparently they do taste like pork but are closer to the rat family.

Luckily the lunch provided didn't include roasting this beastie. Instead a selection of traditional Mexican chillis, Mole Chicken and empanadas were offered with a choice of refreshing cordials made from local flowers. Two well fed locals served us from the buffet - though it's rumoured they usually reheat rather than cook the food from scratch in case any lawsuit-happy weak-stomached Americans come down with food poisoning. Whatever the case the food was excellent.

Heaving our stuffed stomaches back onto the van we then headed onto Coba - once a major centre and home to around 50,000 Mayans. It's far older than Chichen Itza and for more me was a far more satisfying experience.

There was hardly anyone else around as our guide told us only limited excavations had taken place and archaelogists had still to probe into the pyramids to see what they contained. As we stumbled over the rocky path he explained paved roads once connected the site with other Mayan cities - some of the avenues running over 100km. A ball court (far smaller than Chichen Itza's) and a 9-tiered castle have been uncovered but it's believed 95% of the site still lies undercover.

Walking only gets you so far at Coba - the site is far to widely sprawled out to see by foot. So you're given the option of hiring a bicycle or being rikshawed around. The honeymooners took the latter the option while I set off with Dave Henderson and son (the guys from Phoenix) on two wheels to explore. Zipping past each ruin ensured we got the potted highlights and enough time to scale Nohuch Mul - at 138 feet the highest pyramid in the Yucutan.

Unlike at Chichen Itza there's been very little, if any, restoration work, so the climb felt a more authentic and precarious experience. But the view from the top was worth it.

Below stretched miles of jungle with another pyramid encircled by the forest and in the distance floodwater swollen lake gimmered in the sun.
Looking up the small structure built on the stone mountain's summit Dave spotted a small recess containing carvings that still had hints of once bright paint on them - protected from the rain they offered a hint of how colourful the structure must have been all those centuries ago.

The three of us then raced back to drop off our bikes and get to the van before the others leaving us 15mins to quench ice cold beers from the carpark bar. After all the exercise and humidity they never tasted better.

Then it was time to drive back. Or in our case snooze as our guide stayed alert behind the wheel. I went deep under until we pulled in for the last stop of the day at alltournative's tequila joint. Two shots of one of the best brand's I'd tasted sent a warm feeling under my chest and another grin to my lips.

On the final 45min stretch back to Playa the Carolina dad told us all it was the first time his family had ever left the States. Previously they'd been on survival training courses and over the remaining miles he gave us a crash course into how to track someone across a forest floor, how to build your own sleeping bag out of dead plants and survive freezing temperatures, how to read someone's state of mind by the footprints they've left and why tracking someone in the dark or across a linoleum floor is easier than it sounds. Fascinating and just a wee bit scary at the same time.

The Hendersons and I were the last to disembark which seemed like a good excuse to round off the remaining daylight with frozen magaritas at one of 5th Avenue's bars. Happy hour meant two for the price of one. My blood alcohol level must have been peaking but I had a huge feeling of contentment rather than tipsiness.

It was the best day's tour - the perfect mix of a fun group, an excellent guide and high adrenaline activities. If you're tempted there's more details and other cheaper tours available at the following link:

Alltournative - Mayan Encounter

But no time to collapse. A quick shower and shave later I picked up Anne-Lie from her cabin at a very dodgy looking small hotel complex and we set off together for my final Mexican Noche. At an even dodgier looking nearby restaurant we asked a waiter where the best place to eat was provoking the predictable response. But once we made it clear we weren't going to stay he pointed us in the direction of Alux.

I'd already seen the place advertised on flyers at the hostel. It's a huge natural underground cave complex that's been stylishly lit and turned into a bar-eaterie. Walking from 5th Avenue up Juarez Avenue it's a 20 minute walk that took us through the 'real' Playa del Carmen where the locals live and play. Unlike the upmarket tourists patch here we passed half built pavements, huge holes in the road exposing pipes and workmen's tools, shops offering pirated dvds and cheap mobile phones and a mammoth concrete building leaking the sounds of a disco to which no gringo was invited. Obviously most people take a taxi to get there but we both relished the chance to see the resort's other side.

Alux may have been out of town but the prices made clear few locals would ever afford it. The menu wasn't exceptional so we decided to have a couple of cocktails and enjoy the atmosphere before heading back to town later.

No sooner than our order been served the lights dimmed and we heard the sound of live drums from the next door dining room. We poked our heads round to see a group of scantily clad performers garbed in traditional costume acting out an ancient ritual. Our waiter asked if we would like to watch and showed us to the best table in the place - despite the fact we'd made it clear we weren't going to eat.

The half hour show that followed was another tour highlight and a glimpse into the past. This was no Disneyfied spectacle. The actors took their roles very seriously as the re-enacted a hunt, worship of the old gods and finally the sacrifice of a young virgin. As the lights flickered against the stone walls it was easy to be taken in as the priest plunged his dagger into the girl's chest and then seemed to lift her heart up to the skies as her body fell limp and still. A powerful spinetingling experience for the two of us - but I'm not sure what the diners thought as they munched their way through their steaks. Their romantic meals transformed into a bloody ballet.

The end of the show was our cue to catch a cab back to town where we had some excellent seafood and ended the night with a couple more frozen magaritas at one of the beach bars. As much as I'd like to say I spent the whole night partying by about 1am I was completely shot. My eyes were sagging and my brain was preparing to shut down. We arranged to meet the next day and I headed back for some of the trips most profound slumber yet.

Nevertheless I awoke less than five hours later bright and if not fully alert at least half way there. Last morning and time was now very precious.


I lay rocking in my balcony's hammock and watched the sun rise up, blood red, as it began to warm up the sky. Then time to fulfil the last fragments. Fresh fruit in yoghurt for breakfast with Anne-Lie. Then a quick bit of shopping - I got a piece of Oaxacan art I'd spotted days earlier convincing the sales clerk to knock off a healthy percentage by paying in cash. Then a brief luckless search for a strap to prevent my bag springing open again. Hmmm - maybe shouldn't have left that to the last minute but it turned out the airport had a plastic luggage wrap service so it ultimately didn't matter

But before that there was time for a final half hour on the beach. I'd carried around a frisbee for the whole holiday and here at last was the chance to put it to use. Nearly decapitating a couple of passers-by we ran ourselves silly in the sun before finally it was time to say goodbye. Bye to Anne-Lie, bye to Playa, the Yucatan and Mexico itself.

A bus ride and flights lay before me but as I hauled my heavy bag from the hostel to the ADO station I realised it was here that my Mexican Viaje was truly coming to an end. It's probably one of the most intense periods of my life - I don't think I've ever packed so much into such a short period of time. Nevertheless after all the choices of where to go, what tours to take and who to speak to I can look back and say I have no regrets. None at all.

Except maybe I wish I'd taken those salsa dancing classes.....

posted by Leo Kelion @ 5:40 PM 7 comments

I See Dead People

City of culture, city of live music, sweeping hills and ornate monuments. But let`s get straight to the point - Guanajuato is perhaps most memorable for its dead.

High up on the outskirts of central Guanajuato is Mexico´s strangest tourist attraction - El Museo de las Momias. It`s also one of the most popular if the long lines of wide eyed visitors present on the day I visited are anything to go by.

The Museum houses the remains of over 100 of the city´s citizens exhumed from the local graveyard between 1865 and 1979. Mexican law used to state that if death dues were not paid in full within a few years of your death your body would be dug up from the ground to make space for a wealthier neighbour. When they started doing this in Guanajuato they noticed an odd thing - the bodies were coming back preserved - it seems the ground contains the perfect chemical mix.

Now at this point you might think cremation would be an option, or at the very most a brief scientific investigation before the bodies were disposed. But this being Mexico, with its unique `relationship` with death, someone saw a gap in the market and got to work.

The bodies were originally stacked alongside each other, the dead heavily pregnant woman alongside what`s supposed to be the world`s smallest mummy, but there were complaints. Shocked tourists (mainly Americans) petitioned everyone from the President to the Pope to tackle this outrage. The upshot is that the bodies are now laid behind flexiglass screens allowing the thousands of visiting schoolkids to press their faces right up against the relatively recent dead.

The upgrade also had the beneficial side effect of stopping tourists breaking off the odd finger or toe to take back as a souvenir. We`re talking about fresh levels of sickness here.

It`s a really bizarre experience. The sheer number of corpses is pretty shocking. Perhaps most affecting of all is how the hair remains - not just on skin slowly peeling off skulls, but as small curls working their way up petrified legs - and in many cases covering long dessicated genitals.

Oh yes, there´s no shame here. Not only do the deceased go on show for eternity, but their shrivelled up bits are exposed in their full glory under the installed spotlights and flashes of the countless cameras recording the shame for perusal back at home.

While all this is fascinating for the first fifteen or so minutes it does start to get a bit stuffy and the novelty wears off surprisingly fast - even when the organisers decide to shake things up by pasting up before-pictures of the bodies freshly lying in their coffins for comparison with the after-reality staring back at you.

The weird thing is that once back in the fresh air and bustling streets I started to look at some of the aged, crooked denizens of the city as they shuffled along the historic centre and realised several looked little healthier than their cousins on display nearby.

One more story about the museum before I move on - when I arrived there was a huge queue of Mexicans by the box office which, being a Brit, I naturally joined without question. It was only 20mins later that a member of staff spotted me and pointed out they were waiting to enter as part of a group tour and I could get my ticket straight away at a second till. The irony is that the group was made up of senior students from a nearby Tourism Academy - and not one had thought to point out my obvious error.

Gunajuato itself is very much a living vibrant city. It houses one of Mexico`s top universities and its students ensure a wide selection of bars, cheap restaurants, internet cafes and live/dance music in the evenings. The city has also started to attract rich American retirees who want to enjoy both the Mexican cheap cost of living and its culture. One couple I spoke to explained they had moved to the city rather than nearby San Miguel Allende because the latter was now overpacked with Republicans. (As a sidenote it`s interesting how US Americans nearly always strongly identify themselves by political affiliation in a way most Europeans never would).

I could take a cheap shot at how this fresh wave of immigration will undoubtedly benefit the city`s death trade, but it would be too easy. Instead I`ll simply remark that the city´s funeral parlour looked in good nick and was stacked full of freshly carved coffins when I peeked my head through the door.

Actually pretty much all of Guanajuato looked in good order. Much of the reason is that like Zacatecas it houses a thriving silver mining industry. There´s the possibility of visiting the nearby mine - but unlike Zacatecas you can´t go down into the ground and since it`s a few kilometres out I didn´t bother making the trek.

Instead on my first day´s explore I was attracted to the home of another dead man -
Diego Riviera. Outside Mexico the artist may now be better know as the husband of Frida Kahlo, but here he´s still recognised as the country´s most accomplished artist. Originally he was shunned by the wealthy leaders of Guanajuato because of his communist leanings, but I guess fame has a way of sorting things out.

I´d tried to see his murals in Mexico City and some of his work held in a Zacatecas museum but both attempts had failed as the buildings were closed when I´d arrived.

I knew from the LP that his childhood home housed some of his drawings and paintings, including the above sketch of Frida, as well as others of his lovers. But I didn´t expect the selection to be such a varied mix of styles.











There`s everything from historical detailed drawings to large Picasso-inspired oils, brightly coloured indigenous-styled art, landscapes and small outline sketches of his famous giant murals. Filling up the upper floors of the (very impressive) house I was left in no doubt that he was hugely talented at every mode of art he applied himself to. Or maybe they just don´t display his shit work ;)

As an added bonus at the top floor of the frankly HUGE house there was an exhibition of photos by Alberto Korda of Che Guevara and Castro including ´that´ picture, which the exhibition modestly described as ´the most famous photo in the world´. What caught my attention is that the original picture wasn´t the close up of Che´s face that we´re so familiar with, but Korda had tried to be arty and frame Che with a second figure. I sneaked a quick picture when the guards weren`t looking and have included it alongside so you can see for yourselves (click to enlarge it).

I spent most of the rest of the first daytime just getting my bearings. The main part historic centre is actually pretty easy to navigate - one main road winds past museums, shops, churches and markets with smaller roads and plazas shooting off hiding numerous bars, cafes and fountains. But venture far beyond and it's easy to get lost in a maze of thin steep alleyways. The free map handed out by the tourist board (on Calle Obregon) isn't much help. It looks very pretty - a tangle of multicoloured strings that faintly resemble a few of the main roads - but doesn't even attempt to tackle the rest of the town. But if you have the time it's well worth letting yourself get lost and then working your way back by spotting the main monuments as they appear through the spaces between the buildings.

One of the weird things for me was seeing the newly placed Christmas decorations sparkle in the sunlight. I'm used to seeing the festive frills dripping with rainwater, only glinting as they reflect streetlamp light or car headlights. All that glitter in the bright warm sunlight somehow just seemed wrong.

One more strange thing I never got to the root of was a couple of guys who would wander up and down the streets ringing a huge bell. No-one seemed to pay them any attention and there really didn't seem to be any purpose to it. Every now and then they'd stop, have a sit down and a rest, and then start their ringing wandering again. If you know what that was all about please enlighten me.

By about 6pm it was time to cut short my own wanderings. The city centre's water supply had been temporarily suspended for maintenance work and after my long overnight journey I was quite keen to grab a shower before the evening. The plan was also to try to meet others at Hostalito Guanajuato where I was staying, but for once my luck seems to have run out. There was no-one else downstairs in the reception area and bizarrely the hostel's advertised terrace area was only accessible through one of the locked dorm rooms.

I didn't have time to hang around hoping to meet other travellers anyway as I'd earlier bought a ticket to see a flamenco show at Teatro Juarez. The theatre is a spectacle itself. Dating back to the early 20th century it's imposing entrance gives way to a spacious lobby filled with stained glass panels and gleaming floors. The walls of the theatre itself are covered with complicated carved Moorish patterns painted a deep red and gold. I got chatting to a softly spoken Chinese American woman who sat next to me and we easily filled the time before the performance talking about the intricate and no doubt costly decorations. The benefits of living in a silver city again were obvious.

I'd guess the majority of the audience were foreigners - it was probably the first time I'd been surrounded by so non-Mexicans since arriving. So it's hard to know whether the barrage of flash photographs that accompanied each costume change is normally acceptable in Mexican theatre. Certainly it seemed allowed and didn't faze the musicians and dancers. Though I've seen better flamenco in Sevilla the company's standard was high - especially the principle dancer/choreographer who stole every scene she was in.

By this point the streets were thronging with people attracted by the variety of Saturday nightlife. Normally I'd have been attracted to one of the nightclubs, but was feeling in a mellow mood after the show and instead opted for a trova bar. Trova is basically a singer-songwriter music, often one man (and it is usually a guy) a guitar and a songbook. Think early Billy Joel, Damien Rice or even a laidback Bob Dylan. This place was packed both with young couples and older groups chilling out to songs by Silvio Rodriguez, Pablo Milanes and others over the candlelight. Very cool - and I found myself staying for one more song, then one more and another before I was finally left with just enough energy to stagger the 10-15 minutes back to my bed.

One of the joys of Guanajauto is it is so damned photographable. I'd originally planned to spend my second day taking a day tour to nearby San Miguel de Allende and Dolores de Hidalgo but changed my mind en route to the pick up point preferring to spend the day snapping coloured monuments framed by narrow alleys and playing with the exposure settings on my camera to capture the wide array of architecture.

Throughout the day I had the nagging sensation that Guanajuato reminded me of somewhere else. Finally I twigged - it's Mexico's sunnier sister city to historic Edinburgh. If you've visited Scotland and are scratching your head hang with me a second here and I''ll try to explain...

A large river originally flowed through the middle of Guanajuato, but was diverted in 1905. The water's path has now been converted into a large underground roadway off which several tunnels have been built to keep traffic away from the mainly pedestrianised city centre. This means the city effectively operates on two levels with stairways punctuating pavements allowing its citizens to descend into the gloomy smelly depths. The effect is much like Edinburgh's multi-layered Old Town leaving both cities a pleasure to walk round, but a nightmare to drive.

They also both seem to have the impossible feature of having more up hills than down hills. But Guanajuato has a trick up it's sleeve - or at least up its steepest hillside: A tiny Funicular which carries grateful passengers up to crazily steep incline. I shared the cabin with a group of touring school children. Looking down at the coiled metal cable dragging us shuddering to the top the teacher kept his class amused by speculating about the chances of it snapping under our weight. The operator's stoneyfaced look was the only reassurance this wasn't a headline waiting to be published.

The view from the top was spectacular - and is shown at the top of the entry. But it vies for attention with another dead man who dominates the city - El Pipla (visible in the photo in the top right corner if you click and expand it). The story goes that in 1810, during the Mexican War of Independence, his actions gave the rebel army its first victory. The Spanish had holed up in the city's grain storehouse and seemed to be in good position to hold out against the 20,000 Mexicans until help arrived. Bu the rebel leader, Miguel Hidalgo, had a plan. He ordered a young miner (El Pipla) to tie a huge stone slab to his back and use it as a shield against the Spanish bullets. El Pipla was then able to walk up to the store's gates, set them alight and cook the Spaniards inside. Legend says he lived to a ripe old age - which is more than can be said for Hidalgo and the other three rebel leaders. They were captured a year later and their severed heads were left rotting on display at the site for a decade.

These days you can walk up to the top of the statue if you pay a couple of pesos. But to be honest the view is little different from the one from the viewing platform at its base.












One other dead guy haunts the city - Cervantes and in particular his creation Don Quixote. Every year the city holds the 2-3 week long Festival Internacional Cervantino at the end of October which is widely regarded as one of the cultural highlights of Latin America. Musicians, actors, artists and dancers come from all over the world to perform and accommodation becomes near impossible to find and significantly more expensive. Just like Edinburgh's own summer festival (see another link!).

But even over the other 50-odd weeks of the year it's hard to avoid the Spanish author's influence. A huge bronze statue dominates a coutyard at one end of the historic centre, there the wonderful (and free) Museo Iconografico Del Qiojote containing the mad knight and his companion Sancho Panza depicted in paint, scultpure, glass and china by a dazzling range of artists. Plazas, bars and shops are named after Cervantes and the local university bestows its own Nobel prize to scholars who have specialised in his works - no prizes for guessing what the medal is called. In the evenings as the locals gather to listen to musicians playing music round the Jardin de la Union painters display their newly painted fantasies of Quioxte and Panza wandering through Guanajuato. The link between the city, the author and his character may only date back about 55 years but it's hard to think of a place so entwined with literary figures. All the more strange when you remember that Mexican nationalism is often in part based on a rejection of Spanish roots.

More details about the festivall can be found at:

Festival Cervantino

So what else is worth doing in town? Well the Mercado Hidalgo is the big draw if you want to see an old style indoor Mexican market at work. Small food stalls offer super fresh lunches, clothes are sold on the cheap and there's more choice and value available than Walmart could offer in their dreams. Just outside is the place to pick up CDs and DVDs with photocopied covers and discs of dubious origin - if they jump when played don't even dream of sending them back to the manufacturer. And as can be seen above, there's every flavour of sauce available so long as you're looking for chilli (sorry - couldn't resist).

A five minute walk away, just off Plazuela de Los Angeles, Callejon del Beso is also worth a quick visit. Undoubtedly the narrowest walkway I've ever squeezed through, the Alley of the Kiss is famous for the balconies above which almost touch each other. The story goes that centuries ago Doña Carmen, the daughter of a rich but violent man lived in one of the houses. She fell in love with a local lad named Don Luis who courted her by offering her holy water from the local church - what a smoothie. Anyway the dad found out and flew into a rage - threatening to send Carmen to a convent in Spain and locked her up in her room. When Luis found out he bought the house opposite for a small fortune and continued to court Carmen over the balconies which were narrow enough for the two to steal illicit embraces. This being Mexico the story couldn't have a happy ending - the father discovered the deception and stormed into Carmen's room where he plunged a dagger into his unfaithful daughter's heart. She died. Luis was so shocked he kissed the lifeless hand of his love and then killed himself. So Mexico's very own Romeo and Juliet and more dead people to add to the city's bulging list of legends.

For a place I stayed such a short time there's been a lot to write and remember about Guanajuato. In a way not meeting another group of friends made it easier to pack so much in and use most of the afternoon of my last day to update the blog. Sunday evening was a big contrast to Saturday with many bars closed and the streets very quiet. A very bad trova singer was playing in La Oreja de Van Gogh bar so I came back early to the hostel to make use of the free high speed internet.

For anyone considering staying at the hostel it is fairly close to the centre, has a big bar and kitchen area and very friendly staff. My private room was large and clean although there wasn't the option of an ensuite bathroom. Had there been a few more travellers it would have been a perfect base - guess I just picked the downtime.

I arrived in Guanajuato tired and after an initial wander was ready to be disappointed after the pleasures of Zacatecas. But the city really grew on me, both through its colourful tales and its rich visual wealth. Of all the places I visited in Mexico it's here I most wished I had a proper large lens SLR camera. If you're passing through this way it's well worth sparing at least a couple of days and a few hundred megabytes of memory card.

Guanajuato - it's dead good.

posted by Leo Kelion @ 1:59 AM 11 comments

Deep Down in Silver City

I knew things were getting desperate when I realised I was laughing out loud at an American comedy that was so ´good´ it was never released on dvd, let alone the cinema, in the UK. The film was Repli-Kate (university student clones cute girl by mistake, teaches it how to behave only to discover he´s created a sex-addict beer swilling beauty - and he prefers the original.... OK I´ll stop right there). By this point I´d been travelling for approximately 20 hours including a few hours stop-off at Chihuahua bus station. I´m still not sure if the film is an undiscovered gem or whether my brain had started to short circuit. The only other stimulation it had had in the previous few hours was a stunning sunrise over the Mexican desert and some truly tragic Mexican music blaring out of the driver´s stereo a couple of rows in front of me.

Eventually the bus pulled into its destination - Zacatecas, Mexico's elegant and prosperous city of silver. The city´s existence came about by what was undoubtedly a regretable action. One of the local Chichimec tribesmen gave a Spanish conquistador a piece of the precious metal sparking off a search for its source. The Basque Juan de Tolosa found the vein in the Zacatecas mountains in 1546 and two years later the city was settled. At one point more than fifty silver mines were in operation and the Spanish had to import African slaves as they´d run out of Indians to work the shafts.

The city was temporarily New Spain´s third largest city and the legacy is a very Spanish city with wide streets, ornate architecture and a bustling sense of fun. Unlike most of the places I´d been so far the city looked well cared for - pavements and roads in good order and a good selection of consumer goods on sale in the city centre. The locals also looked very Spanish, dressed in the latest fashions and much paler than their Eastern cousins. However those I spoke to strongly identified themselves with Mexican rather than Spanish roots and showed more interest in the idea of visiting London than Madrid.













At the city´s centre is a pink stoned cathedral with incredibly intricate baroque carvings on the outside walls, although inside the decoration was quite plain. I guess the merchants were too busy sending the silver south to Mexico city to spare any to decorate the walls.

Curiously I noted on the building´s side entrance the sun and moon had been carved into the woodwork. These were the symbols of the indigenous Indian´s gods and have become mixed up with Catholic symbolism - even so I was surprised to see them appear so blatantly.

Having arrived later afternoon I had little time (or energy) for sightseeing on the first day and instead spent my time converting photos to cd and buying my flight to the Yucatan peninsular for later in the week.

After buying the ticket I asked the Mexicana sales assistant if she could tell me where I could get a haircut. "¿Quiere que te lleve?" she asked. "Si, gracias" I replied - I´d just been offered a lift!

Velvet´s car was parked 10mins down the street so I had a good opportunity to try out my Spanish and though the conversation was fairly basic - no discussions about quantum mechanics - I seemed to manage OK. Good job Solexico/Rosa and Patricia (my Edinburgh Spanish teachers)!

Soon I´d been dropped off outside a Mexican barbers shop. Sitting down I watched the barber shear his customers close to the skull as Mr Bean played on his portable television. What had I let myself in for? As the people in the queue in front of me dwindled I saw him slash his blade across a strip to sharpen it at the end of each cut before scraping away any errant hairs on the back of their necks. Luckily the Spanish paid off again and I managed to explain what I wanted and ended up with a pretty stylish looking tidy-up rather than the skinhead I feared. The price was 35 pesos (approx 1pound fifty/three dollars)- around ten percent of the cost back home. Of course I left a health tip.

On leaving I realised I had absolutely no idea where I was, but after a fifteen minute wander found myself back at the hostel door after a quick trip to one of the local cd shops. I´m going to write a seperate chapter on music later on but there´s some brilliant Mexican rock music that I´d never heard of even after so many trips to Spain.


Rested and refreshed I got up fairly early the following morning to explore the city. First stop was Museo Rafael Coronel - a sixteenth century convent converted 15 years ago into a museum to house work by a local artist as well as his spectacular collection of Mexican masks. Room after room these faces gawk. smile and stare back at the visitor.













The variety of styles is striking - wood, paper mache, animal hair, ancient and modern materials are all used. In some cases mirrors are worked into the face disturbingly reflecting your own expression back at you. Although there is also a collection of ancient Mexican pottery and a selection of puppets from across the world it is the masks that really make the museum worth trekking out to. A seriously weird experience.

My next unsettling experience was a trip down into the Eden mines. The mine, near the centre of town, was worked until the 1950s and was once one of the country´s richest seams of silver. Along with five others, all in bright yellow hard hats, I descended deep into the ground and began the tour. A spotlit model of Santo Niño is set not far in surrounded by painted cards showing the various miracles he is supposed to have performed saving the lives of many miners. Nevertheless at the height of the mine´s activity around five people died every day from accidents or illnesses - so I guess the saint was only on a part time contract. OK that´s me going to hell....

It´s a bit freaky being so deep in the ground surrounded by hollowed out rock - especially as the surface easily crumbles when you rub your hands across it. The tour goes along the third and fourth levels of the mine - there are seven in total but the bottom three are now all full of water which has trickled down through the hills. Several of the walkways are metal grilles allowing views into the floodlit (boom boom) manmade caves beneath. Surrounded by the sounds of miners at work it´s bloody eerie. A mini-train took us back out to the light and fresh air after a quick peek through the door to La Mina club - a nightclub which operates in one of the shafts Thursday to Saturday!

I was quite happy to be above ground again and decided to head up Cerro de la Bufa - a large hill overlooking the city. Normally you can get there by the Teleferico, a cable car that leaves from near one of the mine´s exits. However strong winds meant the service had been suspended so I had to walk. Although the centre of Zacatecas is pretty level, as soon as you stray far beyond the hills start to slope steeply upwards and the pavements turn into sharply angled staircases. Not a great combination with the Mexican diet of carbs and cerveza. But seeing crooked eighty year old pensioners and mothers laden with children making their way up and down the stairways was motivation enough to venture upwards at a brisk pace.

The view from above let me appreciate the city´s setting. Beyond the sprawling outskirts were the dry dusty hills of the northern desert. Well worth the effort getting there. After a quick pause to catch my breath I walked through an old chapel to find a carpark full of tourist buses for those too lazy/sensible to take the route I had.

More impressive was a huge statue of Pancho Villa. While Europe was reacting with shock to the asassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand the Mexican bandit turned revolutionary general was making his name across the Atlantic. Having recruited a force of thousands of volunteers he took control of the Zacatecas in 1914, beating the official armed forces and forcing the resignation of President Victoriano Huerta. Near to the statue is the Museo de la Toma de Zacatecas which houses photos and newspaper reports of the battle as well as some of the weapons used.

There´s also a photo of Pancho Villa´s sister, Martina. Francisco ´Pancho´ Villa had led an unremarkable peasant´s life until a landowner tried to abduct his 12 year old Martina. Villa shot the man and fled to the hills where he became a thief. For more than 15 years he was part of several gangs, earning the cunning and leadership skills that made him such a charismatic leader of the revolution. And here ends the history lesson.

Having noted the other tourists wandering around the site I decided to leave the public paths and climb up the summit of the hill. In retrospect it was probably quite a daft thing to do alone - it was windy, the rocks were steep and it´s likely there were snakes in the undergrowth. But the satisfaction of being higher up than anyone else and looking down over the town more than made up for any risk. Nearly sprained my ankle after slipping on the way down though - if anyone else fancies the climb I´d advise proper walking shoes rather than the thin soled pair I was wearing.

In the hostel (the excellent Hostel Villa Colonial) that evening I bumped into a mad Italian and Austrian girl I´d met at Creel. Whilst chatting I discovered the latter had also studied at Solexico, but had left a few days before I arrived. However she knew most of the people I´d been friendly with - either a bizarre coincidence or more likely further proof that there aren´t actually tons of people travelling round the country at the moment.

That night I briefly joined a callejon - a group of musicians who´s music attracts large crowds of party people attracted by the tunes and cheap tequila on offer. Everyone would follow the musicians, like a modern day Pied Piper, from square to square causing absolute havoc as they blocked roads and caused major tailbacks of traffic.

But by 11pm I was back at the hostel as I´d booked a 5.30am bus to Guanajuato - my penutlimate destination - the next day...

posted by Leo Kelion @ 10:37 PM 2 comments

Frontier Lands

Bleary eyed I arrived at Los Mochis station to get my ticket, five minutes before the ticket office was due to open.It appeared several others had camped out there overnight to ensure they´d get a seat. Half an hour later the ticket booth operator finally turned up - Mexico time!

As advised by the LP I asked for a window on the right hand side (ask for the left hand side if coming from Chihuahua) to guarantee the best views.
The first hour and a bit of the ride, up to El Fuerte, allowed views into the back of several people´s houses with wild pigs, chickens and other animals all running around their backyards as the sun slowly rose.

Then the first hint of the Barranca del Cobre (Copper Canyon) as mountains appeared on the horizon through a vista of catcus plants. The Ferrocaril Chihuahua al Pacifico boasts of being the world´s most scenic railway journey - and most of the other passengers sharing the first class train with me were late middle aged or retirees attracted by the promise as well as a scattering of local businessmen travelling north - most locals take the later second class train which runs slower and later. It´s half the price but it`s schedule means there`s the risk darkness will have fallen before you´ve experienced all the best views.

About an hour beyond El Furte the scenery began living up to expectations,
huge lakes, drops into deep valleys, waterfalls running down cliff-faces, river beds lined with boulders, then the train would thunder through a tunnel to reveal a new landscape beyond. Well maybe not thunder... the carriages are dragged along 655km of line by a self-powered engine, so perhaps chugged would be a better description.

The line opened in 1961 several decades after it had first been proposed and is one of the engineering marvels of the Latin American world. Freight trains also use the route but it`s tourists who help make the line ecomically viable - in peak season you need to book ahead to be certain of a seat - and it`s the same tourists´ pesos that have helped the several towns along the route grow in size over the past half a century.

Although the views are inspiring, the best sight is at Divisidero where the train stops for 15 minutes to allow passengers to disembark and gape at the Barranca Del Cobre itself. 1879 metres deep with peaks 2300 metres above sea level it dwarfs the USA´s Grand Canyon. Copper plates and souvenirs are sold at street stalls by the sation, but the canyon doesn't derive its name from any seam of metal embedded in the rock, but rather from the colour it reflects in the late afternoon sun.

The eye doesn´t know where to look - skipping from peak to peak, from valley to tree lined cliff-face (the photo on the left and the one above only show only a small part of the view - you´d need to stick several pictures together to get an idea of the panorama´s width). The vegetation is all the more impressive as it grows right out of the rock - geologists believe it gives us a hint of what the American Canyon will look like several thousand years from now once it has caught up. As I´d later see the trees are widening several of the valleys - their roots slowly breaking up the rock which splinters sending boulders crashing down to the valley floor, while seeds fall into the newly produced cracks allowing the process to repeat itself.

The minutes shot by before the train`s whistle warned it was about to leave. It would be all to easy to get left behind, tempted by one more picture. The a further hour and a half journey to Creel. By this point we´d experienced most of the best views as pine tress obscure further sightlines into the canyon´s depths, although there are fleeting glimspes.

I got off at Creel station, just over half way along the route. It´s a small town with almost all the activity taking place on two roads running either side of the railway line. After hunking my ever heavier luggage onto the platform I was swarmed by a bunch of kids shouting out `Magarita´ - the name of the hostel I`d booked a place at, so I followed them and boarded an ancient bus. The driver must have been about 10 years old and offered me and the other passengers the choice of 2 places to stay - the ramshackle, but fun, Casa Magarita or the more upmarket Hotel Magarita´s Plaza Magarita. An American couple in their 50´s were bewildered by the kids´ Spanish chatter so I translated for them explaining the choice between the two. On discovering I was from Scotland the American woman complimented me for the quality of my English. Scary.

They decided to go for the more upmarket option while I stayed on board for the Casa - which turned out to be metres from where they`d first picked me up! All the same the chance to be hurtled around town by a driver not old enough to shave is worth the experience.

The hostel itself is a higgledy-piggledy assortment of building containing ´cosy´ but comfortable double-bedded rooms as well as a dorm. A private room is about 300 pesos which is a bargain as it includes breakfast and dinner. The food isn´t gourmet and included heinz spaghetti and green stuff on tacos for dinner and a suprisingly tasty white gloop with fruit as part of a huge hearty breakfast. But the huge bonus is that everyone eats together at the same time meaning it`s a fantasticly easy place to meet other travellers, and sign up together for one of the assortment of tours offered by the hostel. And - as we did on my first night - go drinking together.

I´d arrived in the quiet period, and although Casa Magarita was busy many of the other hotels were empty. A couple of girls I met the next day had resisted the boys shouts and checked in elsewhere only to find they were the only guests - and ended up coming round to Magarita´s in the evening to book tours and meet the rest of us. Another side effect of low season was that all the bars were closed the first evening with the exception of the Best Western Hotel´s which was hosting a party for a group from Mexico City. We gatecrashed the event, were offered shots of tequila and sipped some of the country´s most expensive beers as the Mexicans sang folk songs and increasingly slurred voices.


I´d signed up for a visit to the Hot Springs the following morning. My fellow travellers were a retired couple from France, and two French girls in their late 20´s who I mentiuoned in the previous paragraph. Communication with the elder pair was a mixture of my terrible schoolboy French and their only slightly more impressive English.

Despite this we managed several basic conversations in between his copious photo taking. I swear he must have a photo of just about every
possible bit of scenery from the day. He filled a 1GB memory card, swapped it for another and continued snapping away. They had come over to Mexico after their son married a Mexican girl and were now enjoying a 2 month trip of a lifetime - and obviously not wanting to forget a single sight.

To get to the springs we were driven about 45mins out of town into the forest and partway down a thin rough path. Then the `tour-guide´ announced it was time for us to hike the rest of the journey while he took a 4 hour nap. The walk down to the valley floor allowed some spectacular views of the cliff faces above and the temperature began to noticeably rise as we made the steep descent.

Then we followed the a slow moving river round several more bends until we finally got our first glimpse of the springs themselves. I was expecting a natural pool, like the ones I´d visited in Chiapas, but in fact the waters were collected in man made basins just above the valley floor. The warm water originates higher up the rockface and runs down the rocks into the first of a series of interconnected pools, each bigger than the other.

This meant a dip in the smaller pools allowed us to experience the warm water as it crashed off the rocks onto our backs providing a massage as if from a supercharged shower, while the bigger pools, which were large enough to swim in, offered the contrast of a more chilly invigorating experience.

We stayed at the bottom a couple of hours, sunbathing, swimming and generally chilling out before a strenous hike back up to our dozing driver.

At the hostel I met a Dutch artist I´d chatted to the night before and we went to the now open Tio Molcas bar to begin a notable drinking Tequila and cerveza session which was only temporarily interrupted by dinner back at the hostel. We were joined at times by a very cool married couple from Canada (also seen in the above pic) who had driven an RV down to Mexico, a younger American pair of teachers from the US, a 20-something Belgian translator who´d left her job to travel Latin America alone, the French girls and the Mexican barkeeper.

I decided that I´d travel onto Chihuahua by bus the following day instead of by train as it would give me more time in Creel and the chance to go on a second tour - this time to visit several of the surrounding Canyons. Although the area is known as the Copper Canyon there are in fact more than 20. As we enjoyed the vertigo inducing views our guide informed us that much of the surrounding area is inhabited by the Tarahumara tribe - many of whom have never travelled to the towns or villages and live in log cabins or in some case caves. Like many of Mexico´s other indigenous tribes, the 50,000 Tarahumarans wear incredibly bright clothes which presumably make them easier to see at night far from the nearest electrical lamp ;)

The tribe is perhaps most famous for its long distance runners. They developed the skill to help them hunt deer, exhausting them with long chases before driving them over cliffs. In 1993 they came to the attention of an American entrepeneur who entered them into the Colorado 100 mile ultramarathon. Victoriano Churra, one of the tribesmen, easily won the competition running the distance without rest with little preparation. He´s gone on to win several other American competitions.

The tour also took in a winding road across a cleared area - it had been a landing strip for tourist planes but was abandoned after the authorities discovered drug smugglers were also making use of it at night. Then finally we were driven to the main Copper Canyon again where we saw very shaky looking ladders the Tarahumara use to scale up and down the rockface - it takes them 2hrs to get from the top to the bottom - there was no way I was even going to hang over the edge to reach he first rung.

Ted, the Canadian husband ventured out onto the `floating rock´ to balance precariously above the huge drop to the disbelief of his wife before they bought several baskets the Tarahumara intricately weave out of grass and sell for a couple of pesos. The wife crammed so many in her bag that they´ll probably be flattened into table coasters by the time she gets home.

Then time to say goodbye to another group of friends and board the bus for a 22 hour bus journey to Zacatecas via Chihuahua...

posted by Leo Kelion @ 1:24 AM 4 comments

The Thin Line

Last day in San Cristobal and time to move on.

Lasting memories that didn´t make the previous entry include a cd shop where the owner offered to burn copies of the discs if I thought the price of originals was too much, pavements with sidewalks several feet above the
road (during the wet season the rainwater runs so deep that several streets effectively turn into rivers), a wonderful exhibition by a local artist whose pictures spilt over the canvas and onto the frames, finally finding a decent cup of coffee in `el museo de cafe` run bv a co-operative of local farmers (there´s going to be a diatribe about the difficulty of finding a decent cup in a later entry), drinking cheap wine in the hostel before going out and a seemingly endless choice of shops offering the same swiss army knives - I cracked and got a small black one - still looking for a use for it a fortnight later.

The next stop was Los Mochis - the gateway to the Copper Canyon. I needed to catch a couple of flights to get there which meant taking a taxi from the hostel to Tuxtla Gutierrez airport. The journey was about 90 minutes and the driver chatted away the whole time - I reckon I understood about 80% of what he was saying. Most of it was complaints about exploitation of the area by big business and the hugepiles of rubbish other drivers had chucked out of their windows and which now lies scattered in piles along otherwise jaw-droppingly scenic routes.

It was Revolution Day so the start of the journey was fairly slow as several groups of school children were marching up and down streets, playing music and celebrating the anniversary. But once out of town the driver had his foot to the gas and we shot along at a blistering and frankly shit-scary pace. Near the end of the pay road we both saw the wreck of a blue car on the right hand side which was being loaded onto a pick-up truck. Both ends had been rammed. On exiting the road the taxi driver asked the pay toll operator what had happened - a crash less than an hour before. The dmotorist was killed instantly. My driver crossed himself - ´hay una linea fina entre la vida y la muerte´ he said.

I had to fly via Mexico City, first with Click Mexicana - Mexico´s first budget airlin - and then with Aeromexico. In fact the former offered a higher level of service than it`s more expensive competitor including free drink and a highly efficient service. Unlike it´s European equivalents it also organised my luggage to be transfered onto the second airline making the whole experience stress free.

I arrived in Los Mochis at about 8pm allowing for an hour´s time difference. I´d booked into Hotel Fenix (001 668 812 26 23) as the Lonely Planet warns travellers off the town´s only budget option. Despite being the most expensive night´s rest so far it wasn´t hugely impressive. Generator noise leaked into my room, the hot water ran out quickly, 55 TV channels but nothing worth watching (though I guess this wasn`t really the hotel`s fault) and a requested alarm call never rang - the reception clerk said he did call, I guess someone else got it. I´d asked for the call as the train left the next morning in the very early hours and I needed to be at the ticket office by 5am to guarantee a good seat. My alarm clock had picked this moment to go on the blitz - typical.

From the little I saw there´s really no reason to stay at Los Mochis except as a stopover before entering the Canyon - though if you do I´d recommend the flautas de cameron (small crispy toasted tortillas filled with tiny cubes of prawn) at El Farallon (corner of caller Flores and calle Obregon).

posted by Leo Kelion @ 4:58 AM 0 comments

Zapatista Land - Waterfalls, Ancient Cities & UFOs

After calm days of not doing very much on the coast the past five days have been quite a contrast. I arrived in San Cristobal de las Casas after a 13hr overnight bus ride from Puerto Escondido.
From sea level to above the clouds - the last few hours of the ride offered dramatic views of the valleys as we rose higher and higher up from Tuxtla Guttierez into the mountains high up into the skies. They were considerably more atmospheric than the terrible Steven Seagal film the bus company inflicted on us for the first couple of hours of the ride. I swear the Mexican bus companies source out the worst possible DTV drivel they can to inflict on the gringos who ride primera clase - and unless you have earplugs of a walkman there´s no escape as the sound is blasted around the bus. It´s a suprise more drivers don´t deliberately drive over the cliffs in desperation.

Anyway back to SCdlC - the town is reminiscent of Oaxaca - lots of narrow streets arranged into a rough grid like pattern. But here the streets are narrower and are thronged in places by the inhibitants of nearby indigenous villages who come here in search of work. They have darker features and brighter clothes than the Mexican-Spanish Mexicans and often fierce expressions of concentration on their faces.

The town hit the headlines on New Year´s day 1994 when a left wing guerilla army, the Zapatistas, stormed the city - their aim to overthrow the establishment and improve the living standards of the native `Indian´ tribes - some of whom had never been conquered by the Spanish conquistadors but had fled to the jungles of the area to face problems decades later from loggers and farmers who deforested the land making it more vulnerable to flooding and hurricanes. The army eventually forced them back with around 150 casualties (mostly Zapatista) but the groups leader Subcomondante Marcos is now a cult figure. The ex-university professor´s masked pipe smoking face is featured on several t-shirts sold and worn around the town. Negotiations with President Fox have taken place but agreements have never been put into place. Though the group is now mainly non-violent, and spends a lot of its efforts fighting a public relations battle over the internet, there are still tensions. Driving down some roads in the area you encounter signs declaring the surrounding areas Zapatista territory.

There´s more information at:

EZLN

Global Exchange

The zone, like much of Mexico, is also Volkswagen territory thanks to the German company locating several of its factories in the country. Speaking to Mexicans it´s amusing to learn that Volkswagens here have a reputation for being unreliable cheap cars unlike their European counterparts. I spotted the example seen on the right just after arriving - many examples are in far worse condition.

I spent the first day here wandering the streets trying to get a feel for the place. One of the joys of being a single traveller in this part of the world is that locals often come up to me, ask where I´m from and start a conversation. It´s interesting that they often assume I can speak Spanish. Reference to Braveheart (or Corazon Valiente) helps to explain where Scotland is, although not every time. One girl asked a fellow traveller where she was from - when she replied Europe the girl asked where in the USA that was. In my experience though every adult has at least heard of England and London if not Scotland and seems amused by my descritions of our weather.

As atmospheric as the town is the reason it´s become such a travellers haven is that it is the perfect starting point for tours into the Chiapas region. For my second day here I went on the daddy-of-them-all. A 14hr trip to Palenque via two waterfalls.


The ride itself is an experience. 11 other travellers from Argentina, New Zealand, South Africa, Mexico and England and myself were packed into a white van at 6.30am which then sped around narrow mountain roads at high speeds. There´s no crash barriers and the drops go on for over 1000 metres in some spots so you´re really putting your trust in the driver and hoping the fact he must have driven the same route thounsands of times will help. (Actually yesterday´s newspaper headlined with a collectivo crash caused by high speeds - two women are described as `flying´through the air!). Anyway after a brief breakfast the first proper stop was Aguas Azul - a series of wide waterfalls in the middle of the jungle.

I´d met a group of girls (Sinead, Gaby and Zoe who had worked together in a Walkabout Pub in England) on the bus and we set off together to walk along the falls before the fun part - diving into the waters. The first 30 seconds are bloody freezing but then it seems the temperature rises - or maybe it´s just the body going into shock. Anyway it was a pretty amazing experience - only enlivened by helping a French pensioner swing over the water holding onto a monkey rope.

Another hour and a bit later we arrived at Misol-Ha. If you click and enlarge the photo you can get an idea of its size by looking at the people walking behind it in the hollowed out area. Once again we were able to dive into the waters and this time swim under the falling water. The force of the water meant that as soon as we stopped swimming we were pushed back again towards the edges of the pool.

Then finally, at around 4pm, we arrived at Palenque itself. The size of the site is mind boggling. The ruins of pyramids, tombs, observatories, palaces and pelota courts stretch over 16 square kilometres - mostly still covered by jungle and screaming howler monkeys - one of whom produced an very impressive stream of urine from a nearby branch during out tour. We ended up touring with a Spanish guide which meant I had to provide an English translation for the girls. I think I got most of it right, though there may have been a couple of unique facts that could have crept in.

Since we only had 2hrs to tour our guide concentrated on the main excavated area. The Mayan city was first occupied around 100BC and reached it´s highpoint around 700 years later. But by 900AD it had mostly been abandoned - it´s thought because the land was exhausted and the inhabitants could no longer sustain themselves. It´s been claimed several tribes descend from the Palenque people but no-one knows for sure where they scattered to. There´s lots more information at:

Palenque Mesoweb

One story that made me check my translation was about the carving found on the tomb of the city´s most famous king, Pakal (seen on the right). Erich Von Daniken claimed it showed the king riding a spaceship giving credence to his `ancient astronauts´ and `Chariots of the Gods´ theories. Archaelogists argue he´s bonkers - and looking at the picture the wrong way up. In fact it shows the king at the point of death, laid out in the fetal position (as was the Mayan custom) in between the heavens, earth and the lower world. If you prefer the former version there´s more madness at:

Palenque Mesoweb

UPDATED: Palenque was first revealed to westerners in the mid 18th century when Mayan hunters revealed it to a Spanish priest, but it was almost two hundred years later that archaelogists cleared the vegetation from the dead king´s huge crypt. Many buildings are still obscured and several ´hills´ in fact contain further unexplored features. However clearing away all the trees and plants could cause some of these structures to collapse if costly supporting scaffolding were not first put in place. For the time being Palenque´s half discovered nature will add to it´s mystery and appeal.

OK that was 1st day´s tour! After a five hour drive back to the hostel I was exhausted (lots of sitting around in the back of a bus does that - very tiring!) and since I already had another tour booked for the next day had an early evening.

Thursday´s booking involved a trip to the Lagos of Montebello, the Grutas de San Cristobal and another huge waterfall who´s name I can't remember or locate in the Lonely Planet). Another coincidence - on the tour group of 5 people was another student from Solexico - Annalie, from Sweden.

She´d finished studies a couple of days before I started but we´d briefly met at one of the school´s weekly ´go out and drink a lot of alcohol sessions´. In the traveller´s world that equates to a long established friendship and proved once again going on a tour is a short cut to making friends in an unfamiliar city. It also meant it was worth packing my cd headphone splitter as we could share some tunes on the long drives between destinations.

First stop was the caves - or more accurately one long huge passageway deep into the earth. According to the LP the army took control of the area in 2003 but there was no sign of them when we arrived. Instead there was a local native girl offering a tour of the cave which consisted of pointing a torch at the walls and claiming the rocks looked like 'cosas que faltan algo' - things that lack things. So we were treated to rocks that looked like faces lacking a nose, bodies lacking arms etc Quite amusing but kind of scary after about 15mins. I think you really have to be quite high on peote to see half of the things she claimed were there.

Next stop was the day´s highlight - a 30min trek into the forest to a HUGE waterfall - standing on a platform metres away we were both soaked. Then slightly downstream we went for a dip in the freezing crystal blue waters. I´m not actually sure you´re allowed into the section we went to - the water was very fast moving and in parts if we hadn´t grabed onto a submerged tree roots we would probably been swept down the rapids. Nothing like the promise of a brutal death to get the adrenaline going.

The guide gave us a curious glance when we got back to the van - he was worried we{d soak the seats (sitting on towels saved that problem) - and we shot off to the lakes only making time for a short delay when the police pulled us over for being severely over the speed limit. The lakes were pretty, but with only 20mins on average to look at each one there wasn´t much to do except grab a few pics and allow lake fatigue to set in.

And onto the third excursion - the Canon of Sumidero. This is VERY impressive and well worth booking an extra day in SCdlC to visit. After arriving at the edge of the canon our tour group was piled into a fast moving boat and we shot at very high speeds across the water - we seemed to have a supercharged boat that outpaced all the competition on the water and sent a bracing breeze across our faces. No worries as there is lots to marvel at. The photo showing the three walls is found near the start and is the symbol of the state of Chiapas found on government posters and other material across the area. Along the way we saw lazing crocodiles, herons and other waterbirds, a waterfall that flowed behind the cliff-face to emerge halfway down giving life to a startling array of plants which grow right out of the rockface - and then there´s the cliffs. At one point they stretch up more than a kilometre while and down below the boat for a further 350 metres. As eagles circle high overhead it´s easy to get the sensation of being a very small part of a very big place. Then finally about an hour´s ride down the canon you come to a huge set of overhead electricity cables.

The canon was dammed several years ago to produce what is currently the world´s most powerful hydroelectric dam providing electricity to about 30 Mexican states (need to check that figure) as well as much of Central America. If you cut the wires a lot of the country goes dark.

Along the waters leading up to the dam boat loads of workers slowly empty the waters of dead vegitation and other rubbish that collects into huge slurries of rotting mass. We were told it´s slow and expensive work, but there´s no alternative. As each boatload of tourists pass (and there´s lots of them) the workers stop, look up, grin and wave at the gringos and fellow Mexican tourists.

For my last whole day in town I decided to keep it local but did pay a visit to the Na Bolom museum/project on the recommendation of a friend. The centre was set up in the ´50s to help protect indigenous tribes against those wanting to come in, take their land and use it for logging or agriculture.

Gertrude was a Swiss woman who had been involved in Socialist politics in her youth, was imprisoned in a German concentration camp and after the war came to live in Mexico. There she met the Danish anthropologist Frances Blom - they married and set up the volunteer project that has outlived them both. Gertrude´s life was fascinating - usually the Indians refuse to let anyone photo them, but they allowed her to take pictures of many of their most private ceremonies and her archive is now a unique resource tracking how the tribes changed over the 20th century. During this time she became very friendly with the last king of one of the tribes - he continued to father children beyond his 100th birthday, but since the Indians believe the world will end in 2012 they haven´t bothered replacing him. She was also friends with Frida Kahlo and Diego Riviera and was awarded one of the UN´s most prestigious awards before her death. A really fascinating insight into her life and the work she did - the guide said the new volunteers are lucky she´s dead as she would frequently have them in tears - she was obviously quite a complicated character. There´s a very good doco to be made about her life.... Anyone planning to visit SCdlC should try to get a place on one of the tours and there´s also the opportunity to stay for dinner and meet those working with the Indians. More details at:

Na Bolom Home Page

Just a couple more things - the nightlife is great - especially El Revolucionario (The Lonely Planet lists it under its old name) where there´s live music, projected films and free flowing alchohol every night - Blue nightclub is fun and if you fancy a change from all the Mexican food Maymbe on calle Real de Guadalupe is superb.

I stayed at Posada Mexico which you can book via hostelworld. I´d highly recommend it, and not just because they upgraded me to a huge room with ensuite bathroom at no extra cost. They provide a tasty choice of breakfast, free internet, will book tours and fall over themselves to help in any other way possible including running off to get a taxi at bargain rates.

It´s also a great place to meet other travellers - as can be seen: 2 more friends from Solexico (the alumni really do get about) and a couple of very cool Argentinians who have given me another huge list of music I HAVE to have! OK - doubt any more entries are going to be anywhere near this long....

posted by Leo Kelion @ 5:41 PM 4 comments

Life's A Beach

One of the pleasures of travelling is the chance to experience unusual foods, and there's been plenty of opportunity in Mexico.

So far highlights have included mole negro (chicken in a savoury chocolate sauce) wrapped in maize leaves, cream of squash soup, several quesidillas, crunchy thick freshly cooked tortilla chips served with HOT salsa lime and salt, a cocktail of freshly caught octopus, pan de los muertos (bread of the dead), a chilli and pineapple paleta (pictured - basically an ice lolly made of pineapple chunks in a frozen chilli sauce - not nearly as nice as the strawberry version which includes whole strawberries in frozen strawberry cream - yum, yum, yum) and grasshoppers (which strongly taste like grass at the end of summer - which isn't surprising when you think about it). The grasshoppers were crunchy and to be honest after 3 or 4 I'd had enough - but they´re popular in oaxaca - fried in chilli and eaten on their own or wrapped in a tortilla with lime juice. You can even choose which size you want - small and crunchy or big and juicy.

Obviously with all the food alcohol is a necessity - after a few encounters with mezcal (fierce) I'm sticking to tequila, cerveza, capariñas and huge glasses of margarita on the beach (more of which shortly).

Anyway my time in Oaxaca has finally come to an end. After many many nights out with schoolmates in La Divina (a bar next to the Santo Domingo cathedral with great staff, a cool atmosphere and an impressive collection of girls' bras hanging over the bar) I had to prepare to leave.


The last day was a classic and probably the best I had in the city. We managed to sidetrack the teacher from giving us a planned translation exercise during the first class and then she agreed to take us to a bar for the second. There we decided to put our spanish to use by asking each other increasingly intimate questions about our personal lives. It's strange but speaking in a foreign language can be dangerously effective at breaking down inhibitions. Or maybe it was just having a bottle of corona at 11am.

Then went for a great lunch at a place recommended by another of the teachers (Cocina Magica - c/Macedonio Alcalá 203) which included a shrimp salad made with bits of Mexican fruit I´d never tasted before (hmmm - think I´m going to have to start watching the calories). Next played backgammon against Felipe in the zocalo, went to hear a trova (singer songwriter) concert at the city´s book festival, then headed
back to the house one final time where I packed my newly laundered clothes (clean pants - yay!) and said goodbye to several of my housemates (two of whom were also journalists). Bizarrely the Australian couple (Matt and Lucy - on the right) only moved in after I´d replied to a message they´d posted on Lonely Planet, saw my blog and then introduced themselves one morning at the school which they joined on my recommendation. Damn - should be on commission.

The trip from Oaxaca to Puerto Escondido was 14hrs on a first class bus with a snoring 40yr old sitting on my left and a screaming baby in the seat in front. Neither prevented me drifting off to sleep after a couple of hours - unfortunately every time the coach banked to the right my head bounced off the window frame - so whatever sleep I got was pretty fitful. By the time first light came up I had no desire to sleep anyway - the view from the window was too good - miles upon miles of forest/jungle with a rich abundance of trees and birds interspersed with small villages where the beer adverts often looked as if they cost more to erect than the shacks the locals live in.

Arrived in Puerto Escondido just after 9am and decided to drag my increasingly heavy suitcase to the hotel rather than shell out for a taxi. Bad idea. The handle snapped, the fabric ripped at the bottom and it weighed a bloody ton. Cursing my ´brilliance´ I stumbled into Hotel Mayflower to be instantly cheered up.

The place is a traveller´s dream - a hodge podge mix of 18-30ish year olds from across the globe - if you read that as being mostly from Europe, N America and Australia (though there was an Argentinian girl there for a short while so I did get to practice some Spanish) -lounging around hammocks, a billiard table and a variety of terraces.

The beaches here are lovely. The town is still at the very early stages of establishing itself as a tourist destination meaning there is still tons of space on the beach, prices are cheap and the atmosphere is very chilled. It started becoming popular just over a decade ago when surfers discovered Playa Zicatela had the perfect pipeline to create curls they could ride or body board - which basically means the waves are big.

The currents mean non-surfers can only wade in the shallows on this beach unless they want an impressive view of the town from a couple of miles out to sea before the rip tides finally drag them under. However the waters of Playa Principal and Playa Marinero (a 20min walk along a wonderful exposed path carved into/adjoined to the cliffs) provide more than enough opportunity to swim or at least bounce up and down in the sea.

During the day theres not much to do except sit back, chill out, watch crabs crawl over the rocks, huge wingspanned birds fly overhead and crazy tourists fall out of the sky (there´s a skydiving centre nearby - looks fun but to be honest it doesn´t mix well with the finger licking king prawns cooked in garlic served at Lisa´s beach bar - OK, OK the diet starts here).

Since arriving I´ve met 3 people I´d met earlier on the trip in Mexico City and Oaxaca which seems weird bearing in mind how huge Mexico is, but I guess proves many people follow a similar trail. I guess this will change when I fly up to the north of the country next week.

Running out of things to say now - and it´s cooling down outside (it was HOT HOT HOT earlier) so time for a shower and to prepare for the evening. Just time for a last quick word about books.

After stocking up on new title in Oaxaca - and then discovering it´s now near impossible to carry all my bags - I´m racing through the collection at the moment. Finished Middlesex in Oaxaca - highly recommended, never thought a book about an American-Greek haemaphrodite would be so gripping - thanks to Miriam Lea for the gift as I´d never have chosen it myself.

Also read ´The Wisdom of Crowds´ a ´Tipping Point´-type of book which claims that given the right circumstances large groups of the public should always deliver more accurate predictions than a collection of experts (interesting anecdotes but some of the claims seemed a bit shaky), ´Like Water for Chocolate´ - an amusing and brief story of a love affair set about 100yrs ago in Mexico which is interspersed with traditional recipes, kind of Garbriel Marquez-lite - and am now half way through ´China Inc.´which is a fascinating and well written account of how China has become such a huge economic force and what consequences it has for the future. Mind expanding stuff.

OK been here WAY too long (does anyone ever make it to the end of these posts anyway?) - time to go back to my room and discover if the bloody big creature (lizard/spider/scorpion/rat???) that jumped out of my rucksack and disappeared under the drawers is still there - more in a few days time (I hope!)....

posted by Leo Kelion @ 10:39 PM 15 comments