Introduction
This is the story of my trip to Mexico…and what a trip it was! First, lets start with the background. As most of you probably know, I was scheduled to write my final UNISA exams in Mexico City. Well that was the plan at least because God only knows how ‘gatvol‘ I am of studying through UNISA. Now that I have studied full-time for a stint, I can objectively declare that doing it through UNISA is very much like taking all the worst parts of studying without any of the benefits of being a student and prolonging it over 5-6 years. Damn horrendous really, but I digress. I was left with 4 exams to complete my final year economics requirements and that dominated my last couple of months as I tried (although not too excessively, it must be said) to ensure that this would be the last time that I would have to read about how economics is all very grand, but that it really can’t be applied to the real world and that, as yet, no-one has really figured out what to do with the excessive amounts of theoretical graphs, which can only be constructed with a multitude of assumptions that make them all fairly useless. Yes people, this is what happens when you end up studying something that does not entirely tickle your fancy: your mind discredits it so completely that it all seems a bit like sun tanning in a hail storm. It must be said though, that finding something (s) that I do like studying has removed the blame for this nuisance from academia and that’s great because I am now looking forward to trying my hand at some other, more fulfilling academic fields.
I decided on Mexico because Colombia was not a possibility (no SA embassy here) and I didn’t much fancy a month of studying in a backpackers in Caracas, for instance. Chavez and his insane ranting have somewhat detracted from the natural allure (read: women…for instance…who also do not go too well with studying…but I might have been able to overlook that…maybe) of Venezuela. Mayra, my dear Mexican friend, who I met in South Africa, made the choice that much easier for me as I excitedly contemplated taking some time off to explore this country with someone who I knew would share and support all of my top priorities when discovering a new place, that being: trying all the different types of food and drink possible, spending time off the beaten track, finding out how this foreign culture fits together and generally gorging myself on the sensory overload one is bombarded with, in a place that is so different from anything which you have so far been exposed to in your life. I was scheduled to write 3 out of the 4 exams within the first week or two, thus leaving me with almost 3 weeks before my last exam and, thanks to the preparation I did before the trip (cough, cough…wheeze) this was going to leave Mayra and I with a comfortable 2 weeks to enjoy travelling in between. Mayra was hatching some ingenious plans before my arrival and I knew I was going to be shown a couple of things that few people, even Mexicans, would have had a chance to see.
Mayra....still innocent here.
Mexico City, culture and food
Mayra flew in from Montreal, where she is studying, a few days before me and I was thus greeted by her smiling mug on arrival at the airport in Mexico City. I certainly never tire of being met at the airport by loved ones. Its such a great feeling to see a familiar face smiling at you from arrivals after the South African passport has fulfilled its job of exposing you to various torturous interrogations and searches (read: rubber gloves and rabid dogs). Just before that and as we were approaching the landing, I was struck by the incredible size of this city that we had already been flying over for what seemed like ages. There were tall buildings everywhere and the smog was like a dirty brown cloud hanging over the city. I took a couple more hits of the comparatively clean airplane air-conditioning in preparation. Helicopter pads were visible on tops of many buildings and I was later to find out that, because of the city’s size, this literally is the mode of transport for many of the filthy rich people who live in Mexico. Like many developing countries, Mexico seems to have some of the poorest and wealthiest people in the world all shoved together into the same space and making for a life that is hard to describe to those who have not lived in the 3rd / developing world, whatever that really is. It is kind of like Alexandria and Sandton in Johannesburg, for instance.
I noticed very soon after my arrival that the traffic in Mexico City is absolute chaos and that people who live there have to give constant consideration to its permutations, mainly due to the massive amount of time it takes to move from point A to B on a daily basis. A person who lives ‘close’ to you, for instance, would probably be at least an hour away. There are literally millions of people that spend close to 5 hours a day in the car and traffic on the main highways does not subside until 10pm and sometimes even until midnight! Most people have a detailed map of the city in their car without which it is just not possible to find your way around and asking for directions is commonplace whenever you have to drive somewhere other than the most familiar routes. Mexicans however have an extremely annoying habit of always answering in the affirmative when you ask them directions and this means that you have to ask at least five different people the same question in order to deduce the truth from the mixture of answers that you have inevitably been given. I was utterly amazed at how, during my month and a half in Mexico, not a single person admitted to not knowing where the place was that we were looking for and the infuriating response of “por aja!” - spelt 'POR ALLA' (over there!) was so predictable that I couldn’t help but laugh…that is when I wasn‘t pulling my hair out! I found the whole dynamic almost unfathomable and its clear that this city, with the largest metro system in the world and construction under way for multi-level highways, is bursting at the seams. Estimates have the population of the city somewhere close to 25 million people! It certainly makes most other cities that I’ve seen, look like little towns in comparison. Everything is so damn huge! Big Stadiums, massive parks, colossal theatres, universities so big that they have their very own metro systems!
That is a seriously big flag...
The millions of cars in the city obviously result in parking being scarcer than hens teeth and, for this reason, valet parking is common at most restaurants, bars and shops, especially down town. God knows where these fellows actually manage to park your car, but the system seems to work fairly well although its obviously more costly than what I’m used to in SA.
Police cars are everywhere and strangely, there blue lights are always flashing with their sirens blaring and this is even when they are parked next to the road! Mayra told me that they started using this method to get through the traffic more rapidly and that today they barely use the sirens for emergencies anymore. The sight of a police cars, with sirens blaring and blue lights flashing, whilst at the same time being totally ignored by other commuters, even when they are right behind them, is quite strange. I can, however, understand this to some degree because these policemen (and women) must be the most corrupt in the world. Paying a fine is not even a consideration in Mexico City, seeing as these guys simply do not know how to issue a real ticket due to the accepted practice of taking bribes off everyone that is pulled over. Its more about your negotiation skills and how low the eventual bribe is that you grudgingly have to go along with.
Taxis in the city are quite a sight, seeing as they are all green-painted, old-style VW beetles and there are even some classic VW combis. For this reason Mexico was the last place in the world that manufactured the old beetles, all the way up to the end of the nineties.
The city is a cultural wonderland with, amongst other things, unbelievable concerts happening all the time, arguably the worlds best museums and mind-blowing exhibitions taking place on a weekly basis. Everything is oversized and massive themed photographic displays adorn the main republic road running past the national park, theatre house and surrounding museum of anthropology. During my visit, the theme changed from the City of Montreal to famous artists and wonders from Peru. I really enjoyed how you could basically discover your own exact cultural and social niche in this city and that there are probably enough other people who enjoy the same thing for this to be extremely well served by events, places and groups for you to obtain all the fulfilment you could possibly wish for. It is like a really advanced level of specialization that I guess naturally takes place in a city of this size. If you can’t find something to do there, along with a whole bunch of people who enjoy doing it with you, its probably not something as yet discovered or you might have some social problems.
The national theatre downtown...and you can even see some of the green beetles in front!
Water is becoming a huge problem in Mexico City with all houses / apartments needing to buy their drinking water because the only people who would dare drink the tap water are either really stupid or trying to commit suicide. The brown stuff coming out of the taps has been re-used so many times that I often wondered if taking a shower really had anywhere near the desired effect.
Another peculiarity that I soon noticed was that the metro carts are divided according to gender every day after 7pm and this is apparently because the women regularly get harassed by the men, when crammed together in the same cart. It is quite clear that, as in other populous parts of the world like Nigeria, this place has been reduced to an absolute shark tank, with there being a constant dog-eat-dog mentality amongst the millions trying to eek out an existence here.
The people of Mexico look quite different to what I had seen in Colombia thus far and it is clear that the Indian influence is particularly strong here. There is no real African influence to speak of, as in Colombia, and the people are thus mostly a mix between Spanish and Indian races like the Aztecs and Mayans. Many of the same social problems exist though, and there clearly is a strong link between the areas that are still mostly Indian, like Chiapas and Oaxaca, and the poorest parts of the country.
Mexican folks....hanging out.
Mexico has something like nine-hundred volcanoes and quite a number of them are still active, hence it is referred to by many Spanish speakers as the ‘land of volcanoes‘. This is because Mexico was basically formed by the collision of tectonic plates, thus creating quite a geomorphologically unstable terrain that is not only very susceptible to volcanic eruptions, but also to many earthquakes, such as the catastrophic quake that hit Mexico City in nineteen-eighty-five. Mexico City is actually well protected in this regard due to the city being constructed on what used to be a large lake, and what is now a layer of mud underneath the city. This helps to cushion the quakes that hit the city from time to time, but it also plays havoc with the architecture and some of the old cathedrals in the centre of the city are downright wonky-looking with some parts sinking faster than others. There is evidence, all over the older parts of the city, of buildings sinking and steps now lead down into apartment buildings where they used to lead up to the first floor.
Before being conquered by the Spanish, Mexico City was ruled by the Aztecs who are a notorious warrior-race indigenous to that part of the country. They famously founded the city when they spotted an eagle with a snake in its claws (this can now be seen on the flag of Mexico) and the fact that this was virtually in the middle of a lake did not seem to bother them too much. They were famous for their war-like ways and their ruthless rule over other Indian tribes in the area. It is said that the Spanish would never have conquered them (at least not at the first attempt) had it not been for the help they received from the neighbouring tribes who suffered at the hands of the Aztecs. Little did they know that worse was to come with Spanish.
This cathedral is wonky and sinking....good!
True to form, the Spanish constructed the city right on top of the previous Aztec city and it was only when the metro was being built in the middle part of the 20th century, that the lost temples and artefacts of the Aztecs were rediscovered, due to the underground excavation. Unsurprisingly, the most holy parts of the Aztec City were practically right underneath the Cathedral that the Spanish built in the centre of town. This is very similar to the way the Spanish also built cathedrals on top of the incredible Moorish mosques in the South of Spain. Thankfully, there was not too much damage done to the temples and most of them have thus been unearthed, with the artefacts being beautifully displayed in a museum next door. A story I quite liked relates to how the discovery of fish bones (amongst other things) on the site led to the Archaeologist’s deduction that the Aztec king liked fish so much that he had runners stationed about 20 kilometres apart, all the way to the coast, so that he could have fresh fish delivered to him daily! Its quite something to be in the middle of this colossal city and looking at these ancient Aztec temples and remnants of this completely mystical and powerful civilization that once existed there.
An album of photies that I took of some mighty impressive pre-hispanic sculptures....
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| Pre-Hispan |
A view of the Aztec temples unearthed downtown
The Spanish were ingenious in their methods to get Christianity adopted by the local Indians, at least in Mexico that is. They did this by creating a blend of religions, mostly between the saints of Catholicism and the Mayan and Aztec Idols that were so devotedly worshipped by the general population before the arrival of the Spanish. Thus many cathedrals have Indian idols dressed up like saints and being revered along with the Virgin Mary, for instance. This makes for quite an interesting take on the traditional Catholic traditions, but, more importantly, it means that there are still many Indian cultural traditions and customs that are maintained to this very day. The overriding Catholicism is however completely dominant now. Chief among the older Indian customs still being observed is the tradition of being cleaned by a Shaman or medicine man. I saw Mexicans queuing up for this down-town and it was most fascinating. It is definitely not something that the tourists buy into as nice little thing to do in Mexico, for instance, and the locals see it as a very important way of starting afresh, especially when your luck has been running a bit low of late.
Are you feeling down? no friends? ...go to your local medicine man!
Check out the video:
Below is the album of my day trip to downtown Mexico City...
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| Downtown Mexico City |
As far as the food is concerned…well where to start?! To be honest, Mexican food absolutely blew me away! It is so damn tasty and rich with variety that, even though I tried as much as I could, it might just have scraped the surface in about a month and a half. Doubtless, at the heart of it all, is the Chilli and the hundred or so varieties thereof. The tastes vary from mild and sweet, to more spicy with a smoky flavour that even hints at chocolate, right down to the ’burn-your-nostril-just-by-smelling-it’ varieties. Funnily enough, the Habanero is nowhere near the hottest type of chilli in Mexico and I actually consumed it on a regular basis without too much hassle. There were flare-ups of after-burn at stages but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. Apart from just your everyday meals, chilli is also consumed with fruit (sprinkled on mango for example. Delicious!), corn on the cob (added to dollops of mayonnaise and sprinkled cheese. Also delicious!), sweets and even beer (this mix of salt, lemon, chilli and cerveza is called a Michelada. Did I mention?…delicious!).
Also central to Mexican cuisine is maize, which is indigenous to these parts, and, in my opinion, the best thing one could possibly make with maize is the Tortilla! I must confess to devouring at least 5 of these, filled with mind boggling and taste-bud bursting treasures, on a daily basis. The range of things you can do with a tortilla also seem to be verging on endless (quesadillas, enchiladas, etc.), but what I really like is how you can creatively construct your tortilla creation with your personal favourite fillings every time you eat. Generally, when eating in Mexico, one is usually presented with a meal that doubtlessly has a mixture of meat or fish, cooked in the most mouth-watering spices and salsa’s (with some more being served on the side, just in case), with tomato or avocado or even grilled cactus (which is not unlike, but so much better than green peppers. You even get an alcoholic beverage made out of cactus juice and this thick tasty broth-like beverage made me think of a more tasty version of Umqomboti as served in the clay pots on the Wild Coast) on the side and a basket of warm tortillas carefully wrapped in cloth to make sure they don’t get cold too quickly. Then its all up to you and I must admit to stuffing everything imaginable into every scrumptious tortilla that I was lucky enough to enjoy during my trip in Mexico.
It tastes so good when it hits your lips!!!!!!
I can’t possibly begin to cover all the lovely varieties of Mexican food out there, but if you ever get a chance to sample the real deal (not tex-mex! Burritos are a crock of sh*t!) grab it with both hands (literally) and thank me later!
The Mexican Family of Yiddish decent
Mayra’s immediate family (mom, step-dad and brother) do not live in Mexico City, but rather in Merida which is the capital of the Yucatan province off to the East, situated on the Caribbean Coast. However, being of good Jewish stock, Mayra has plenty of relatives to call on in the Capital and we were thus warmly received by her rock-star grandfather Itchy (real name Isaac). I really could write a book about this fellow, but I will try to keep it to the basics: Itchy is somewhat of a famous entrepreneur in Mexico. Many years ago he ran a fairly successful clothing factory and, in his great wisdom, he decided to name the label Lacoste. He carefully registered it with exactly the same attributes as the famous French label and thus, when the real Monsieur Lacoste finally decided to start doing business in Mexico, he found out, much to his dismay, that Itchy was already firmly entrenched there and what’s more, that he was going to have a fight on his hands to try and take back his crocodile empire in this neck of the woods.
Mister Itchy Gutman duly showed this fellow the middle finger and a big court battle ensued. In the end, thanks to his bulldog nature, rich ‘business savvy’ genes (a little shout out to all the my Jewish peeps reading this) and the under-developed international patent laws, Itchy prevailed and Monsieur Lacoste had to cough up some astronomical amount to take back what was, in all fairness, rightfully his. Mexican street rules are, after all, nothing like the boutique bliss that exists in Paris, for instance, and the original crocodile man found this out the hard way. Itchy became one of Mexico’s richest men and the details of his audacious victory are today taught in a number of the local universities to young aspiring entrepreneurs.
Cigar...wild animals...women....the man who beat that french f*cker!
Like any super hero Itchy undoubtedly has his flaws too and this could not have been highlighted more clearly than when he upped and left his upperclass, but very crazy Jewish wife for the middle class Mexican trade union leader (her name is Rosa) at his factory after an affair that lasted for something close to 10 years. Needless to say, they are still not married although they have now been living together for many years.
Money and family don’t go together too well either, so his ‘stroke of luck’ has inevitably resulted in some infighting as the small matter of the will looms ahead in years to come. This also means that apart from Mayra’s immediate family, a large chunk of the Guttmann’s, as well as Rosa’s lower middle class family, have become dependants, with Itchy overseeing the running of many of the family affairs. Two of his sons are ‘struggling’ artists, one of whom lives in the coolest part of Mexico City – LA CONDESA where he tries to find his ‘groove’ over lunch at the bourgeoisie eateries and café’s, whilst the other lives in the States, enveloped in a marijuana cloud and twitching with the inevitable paranoia caused by his prolonged hobby / habit. Yesiree, there is enough juice here for at least two seasons of a premium quality Mexican soap opera and you‘re bound to see some bone-crunching drama unfolding on a weekly basis in this family.
Here are some of the family members being schooled by gramps on the art of new age dance...unstoppable!
Mayra is the eldest grandchild and clearly holds the softest of spots in her grandfather’s heart. Itchy unburdens much of his worries, fears and inevitable mistrust of those around him on her. The twinkle in his eyes is unmistakable when she is around. Mayra is certainly a confidant and Itchy even asks Mayra for travel advice when planning the yearly trip he puts together for the grand kids. Small wonder with Mayra possessing a stamp-filled passport that would be the envy of almost anyone, but this really has more to do with her standing with gramps.
This trip is in itself quite a spectacle as the old Itchy, complete with white-haired pony tail and sporting bohemian shirts and slacks, shuffles through some of the worlds most famous spots, dragging along (he is apparently able to walk incredible distances at mind-boggling speeds!) a gaggle of his grandkids, all intent on destruction and mayhem, much to the amusement of their grandfather. During these trips Itchy holds daily steal-a-thons where the kids and he compete to see who can pinch the most interesting / valuable items, usually from the more elite establishments. Itchy usually wins with Mayra constantly trying to show her strong disapproval of this ‘horrific’ game. He inevitably responds with a shrug of the shoulders and some mutterings about ‘showing them the real world’. He should know! She tells of how he relieved one of the most exclusive restaurants in Paris (located on the river Sien) of their super-sized bottle of Channel No. 1 Eu de ‘ Toilet, which they keep in the bathrooms for the use of their well-to-do patrons.
The man is downright mischievous and really makes me think of my own grandmother with his penchant for pranks. Itchy also carries small cans of chilli with him on all his trips abroad and he makes no bones about telling the most uppity of waiters, whether it be in his broken English, French or even by just wagging his crooked finger at them while grunting almost inaudibly (a personal favourite which he practices most mornings while sitting at the breakfast table), that if they know what is good for them, they will ensure that the chef adds a good dose to the duck l ‘orange. The horror of it all!
Itchy can sometimes take the humour a little too far (as we all do at times) and recently he almost single-handedly caused Rosa to have a nervous breakdown after a particularly ingenious prank phone call that he roped her partially handicapped son into. Needless to say that when he related the story of this particular ’joke’ to us, in the wake of her being admitted to hospital for scans and a number of tests, her condition was more attributed to her being ‘temperamental’ than his own lack of boundaries in constructing these ingenious little gems / nightmares.
Mayra’s cousins are quite special too. The next eldest is Romy and Itchy openly describes her as the prettiest of his grandchildren with Mayra being the cleverest. She knows it too. She struck me as a damn naughty girl who has few qualms about openly asking gramps for money. He usually complies too, seeing as he is almost always carrying an envelope of dough in his pocket…just in case I guess. Her plans for the next year or two, as related to me, include moving to Australia, after finishing her degree at a tourism and hospitality school, where she hopes to meet a rich guy, who hopefully has a plane (or yacht) that she will be taken touring on around the Greek Isles. I kid you not. Apparently one of her friends achieved this feat some time ago and, in the absence of any other knowledge pertaining to Australia, this seemed to her like great motivation for the planned move.
She has practically consumed every substance under the sun and is extremely excessive by nature. Itchy owns a real spiffy holiday apartment at one of the most upmarket hotels in Acapulco and Romy, along with a group of friends, caused a major uproar in the Condo, firstly because the girls were all sun-tanning topless on the roof, while ordering shocked waiters to keep the drinks coming from the bar downstairs, and secondly because they found it amusing on a particular day (no doubt thanks to some of the strong chemicals coursing through their veins) to start throwing papayas, from the balcony of the apartment, at other hotel residents lying next to the pool. Needless to say, grandfather made the problem go away. My first meeting with Romy was characterised by my being ‘forced’ to consume at least 5 shots of Mescal within a period of about 15 minutes. I learnt quickly.
Romy’s younger brother, while being a right friendly boy, has also had his fair share of disciplinary problems and is thus finishing high-school at the ripe old age of twenty, due to his ‘chopping and changing’ of schools on a regular basis. Apparently a lot of this has to do with his well developed marijuana habit. He is a rich ‘struggling’ artist like his father and writes poetry daily, which the flock of girls who are chasing him, are relentlessly swooning over. At that age I’m sure that it has more to do with his good looks than the content of the poems, but maybe I’m just jealous.
Naughty cousins...
Mayra’s father, who still lives in Mexico City, is, in some ways, a typical lefty intellectual. He is extremely well read, wears funny hippy-like t-shirts, smokes about 4 packets of cigarettes a day, struggles terribly with loneliness at times, has a great sense of humour, as well as a effortless gregariousness and can entertain a conversation about virtually the most far-flung topics you could imagine, although he really gets excited when comparing swear words in different languages, for instance. My ability to swear in Hindi (thank you sushant!) was met with intense interest and before long Hebrew, Afrikaans, Mexican and South African swear words were being gleefully exchanged. At our third meeting he presented me with a bottle of South African wine, which he had unearthed at the local liquor store and, even though it was Nederburg, I was extremely touched.
He took Mayra and I to a number of events being hosted by his side of the family (not Itchy’s) and it was at these gatherings that I was able to truly understand how tight the Jewish culture is and how similar it tends to be the world over. There were the old aunties, who really looked so much younger than their actual ages (no guesses as to why), feeding all and sundry as if their lives depended on it. I was almost sick after the first luncheon thanks to the amount of Kosher food that was forced down my throat, with the ever-present ‘eat my dear!‘, being rattled off at the slightest sign of hesitation from me. The accent, although obviously being heard through Spanish, was still so unmistakably Jewish, that I though for sure that I was back in Sandton, overhearing the conversation of a bunch of koogals at the table next to me. Family, gossip, scandal, bar mitzvahs, drama, mazeltov…it was all there!
Yiddish family members.....be afraid!
Some pics of the family members below...
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| Mayra's Family |
The first weeks
So it was then, that Itchy received us warmly at the apartment building where he shacks up with some of the other richest people from Mexico City. There is personalised security everywhere with lifts opening directly onto each floor / apartment thanks to the key that each owner possesses for that floor’s button. Mayra soon warned me that I should prepare for the ‘electric shock trick’ that Itchy likes to play on all her friends. He has something, which can only be described as an ancient torture device, complete with electrodes sticking out of an old wooden box, which he gleefully plugs in and then innocently asks you if you’re ‘tough enough’….need I describe where this is going?
The ‘apartment’, which really is bigger than most houses, is something else. It is filled with enough artwork to be envy of most art galleries although they might find it a little tough to reconcile the penis shaped glass pieces with the more elegant paintings that absolutely fill the walls. He has one room completely dedicated to his collection of toy soldiers and accessories, the sheer number and variety of which is completely mind-boggling. Obviously, there are a number of muchachas (the Mexican name for maids), attending to everything from cleaning to meals, and I was struck by how long it had been since I had been around anything even remotely similar. It made for an absolute treat as I could raid a jam-packed fridge, have my washing done, get meals cooked for me without worrying about dirty plates, sleep in a bed that was made everyday, watch cable TV on large flat screens located in most rooms and then unwind in the Jacuzzi after a ‘stressful’ day of studying. I damn near lit up a cigar I tell you!
A room full of this stuff!
The entrance to the 'apartment'....
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| Ichi's House in Mexico city |
During my first week in Mexico City I was laid-low by serious hay-fever / sinusitis thanks to the heavy pollution, that was especially acute just before the first rains, and Mayra and I thus decided to get out of the city and head to Itchy’s Ranch, which is close to a nearby town, about an hour and a half from the capital.
On the way there we found the traffic so dreadful that I insisted on us stopping for an early dinner. We pulled into a part of the city that Mayra did not know very well and we thus basically settled for the first restaurant we could find. It seemed like quite a spiffy establishment and the sight of all the patrons dressed in their work clothes confirmed this. Mayra and I sat down and I quickly ordered my new favourite drink: Tequila and Sangrita. Sangrita is not at all like Sangria so don’t get the two confused. Sangrita is made from tomato juice, chile, salt, lemon, pepper and sometimes other spices and oddities depending on where you buy it or consume it. Both the tequila and sangrita come in tall double shot glasses and they are savoured together, with both flavours complementing each other beautifully, in my humble opinion. In fact, it tastes so guddam good that I would surely drink that for the rest of my days, along with a smattering of mescal for special occasions, if it were not for the scarcity of real Mexican tequila in other parts of the world. For the record, Jose Cuervo is not tequila! Olmeca is more like benzene when compared to the real deal. We ordered food and, seeing as I had already fallen in love with tortillas, I was determined to try something new as the filling for my new favourite meal. These folks had gusanos (worms) on the menu and seeing as this is supposed to be a delicacy in Mexico, I decided to give it a bash. These little fellas are exactly the same kind that you get in the bottles of mescal: small, white and juicy! Luckily they came with a large amount of salsa and other goodies to add to the tortilla filling, so I didn’t have to think of biting into solid worm gooiness. It wasn’t too bad actually and I could probably try it again, although the sight of a pile of fried worms on your plate does take a little getting used to. We left for the ranch after a lovely meal and, even though the traffic was still horrendous (at nine o’ clock at night!), we found the trip far easier to stomach.
The ranch was single-handedly designed by Itchy after he was given the piece of land as payment for some or other debt that was owed to him. It is also where the legendary party, that took place after the famous court verdict, took place. In years gone by, the family, and especially the grand kids, spent at least two weekends of every month with gramps in this fantastical spot that almost doesn’t seem to have had any creative boundaries in its design.
How tough does this look right?
The house is colourful and like something out of a story book. There are all manner of strange animals (everything from peacocks to deer to horses to a collection of fighting cocks) roaming the grounds and some, quite sadly, are kept in cages, like the jaguar that he still keeps and the lions that he had for some time. I don’t know where he procured these animals, but I have little doubt that these salesmen could well be able to get their hands on a mountain gorilla if the price was right. The theme of the Ranch is obviously and quite cheekily crocodiles and Itchy even kept a Nile crocodile for some time until it finally passed away during a particularly harsh winter, after apparently being frozen and then initially coming back to life again!
The ranch is taken care of by a number of residents who look after and feed the animals, maintain the crops (mostly artichokes) that Itchy grows there and distributes to family and friends at the Jewish club. They obviously keep an eye on the house too and are always ready to receive the family and / or guests. There are a bunch of strange artefacts, including weird knives and old rifles that adorn the walls of the house, but the most interesting of them must be an elaborately mounted saddle, apparently used by John Wayne in one of his movies, which is located in front of a stained glass window depicting Itchy and Rosa as deities presiding over their empire. I was chuckling to myself as I viewed the full extent of this mans creative self-indulgence.
What incredibly artistry!
My time there was most productive with Lupita (the name of the muchacha working on the ranch) looking after my every need as I buried myself in the books, while Mayra made trips to the city to meet with old university friends and family. That is not to say that I didn’t spend a significant amount of time in the Jacuzzi too, for without balance we are never able to achieve our true potential.
The students life...
During my time on the ranch I also met one of the coolest Mexican men of my voyage to the country. This guy, called 'EL GUERO' by the family, is the head honcho at the ranch and basically looks after all the day to day running of the place. However, the thing that really impressed me about this guy was his all-conquering virility and the presentation of this in no uncertain terms. This tall, straight-as-an-arrow man with his impeccable muff-tickler (moustache), sported virtually the most exceptional wardrobe I have come across, complete with a beige crisp Cowboy hat, a buttoned shirt extravagantly embroidered with gold patterns, a massive black leather belt with a shiny silver buckle the size of a man’s hand, blue jeans and a pair of brown leather boots that would make Jake Gyllenhaal quake with fear…and rightly so! He looked like the embodiment of the alpha male and Mayra confirmed that he had fathered at least 15 kids and was, in fact, a grandfather by now. Wow! I want to be like him when I grow up! In his presence one just naturally felt like everything would be ok and he seemed to be capable of everything from growing an export quality crop of artichokes, to breaking in horses and even helping us fix the Jacuzzi when it was a tad too warm, erm…for instance. I felt like he had probably wrestled with the jaguar in his free-time too, just to stay in shape!
Below is the album of pictures I took at the ranch...
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| Ichi's Ranch |
Right then, so the Ranch was great for a couple of days and we returned to the city for my first exam. Mayra and I decided to stay in an apartment /studio that was closer to my exam venue and which was owned by one of her old university professors. This fellow seemed to be a little peculiar judging from the array of strange ’exhibits’ and self-made creations that he had in the house, including a full wall dedicated to pictures of his epiglottis, taken when he had an endoscopy performed, due to his excessive hypochondriacal nature. They seemed to have a disturbing likeness to the female genitalia and it certainly took me a while to figure out what exactly I was looking at. Needless to say, I never actually met him and we stayed quite comfortably in his pad.
I worked day and night (mostly nights) while Mayra took her dad out on trips and made sure I was well fed. I continuously thanked my lucky stars that I was not instead spending my time in some seedy backpackers in a strange city where I could barely speak the language.
I arrived promptly for my first exam at the so-called address, after having made a number of confirmatory phone-calls just to make sure that something was not going to derail my final effort at completing this degree. Needless to say, Mayra and I could still not find the place due to the down town part of Mexico being an absolute labyrinth and because the ‘International Student Study Centre’ is not exactly well known and has no signs on the street whatsoever.
I was getting mighty nervous and when that happens I often need to make a “number two“. Well it came on with some force as I desperately hobbled up and down the same street looking for this damn study centre. The thought of being foiled at this late stage and after all that work was absolutely shattering. The nerves jangled and my peristalsis lurched. I found Mayra waiting in the car and told her to keep a look out while I tried to find a bathroom, for I was surely going to make a doo-doo in my pants shortly. It was now about five minutes before the scheduled start of my exam. I ran around the next corner and located a internet café which I knew would be my one and only chance. I ran in and, overcome with guilt at merely wanting to soil their toilet, asked them if I could use the internet for five minutes, but if it was also ok if I could use the bathroom first. They said no at first, but I was almost doubled over at this stage and, after seeing the panic that their response evoked in me, the lady at the counter pointed to the back and told me to go ahead. I fairly sprinted and burst through the door of the bathroom, undid my pants and landed with a thud on the toilet seat, all in one movement. God only knows what kinds of sounds must have been coming from the bathroom at that stage. After the hurricane passed I opened one eye and surveyed my surroundings. It wasn’t a very clean spot and what was worse, was that there was no sign of TP! I shook my head and started to size up my options, but soon realised that the only thing for it was to make use of the second-hand TP in the bin next to the toilet. I was in fight-or-flight mode at that stage, but I still damn near hurled as I rummaged through the half-full bin for the cleanest remnants of TP I could find. I did the best I could, but I knew that I was compromising hugely on the levels of cleanliness that I prefer for my precious behind. Having done the deed, I wiped the sweat from my brow and exited the bathroom as gracefully as possibly, all the while checking to see if anyone was giving me funny looks because of the commotion that happened in the WC. I made my way to the front where I ceremoniously opened a web-page, just to save some face, before exiting somewhat relieved, but all the more shaken up and still panicking hugely about not having found the damn exam venue yet! Mayra was waiting for me and, as I was about to throw in the towel altogether, the invigilator finally arrived and directed me towards some obscure looking building that looked more like someone’s house, all the while muttering about the terrible traffic at this time of the day.
She turned out to be a lovely lady who very soon struck a deal with me for us to start exams about an hour later than the scheduled start, as long as we ensured that it was ‘our little secret’. I was absolutely fine with that and thus the first couple of exams went off without too much hassle. This certainly made for a welcome change from the overcrowded Randburg sport grounds hall, that I had been writing exams in before, and the angry-looking geriatrics running that show.
The travel down South
After the first three exams were safely negotiated, Mayra and I hired a car and excitedly set-off on a two week trip. Itchy handled all the organisation of the practical matters for the journey, seeing as he loves it so and it was a great way for him to get involved. It took Mayra and I a full 3 hours just to try and get out of Mexico City and this was between 11am and 2pm!
Our first stop was to be Tlacotalpan, which is a little town close to Veracruz and the Gulf of Mexico on the East Coast. Shortly after leaving Mexico City I spotted one of the famous volcanoes that Mexico is so renowned for. It towered above the plains and was covered with snow at the top, reminding me very much of Kilimanjaro in that instant. It was quite a sight and made me think of stories of far off lands that I read about as a child.
Pretty soon Mayra and I hit the first toll-gate and I was a little bemused at how expensive it was, especially seeing as the condition of the highway was not that great. Then, not even one hundred kilometres later we hit another one that was even more expensive! I asked Mayra what the deal was here and she told me that this was sadly one of the most common forms of corruption in Mexico. I kid you not, that in the space of less than five hundred kilometres we paid over one thousand Rand’s worth of tolls and the roads were absolutely sh*t! I got down-right indignant at the thought of some bastard fat-cat politician pocketing this amount of cash without even making sure that the roads are in good nick. As if to drum home the point of dishonesty, we stopped at a gas station and when we attempted to pay, the scaly gas attendant pointed to another meter reading that was obviously way higher than what we were supposed to pay. By now well irritated, I asked Mayra why it seemed like everyone was out to make a fast buck here. She replied with the phrase that all Mexicans use to describe the reason why you always have to watch your back here: ‘el que no transa, no avanza!’ - ‘He who does not trick, does not advance’. This became somewhat of a trip-defining phrase that we would bring out every time someone would try to get one over us.
We turned off the highway about 50 km’s before Tlacotalpan and this is where I was first exposed to the bane of all roads in Mexico outside of the cities and highways, namely topes, or speed-bumps. They are randomly erected everywhere and almost never by the authorities but rather by locals who believe that they are protecting their communities from speeding motorists. As noble as this idea might be, they are just downright dangerous when you are approaching at 120 km’s an hour and they are completely unmarked and made from everything possibly imaginable, ranging from a pile of mud to sharp concrete bumps. I wondered whether it was a damn business venture due to the amount of tyre workshops conveniently located around the highest concentrations of these irritating topes. Our trip soon included the random shouting out of ’Tope!’ when the non-driver spotted the menace first, in order to ensure that we didn’t leave the bottom part of the car behind in some obscure Mexican rural location. Mayra’s tendency to transfer her mind to other planets when driving (but also in everyday life) did not help this situation and we came close to bursting tyres, bending axels and receiving whip-lash (mostly due to physically hitting the roof of the car at the point of collision) on a number of occasions.
We were entering a part of the country known for its sugar cane (and banana) plantations. This meant that there were large numbers of what seemed like strange processions iron wagons, used to transport the sugar cane in these parts, being pulled along by tractors along the main roads. The process did not seem to stop at night and we passed a great deal of them on the short stretch of road that we still had left. What was really striking to me was the fact that the wagons did not have lights and thus made use of burning cans of oil that were fixed to the back of these sugar-cane convoys. In the distance, it looked like a flame-filled and ghostly procession of skeletal wagons that outwardly appeared like the embodiment of what I could imagine carrying the doomed souls meant for what waited on the other side of the river Styx. There was an inescapable irony about all of this due to the inordinate amount of persecution and extreme hard-ship that locals here had been (and still were) exposed to, due to the exploitation being carried out by big sugar-cane and banana producing empires that now own close to all the land here. This precedent is central to some of the biggest problems facing Latin America (the tale of the banana empire in ‘100 years of Solitude’ is a classic example) and is at the heart of some of the worst Guerilla conflicts that have so heavily affected the lives of these people.
We arrived to stiflingly hot and humid, but also impeccably neat and pretty little town of Tlacotalpan shortly afterwards. After having found a hotel with air-conditioning (vital in this climate which felt a little like Maputo, probably due to it being just 30 km’s from the sea), we lazily sauntered off to the beautiful main square and enjoyed a nice local meal with the towns folk in attendance striking me as a proud lot and understandably so.
Pretty right?
We spent the next day visiting the quaint river-side restaurants (where we were forced to constantly sip on ice-cold home-made lemonade due to the incredible heat), sneaking into the sky-blue and hugely impressive cathedral and taking in the ambience of the amazingly coloured houses, streets and main square filled with fruit trees and multihued flowers. I had rarely seen such a immaculately maintained little town with hardly a speck of dirt and the most intricate, vivid and well-kept displays of colour on virtually all the buildings.
The town square
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| Tlacotalpa |
Mayra and I spent a lazy day there before departing for forest-hidden Mayan Pyramids of Palenque, which is yet further to the South-East and located in the famously-named province of Tabasco. We once again arrived in the early evening, but this time to a group of charming wooden huts nestled into the forest in the park established around this famous archaeological site. I made my way, with ice-cold beer in hand, to the pool and dipped my feet into the warm water as I watched the thousands of fire-flies lighting up the forest canopy all around me. Later, Mayra and I dined in the local restaurant and amusedly watched the large amount of hippies that had made this place a permanent home, doubtlessly captivated by its spell-binding energy. There was a big focus on the rich Mayan customs and history in these parts and almost all the locals were wearing emeralds and some of the other gems that these people prized so highly. It is apparently possible to buy yellow-orange coloured gems with fossilized mosquitoes here. Lazy live music was being played by a couple of guitarists and yet again, I had the familiar feeling of wishing I could share this with so many of the people I had left behind in SA. After dinner a particularly friendly and waif-like Italian hippy, dressed in sarong, laden with jewellery, sporting impressively long dreadlocks and covered in tattoos, led us to his home (a simple overhang in the midst of the trees with a hammock and some candles) to share a joint and some small-talk before bed. I slept soundly.
We woke up to a splendidly fresh day and soon made our way to the nearby Pyramids. I had little idea of what to expect as I had not yet seen anything of the sort in Mexico or anywhere else for that matter. I had heard of Mayan cities in the forests, but had never really even seen pictures, so I was quite excited to get my first peek at what this ancient civilization was all about. The problem was that the local herb had reduced my motor skills and levels of energy sufficiently to make any type of physical activity somewhat daunting. Nevertheless, I soldiered on and soon forgot about any discomfort as I laid eyes upon this magnificent city for the first time. It was quite spectacular and the gigantic symmetrical structures rose out of the countryside in a seemingly perfect way, obviously perfectly constructed by the famous Mayan astrologists who moulded their civilization almost exclusively around the movement of the stars. The pyramids were immense, with colourful frescoes still visible on the walls and they were all in such good condition that I could easily imagine this place as the bustling centre that it once was. Mayra told me how the largest Mayan cities were all abandoned by the time the Spanish arrived in Mexico and that people were still speculating as to why this was the case. Disease seems to be one of the most likely reasons but no-one really knows. We moved around the entire city and I noted with interest, how many locals here were still speaking Mayan or a dialect thereof, as they sold their star-related trinkets that included everything from zodiac signs to predictions of your future. I was also fascinated by the structures built exclusively for the elaborate ball games that the Mayans played that involved two teams trying to put a ball through stone rings on the opposite sides of the court. Games were apparently intense affairs with the losing team often facing the chop as the game had sacrificial roots and were a way of paying homage to the gods.
Amazing right?
Interestingly, I also saw postcards of the Zapatizta guerillas (?!) that are still active in the Southern province of Chiapas. They are largely underground at this stage with their leader Marcos, a former anthropology student at the largest university in Mexico, not having been heard from in years. They struck me as more of an interesting historical discussion point, rather than an active threat in these parts, unlike Las FARC in Colombia who are still very much in the public eye on a day-to-day basis. The Zapatistas, very much like Las FARC, formed due to the extreme inequality of land distribution and intense poverty experienced by the indigenous communities of the Chiapas province. This happened in the early nineties when they captured a number of prominent cities, partially aided by disgruntled and desperate locals, before being largely swept away by the military which now maintains a huge presence on all the roads running through Chiapas.
Scary mountain guerillas!
The album of the stay in Palenque below...
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| Palenque and the pyramids in the forest |
After spending a good portion of the day there, Mayra and I packed the car again and headed yet further South-East, deep into the heart of Chiapas and through the most remote parts of the country, on our way to some of the last pieces of pristine rain-forest left in Mexico. We drove through areas where the only visible signs of life were the sporadic archaeological sites that this area is known for and the tiniest of Indian villages (mostly Mayan) where the small children would run out onto the road at the sight of the car approaching, desperately trying to sell us portions of fresh coconut with Lemon and Chilli as well as an array of fruits and nuts.
We were looking for a small little riverside town which was the closest point one could reach by car, to the Biological research station that we would be staying at for the next couple of days. We drove through areas where the air seemed to have a strange, hazy, orange light to it and I was later to find out that this was largely because of the amount of people constantly burning the forest in an effort to clear it for cattle grazing. The saddest part of all of this is that the soil in these parts is not really good for growing grass and the cattle coming from this area are inevitably emaciated and extremely sorry looking beasts. The people here are systematically wiping out the rainforest in an effort to survive and this bleak set of circumstance was visible everywhere, including the ‘western style’ restaurant in the dusty little town where we stopped for lunch, which contained a horribly large amount of stuffed animals, like jaguars and other rare creatures that were hung from the roof and walls as some sort of sign of wealth.
We reached the little town, hardly 50 km’s from the Guatemalan border, seemingly by accident as we had been randomly criss-crossing this landscape for what felt like hours. Mayra’s step-father is a biologist and he had previously worked in the administration of a lady who was then the Minister of Ecology for Mexico. They are still friends and she, now having vacated that post, busies herself teaching Biology and Zoology Masters students, who she takes on intense 10-day courses to the biological research station, called Estacion Chajul, which was first founded here some 20-30 years ago, when it became possible to reach this remote part of Mexico.
The station can now be reached by boat from this nearby little town, which is where Mayra and I had to leave the car, once one of the local village members had radioed to let them know that we needed to be picked up. A wide, clear and placid looking river gurgled past the spot where we had to leave the car and we grabbed our bags headed for the shore. A boat shortly arrived and we were taking a couple of kilometres upstream where a bunch of steps and a long walkway led deep into the forest and to the group of bungalows and other little houses that made up the research station.
The view of the research station from the river
The path leading to the station from the river
The station
The ex-minister greeted us cordially, showed us our rooms and advised us that supper would be ready immediately after the last lecture of the day (involving monkey poo and how this relates to the concentration of trees in the areas) which would finish around 9pm. Apparently, these overly-diligent masters students were spending close to 14 hours a day in lectures! Sounds a bit bleak to me, if you’re in the middle of the forest although they did seem to do a whole bunch of field trips.
I was immediately struck by the intense heat and humidity as well as the swarms of mosquitoes that seemed completely inescapable here. The only option seemed to be to completely cover up with clothes and this obviously would not be helping with the heat which was so thick that it was sometimes difficult to breathe.
Hilton fights off the mosquitoes and discovers that MC Hammer was kinda cool
We enjoyed dinner and then were told to ready ourselves for a night walk into the forest. Before commencing, we were told in no uncertain terms not to attempt to ever leave the camp by ourselves and that a guide was always to accompany us. I appeared in a t-shirt and shorts, much to the shock of the rest of the group and was promptly ordered back into the bungalows to change into clothes that covered as much of my body as possible. I still didn’t wear a cap and in retrospect that might not have been a good idea, for it is here that I was bitten on the head by a specific type of fly, whose larvae grow under the skin and who then exit the host within a month or so. My good friend Sergio recognised the swelling on my head and the bleeding infected hole during a visit to Cartagena in Colombia about a month later and he assisted by popping the wriggling little thing out of me as I chain smoked cigarettes and drank tequila from the bottle, as a way of coping with the reality of the squirming white creature that had just emerged from my cranium. It must be added that this was after two separate Mexican doctors in the capital had misdiagnosed the problem (I even had an ultrasound done!) and I had paid through the teeth, only to be presented with a slimy gringo-accented plastic surgeon (?!) who was going to remove the ‘cyst’ on my head, along with anything else I would like to have done! I gracefully declined and a good thing too!
Be that as it may, we still had a lovely walk in the forest, with me being blissfully unaware of the nightmare that was in store for me some weeks later.
I saw some amazing things in the couple of days we spent in Estacion Chajul as we were taking on kayaking tours of the river, more guided walks through the jungle and to more remote archaeological sights. We learnt a lot from the students and biologists about the history and present day situation of the forest and the precious water that feeds it. On a particular day we were taking some kilometres upstream and dropped of with life jackets to float all the way back to the station. This was quite a gas seeing as I was making some witty remarks about the crocodiles in Africa when we spotted on lazily watching us from the nearby bank. I immediately readied myself to get the stick like figure of Mayra between myself and the croc, as I had heard of Africans sacrificing small dogs, which they take with them in canoes, when presented by a nasty looking water dinosaur. Thankfully this croc seemed to be content with just watching us, but I still managed to grab some members of the group’s feet underwater, just so they could have some idea of what it might be like in the case of a real crocodile attacking. Strangely, this was not always greeted by the positive response that I expected.
The river was wide....
The wildlife around the camp was incredible and this included a tame White-nosed Coati (see picture) which seemed like the station pet. We fed it raw eggs from time to time (apparently this is its principal diet) and it would randomly be waiting for us on the roof and doors outside the bungalows. There were monkeys everywhere and a specific type of ‘roaring’ monkey would bark all night at a volume so high that it could apparently be heard more than 10 km’s away! These things would certainly give a lion a run for its money! Furthermore, there were flocks of Guacamayas (Scarlet Macaws) around the camp at all times and unlike the caged variety that I have seen in SA, these ones made an almighty racket at all times of the day. I tried to get some photies but they were usually so high up in the trees that it was a little tough.
Mexican pet...dangerous!
Hilton finds these trees harder to climb..
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| Chajul and the Mexican Forest |
After a glorious time there we packed up and finally started heading West again after having reached the border with Guatemala. We were heading for the mountain town of San Cristobal De Las Casas. I didn’t like the over-abundance of machine-gun mounted Hum-vees or the military checkpoints every 50 km’s or so and this was especially the case seeing as they were usually manned by extremely silly looking and overly aggressive (and thus dangerous) army personnel who obviously had not seen any action before. Luckily, this subsided once we left the more remote parts of Chiapas.
The landscape changed rapidly as we climbed ever higher and into the pine-forested mountains some way to the North. We zigzagged through little towns that were still predominantly Indian, but certainly better off than what I had seen before. They all had the traditional Spanish style to them with a central square built around the church, but what I found most interesting was the unique dress, especially amongst the women, which could be found in each town we passed. The women were wearing dresses with a specific style or colour print and in some places, usually higher up, these would even appear as a black woollen skirt made from the specific type of sheep found in that area. It was quite striking to see literally the entire female population of a little town wearing the same thing and even though it didn’t look like a uniform it somehow gave one that impression.
Local chicks and chilli mango / corn ...delicious!
The colonial story behind this is that the Spanish bestowed a unique dress sense / style, and thus an identity, on each of the little towns in an effort to reinforce regionalism, as in Africa with the various colonizers and the various tribes. This obviously helped to ensure that the indigenous people were kept separated and unable to unite against the Spanish. Divide and conquer as they say, although it does make for an interesting array of styles and colours today.
We also stopped at the light-blue lagoons of Montebello which are nestled between the mountains in the area. Their brilliant colour is due to the mineral content unique to the area.
The lagoons!
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| Laguna de Montebello |
We basically remained at this altitude for the rest of the day’s drive and thus arrived at the town of San Cristobal De Las Casas in the late afternoon. This beautiful spot, nestled in a valley between the surrounding mountains, is a very popular destination among tourists coming to Mexico due to its stunning architecture, cobbled streets and somewhat European feel. It is absolutely jam-packed with hotels and places to stay that are all located in the old part of town. There are massive churches and cathedrals built in the classical Spanish style and the streets are positively humming with activity. There are also bars and restaurants of every possible variety and by the time the sun sets here, most people seem to be snuggled into a cosy couch or corner in one of these spots, chattering away over a glass of wine (or tequila) and making sure that the chilly evening air is avoided for as long as possible.
Mayra and I stayed two evenings (although I could easily spend another week in this little town) seeing as we were looking forward to relaxing at the sea and the Pacific Coast was to be our following destination. We had a damn good time though, shopping a little (Unusually, I actually bought some things: a Panama Hat and a lovely Mexican shirt!), marvelling at the locals and their traditional dress (see pictures), checking out the Cathedrals, watching the street performers and obviously trying as much of the food as possible. On the first night, we happened upon a Tequila and Mezcal bar (well over a hundred different types sold here) with some local stragglers being all that was left inside the joint. We were, in fact, only looking for a lighter seeing as all the shops had already closed by that time. I imagine it was a Sunday night. For some reason, our arrival seemed to elicit a very excited response from everyone including the bar lady, and before long we were having the various forms of the golden liquid poured for us in extremely generous amounts and in time intervals that were definitely not sustainable. I can’t remember what in god’s name we were talking about or how we got so heavily embroiled with these madmen, but the situation eventually got so serious (room spinning and losing consciousness fast, worms, hundreds of bottles, the smell of old tequila, overly affectionate weird people virtually keeping us both in headlocks, etc.) that I literally had to drag Mayra out of there, to a chorus of protests, after making up some elaborate and desperate excuse which I saw as possibly our last chance for freedom. Mayra and I maybe took 30 minutes to stumble / crawl the remaining 100 metres to our hostel and having arrived, we very nearly couldn’t get the damn front door open either seeing as I had forgotten how a key works (reminded me of the night I tried to open the front door of my house in Johannesburg with my empty money clip). Thankfully it all worked out okay in the end with me waking up the next morning still pissed, with a throbbing head and not knowing whether I was in Albania, Australia or Argentina.
Danger!!!!!!!!
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| San Cristobal de Las Casas |
We obviously / typically left San Cristobal later than we would have like to and embarked on the longest drive yet, about 700 km‘s or so, to our final stop on the trip: the little beach resort of Mazunte, which is located about 200 km‘s before you get to Acapulco on the Southern Pacific Coast of Mexico. We arrived slightly frazzled and around midnight, exhausted from the windy roads and very nearly having run out of gas on what must be the loneliest stretch of the road.
Mayra knew of a lovely place to stay, but that was not to be on the first night as everyone and everything seemed to be asleep in this little town, save for one dodgy bar that happened to have some dingy rooms attached to it downstairs. Having little alternative and even less energy to search for something else, we opted for one evening in this dirty, bed-bug ridden and sweaty joint. I was practically up at the crack of dawn and promptly located the more desirable location where we were to spend the next 5 days or so. It couldn’t have been more different, with breezy apartments having been built into the nearby hill and overlooking the brilliantly blue sea. It reminded me very much of the Greek Islands, with whitewashed and bougainvillea-strewn pathways / steps and buildings being almost naturally fitted into the hill-side, appearing like light open caverns with breathtaking views. I hadn’t laid eyes upon a spot like this for a long time. I even had a little desk in front of the window overlooking the sea, where I would start each day with some warm home-made bread and jam, a nice cup of coffee and my economics textbooks. I was so incredibly chuffed with this spot and it just seemed like the perfect place to spend the last part of the holiday.
Shame shame...
Hilton struggling terribly with the studies
So Mazunte, apart from being a destination of choice due to its pristine beaches, charming ambience and exclusively community run tourism, is also a famous sea turtle reserve. There is a research centre and breeding station where educational tours are given and you can have a close-up view of these amazing creatures, whilst learning about all the different types that are endemic to the area. There are also dozens of tanks that contain the little hatchlings where they are kept just long enough to ensure that their chances of survival are that much better by the time they are released. Turtle tourism is big business here, with guided tours going out on boats (often extremely overloaded and much to the consternation of the more uppity North American tourists) everyday, giving people the chance to get a firsthand view of these creatures in their natural environment by allowing you to swim with the turtles, very much like the ocean safaris that one finds off the coast of Mozambique. This is really something special although the excessive handling (in my opinion) of these gentle beasts by the turtle-crazy tourists did get me a bit riled up and I staged a mini-protest by refusing to actually touch the four or five that we encountered during our trip, though I doubt anybody really noticed. We also came across a massive school of dolphins, saw a spectacular yellow sea snake (Mayra almost fainted in the boat), visited a nearby bird island and went snorkelling closer to shore. The turtle tourism is quite a success story here seeing as they were fancied as quite a delicacy by the local people some years ago. Their eggs were even reputed to have aphrodisiacal properties. These days the community is involved in their protection and in all the nearby towns there are billboards up championing their cause and further demonising the act of killing them or eating the eggs. Once a year, when the turtles come to shore to lay their eggs and for the time it takes for the eggs to hatch, the beaches are completely closed and I saw photos of this spectacular display, where the beach is literally covered with thousands upon thousands of turtles laying eggs all at the same time.
Little buggers are so damn CUTE!
Hilton protests wildly as the turtle torture continues!
Apart from the sea turtles, Mayra and I spent the days lazing around and swimming at the amazing beaches with the completely clear turquoise waters, sipping Micheladas (the beer with chilli, salt and lemon), dining at the great sea-side restaurants (I stuffed my face with chilli octopus wrapped in tortillas on a daily basis) and marvelling at the level of retardation that people living at the sea seem to be able to achieve. I can completely understand this, but it was still somewhat striking to see everyone here, from the waiters to people working on the roads, operating on what seemed like super-slow motion. I sometimes wondered if they were all stoned, especially when the shop owners would ask me to add up the total price of my own purchases, just because simple arithmetic (15 + 20...seriously!) was all seemingly too much for them to deal with.
These guys show the Mexican ability to sleep anywhere and anytime!
Heres looking at you mom!
The evil villian laughs uncontrollably.....
Here are more of my photies from Mazunte....
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| Mazunte and the Pacific Coast of Mexico |
I was sad to leave this little gem on the coast after what seemed like way too little time, but it couldn‘t last forever and I knew that my final exam was lying in wait back in Mexico City. Mayra and I headed out early in the morning and were to crawl back into Mexico city almost 18 hours later with a clapped out car that seemed to be wheezing its last and on the verge of seizing up completely. We passed through some extremely windy mountain passes on the way to Oaxaca (the city), during which it took us 8 hours to drive 200 km’s! Even Mayra’s iron constitution buckled with the dizzying turns and she nearly had a little roadside vomit during the part of the journey that probably spelt the death knell for, what was up to then, our trusty dodge chariot…well that, and the blasted speed bumps which we progressively started to take less notice of as the trip wore on. We also passed through a little village called Jose Del Camino, that seemed to be cascading down the sides of the mountain, which Mayra told me was quite openly known for its opium production and sales, while another little town nearby is famed for its awesome psychedelic mushrooms. Probably the most famous (female) Shaman in Mexican history (her name is Maria Sabina) came from these parts and she is proudly revered as a Oaxacan icon by the people of this province.
We stopped for a late lunch in Oaxaca which is the mescal capital of Mexico. The city is extremely beautiful with a desert-like and completely unique architecture that practically made it the most eye-catching city that I was to see in Mexico. A famous local artist (and there are a number that hail from this city) personally took charge of the downtown area and city centre development, thereby ensuring that it is completely free of banks and anything else that might detract from the cultural depth and diversity that this city is blessed with. Galleries are open everywhere and the unique art, culture and traditions of this region are proudly displayed in the old style buildings that line the cobbled streets. There is, however, a pervasive sadness and dim light that seems to be enveloping this city at the moment, due to a number of years of violent disputes between civil servants (mostly teachers) and the government because of unfair working conditions and compensation. A number of people have disappeared or been killed and evidence of this conflict is apparent through everything from graffiti messages to posters of those that have disappeared. Being one of the poorest provinces (along with Chiapas) this place is particularly plagued by corrupt administrations, brutality by the police and army, and increasing alienation from the rest of the country along with the concomitant reduction of resources, mostly due to its left-leaning population (a huge number of writers, activists and artists come from here) which are at odds with a state that is, at this stage, more leaning towards the right-wing (very much like their northern neighbours).
A poster of one of the people who went missing during the protests
That is one DRUNK worm!
Oaxaca
The last weeks
I promptly jumped into the studies again in an effort to make sure that I was not going to be tripped up at this late stage of the game. I had about 4 days before the exam and I can confess to really getting jittery as the time drew nearer due to the fact that I somehow knew that 2 hours of writing was now all that stood between me and that blasted piece of paper that officially and somewhat amusingly declares my status as being qualified to do something. The night before the exam I was scarcely able to sleep and just could not seem to switch off. I read over my notes time and again and worked myself up into somewhat of a frenzy. Just before the exam I almost had another pants-poo incident and promptly also developed a heavy allergic reaction to something, which meant that my nose was embarrassingly streaming during the entire exam and I had little option but to use my sleeve and certain strategically hidden parts of my clothing. Thinking about it now, I reckon it was all psychological because it completely disappeared right after the exam. Needless to say, the paper seemed to go alright as my subsequent results will testify and it was with some relief that Mayra and I then met her father for a celebratory lunch, consisting of about 5 kilograms of red meat prepared Argentinean style and lots of freshly-made Sangria. I was relieved and allowed myself to indulge in thoughts of a life without UNISA studies (read: ball and chain) and with a universe of possibilities lying ahead. Itchy slapped me on the back warmly when we arrived back at the apartment and immediately commenced making grunting noises about the importance of celebration. He planned a nice family dinner at home that evening, complete with Alaskan crab and various other delicacies and, after a short nap (the mountain of red meat demanded it) I was again into the wine and sampling the scrumptious treats being served up. After dinner I retired to the Jacuzzi with a joint and a bottle of Itchy’s best tequila (and sangrita) and talked the hours away with Mayra. Mayra probably enjoys speculating about the future of mankind, the human condition and matters of a philosophical nature even more than I do and you can thus imagine our combination resulting in conversations that rarely seemed to have any boundaries to them, save for the effects of alcohol, for instance. I think that the combination of over indulgence, lack of sleep, and the hot-cold Jacuzzi and pool may have had some adverse consequences, seeing as I was woken with what seemed like the rupturing of my cranium at about 5am and I subsequently lost all that Alaskan crab and the other treasures to the big white telephone in a sickeningly sad and demeaning display of vulnerability.
I decided to extend my trip by another two weeks since Mayra was also able to stay on longer too and I had no pressing matters to attend to back in Colombia where the universities were just about to close for the first semester. So, instead of heading to the airport the next day, Mayra and I boarded a bus for Guadalajara which is the home of one of her best friends and a major city off to the west of the capital. I had never seen a luxury liner like this before, complete with seats reclining fully, a selection of movies and snacks, and friendly hostesses that would be the envy of most airlines. I needed the TLC after what happened in the early hours of that morning and the colour gradually starting returning to my cheeks as the journey progressed.
Mayra’s friend Icari (name made up by her hippy parents) is not your average kettle of fish and she made us wait for a good 45 minutes in the bus terminal before loudly making her appearance in an oversized 4 by 4 that was blaring music from the open windows. She showered us both with seemingly limitless affection and promptly whisked us away to sample some yummy street tortillas close to her house before the inevitable night of debauchery which was to follow.
Icari is one of 4 kids and her family story is somewhat interesting too. Like Mayra, she has a really (in) famous and rich grandfather, with the result that none of her aunts and uncles are actually working now. Icari confesses to being a little low on ambition and yet her bubbly personality and boundless warmth give her an air that is somewhat larger than life. She has a pottery and ceramic workshop and gives some lessons to a small group of long-timers, whilst singing at various events, such as weddings (and even bar mitzvahs!), as another way of paying the rent.
Her hippy (and thus completely vegetarian) parents are however the most interesting to me as they met very young, travelled the world together in abject poverty, literally living of the land in many cases, and then settled on a large piece of land, off to the west of Guadalajara and in a small town called Colima, where they built a huge and spectacular jungle lodge with their inheritance. Neither of them have really worked and mum largely dedicating herself to raising the family, while dad attempted various little pet projects, the latest of which is the growing of organic (of course) vegetables. What really got me giggling though was the family penchant for smoking the green herb. Dad is almost always in some state of altered mind with mom joining in more often than not. We spent some days with the family in Colima and I found it down-right hilarious to find us sitting in the open air lounge, over-looking the fruit trees and flowers, after dinner and, instead of sipping on a whisky for instance, we would be passing around a joint and collectively giggling like 5-year olds. Later, Icari’s father always retired to a part of the bush quite close to the house where he would dreamily drum away on a self constructed percussion pad that he had constructed for himself. Beautiful pink lotuses (the seeds of which they smuggled into Mexico from Thailand during one of their journeys) bloomed from the pond in front of the house during the crisp and fresh mornings, whilst mom, daughter and Mayra would be preparing another vegetarian feast (they really weren‘t that bad, even though there was no meat?!) for us, in the midst of chattering about the latest homeopathic wonders and advances. They certainly and understandably have a great life even though their penchant for work (or lack thereof) seems to have rubbed off on one or two of the kids. We spent a lovely relaxing time there as we were taken to the nearby beach, marvelled at the local town’s wonderful collection of pre-Hispanic art (see pictures) and were even treated to the family band (dad on drums, brother on bass and Icari doing the vocals and guitar) performing a couple of impromptu shows for us.
Mom and dad hitting the reefer!
Jungle lodge...plush
Veggies...mmmmm!
Family band rocking out!
Icari's Parent's House
We did, however, manage to go and see a great concert close to the nearby town of Tepoztlan, during these final days, along with some of Mayra‘s university friends. This was another hippy-like event with no cars being allowed close to this protected area and dozens of buses leaving the capital to transport concert-goers to this apparently holy place where the energy of the surrounding mountains is supposed to have a number of supernatural properties. The music was Bjork-like and really quite good. The event banned all forms of alcohol and substances (yeah right) with local people being asked to supply yummy typical food from the area and non-alcoholic beverages (including beer! What a waste!) being sold. The setting was quite something and mountains surrounded the venue with the music eerily reverberating of the rock face. The head-line act was a band called Sigu Ross from Iceland and the eclectic blend of percussion, ghostly vocals and great visual effects was certainly impressive. Then the drummer got the squirts about half-way through the set and things seemed to end just a little abruptly. Chaos ensued as everyone tried to board buses (which were also going to other cities) simultaneously and a riot damn-near broke out. A huge, heaving mess of people pushed and shouted as the organisers tried their best to regain some sort of control over this apparently unexpected turn of events. I immediately imagined that this was going to be somewhat like the football riots that Latin America are so famous for, but luckily major disaster seemed to be largely averted with just a smattering of people having to spend the night road-side or in another town due to the confusion. All in all though, it took us five hours to get back to Mexico City and I was actually close to sobbing by the time we finally got off that crammed bus. The taxi-driver then drove home the pain by ridiculously over-charging us (due to the late hour?!) and I damn near threw my wallet (and some choice abuse) at him.
Not a bad setting this..
Never knew that music was possible in Iceland?
Mexican style chaos...the worst kind!
Concierto de Tepostlan
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