Scumdog Billionaire, San Cristobal de las Casas

My vocabulary sucks. Already I'm confusing words I'd learn't last year in Indonesia with my choppy, pathetic version of Español. Throw in a bit of pidgeon English when I can't find the correct word from either, and one can start to build an idea of how ridiculous I must sound...oh and look?!? Mexicans arn't seeming to warm to the fashion of short-shorts. On this note I felt it was time to leave Mexico City, searching for the greener pastures somewhere beyond the metropolitan madness.

Still exhuasted from an all night doof!! fest in the roof top bar above my dorm, I jumped on a bus to Oaxaca. Past the outer reaches of the city and through a couple of freeway checkpoints and a whole new country opened up around me. The classic Mexican snapshot I'd been expecting - and anxious to explore. Persitantly hot, piercing blue skies allowed the sun to reek havoc upon an ocre stained landscape, a barron collection of thirsty river beds, far away mountain ranges and dusty rolling hills, covered only by cacti and a thin undergrowth of dead, brittling floura. It was something straight out of your typical western flick, and quite a contrast to the thick, impenetrable mess I'm used to pushing through back home. As we progressed, tiny one horse satellite towns began to appear out from the desert floor, signalling the approaching return to civilisation, and before too long we were spiralling down into the city of Oaxaca.

Church of Santo Domingo, Oaxaca

Instantly I noticed more tourists, yet the atmosphere was a world apart from the capital. Intwined by narrow, cobbled streets, brightly coloured colonial houses and dozens of ancient looking churches, I felt like I had stepped back in time. The pace was relaxed, and the people seemed to adhere to a kind of romanticism, immersed in festivity throughout the many parks, markets and plazas in open displays of affection. Enlivened and bouncing, I checked into a hostel smack in the middle of the action. Here's where I met Marco...self proclaimed editor of various 'Lonely Planet' publications, and quite the sprightful fellow - full of an hypnotic enthusiasm for all things in life. He appeared to have teeth solely in the left hand side of his face, the other half dedicated to elaboratly exhailing his cigerette smoke between acts of rapid and unpredictable hand gestures. Without much of a choice I soon recieved a run down on the meaning of life, space travel, and Hawaiian voodooism. Never expect a dull moment...

A Mexican munch

I spent the next few days wandering the surrounds; visiting markets, trying new foods (sour, roasted grasshopper anyone??) and taking a trip out to the hill top ruins of Monte Alban, before travelling on to San Cristobal de las Casas. Pearched high in the mountains, the pre-dawn temperature came as quite a shock as I hopped off the bus, hardly dressed in what you would call clothing. With a high indigenous population, and stunning location, the streets of San Cristobal are even more enchanting than Oaxaca. It's easy to lose all sense of time and orientation when niether seem to matter here.

Inbetween wallowing away the days, I felt it was time for a little outdoor fix. The stunning Sumidero Canyon got the nod, and soon I was flying down the Grijalva River in a beaten up speed-boat, dodging vultures & alligators, gazing up at the enourmous 1000-m high walls. Apparently, native warriors used to hurl themselves  over the edge in favour of submission to the foreign Spanish conquest.

Sumidero Canyon

Back here in San Cristobal, I'm enjoying slowing the pace down for a while. Maybe I'll join up for one of the language classes and get my priorities in check. But for now...I've got the craving for taco's & tequilla!!

Ciao!