Mexico

Pyramids & Pancakes, Mexico City
18th Feb, 2012

Hola, me amigos! Alive & kickin in Mexico City! Thought I should let ya'll good people know that I got here safely. In summery...what an enormous, exciting and frantic place!!!

After two long and wearisome days of air travel, passing through Melbourne, Auckland and Los Angeles I finally arrived at my destination. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it soon hit me how underprepared I was...It was close to 12 o'clock midnight by the time I got through customs, I had no place booked to crash, couldn't speak anywhere near as much useful spanish as I thought, and had only a vauge recolection of where I was or what to do. I was planning on sleeping in the airport food court before I got talking to these two random kiwi girls and somehow conned them into letting me tag along with them for the night. We decided to grab some food before we caught a cab, not realising I'd only eaten a blueberry muffin all day, and found about the only place still open on the terminal ground floor; a 24 hour 'Wings' resteraunt. I'd become google eyed by this point and couldn't read anything on the menu...so I deciphered some pictures and settled for a big pile of pancakes...not exactly the most authentic beggining to my Mexican fine dinning experience...

Anyhow, we were soon on our way into the city in one of the authourised taxis, zipping down highways and empty streets, with only the odd lone shifty wanderer or two lingering on certain corners, before eventually making it into the central historical area. Then the driver got lost...tanggled between a network of late night road works, blocking all logical paths to our hotel, it was lucky a policeman was kind enough to let us through one of the blockades, and we could finally get some sleep! The next day I said goodbye to the girls and took off into the lively streets of the city, a much different place to the one from our late night taxi ride. I checked into a hostel directly behind the Cathedral at the northern end of the Zolaco, the huge main plaza of the historical area, grabbed some taco's from a street vendor and jumped on the city loop bus to take in a little of the cities main attractions. It was a great chance to meet and talk to some holidaying Mexicans, I even got to practice a little Spanish. Back at the hostel later in the evening I slumped down and crashed after a few quiet corona's with some other tourists.

Zocalo

The next day I woke and dove straight into the free buffet breakfast included in the hostel price! I'd been starving all night, and should really have been eating a lot more than what I had been. I was planning to take a trip out to the Pyramids at Teotihuancan, supposedly one of the most remarkable archeological sites in the world. I wasn't disappointed in the slightest. Catching the Metro train to the outskirts of the city and jumping on a public bus passing through hills covered in shanty towns proved an experience in itself, but nothing compared to the actual site of Teotihuacan. I've never seen structures of this grand scale before. The 'Avenue of the Dead' as it's called, stretches for at least 3 kilometres, walled in the entire way by small ruins until it terminates at the huge 'Pyramid of the Moon'. Here I found was the best view at the site, providing panoramic views across the whole area, in particular across to the even larger and more impressive 'Pyramid of the Sun'. My two companions and I spent close to 4 hours or so, slowly wandering around the highlights of the area before taking the bus back to the train terminal (pulled over and patted down by the police for drugs en route) and hopping back onto the metro to the Zocalo.

'Pyramid of the Sun' - Teotihuacan

I think I may stay here another day or two, but no longer. I'm completly blown out by the size of everything and there's only so long I could stay in a place like this no matter how much there is to do. I'm looking forward to heading south to the cities of Oaxaca & San Cristobal de las Casas, hopefully slowing things down a bit and maybe even meeting up with Big Dawg!

Bye for now!! Talk soon.


Scumdog Billionaire, San Cristobal de las Casas
23rd Feb, 2012

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!


Caribbean Dreaming, Merida
1st March, 2012

Alas, here I loiter on down the traffic choked calle's of Merida, a Caribbean city lacking any distinguishable flair of the Caribbean, failing miserably on my quest to dig up a single piece of moderate standard, English translated literature other than pre-teen fantasy novels such as the 'Twilight' saga. Every bookstore seems to point me in opposing directions, and every bookstore which apparently keeps English stock seems to be "closed until further notice." But suddenly my search is rudely & unexpectedly interupted - as priorities ever persisit like a survival instinct...I need a toilet now! Round & round my pace quickens, circling the lively Zocalo, pleading for one of those appropriate WC or Baño signs which tend to stick out from grundgy alleyways, and nearly always indicate the exchange of a few lousy pesos (that you never seem to have when you need them the most) for the privilege. Times get desperate, Burger King on the corners gonna have to do. I'll even buy a flipping soft serve...

Body back at equilibrium, I head back to the hostel. A pretty sweet one at that - buffet breakfast, hammocks & a pool, just a bit of a mish from the centre of town. Flicking through the tattered collection of novels at the book exchange, I come across a small, bright red travel log by this British dude Geoff Dyer, called 'Yoga for people who can't be bothered to do it.' I'd like to say it appealed to me since admittedly, I once went to a yoga class trying to impress this chick I had a crush on, and could not have actually given the slightest hoot for what was going on, bar a childish notion towards something known as the downward-facing dog...But in reality - the rest of the books were simply shit.

I sat by the pool, popped the top off a corona with a butter knife (as I keep forgetting to buy myself a bottle opener or acquire the monstering manliness of this guy I met in Thailand who could crack them off between his posterior teeth), and delved into this world of words. By the second chapter it had me in hysterics, much to the weary bemusement of a large group of Danish girls. It was uncontrollable - like a time in high school when I'd pictured sticking chewing gum to the shiny, bald crown of my teachers head. If they had actually known what I'd lost it over I seriously doubt they'd still be sitting so close including me in their conversations.

This guy from the book had been travelling throughout Cambodia, and somewhere or other had ended up at this floating market busting for a piss. Looking around he was contemplating hanging one over the side of the boat, but as mothers dipped and scrubbed their laundry and new-borns in the filthy muck wouldn't this be like taking a piss on someones kitchen or bathroom floor?? He decides to hold out, until a huge, solid human crap floats past his boat in all its glory. How is it, he continues in bewildered amazment, that the body can manage to adapt to all kinds of crazy conditions - that despite the viral prevalence of dysentery, cholera & all kinds of innumerable waterborn diseases of such an environment, someone was able to produce an object such as that. I was envious. I havn't shit a brick for over a week. I wonder how long this period of adaptation takes?? Oh well...he got to piss in his river. I got to crap at Burger King.

Rewind a few days, I was still in San Cristobal. Actually I'd only just finished my last post when I hear a familiar voice shout out from off the street. Big Dawg had found me! It was a glorious moment, like a mother embracing her child after their first day of pre-school. It was made better by the fact he'd picked up two monkey girls on his adventures, and we spent the rest of the afternoon browsing lollie markets and playing pool with these two Argentinian guys. That evening we got super groovy at the Revoluçion bar, smashing massive tequila shots, nachos & dancing the the night away to this kick-ass local band. Big Dawg and I then recieved an agonising lesson in that we can't salsa for shit. The mexicans stole our mistresses, leaving us sinking cervezas all alone & sinking slowly into a deep, dark depression at our table...until the girls came screaming back of course, having had their way with those nasty mexican men. I'd have to say that was one of the best nights I think I've ever had.

Monkey girl & I kickin' it at Revoluçion

Big Dawg was soon on his way back to Tassie, and the girls had ditched me at Palenque to go study monkeys for 6 months or so - alone on the road once again, this time at some mental rave community hidden in the jungle. El Panchan can be found smack between the town of Palenque and the famous Mayan ruins of the same name, and if you like to party, this place is for you. I can't say I got too much sleep that night, and combine that with the worst of my stomach rumbles, I found the day exploring the ruins a little painful, despite it seeming of course very lovely indeed...I took off again, dreaming of the Caribbean. White sand and clear blue seas to sooth my soul. Hahaha...and I wound up in Merida?!! Silly, silly boy! No, it's actually ok for now...I just booked tickets to Havana, Cuba! Ooo baby, Mr. Castro I am coming for you...

Bye bye for now kids xx

Ruin at Palenque

Bubble O' Blue, Tulum 
14th March, 2012 

"Once you do crack, you'll never go back..." or shall we word this better - "after that first hit, you will forever chase that same unparalleled, euphoric wonder for the rest of your miserable days on this planet, and never manage to revisit that one initial, marvelous moment." There must be something in the water up north in the great land of the Canadian. Despite a 25 year age gap between these two 'reforming' junkies, they could pass as best mates; drug-brothers, bonded by a smorgasbord of illogically, deranged experiences that make my years of turmoil seem like an episode of The Baby-sitters Club. My days in Tulum proved highly informative; adding countless volumes to my bank of general knowledge - simply swinging away the hours effortlessly in my hammock. In addition to the many lessons in pharmaceutical composition, conversation could switch between stories of twisted ball sacks, primitive reasoning behind human body-odors, or the likely hood that somewhere down the line koalas happened to gift us the joys of chlamydia.

It was only a few years ago that Tulum was still a small, simple village catering for the tourists who zipped on through when visiting the beautiful, beach front Mayan ruins. But with the recent upgrade to the highway that runs through the center of town, the area has seen a boom in development, and is now a popular stop for travelers on the backpacking route. So here I was alone - and hence bored as bat shit since returning from Cuba. I decided to invade a large groups gabbling circle at The Weary Traveler, whom at once systematically welcomed me into their motley bunch of solo wanderers. It's always surprising how quickly your fortunes on the road can change; and three-quarters through a bottle of tequila later...I've sprang to life yet again, surrounded by captivating individuals, and on the verge of a public (and thankfully bailed on) flamenco performance.

Ruins at Tulum

The next day, conjuring up numerous ideas for killing these post tequila blues, we decided to grab some snorkels and make for the Dos Ojos Cenote, where we acquired our podgy little, dope-smoking guide who threw us in the back of his truck. Now, I've decided I love the water. Swimming in this cenote has been the final convincing factor. Unless you've experienced this yourself, it's hard to put into words; soooo many ridiculous, incomprehensible shades of blue reflect about the fresh, crystal clear water. In some sections you can see down at least 20 meters, where scuba divers explore the deep depths and complexities of these underground caverns. Armed with fins & flashlights we followed our guide through some tight, claustrophobic tunnels, which eventually opened up into huge, concealed chambers - elaborately decorated with drooping stalactites and sharp, eroded rock. At one point we all squeezed into this tiny little room where our heads could only just bob above the surface of the water, and with the likeliness to an iceberg; where the visible portion only represents the diminutive, tippy-top of what is actually there, below one could appreciate the immensity of this subterranean world I know little about. "...and here's where he busts out the spliff!" everyone bursts into laughter, concurring in Chris' unmistakable London humor; all picturing our guide chugging along like a steam train out the nozzle of his snorkel.

Chris & Ash at Dos Ojos cenote

After the cenote we all split up, some heading for the ruins - the others and I off to the beach. Making the most of our snorkel hire, we swam around following some large fish, and even spotted a turtle. Later that night we got into party mode for Chris' birthday, kicking off with dinner at a restaurant before delving straight back into another bottle of tequila. The night got messy, and after dancing for hours at the bar across the street & cartwheeling around looking for the mythical karaoke club, I passed out in a hammock...apparently out like a rock. When I finally woke from my self-induced death the next morning, I booked a ticket out of Tulum for the following day; coming to the conclusion I could easily end up here for months unless I made the move soon. So for now...bye, bye sweet Mexico, you've been good to me. Next stop - the famous barrier reefs of Belize! I'll leave you all with some pic's from Mexico to brighten your day...

Beach at Tulum

Our band of warriors in the truck

Grabbing snorkels

At Chichen Itza