Tuesday 29 January 2013

Holy Potatoes

Some of my favourite Mexican quirks so far:

This silly little dog has his very own silly little chair, too...

  • Silly little dogs in silly little jackets.
-Often in fleeces which match their owners. Because with an average of 26 degrees C, it is winter after all.


  • Spanish language surprises.
-For instance, the word for the Pope is the same as 'potato'. Possibly one of my favourite things ever.


  • Bus journey surprises.
-The other day in Guadalajara, there was a traffic jam, so the bus just went a totally different route instead. In Puerto Vallerta, the bus driver couldn't fit through the road past the bucking bronco,so reversed all the way back up the hill. Another driver actually stopped the bus and got out for a while to watch the party.

and finally (for now):

  • Mexican phone surprises.
-When I hang up from a phone call, a panicked message pops up to say "No Reason!", as if it is insulted by my decision.


I'm in a really good mood today. I think it began with lunch: I had the best lunch... Husband cooked it. We had a roast chicken in a bowl of juices and spices (but not hot spices), a side plate with beans and what I think was goat's cheese. On the table was a basket of warm tortillas and freshly made guacamole, onions, limes and alfalfa. I was in my element.

Rosie continues on her quest to fatten me up, though: I've started getting chocolate milkshake instead of fruit juice, which is tasty but less agreeable. Ariel asks when I am going to get a tan and when I am going to start putting on weight- I told him that I am a freak of nature and he needs to get over it.

In the afternoon, I had a meeting with the editor from the newspaper, who was American- hurrah! I can look forward to understanding what I'm asked to do (hopefully) and will begin with some proof-reading this week.

I've also been emailing a couple of other online magazines and local newspapers who are quite interested in me doing some writing for them, which is exciting :-)

Monday 28 January 2013

Puerto Vallarta and Everythings are Bueno

Treating myself to another internet cafe session today-at 15p an hour, I really do spoil myself. Today there is a boy running the desk who looks like he has just stepped out of a time machine from Ipswich in 1992. He has long greasy curtains, chains on his jeans, and is forcing me to listen to some non-descript, dated thrash metal.

This weekend I went away to Puerto Vallerta on the Pacific coast to visit Fi, a really good friend of mine who happens to be there doing a similarish travelling project. I was really excited to see her, and also at the prospect of being about to chat to somebody English.

I set off at about 8am on Friday, all backpacked up and keen. The bus to the central bus station stops just around the corner from my house, but for some bizarre reason I got horribly lost again. I think because it was early, I wasn´t awake, and tend to get stuck in wandering mindset where I just follow my feet in a stubborn determination not to turn around or ask for directions. I knew I´d gone way out in the wrong direction long before I reached a tube station (turns out Guadalajara has a subway system?!) but actually, I quite enjoyed the opportunity to try it out. There is something quite comforting about subways- as much as I hate being underground, tubes tend to be pretty idiot-proof no matter which country one is in. It cost 3 pesos to get in through the gate (less than 15p!) which I didn´t have in exact change, but a nice man paid for me.

At Zapopan bus station, I muddled my way through buying a ticket to Puerto Vallerta, which cost about fifteen pounds for a 5 hour journey. The coaches were pretty comfy as well, complete with a TV screening films with hilarious Spanish dubbing. I watched something with Reese Witherspoon in it for a while, in the hope that I might learn something, but gave up after eventually realising that without a proper dialogue, not a lot really happens in Rom Coms. It was just a series of scenes with the actors alternating between looking giddy and depressed. I assumed the film would end with the giddy expressions and listened to my ipod whilst watching the impressive scenery outside the window.

As I stepped off the coach in PV, I could literally feel my hair expand with the humidity. A weekend looking like Simba was to be expected, really.Another bus ride and I was on the beach, meeting Fi and her friends from the project. Really quite surreal.

Puerto Vallarta is a small but busy coastal town- pretty but very touristy. It was quite bizarre coming from such a non-english speaking place to an American holiday hub, with english signs and hitched up prices. The beach was gorgeous though, and I really felt like I was on holiday.
Me and my cocktails...
Fi, looking like a local with Beth and Molly

Anna practising her fire dancing on the beach

The weekend was spent eating, drinking and melting in the heat. I had my first experience of a Mexican club- quite a contrast from British clubs simply because Mexicans can ALL dance. Really well. But I´d had enough cocktails to believe that I could dance just as well, so it was fine. The 3am kebabs or cheesy chips were replaced with tacos, and we finally retreated to our respective homes and hostel.

On the Sunday, we spotted humpback whales breaching close to the beach, and I went in the sea- with waves to big I had to dive in through them. I'd say it was with the grace of a mermaid, but I would be lying. I am still finding sand in my ears.

That evening, Fi and Molly's host family were holding a fiesta, which I gladly gatecrashed. In true Mexican style, the party mostly took place in the street, causing passing buses to occasionally reverse back down the road rather than attempt to drive through the inflatable bucking bronco which attendees of all ages were having a go on. The snail salad and tequila were plentiful, although I'm ashamed to say I had neither as I needed to awake and healthy for the journey back later that night.

There were several young muchachos who were clearly quite baffled and excited by the group of white girls, and several hilarious spanglish conversations ensued. One boy proceeded to tell us all in turn that we had beautiful eyes, but soon after that had exhausted his english vocabulary and spent the rest of the night repeating the only other phrase he could drunkenly remember: "Hey, how is everything?" (emphasis on the EVerything), "Everythings are good?"

Luckily, a beautiful man dressed up as Shakira soon burst through the front of the house and began a (REALLY impressive) belly-dance and lip-sync show along to Shakira's music. This beautiful wig-wearing, bum-padded interderminate-gendered being turned out to be the son of the house owner, Ivan: a professional transvestite. I can honestly say I have never been so confused by or so attracted to such a confusingly attractive being. The mexicans were all over it.

And then it was my queue to go and catch th night bus back to Guadalajara. Not the best sleep I've ever had, but I did feel pretty invincible once I made it back to the city and crept into the house like a ninja at 7am. Pretty good weekend.

Thursday 24 January 2013

La Familia

I have the luxury of a real keyboard at an internet cafe today, as I had to type up an article. As I sit here in a suspiciously private little booth, I am painfully aware that if I am to catch some kind of nasty jungle disease on my travels, it will be from this keyboard.

I´m enjoying my temporary home. Rosie cooks fantastic, traditional Mexican food which more often than not includes tacos and black beans, but it´s tasty. This morning I had a pawpaw/papaya (whatever you want to call it) on my corn flakes along with some mint tea. In the first few days I was given a well-stewed cup of coffee with every meal, which in turn found its way to the plant outside my room. I wait with great anticipation to see whether this plant dies or turns into some kind of pimped up Super Plant.

In the mornings before going to the Orphanage, I tend to either walk into town or sit on the roof in the sunshine. Yesterday I accomplished my set mission of Finding The Post Office- Mexicans just don´t seem to send mail! There are hardly any postboxes and you can´t buy stamps anywhere... But there's nothing quite like chilling on the roof with the herbs and the dog faeces. The husband (I still don´t know his name, and everyone tends to refer to him as "Rosie´s Husband") spends most of his time on the roof fiddling about with a broken washing machine. He sits in his coat while I sweat it out in a t-shirt, and spends a lot of time taking the machine apart and putting it back together again. From time to time he growls and mutters at the mad dog who runs around in circles, eating his own foot or tail: "eeeehhhhh.... Pinche Flacco. Flacco loco", which means "Goddamn Flacco. Crazy Flacco..." I am beginning to suspect that the husband doesn´t really want to fix the machine and uses it as an excuse to have some peace from Rosie.

They both like music and always have multiple radios playing the house-mostly cheesy stereotypical Mexican music, but the other night I heard husband singing and playing a ballad on his guitar. I think he thought that nobody else was in.

Rosie sings as she cooks, and does her best to learn the english words for things from me, while I try to learn the spanish from her. We have a slight problem with the word "fork", though. I've decided it's better to teach her to just refer to it as 'cutlery'. The other day Rosie came flying in the house later than usual, and showed me that she'd been to an English class for retired people, which was quite sweet.

I'm finding it really frustrating not being able to understand people mostof the time- especially in the orphanage. NObody here speaks English, apart from Ariel, the co-ordinator guy. I do a lot of miming and muddle through, but I do have to remind myself that I've only been here a week now, and that I am actually picking things up fairly quickly, all things considered. God knows why it makes sense for me to spend two weeks at the orphange to "help my spanish" before I go to the English-language newspaper, where presumably somebody must speak English... Mexican logic.


A police car just drove  past which cues the dogs to run the window and howl like some kind of dog-sacred ritual. And I can smell tortillas,which means lunch will soon be ready.

Luna (on a rare occasion sans pink fleece) and Flacco, behind


Chucita

Tuesday 22 January 2013

On the Taxi Mafia Hitlist

Yesterday was a little bit difficult. I'm really tired- although I'm sleeping like a dead dog every night despite the live music across the road.

Ariel said he would pick me up around ten to take me to the orphange.At around eleven-thirty, he appeared and we set off to the street corner for a lesson in Mexican bus travel...

For 6 pesos (about 30p), you can buy a bus ticket which will take you in a loop around the whole of the city. That is, if you manage to a) flag down a bus and b)survive the journey. Ariel warned me that the drivers get pretty bored of driving in a circle all day every day, and often race each other at twice the speed limit. The buses are also ridiculously designed so that the driver sits so high up over a big fat bonnet, he cannot see any pedestrians within a very close range, and so anyone stupid enough to walk in front of the bus will more than likely find themselves under it without the driver even noticing. They are however, very well equipped for disabled people, with three or four seats marked at the front of the bus in yellow. These seats are reserved stricly for the elderly and disabled and anyone less in need can be fined for using them. This means that, much like in the UK, a bus will often be packed to bursting with people standing and clinging on for dear life, yet those three seats will remain free as a bird. Perhaps the erradic driving is an attempt to create more disabled people to fill the spaces.

Two buses and a military-strict lesson from Ariel on landmarks later, we arrived in a pretty fancy area of the city- complete with Sloppy Joe's and a Starbucks. The orphange building itself was donated by wealthy Catholics, and the place, like many, is run and dependent on volunteers from the church.

Today was my first proper day at the orphange, which was difficult, butnot for the reasons I was expecting... Firstly, the street where I would catch the first bus from was closed off dueto an accident (probably bus related). After wasting a lot of time hunting around for my bus, I hailed a taxi which took me to completely the wrong place. After a good hour wandering around asking several people for directions in shops and on the street, I called Ariel for help. I found it really quite strange that pretty much nobody has heard of the quite famous orphanage.

Another bus ride and finally at my destination, I was handed a baby and sat feeding it pulped fish for over an hour. It was pretty rank. All the children at the home have cerebral palsy, and a lot of them have brain damage or other impairments too. A select few go to school in the morning, but most are very disabled and some cannot move at all. It's desperately sad, but I can't say that I felt particularly upset of sorry for the children, because they are so well looked-after. I was glad to be of help there, but I've never fed or even held a baby before in my life and it didn't come naturally. Without meaning to sound totally heartless, I definitely won't be adopting anyone. But I will write about them.

Ariel has arranged a Spanish tutor for  me this week, starting tonight at 8pm... The journey home was a riot. I felt quite relieved to be going home as I sat on the 634, but a few stops later- many before my own, the driver stopped and told us all to get off. I could see los policia in the distance and deduced that either another road was closed, or the driver needed a quick getaway... so I was stranded once again. With nothing in my pockets, I hailed another taxi- this one with a driver who chewed on a stick and didn't seem to respond to my persistant chanting of "Priscilio Sanchez- expetorio?"... A couple of streets down, he stopped to open the glove compartment: "no me gafas!" and it all made sense- he hadn't got his glasses with him.

Suffice to say, I made it home. I told him to wait uno momento while I ran in- thirty minutes late for my lesson- to grab some cash.When I came back out, he was gone... Just another day in Mexico, really!

Monday 21 January 2013

And on the Fourth Day

...I finally worked out how to use the shower.

DO not panic, I have been washing up until this point, but Mexican bathrooms are complicated things.

The shower is created using a series of clever pipes,running across the roof to warm up before coming down into the bathroom, via the sink and shower head. This means that most of the time, all water is tepid-from either hot or cold tap. Depending on how many people have used the shower and how closely together of course, the roof-warrmed water soon runs out, resulting in a very cold shower indeed.

Yesterday, I learnt that there is in fact a boiler, which one must light by hand- with a match- to have a lovely hot shower.I got a little overexcited by this and left the water boiling for too long, pretty much scalding myself. And of course the tap marked as cold is actualy hot, and the tap marked as hot dosn't work at all  when the boiler is running... it's all pretty stressful.

But today, I felt ready for the shower. I turned on the boiler, had some breakfast, and turned it of again. I waited two minutes before indulging in pure, temporal shower bliss.

Sunday 20 January 2013

Zapapon and Stolen Fruit



 
The church and square near my house



I live right in the centre of Guadalajara on a tiny, pretty street, but if you step around the corner, you'll bump straight into a pretty massive church on a buzzing square. Rosie is out this evening visiting her family, so I sat on this square this afternoon after a pretty busy day's explorations and had a grilled chicken salad for about two pounds fifty.*

[* I have just discovered that this keyboard has no pound sign. This could drive me slightly mad.]


On Friday afternoon, just after I'd arrived, Ariel took me on a little walking tour of the city. This helped me to get a feel of the place as well as relax a bit as I saw for myself how safe and laid-back the place is. Ariel assured me that although I do very much stick out like a sore thumb, it's perfectly ok for me to walk around by myself with my camera and not be hassled by anyone, as long as I kept some money in my shoes and my bra: "just in cases". Wise man indeed.

 
Central Guadalajara cathedral in the evening light


It was nice to get to know Ariel a bit, too- walking past the street-sellars he'd often stop and chat to them about what they were selling. A lot of people seemed to know him and would come over to hug him or shake hands, often shaking mine too as I was his associate. This makes Ariel sound like some kind of local celebrity, which is not exactly the impression I got, rather just that he has a lot of friends and cares about helping the local community. As we walked, he bought some crisps from one such street-seller, who smothered them in a hot sauce and lime juice for us to share. "It's important to support the locals," he told me, and in turn showed me which stalls were stocked with good quality Mexican goods, and which were Chinese imports.

I look forward to hearing Ariel's life story one day: on the drive back from the airport on Friday, we stopped at some traffic lights and some rather grubby looking travellers came over to the window asking for change. I was hardly shocked by this- in South Africa this kind of begging was to be expected, and most people were pretty hardened to it, ignoring the beggars and driving on- we did; it's understandable. But Ariel shook one guy's hand and gave hhim some change. Later he explained to me that they were travellers from further south- Honduras or Nicaragua, maybe, and were making their way via freight trains up to the USA border. "I like to support them, to try and keep them safe, because I did that trip once myself, at 18," he said. "America is shit and they might not be happy there at all, but they're chasing the American dream, so I can't tell them that."


After a day of exploring the local area yesterday, my plan for today was to get a bus somewhere slightly further afield. Emma and James were off to the coast for a few days, soset off pretty early, but as I set out past the square a couple of hours later, I bumped into them. The bus they were planning to catch hadn't turned up, perhaps because it was a Sunday, which didn't bode well for my plans either. They decided to get a taxi to Zapapon, a place where buses might be more plentiful, so I hopped i with them.


Child by Zapopan Basilica

Zapapon offered us yet another massive church, which at that moment was in the process of holding a service, but oddly enough was rather drowned out by the bells and chanting of a group of native tribespeople, positioned in front. I sat watching them for a while, mesmorized, wondering if it was some kind of anti-Catholocism protest.
 
A little while later, I wandered into a modern art museum, which turned out to be full of trippy, erotic cartoons: all lovingly drawn by one doped up "artist" who obviously didn't have a girlfriend. Walking through the totally empty gallery, along very high walls filled with hundreds of those cartoons, I could hear sporadic bells and chimes from the Indians outside, and pretty soon began to think that I too, was going mad. It was time to leave Zapopan.

A comedy-scene ensued, featuring me  attempting to haggle with taxi drivers,telling the front-most that his ego was "out of control"- because it was one of the few phrases I culd remember, and it was probably true. His friend then drove down the road to find me and drove me back for half the price.

The best part of my day had to be back in the centre, trying to buy a single orange from the market. The boy on the stall laughed at me when he realised that one was all I wanted, and picked out the "best", giving it to me for free. And it was probably one of the best oranges I've ever had.


Saturday 19 January 2013

Actual, Proper Mexico

Well, here I am: in Actual Proper Mexico. It only really hit me this morning when I woke up that this would be the first morning of hundreds (sort of) that I would wake up by myself in a totally foreign place.  But it feels good.

After testing out several travel-blog hosts, I decided to just stick with this one- mostly beause there are no adverts or silliness. So although I have written a couple of other mindless rambles, I'll copy them into here when I can.

"When I can"- My travel journalism weapon of choice is a nameless but cheap and mostly cheerful android tablet thing from China, via ebay. It's a bit slow, gets confused easily and has a attachment keyboard whih only mice could comfortably type on... so I thinkI should get extra points for handicapped blogging. But then again, I would feel like a bit of a tit sitting around a Mayan campfire with my Macbook. The gist of this paragraph is- please forgive any typos.

I left heathrow at 18:40 on Thursday, and apparently was pretty lucky to get away due to the inevitable panic over snow which followed. Got into Madrid at about 9.30 to find the airport totally deserted (odd) apart from a few other lost souls waiting for transfers and a man selling sad looking baguettes.

As an over-head tannoy announcement warned me that there was a "lack of announcements at this time", I sat down to eat a ham and cheese baguette to kill some time. A bit later, I had a lovely chat with a Portugese man from Angola, who re-named me 'Raquel" and gave me half of his kit-kat. I told him that I am a journalist, simply to avoid explaining that actually, I'm an unemployed bum who i sodding off on a very extended holiday... He was an accountant but flew private planes on the weekend. I will never be able to spell or remember his name.

My neighbour on the long-haul flight was Julietta, a Mexican girl who had been living in Paris for 5 years and had a very confused accent, and forceably said "Ooh la la" at any given opportunity. I liked her.

We arrived into Mexico City at 6am, and although it was still dark, the lights that seemed to extend to all corners of the horizon showed me the absolute monster of a city waking up to Friday. It was huge!

While waiting for my final connection I set out to find myself a cup of tea... and to my horror, learnt that the only place that sells the stuff in the country is Starbucks, my nemesis. The irony...

After a surprisingly pleasant flight on Aeromexico, I arrived in Guadalajara and was met by my new BFF, Ariel, in a truck that was 3 years older than me.

And now I sit on my bed in my new home, which belongs to Ariel's mother-in-law, Rosie, her husband, their two dogs Flacco and Luna, and a cat called Chuchita. Chuchita sits on my bed right now and tells me that she hates me- that this is actually her room and that I'm dirty and foreign. But I think we're becoming friends. Also staying here are two older women from Sussex, and Becky and James: a young British couple who have a crazy plan (and lots of money saved, it would appear!) to travel all around the world to about 100 different countries. They probably all think I'm a bit mad and brave to be travelling by myself- and maybe I am, but I'm perfectly happy by myself so far.

Becky and James went on a trip up a mountain today, which I'm quite looking forward to hearing about.I'm also aware that this blogpost is becoming far too long for any sane person to conecentrate on, so I think I'll call it a night and continue tomorrow!

Hasta Luego.

Tuesday 15 January 2013

Things I Will Miss


1) My dogs. Look at their adorably stupid little faces. Just as it's worse in films when animals die than humans, I will miss them more than my parents... sorry parents. I just wish I could explain to Charlie and Phoebe that I will be back and I'm not leaving them because I hate them.

2) Semi- sensible hair. My hair defies gravity at the best of times, and I am about to go to a very humid, tropical place without any form of hairdryer or straighteners. Have you seen the episode of friends where they go to Florida and Monica's hair goes mental? Well imagine that but blonde and sunburnt and you'll get a fairly representative image.

3) My laptop. I know that's a bit sad, but my Mac makes my life so much easier! I spend an awful lot of time writing essays/articles/musings on it, and an awful lot of time editing and playing around with photos. When I'm away I'll be using this little beast... because I felt too guilty to buy myself an ipad or anything of the sort. It's a chinese android equivalent and it cost me £50. I should be able to email and skype on it, internet connection quality-willing, and as long as it survives for most of the trip I will be happy.

4) Winter clothes and fabulous shoes. Again, it's a bit tragic but I really enjoy winter jumpers and boots and tartan scarves and mittens. There's just no place for those in CA, unfortunately.

And on to the subject of Packing: packing is not fun. Don't let anyone else convince you otherwise. For several days, possibly weeks, my packing has consisted of several semi-organised piles on the spare bed.
These piles include:

1) Colouring books I will probably be spending a while in a local orphanage (while my spanish hopefully improves enough to take full advantage of the newspaper internship.) My mom helped me choose some cheap and cheerful colouring and storybooks in town yesterday- "oh this one is lovely!" said she, picking out a book featuring a overly clingy bunny rabbit declaring "I love my mummy because she holds my hand"... Top marks, mother- probably the least appropriate book available for a group of children who have no mummy. I settled for Thomas the Tank engine's admirable knowlege of shapes.

2) Lovely smelling overpriced face things. Clarins face wash. Clinique toner. Clinique pore minimiser and happy smelling moisturisers. Grant me this one luxury- I've willingly accepted having massive, unkept hair for the next few months and nobody said that roughing it face-wise was part of the 'travelling' deal. I do have some standards.

3) Proper English Teabags For proper English cups of tea. Because you just can't get a proper cup of tea anywhere else in the world. And if I start my day with a proper cup of tea, I can achieve anything.

Thursday 10 January 2013

And So it Begins...

In almost exactly a week's time, I will be on my way down to Heathrow ready to fly out to Central America. At this current moment in time, I'm neither scared nor excited (as sad as that is to admit), rather just a bit fed up thinking of all the things I have left to do in preparation. But perhaps the main reason as to why I am still sat on my bed in my PJs at 11.34 on a Thursday is a combination of denial and sheer laziness.

True to form, I have a 'To- Do' list, a 'List to End All Lists' and a 'List to End All Lists: Revised Version'. I've been gaining a headache over what I assume are the usual last-minute things: how much cash should I take out at first? I must remember do buy some DEET. Do I have all my vaccines? Possibly not... In fact a few days ago, the thing I was most worried about was that I don't know enough Spanish (cut to image of me stranded in Mexico City, surrounded by little El Nombres and Pedros in sombreros shrugging their shoulders at me, saying "No entiendo!") - but alas, this is no longer my primary concern.

A couple of days ago, I had a phone-call from a rather nervous sounding woman at STA travel (with whom I booked most of my flights) to "inform [me] of some potential changes to [my] booking". It turns out that British Airways have suspended their routes to and from Havana, Cuba, and so my return flight back to London has been cancelled. My first question was "is it a security issue?!" imagining myself caught up in a civil war and having to spend the rest of my life selling cheap cigars on the beach in the false hope of earning back enough money to get home, or failing that jumping aboard a cargo ship and living amongst rats and pirates. The agent assured me it was not a security issue and that BA had simply chosen to discontinue the route.

I spent a pretty tense evening and morning going over all my possible alternatives: there was a chance I'd have to cancel both my outbound and return and re-book the whole thing through Air France, but that would mean me either missing my connection from Mexico City to Guadalajara or spending 15 hours in Mexico City airport. In hindsight that wouldn't be the end of the world: I once spent 15 hours in Vienna airport and survived. I could go out into the city of course and kill some time, but after a 15 hour journey, transferring in Amsterdam and Paris, I would be exhausted. And I'd lose a day at home of course.

The most frustrating part of all of this is that BA (or their operator, Iberia) won't tell me or the travel agent just how much money I will be refunded. I suspect it won't be enough. In the meantime, I have decided to stick with my original flight next week and worry about the return leg at a later date. It's ironic that I was joking to everybody that I wouldn't be coming back- there is now a high likelihood that I won't be able to afford to come home! But I will cross that bridge (and sell those cigars) when I get there. In the meantime, I will seek solace from obsessive list-making and tweeting abuse to @British_Airways. Childish, but comforting.