Apologies for the delay with my writing- had a pretty busy few days and came down with some kind of sickness bug, which wasn't fun. Probably some kind of bad karma after feigning sea-sickness on the boat in Caye Caulker...
Flores was ridiculously hot, but very sociable. I met a few Brits, bumped into some people from previous stops and we all bonded by lying around in pools of sweat looking similarly dazed and moist. The back-packer world in Guatemala seems to be a fairly small one, or perhaps the route I'm doing is the most logical one and so the same groups of people tend to leap-frog each other along the way. It's quite nice, really. Like we're all part of the same nomadic tribe.
The first full day I was in Flores, a large group from the hostel decided to hire a boat to take us across the lake to the "beach", for a much- needed swim. Our boat-man was awesome, taking us first to the shop for beer and bringing us a bucket from his own house to fill with ice and keep them cold. What's more... his name was Pedro! The first real Pedro I've met. Unfortunately not Mexican, but still a stereotypical Pedro. It was destined to be a good day.
The lake water was so warm it was hardly refreshing, and I most probably picked up something dodgy from it, but the sunset over the lake was impressive. I'm itching to upload photos but it will take an age on any computer I find around here.
Awesome on a completely different scale: at 4am the next morning I got up to go to the Tikal Mayan pyramids. The area is absolutely huge, with settlements dating back to 700BC (!), set in the middle of a very active rainforest. Hiking into the site, we saw Spider Monkeys, Howler Monkeys and various giant guinea-pig looking things. Apparently the site was used to film Jurassic Park, and the Howler monkeys' growls used as dinosaur sounds, which is a pretty funny thought, but the monkeys really are that loud!
Despite the heat, we climbed all the temples and pyramids we came across, including the largest one: temple IV, which is 212 feet high and taller than the low lying clouds. From there we could see the whole reserve, with temples popping out the top of the dense jungle. It certainly made up for Chichen Itza in Mexico, which I found to be horribly touristy and totally devoid of atmosphere (as much as I did enjoy watching a girl in a bikini top pose glamour-model style in front of all the ancient ruins).
I didn't get to see that much of Flores itself unfortunately (as small as it is) because I spent a lot of time stressing over some tasks I was sent towards my MA application. Trying to make sense of old Belizian newspapers in the 40 degree heat nearly drove me insane, but I eventually sent them off with the help of happy hour margeritas and can now forget all about it until my interviews.
My next stop was Lanquin: eight hours south in more jungly mountains. The bus journey actually took ten hours in the end, but I really enjoyed it. I quite like long journeys anyway- as long as they aren't as hot and smelly like the ride from Belize City. I can completely zone out into my own little world. It had been raining so it was cooler, and the scenery was incredible- Guatemala is such a well-kept secret. Every now and then however, we'd pass a line of houses and there would be piles of rubbish just at the side of the road. Two young local girls on the bus kept throwing all their sweet wrappers out of the window and it made me want to punch them. Maybe the next generation will travel further, realise how lucky Guatemala is and encourage some better conservation mentality.
We passed through dense rainforest, mountain-side coffee plantations, lakes (which involved taking a tiny, hand-powered ferry-boat) and several little towns with people in all the traditional Guatemalan dresses and men with machetes in their belts. We stopped in one town for half an hour or so, and I found a small market where locals were eating some barbequed beef and rice. I sat and joined them, the entire time being intensely stared at while I ate my lunch, but they seemed happy enough with my company.
Lanquin itself is tiny: a little mountain side village with no ATM or Wifi (shock horror). I stayed in a place called the Zephyr lodge, up the mountain a little, which was nice but not so cheap. The main reason why backpackers come to Lanquin is for the natural caves and fresh-water pools at Semuc Champey. Almost everybody had done or were planning to do a candle-lit tour of the caves, which I'm sure was incredible, but I hummed and harrd over whether to go, because I get so chlaustrophobic and hate the idea of being underground in a cave... but then again I didn't want to feel as if I'd missed out. Later I bumped into a British guy who was the first person I'd met who told me with endearing British honesty that squeezing through cold caves in a swimming costume was one of those things which is impressive afterwards, but actually really horrible at the time. I also bumped into some girls who I'd seen in Caye Caulker and Flores who were planning on just going to the freshwater pools and skipping the caves, so I tagged along and felt a lot better about it all.
To get up the mountain, we decided to get a "taxi"- cheaper than going with a tour bus. But the local taxis are actually just whoever happens to have a pick-up truck. Locals hail these trucks from the street corners and cram into the back, standing up all the way up and down the mountain. My mother would have had a fit.
What we didn't realise was that we'd actually end up climbing up the whole bloody mountain anyway. It was (probably) worth it for the view, but locals and park employees laughed at us a lot for struggling, while they probably climb up and down several times a day. It's hard to describe the actual Semuc Champey pools- I'll have to upload the photo asap. Basically there are little waterfalls which have cut into the limestone to create bright green freshwater pools. They're very pretty from above, and we swam in them along with those little fish that eat the dead skin off your feet. I can safely say I will not be paying to have my feet nibbled at when I'm back home- it hurts!
I was planning on staying in Lanquin for three nights, but the rush was on to get to Antigua before Easter weekend, and my friend Herrmann-ze-German from Flores had managed to find us both a hostel dorm from the Thursday night. We also suspected that there were bedbugs in the Zephyr Lodge... so early on Thursday morning I hopped back on the bus to Antigua- eight hours this time and not so comfortable, but sociable enough because most of the same people were heading that way for the Easter parades. Our baggage was tied onto the top of the bus but somehow made it all the way, despite the road being horrendous.
And here I am in Antigua! It's pretty packed and I am sleeping in a hostel's loft which has 30 beds and resembles a refugee camp. I'm a little sad that I'll be missing out on my family's Easter lunch and that I have no Easter eggs (!) but then again I am in a pretty cool town. It's quite medieval looking, nestled inbetween three volcanoes, and there are men in purple robes and KKK-style hats everywhere, getting well excited over Jesus' death. There are also quadruple shots of tequila on offer for about a pound. Perfect.
Saturday 30 March 2013
Sunday 24 March 2013
Caye Caulker and beyond
I have been in actual paradise this week. Caye Caulker is a tiny tropical island off the coast of Belize, which was split in two after Hurricane Hattie. There are no cars or real roads- only golf buggies and sand tracks... There is reggae and and a rum bar on every corner, and I have been told off by locals for walking too fast.
I left planning getting there until the last minute, and the island's hostels were pretty booked up, so I ended up staying in a cat sanctuary for my first two nights... Yes, really. "Pause" is run by a tiny woman called Maddy and is home to 4 dogs and 87 cats- Maddy knows every single one of their names. My room was essentially a tree house, and yes it did smell like cats... but I was so happy to be on such a beautiful island surrounded by perfect caribbean waters, that I really didn't care. And after speaking to Maddy about what she does I am especially glad to have stayed there and given money to a good cause: Belize has some messed-up ideas about pest control that involve dumping stray cats into the sea in order to keep the population down. Maddy rescues them and takes them in- running the house all by herself and using visitors' rent money to fund it all.
When I woke up on Tuesday morning and stepped out of my treehouse onto sand, I felt ridiculously excited. The island is so small that most houses back onto the water, and Maddy's place has its own little boardwalk and boat. I sat there eating my breakfast while watching pelicans dive for theirs.
I spent the first day catching up with my mind and some emails after the last week of mayhem, before going out for dinner with the other people staying at the shelter. (I realise that makes us sound like homeless tramps/alcoholics and/or victims of domestic violence...) For the most part, our group consisted of an amerian couple; a swiss couple-effortlessly cool even after ridiculous journeys, not even a hair out of place while I sweated and turned into one giant afro; Suzi- an amazing woman from California who has been travelling around the world for 6 and a half years! (I cannot imagine living out of a backpack for so long. What a hero). A couple of days later an Australian vet and a girl from Essex arrived. We spent a few evenings sitting on top of the boat, watching the sunset and drinking far too much rum. Just like pirates.
On Wednesday I went on a snorkling day trip. Everyone who had done so seemed to follow a pattern of accidentally doing it hungover and getting mild sunstroke in the process- I am ashamed to say that I followed suit. As the boat sailed off in the morning and I felt the relief of the sea breeze, I thought everything was going to be ok... but the rockiness of the boat starting to change my mind. Just as a charming old Canadian man had just asked me whereabouts in England I was from, I had to run to the side of the boat and projectile vomit quite spectacularly into the Caribbean sea. The lovely people on my boat thought I was just sea-sick and offered me limes, water and sympathy, so I chose not to enlighten them.
The snorkling was amazing though- once I got in the water I felt one thousand times better. The guide warned us that the first stop was mostly for getting a feel of the snorkling and having a swim around, so we wouldn{t see much apart from fish, but as soon as I jumped in and went underwater a massive ray of some kind swam straight past me. At later stops we swam with nerf sharks, sting rays, turtles and eels... one of the crew- for reasons unknown referred to as ´The Caveman¨, grabbed a shark' which were harmless but almost as long as me- and hugged it so that we could stroke it´s belly. Poor thing. Later we had lunch and rum on the boat and saw the barrier reef- which is the second longest and most living in the world. I was in my element that day.
In the evenings, we often ate at a local family´s house (which they opened up to as many people as could fit on their porch). The fish was freshly caught and super cheap compared to the other touristy restaurants on the island. Saying that though, for such a tiny, idyllic place it wasn´t at all ruined by tourists- probably because most were backpackers and there for the marine life. I´ll definitly go back to Caye Caulker for a holiday some time.
I did have a slightly ridiculously last day there yesterday (Friday)... as part of the selection process for one of the MA courses I´ve applied for, I received an email with a set of tasks to do, including ¨use all available news sources from your current location to pick out some news stories and suggest features...´ it seemed simple enough, until I was told that the only news on the island was gossip, but I could look out for a man named NAche on Friday evenings who sometimes sold papers on the beach. I didn´t find Nache, which meant that he had probably gone fishing instead. I did however, meet a very helpful man in the corner shop whose brother had gone to Belize City for the day and could bring me a newspaper back by 8pm. Of course when 8pm came and I started wandering through bars asking for a Chinese man about a newspaper delivery, most people I came across assumed I was using some weird code for drugs and I eventually gave up. Pretty funny evening.
Today I got the boat to Belize City before catching the bus all the way to Flores in Guatemala. Belize City was a dive- I walked around for a while but didn´t feel too comfortable. It was also baking hot... which turned out to be nothing compared to the journey I was about to take on the sauna-come-bus for 6 hours.
Stopping at the Guatemala border, the passengers moved like zombies in the heat, getting more and more irritated with salesmen and men offering to exchange money at an horrendous rate. There was a fee to leave Belize and supposedly another fee at customs upon entering Guatemala... I said I didn´t have any cash and the guard let me off- this made me feel pretty jammy until I realised that the customs ´fee´was actually a total scam anyway- it´s not compulary to pay it, but most tourists don´t realise that and the customs officers go home pretty happy.
Flores is beautiful, but an unbearably humid 40 degrees celcius. A lot of people do jungle treks from here which sound fantastic but sweaty like hell. I am being eaten alive by mosquitoes and my hair has reached new levels of voluptiousity. I don´t even know if that´s a real word but it should be. My hostel has a good vibe though- and for once I can actually enjoy the cold showers!
Hoping to do a sunrise tour of Tikal on Monday... apparently there are jaguars in the jungle and everything! And you know, famous Mayan pyramid stuff... But also monkeys! And probably a whole new population of mosquitoes preparing for their tasty english banquet.
I left planning getting there until the last minute, and the island's hostels were pretty booked up, so I ended up staying in a cat sanctuary for my first two nights... Yes, really. "Pause" is run by a tiny woman called Maddy and is home to 4 dogs and 87 cats- Maddy knows every single one of their names. My room was essentially a tree house, and yes it did smell like cats... but I was so happy to be on such a beautiful island surrounded by perfect caribbean waters, that I really didn't care. And after speaking to Maddy about what she does I am especially glad to have stayed there and given money to a good cause: Belize has some messed-up ideas about pest control that involve dumping stray cats into the sea in order to keep the population down. Maddy rescues them and takes them in- running the house all by herself and using visitors' rent money to fund it all.
When I woke up on Tuesday morning and stepped out of my treehouse onto sand, I felt ridiculously excited. The island is so small that most houses back onto the water, and Maddy's place has its own little boardwalk and boat. I sat there eating my breakfast while watching pelicans dive for theirs.
I spent the first day catching up with my mind and some emails after the last week of mayhem, before going out for dinner with the other people staying at the shelter. (I realise that makes us sound like homeless tramps/alcoholics and/or victims of domestic violence...) For the most part, our group consisted of an amerian couple; a swiss couple-effortlessly cool even after ridiculous journeys, not even a hair out of place while I sweated and turned into one giant afro; Suzi- an amazing woman from California who has been travelling around the world for 6 and a half years! (I cannot imagine living out of a backpack for so long. What a hero). A couple of days later an Australian vet and a girl from Essex arrived. We spent a few evenings sitting on top of the boat, watching the sunset and drinking far too much rum. Just like pirates.
On Wednesday I went on a snorkling day trip. Everyone who had done so seemed to follow a pattern of accidentally doing it hungover and getting mild sunstroke in the process- I am ashamed to say that I followed suit. As the boat sailed off in the morning and I felt the relief of the sea breeze, I thought everything was going to be ok... but the rockiness of the boat starting to change my mind. Just as a charming old Canadian man had just asked me whereabouts in England I was from, I had to run to the side of the boat and projectile vomit quite spectacularly into the Caribbean sea. The lovely people on my boat thought I was just sea-sick and offered me limes, water and sympathy, so I chose not to enlighten them.
The snorkling was amazing though- once I got in the water I felt one thousand times better. The guide warned us that the first stop was mostly for getting a feel of the snorkling and having a swim around, so we wouldn{t see much apart from fish, but as soon as I jumped in and went underwater a massive ray of some kind swam straight past me. At later stops we swam with nerf sharks, sting rays, turtles and eels... one of the crew- for reasons unknown referred to as ´The Caveman¨, grabbed a shark' which were harmless but almost as long as me- and hugged it so that we could stroke it´s belly. Poor thing. Later we had lunch and rum on the boat and saw the barrier reef- which is the second longest and most living in the world. I was in my element that day.
In the evenings, we often ate at a local family´s house (which they opened up to as many people as could fit on their porch). The fish was freshly caught and super cheap compared to the other touristy restaurants on the island. Saying that though, for such a tiny, idyllic place it wasn´t at all ruined by tourists- probably because most were backpackers and there for the marine life. I´ll definitly go back to Caye Caulker for a holiday some time.
I did have a slightly ridiculously last day there yesterday (Friday)... as part of the selection process for one of the MA courses I´ve applied for, I received an email with a set of tasks to do, including ¨use all available news sources from your current location to pick out some news stories and suggest features...´ it seemed simple enough, until I was told that the only news on the island was gossip, but I could look out for a man named NAche on Friday evenings who sometimes sold papers on the beach. I didn´t find Nache, which meant that he had probably gone fishing instead. I did however, meet a very helpful man in the corner shop whose brother had gone to Belize City for the day and could bring me a newspaper back by 8pm. Of course when 8pm came and I started wandering through bars asking for a Chinese man about a newspaper delivery, most people I came across assumed I was using some weird code for drugs and I eventually gave up. Pretty funny evening.
Today I got the boat to Belize City before catching the bus all the way to Flores in Guatemala. Belize City was a dive- I walked around for a while but didn´t feel too comfortable. It was also baking hot... which turned out to be nothing compared to the journey I was about to take on the sauna-come-bus for 6 hours.
Stopping at the Guatemala border, the passengers moved like zombies in the heat, getting more and more irritated with salesmen and men offering to exchange money at an horrendous rate. There was a fee to leave Belize and supposedly another fee at customs upon entering Guatemala... I said I didn´t have any cash and the guard let me off- this made me feel pretty jammy until I realised that the customs ´fee´was actually a total scam anyway- it´s not compulary to pay it, but most tourists don´t realise that and the customs officers go home pretty happy.
Flores is beautiful, but an unbearably humid 40 degrees celcius. A lot of people do jungle treks from here which sound fantastic but sweaty like hell. I am being eaten alive by mosquitoes and my hair has reached new levels of voluptiousity. I don´t even know if that´s a real word but it should be. My hostel has a good vibe though- and for once I can actually enjoy the cold showers!
Hoping to do a sunrise tour of Tikal on Monday... apparently there are jaguars in the jungle and everything! And you know, famous Mayan pyramid stuff... But also monkeys! And probably a whole new population of mosquitoes preparing for their tasty english banquet.
Monday 18 March 2013
Goodbye to Mexico
After two months to the day, I have waved goodbye to Mexico and begun my journey south. The time has gone scarily fast and I have loved just about every minute of it. Some of my favourite things done, seen and visited include:
Guadalajara- of course. My home for 7 weeks, a cultural centre which forced me to learn spanish. Meeting Rosie and her family, their crazy dogs and experiened first-hand the ups and downs of close-family life. I befriended the locals, went to some crazy house parties, got some writing experience and frequented the art gallery. I saw my first humingbird. One day I will go back, fluent in spanish,and finally have a real conversation with theboy in the corner shop, from whom I bought far too many hershey's bars and who humoured my terrible spanish.
Puerto Vallarta- My first dip in the Mexican pacific, too many coctails and a fiesta featuring a transvestite show.
Mexico City- The weekend which spurred on my hunger to travel around, and completely disproved my expectations of danger and unfriendliness in the big city.
Cancun- a crazy few days of partying and emotions. I met a kitten and some people that I will never forget.
When I first planned this trip, it wasn't Mexico that I was particularly excited about. I came here purely for my internship and as a stepping stone to Central America. But I have completely fallen in love with the place- despite their obsession with tortillas, lack of kettles and the way they use their ovens to store tupperware. I also came prepared to trust nobody and stay hard as nails, but Mexicans are the friendliest, kindest people. There is no concept of personal space or understood problem with calling me "white girl", but the people are honest and almost always have helpful intentions.
From Playa del Carmen, I headed down to Chetumal yesterday. Chetumal is a funny place- the capital of Quintana Roo (best name for a state ever) but there is absolutely nothing going on there. Because my plans were fairly spontanous, I turned up to one of the two hostels found online without a booking. It was basically a family home with a couple of rooms, but was comfortable and friendly. The landlady served me a big plate of lunch as I came in, despite the fact that she wasn't expeting me and it wasn't included with my stay. She was a kind lady with a very knowing look about her- I didn't have to explain anything to her for her to understand me.
I shared my room with a fierce looking German girl. We had a good chat though, and she encouraged me to de-clutter my life a little. This was a physical necessity however, because my bag had split on the journey down and somehow caught my leg and given me a war-wound. We set out for the one supermarket, which sold one suitcase... I took it and reorganised myself before leaving to get the daily passenger boat to Belize.
Leaving Mexico felt odd, a little sad, but the natural progression. Chetumal already had a very tropical feel to it- only remaining Mexican by principle and law. The port was decked out in palm trees, signs warned me about the crocodiles, and Bob Marley songs could already be heard- the doorway to the caribbean.
Two bracing boat journeys later and I am in Caye Caulker, Belize. We were met off the boat by locals with dreadlocks and coconuts, welcoming us to paradise. I am staying in what is essentially a treehouse in a cat sanctuary (no joke...) and have already met half the islanders during my short trip to the bank. I'm excited for what tomorrow will bring.
Guadalajara- of course. My home for 7 weeks, a cultural centre which forced me to learn spanish. Meeting Rosie and her family, their crazy dogs and experiened first-hand the ups and downs of close-family life. I befriended the locals, went to some crazy house parties, got some writing experience and frequented the art gallery. I saw my first humingbird. One day I will go back, fluent in spanish,and finally have a real conversation with theboy in the corner shop, from whom I bought far too many hershey's bars and who humoured my terrible spanish.
Puerto Vallarta- My first dip in the Mexican pacific, too many coctails and a fiesta featuring a transvestite show.
Mexico City- The weekend which spurred on my hunger to travel around, and completely disproved my expectations of danger and unfriendliness in the big city.
Cancun- a crazy few days of partying and emotions. I met a kitten and some people that I will never forget.
When I first planned this trip, it wasn't Mexico that I was particularly excited about. I came here purely for my internship and as a stepping stone to Central America. But I have completely fallen in love with the place- despite their obsession with tortillas, lack of kettles and the way they use their ovens to store tupperware. I also came prepared to trust nobody and stay hard as nails, but Mexicans are the friendliest, kindest people. There is no concept of personal space or understood problem with calling me "white girl", but the people are honest and almost always have helpful intentions.
From Playa del Carmen, I headed down to Chetumal yesterday. Chetumal is a funny place- the capital of Quintana Roo (best name for a state ever) but there is absolutely nothing going on there. Because my plans were fairly spontanous, I turned up to one of the two hostels found online without a booking. It was basically a family home with a couple of rooms, but was comfortable and friendly. The landlady served me a big plate of lunch as I came in, despite the fact that she wasn't expeting me and it wasn't included with my stay. She was a kind lady with a very knowing look about her- I didn't have to explain anything to her for her to understand me.
I shared my room with a fierce looking German girl. We had a good chat though, and she encouraged me to de-clutter my life a little. This was a physical necessity however, because my bag had split on the journey down and somehow caught my leg and given me a war-wound. We set out for the one supermarket, which sold one suitcase... I took it and reorganised myself before leaving to get the daily passenger boat to Belize.
Leaving Mexico felt odd, a little sad, but the natural progression. Chetumal already had a very tropical feel to it- only remaining Mexican by principle and law. The port was decked out in palm trees, signs warned me about the crocodiles, and Bob Marley songs could already be heard- the doorway to the caribbean.
Two bracing boat journeys later and I am in Caye Caulker, Belize. We were met off the boat by locals with dreadlocks and coconuts, welcoming us to paradise. I am staying in what is essentially a treehouse in a cat sanctuary (no joke...) and have already met half the islanders during my short trip to the bank. I'm excited for what tomorrow will bring.
Saturday 16 March 2013
Cancun and all its artificial glory
Cancun was humid and hectic. From the moment I arrived until this morning when I got the bus to Playa del Carmen, life became hazy and uncertain. A tourist town with fake souvenirs, fake stories and fake promises. The Las Vegas of Mexico and Bermuda Triangle of the mind which royally screwed me over.
Don't get me wrong: I had a fantastic time, but something changed, the dream broke and last night I realised I needed to snap out and escape. I have barely had any sleep in the last week at all and no voice for just as long. Fruit and veg have gone out of the window and been replaced with tequila limes.
Drinking games, Coco-Bongo club, Mayan ruins on white powder beaches; Australians and a resident kitten who reponded to whistling. I was always too aware that none of it was real. Not just due to lack of sleep either- it was the feeling of being picked up, spun around, given a puppet show and then seeing the strings and artificial props.
Cancun is the only place so far where a taxi driver has complimented me on my spanish and given me a hug.
Playa del Carmen is just a bus ride away from Cancun, and I already passed through it once to get to Tulum, but I feel as if I have woken up. With the realisation that I hadn't eaten in 24 hours, I went to a Walmart for the first time in my life. I sat there in the canteen, staring into my rice dish and was joined by a man whose name I never asked. He told me his life story and made me cry. Then he got up and left me with the saying that "if we could see the invisible, we could create the impossible". I wonder if the phrase works more in spanish.
Sometimes I think that travellers are just sporadic groups of lost people hoping to take something from the places they visit and replace their emptiness with little nuggests of worldliness and other people's stories. Even the most confident of rugged backpackers has a purpose which goes beyond their itinery.
I went to the laundrette and sat there for a while with the owner's little girl and her dog. She saw my camera in my bag and asked if she could take a picture. I showed her how to do so and she showed me her book. It's the most I've ever bonded with a small person before- I usually avoid it, but I think we were on a similar wavelength this sleepy morning, her and I.Then I remembered that I was still carrying round some english story books- my original intention being to give them to the orphanage (which I bailed after a couple of days). I gave her a book called "All about Alice" to keep, and she asked me to take a photo of her with it.
Tomorrow I'll head to Chetumal which is on the border of Belize and prepare myself to leave Mexico. But not for the last time.
Don't get me wrong: I had a fantastic time, but something changed, the dream broke and last night I realised I needed to snap out and escape. I have barely had any sleep in the last week at all and no voice for just as long. Fruit and veg have gone out of the window and been replaced with tequila limes.
Drinking games, Coco-Bongo club, Mayan ruins on white powder beaches; Australians and a resident kitten who reponded to whistling. I was always too aware that none of it was real. Not just due to lack of sleep either- it was the feeling of being picked up, spun around, given a puppet show and then seeing the strings and artificial props.
Cancun is the only place so far where a taxi driver has complimented me on my spanish and given me a hug.
Playa del Carmen is just a bus ride away from Cancun, and I already passed through it once to get to Tulum, but I feel as if I have woken up. With the realisation that I hadn't eaten in 24 hours, I went to a Walmart for the first time in my life. I sat there in the canteen, staring into my rice dish and was joined by a man whose name I never asked. He told me his life story and made me cry. Then he got up and left me with the saying that "if we could see the invisible, we could create the impossible". I wonder if the phrase works more in spanish.
Sometimes I think that travellers are just sporadic groups of lost people hoping to take something from the places they visit and replace their emptiness with little nuggests of worldliness and other people's stories. Even the most confident of rugged backpackers has a purpose which goes beyond their itinery.
I went to the laundrette and sat there for a while with the owner's little girl and her dog. She saw my camera in my bag and asked if she could take a picture. I showed her how to do so and she showed me her book. It's the most I've ever bonded with a small person before- I usually avoid it, but I think we were on a similar wavelength this sleepy morning, her and I.Then I remembered that I was still carrying round some english story books- my original intention being to give them to the orphanage (which I bailed after a couple of days). I gave her a book called "All about Alice" to keep, and she asked me to take a photo of her with it.
Tomorrow I'll head to Chetumal which is on the border of Belize and prepare myself to leave Mexico. But not for the last time.
Tuesday 12 March 2013
Leaving Guadalajara
I left Guadalajara today- it was heartbreaking. I've met so many
fantastic people here, had so many crazy experiences. The only way I can
deal with leaving is by telling myself that I'll come here again one
day.
The last few days have been pretty hectic. As I write this, I'm sitting in Toluca airport waiting for my connection to Cancun after 2 hours sleep- since I had to be up before dawn anyway, I decided that I was going to stay up all night in order to make the most of Guadalajara. Of course my brain had other plans and I had a little nap before getting up at 6, which was probably for the best...
On Friday we went to see the ruins in Teotihuacan. We all had it in our heads that this place was about an hour away, but 2 and a half hours later, we were still sitting on a crammed packed bus, passing through every obscure little hamlet in the area. Teotihuacan itself was a strange little place- pretty, very Mexican, but completely devoid of people. A ghost town.
The ruins themselves were up a pretty steep hill, but overlooked the town, lake, mountains and Tequila volcano. The air felt really fresh after Guadalajara, and after exploring the ancient circular pyramid and surrounding ruins, we sat on a bench to enjoy the view.
Out of nowhere, a man appeared- dressed in double-denim and with a satisfying mustache. "Do you feel the presence here?" he asked us in Spanish. Beth asked him what he meant, and while her Spanish is the best out of all of us, she still didn't completely understand him when he started talking about a man on the hill- we all thought he was trying to tell us that a man was watching us and we were in danger (?!) After some miming of hanging and death, we realised that double-denim man was talking about a cowboy who had hung himself from the tree we were sat in front of, and that his ghost was here. He said a lot of other stuff about the mountain and ghostly presences, which sufficiently freaked us out and we decided to head back before it got dark. I didn't fancy missing the last bus and spending the night around an ancient burial ground. I have enjoyed whispering Fi's ear "do you feel the presence here?" and remain convinced that double-denim man was actually the dead cowboy ghost himself.
That night, we met up with a local friend and were taken to a cantina- the most Mexican of all Mexican cantinas, with a long room packed full of locals drinking cheap corona and singing songs. A mariarchy band circulated the room, which made me far too happy because it confirmed that mariarchy bands are actually enjoyed by real Mexican people and not just tourists on beaches. I was a little overwhelmed to be surrounded by so many loud, crazy (and drunk) people, and didn't feel nearly as caught up on beer as the rest of my table.
Suddenly, a man in a musician's blouse (that's the only way I can describe it) tapped me on the shoulder and introduced himself. He said he had never seen a blonde girl in there before and that it was a great honour to meet a "blue eyed mystery". He introduced me to his friend, who looked very embarrassed, and apparently a fantastic opera singer. "What would you like him to sing to you?" the man asked. "Opera?" I said, and before I knew what was happening, the quiet friend had burst into song. He had an incredible voice! He took both my hands so that I couldn't run away, and sang right into my face, substituting odd words with "Rachael". The room went quiet and I felt as if hundreds of eyes were on me and realised I was crying- with laughter, slight hysteria and shock I think. I think at that moment I could have happily married that man and been his abiding, taco-serving wife, but luckily I was pulled back to the table- and reality- and the opera man was gone.
The night became blurrier after that moment. We found ourselves at a club, which I didn't have ID for, but got into anyway for free, largely because I was female and foreign and one of the guys knew people in there. We drank, we danced, we puzzled over how camply Mexican men dance, and as the night ended, we were invited onto a house-party.
Surrounded by drunk drivers and groups of ten people packed into 5 seater cars, our group split into taxis. Somehwhat ironically, the taxi which Beth and Molly took was crashed into by another car. They were absolutely fine, but a little shaken up, and we decided that it was time for bed. As I got into bed (and tipsily skype- called a friend at home [sorry!]), Rosie was already getting up to go to work.
Saturday was a day of feeling tired , burning my parting and eating cake with Fi. In the evening we strolled along Chapultapec markets and went for pizza.
When Sunday arrived and I realised it was my last day in GDL, I went into a daze and found myself walking around staring up at everything like some kind of simpleton, trying to absorb everything at once. I had lunch at the cafe in the square for the last time, and sat in the house, watching Rosie's sons drag everything out of the house- 50 year-old oven, washing machine and all. Actually, the washing machine was lowered down from the roof with a dodgy piece of rope, which was an exciting moment.
Did I mention that the couple I lived with moved out yesterday? Well, they moved out yesterday. We said our goodbyes, took some photos and ate cake. The house felt so empty, and it made it a lot easier to pack up my own stuff ready to leave.
Since writing this, beer has happened and it will have to be continued at a later date!
The last few days have been pretty hectic. As I write this, I'm sitting in Toluca airport waiting for my connection to Cancun after 2 hours sleep- since I had to be up before dawn anyway, I decided that I was going to stay up all night in order to make the most of Guadalajara. Of course my brain had other plans and I had a little nap before getting up at 6, which was probably for the best...
On Friday we went to see the ruins in Teotihuacan. We all had it in our heads that this place was about an hour away, but 2 and a half hours later, we were still sitting on a crammed packed bus, passing through every obscure little hamlet in the area. Teotihuacan itself was a strange little place- pretty, very Mexican, but completely devoid of people. A ghost town.
The ruins themselves were up a pretty steep hill, but overlooked the town, lake, mountains and Tequila volcano. The air felt really fresh after Guadalajara, and after exploring the ancient circular pyramid and surrounding ruins, we sat on a bench to enjoy the view.
Out of nowhere, a man appeared- dressed in double-denim and with a satisfying mustache. "Do you feel the presence here?" he asked us in Spanish. Beth asked him what he meant, and while her Spanish is the best out of all of us, she still didn't completely understand him when he started talking about a man on the hill- we all thought he was trying to tell us that a man was watching us and we were in danger (?!) After some miming of hanging and death, we realised that double-denim man was talking about a cowboy who had hung himself from the tree we were sat in front of, and that his ghost was here. He said a lot of other stuff about the mountain and ghostly presences, which sufficiently freaked us out and we decided to head back before it got dark. I didn't fancy missing the last bus and spending the night around an ancient burial ground. I have enjoyed whispering Fi's ear "do you feel the presence here?" and remain convinced that double-denim man was actually the dead cowboy ghost himself.
That night, we met up with a local friend and were taken to a cantina- the most Mexican of all Mexican cantinas, with a long room packed full of locals drinking cheap corona and singing songs. A mariarchy band circulated the room, which made me far too happy because it confirmed that mariarchy bands are actually enjoyed by real Mexican people and not just tourists on beaches. I was a little overwhelmed to be surrounded by so many loud, crazy (and drunk) people, and didn't feel nearly as caught up on beer as the rest of my table.
Suddenly, a man in a musician's blouse (that's the only way I can describe it) tapped me on the shoulder and introduced himself. He said he had never seen a blonde girl in there before and that it was a great honour to meet a "blue eyed mystery". He introduced me to his friend, who looked very embarrassed, and apparently a fantastic opera singer. "What would you like him to sing to you?" the man asked. "Opera?" I said, and before I knew what was happening, the quiet friend had burst into song. He had an incredible voice! He took both my hands so that I couldn't run away, and sang right into my face, substituting odd words with "Rachael". The room went quiet and I felt as if hundreds of eyes were on me and realised I was crying- with laughter, slight hysteria and shock I think. I think at that moment I could have happily married that man and been his abiding, taco-serving wife, but luckily I was pulled back to the table- and reality- and the opera man was gone.
The night became blurrier after that moment. We found ourselves at a club, which I didn't have ID for, but got into anyway for free, largely because I was female and foreign and one of the guys knew people in there. We drank, we danced, we puzzled over how camply Mexican men dance, and as the night ended, we were invited onto a house-party.
Surrounded by drunk drivers and groups of ten people packed into 5 seater cars, our group split into taxis. Somehwhat ironically, the taxi which Beth and Molly took was crashed into by another car. They were absolutely fine, but a little shaken up, and we decided that it was time for bed. As I got into bed (and tipsily skype- called a friend at home [sorry!]), Rosie was already getting up to go to work.
Saturday was a day of feeling tired , burning my parting and eating cake with Fi. In the evening we strolled along Chapultapec markets and went for pizza.
When Sunday arrived and I realised it was my last day in GDL, I went into a daze and found myself walking around staring up at everything like some kind of simpleton, trying to absorb everything at once. I had lunch at the cafe in the square for the last time, and sat in the house, watching Rosie's sons drag everything out of the house- 50 year-old oven, washing machine and all. Actually, the washing machine was lowered down from the roof with a dodgy piece of rope, which was an exciting moment.
Did I mention that the couple I lived with moved out yesterday? Well, they moved out yesterday. We said our goodbyes, took some photos and ate cake. The house felt so empty, and it made it a lot easier to pack up my own stuff ready to leave.
Since writing this, beer has happened and it will have to be continued at a later date!
Friday 8 March 2013
Big stories, big hats, and great big bottles of tequila.
I finished at the newspaper on Wednesday, which was a little bit sad, but not too sad because it means that it's almost time to go travelling. Over the last months I have written articles, been on a mini field trip to Chapala, proof-read, and updated the entire online business directory... I can now safely say that I never want to fall into a job with the generic title of "admin".
I have enjoyed it though, mainly because Mexican news is completely insane. I've only been here for a few weeks, but here are some of the biggest and best news stories the paper has covered in that time:
Pemex gas explosion in Mexico City:
Because I wrote this, and it made the front page.
Nine-year-old gives birth in Guadalajara:
A crazy story, which turned out to be not so crazy and just sad once it was confirmed that she was actually 15, and the baby was her step-father's. It did result in me going for drinks with a guy from the Daily Mail, however.
New government elected:
After 18 years of ruling by a centre-right government, a new 'liberal' party have taken over as of this month.
The most powerful woman in Mexico was arrested:
The head of the teacher's union, Elba Esther Gordillo was finally arrested by the new government for the charge of embezzling 2 BILLION pesos. That's more than 104 MILLION British Pounds. The average monthly wage for a teacher in Mexico is 2,760 Pounds... can you imagine the head of the NUT in the UK stealing that much money and getting away with it for years simply because they were friends with the Prime Minister? Well, possibly. The crazy thing is that all the old government had to say about the situation was that Gordillo was only arrested as a political move. Also true, but does nobody care how terrible the crime really is?
Mother arrested for kidnapping own daughter:
The ultimate chav? Maria de Lourdes Rangel Aguilar stole her own 6-year-old from the father she was living with so that she could hold a ransom for 200,000 pesos. She eventually returned her daughter in exchange for only 47,500 pesos. I wonder how that little girl will feel when she grows up to realise the exact amount of pesos that her own mother valued her at.
Reconsidering stereotypes after penniless sojourn in Mexico City:
Because I wrote this as well.
Mexican man is world's richest for 4th year in a row:
The owner of Telcel mobile network is worth an estimated US$73 billion. This was also written by yours truly and appeared on the front page.
Tigers in the cartel house:
Drugs cartels have some pretty unique security, apparently!
And several nasty stories about tourists being raped, people being beheaded, dumped bodies, hoaxes about dumped bodies, and general sky-high crime rates. But I do love the way the newspaper will always put a positive spin on things, for instance:
Kidnappers ask for lower ransoms:
At least it's becoming more affordable to retrieve your loved ones from the mafia.
Yesterday I found myself on a tour of the pretty famous nearby town of Tequila, with some Puerto Vallarta friends who have come up to visit. I'd been looking forward to this trip, and told myself that I wouldn't stay out that late the night before, since the trip started early in the morning and I was already pretty shattered from the week.
At 3am the night before, we finally emerged from a bar in Chapultapec where the barmen wore pleasingly stereotypical Mexican moustaches and our bill was mysteriously missing half the drinks we'd had... I can pinpoint the exact moment that my 8-hour sleep rule disintegrated as the one where I finished off the tumbler of Mezcal that nobody else would drink. Getting up at 7.30 on Thursday morning was difficult.
Our coach took about 45 minutes to get to the first Agave fields from Guadalajara. We hadn't gone far before the landscape suddenly looked inredibly, well, Mexican. Mountains and cacti and the funny blue plants called agave, from which tequila is made. We stopped at the first distillery to watch a moustachio'd man slice up one of the plants and talk about how the tequila is made. It was complusary to wear big straw hats through all of this, of course. We were given parts of the plant to eat, which to be honest tasted very bland considering that we were alarmingly told not to touch our eyes after eating it. I always find it amusing at places like this where they are obviously determind not to waste any of the prized plant/fruit/object, and insist that every single part is delicious and useful. I am pretty sure that no Mexican farmers sit at their breakfast tables tucking into agave plant and leaves.
Inside the distillary, the tour group were sat around a table with 5 bottles of varying shades of tequila- and this was just the beginning. By 11am we were all pretty drunk and singing Mexican drinking songs, led by the tour guide... I don´t think it helped that the four of us still had the alcohol from last night running through us.
Tequila itself is a small but pretty town, with small, straight and colourful roads highlighting the mountains at the end of them. We made a stop at the Jose Cuervo distillary where we had two-for-one margaritas, before dashing into the local museum to see the largest tequila bottle in the world.
The rest of the day consisted of a slow, hot lunch in the hills and several stops to try more kinds of tequila creams and liquors. Hardly anyone bought anything, (despite there being 5litre bottles for 10 pounds!) but this didn´t seem to matter... nor did the fact that we were all rapidly dehydrating and dizzy. It was probably part of the tour plan, so that our day would become a happy blurry haze and we´d need to do it again. We enjoyed ourselves though. And when I finally got to bed last night, I think I completely passed out. I love Mexico.
I have enjoyed it though, mainly because Mexican news is completely insane. I've only been here for a few weeks, but here are some of the biggest and best news stories the paper has covered in that time:
Pemex gas explosion in Mexico City:
Because I wrote this, and it made the front page.
Nine-year-old gives birth in Guadalajara:
A crazy story, which turned out to be not so crazy and just sad once it was confirmed that she was actually 15, and the baby was her step-father's. It did result in me going for drinks with a guy from the Daily Mail, however.
New government elected:
After 18 years of ruling by a centre-right government, a new 'liberal' party have taken over as of this month.
The most powerful woman in Mexico was arrested:
The head of the teacher's union, Elba Esther Gordillo was finally arrested by the new government for the charge of embezzling 2 BILLION pesos. That's more than 104 MILLION British Pounds. The average monthly wage for a teacher in Mexico is 2,760 Pounds... can you imagine the head of the NUT in the UK stealing that much money and getting away with it for years simply because they were friends with the Prime Minister? Well, possibly. The crazy thing is that all the old government had to say about the situation was that Gordillo was only arrested as a political move. Also true, but does nobody care how terrible the crime really is?
Mother arrested for kidnapping own daughter:
The ultimate chav? Maria de Lourdes Rangel Aguilar stole her own 6-year-old from the father she was living with so that she could hold a ransom for 200,000 pesos. She eventually returned her daughter in exchange for only 47,500 pesos. I wonder how that little girl will feel when she grows up to realise the exact amount of pesos that her own mother valued her at.
Reconsidering stereotypes after penniless sojourn in Mexico City:
Because I wrote this as well.
Mexican man is world's richest for 4th year in a row:
The owner of Telcel mobile network is worth an estimated US$73 billion. This was also written by yours truly and appeared on the front page.
Tigers in the cartel house:
Drugs cartels have some pretty unique security, apparently!
And several nasty stories about tourists being raped, people being beheaded, dumped bodies, hoaxes about dumped bodies, and general sky-high crime rates. But I do love the way the newspaper will always put a positive spin on things, for instance:
Kidnappers ask for lower ransoms:
At least it's becoming more affordable to retrieve your loved ones from the mafia.
Yesterday I found myself on a tour of the pretty famous nearby town of Tequila, with some Puerto Vallarta friends who have come up to visit. I'd been looking forward to this trip, and told myself that I wouldn't stay out that late the night before, since the trip started early in the morning and I was already pretty shattered from the week.
At 3am the night before, we finally emerged from a bar in Chapultapec where the barmen wore pleasingly stereotypical Mexican moustaches and our bill was mysteriously missing half the drinks we'd had... I can pinpoint the exact moment that my 8-hour sleep rule disintegrated as the one where I finished off the tumbler of Mezcal that nobody else would drink. Getting up at 7.30 on Thursday morning was difficult.
Our coach took about 45 minutes to get to the first Agave fields from Guadalajara. We hadn't gone far before the landscape suddenly looked inredibly, well, Mexican. Mountains and cacti and the funny blue plants called agave, from which tequila is made. We stopped at the first distillery to watch a moustachio'd man slice up one of the plants and talk about how the tequila is made. It was complusary to wear big straw hats through all of this, of course. We were given parts of the plant to eat, which to be honest tasted very bland considering that we were alarmingly told not to touch our eyes after eating it. I always find it amusing at places like this where they are obviously determind not to waste any of the prized plant/fruit/object, and insist that every single part is delicious and useful. I am pretty sure that no Mexican farmers sit at their breakfast tables tucking into agave plant and leaves.
Inside the distillary, the tour group were sat around a table with 5 bottles of varying shades of tequila- and this was just the beginning. By 11am we were all pretty drunk and singing Mexican drinking songs, led by the tour guide... I don´t think it helped that the four of us still had the alcohol from last night running through us.
Tequila itself is a small but pretty town, with small, straight and colourful roads highlighting the mountains at the end of them. We made a stop at the Jose Cuervo distillary where we had two-for-one margaritas, before dashing into the local museum to see the largest tequila bottle in the world.
The rest of the day consisted of a slow, hot lunch in the hills and several stops to try more kinds of tequila creams and liquors. Hardly anyone bought anything, (despite there being 5litre bottles for 10 pounds!) but this didn´t seem to matter... nor did the fact that we were all rapidly dehydrating and dizzy. It was probably part of the tour plan, so that our day would become a happy blurry haze and we´d need to do it again. We enjoyed ourselves though. And when I finally got to bed last night, I think I completely passed out. I love Mexico.
Friday 1 March 2013
Muchos Palabras
Today is a sad day: I am finally throwing out my shoes.
Goodbye shoes, we had a good run. But it's time I replaced you.
I've pretty much exhausted my minimal wardrobe now. At home I have an excessive amount of clothes, and while I cannot think of anything in particular that I wish I had with me,* I do miss having the choice. Clothes shops here are pretty dire- everything they sell is polyester or stretchy lycra stuff which is cheap and sweaty and hideous. Apparently, rich Mexicans get the coach to Texas in the US for weekends just so they can visit the malls and stock up... Crazy. I have no idea how much that would all cost, but with the visa alone it must be a lot. I think I'll just wait until I'm on the coast and can live in sarongs and grass skirts.
[*Note to my mother: This does NOT mean that I won't notice if you throw anything out. I will come home and I will check and I will know.]
Other things that I have been up to over the past few days:
Spinning- Yes, that's right. I was previously of the belief that spinning was an activity strictly for people (like my mother), who spend far too much time at the gym "doing lunch" and complaining about their children and their overpriced schools. But after more than a month of zero real exercise, I've been feeling pretty unfit, and finally agreed to tag along to a spin class with the Polish girl who has been staying here. She is so nice, and gorgeous- and makes me feel guilty for being such a slob, so I followed her good example. I thought I was going to die. Why do people do that for a whole hour? It's even more frustrating that your bike is stationary- it's like you're trying so hard but going nowhere. A perfect metaphor for my life. (I'm joking). But it must have been good for something, because I went back this week for round 2 and found it a lot easier.
Writing- So many words. Too many words. I've been writing for two websites, my local Suffolk-based magazine, the newspaper here, replying to emails, as well as personal statements, articles and interviews for my MA applications (which no, I still have not finished...). Not to mention this blog, of course. But I enjoy writing this most. I would like to have some way of working out just how many words I've written this month- I'm sure I'd have a dissertation by now.
<--Eating this- There are fruit stands selling pots similar to this everywhere, but as good as they all look, I have avoided it all so far because it's such an easy to way to get ill. Fruit like strawberries and apples which aren't peeled can carry lots of bugs (as Montse worries) and might be washed with tap water. It's hard to trust any kind of water which has a pungent smell to it... But anyway. There is a woman with a fruit stand on my walk home from the office, who only uses fruit with skins, such as watermelon and mango. She chopped them all up in front of me, and true to Mexican form offered salt, sugar, chile sauce or a combination of the three (ew). I was happy with just the fruit, and for less than a pound I had the best walk home ever. Simple pleasures!
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