Mexico - 15/11/09 to 02/12/09

Mexico City

We knew Mexico would be different from Cuba, but it was still a shock.

In Heathrow there was a Cuban sportswoman, in her tracksuit, taking the same route as us to Havana. She had obviously performed as she had a little bouquet of flowers that she kept with her and placed in the overhead locker. An American in the security queue next to us remarked’ I thought that there would be security with her to ensure she leaves the country’. She was accompanied only by her coach.

On the flight from Havana to Mexico City there were Mexican sports-children. If I said that Cubans were noisy, Mexicans are in the Champions League, compared to the Cuban Beazer Homes’. All the kids had mobile phones, Nintendos and MP3 players in contrast to the children of Cuba. Didn’t keep them quiet though.

Coming in over Mexico City at night is not to be missed. It is an expanse of lights that goes on forever.

There are many things that took us by surprise – the helpfulness and friendliness of the security and immigration staff; the speed of the taxi driver as he weaved like a young John Barnes through the traffic; neon signs, big ugly American cars (I think Cuba has the advantage here on Yank Tanks. It has been downhill for Detroit since the 80’s), consumerism in full flow.

Also in action was a light, fireworks and sound show in the centre of the city that stopped our heavy-footed chauffeur taking us directly to our hotel. There was a police cordon and we had to take our depleted uranium rucksacs on our backs for the last km or so.

After checking into our hotel (a full 28 euros per night) in the centre of the historical district we stepped out to explore. Well, eat.

You can sleep and eat well in Mexico for nothing at all. We stepped into a 24 hour place, Café El Popular (we had to wait 10 minutes for a seat, it lives up to its name) and munched the local fare. Wonderful and it only cost us (for 2 meals, beer and coffee) around 7 euros.

There is really no need to go to the upmarket eateries in Mexico. The food is so good everywhere, and it is (almost) free. One night we did so and we were mildly disappointed. Luckily the view, the marguerites and the tequila compensated on this occasion.

The abundant good food goes some way towards explaining the shape of a lot of Mexicans. They seem to be suffering from gravity. I thought I had arrived in a Jonathan Swift novel. If you were Norwegian or Dutch they would tie you down and poke you with sticks. Which is what the Norwegians and the Dutch deserve, to be fair.

The following day we tried to have our clothing washed. This is very important, as running out of under-crackers is a serious affair. Unfortunately Monday was a public holiday so we wasted time travelling across town in the underground, with our smalls in a bag to find it closed.

The Mexico City underground is a fascinating place. There are blind guys walking through the carriages with a mini-amp around their waists trying to sell compilation CD’s. They are probably deaf as well from the wailing of these things.

A little advice. Don’t let a Mexican company provide a sound system for you. The taxis, shops, restaurants, and bus stations are festooned with huge speakers that would terrify Iron Maiden. They all sound rubbish. More saturation than a night on the pop with David Watson. If the taxi drivers turn off their engine before their stereo their battery is instantly flat.

On the underground, we saw hawkers of the free gifts you get in crisp packets, a fight, people carrying their wares in a huge plastic bag on their shoulder and trying to mount a train that has already so much skin pressed up against the walls.

V had a seat offered to her on numerous occasions by gentleman fellow passengers.

We took the open topped bus tour as everything was closed for the public holiday.

The following day it was museum time to learn a bit of the complex history of the country. They are superbly detailed and explanatory but on a few occasions V and I were the only people there, save for the security guards.

Similar to Cuba, there were school groups that came through. The kids in Mexico were just as noisy as their Cuban counterparts but viewed the museums via their mobile phone cameras.

Oh and there are police everywhere. Mexico City has a reputation for being unsafe and polluted. We never had any difficulties with the former. The latter was more prolific than the police.

Mexico City is sinking. Originally the area was a lake and subject to flooding. The Aztecs, Toltecs and co drained some of it. The Spanish siphoned off more water and after razing the temples built their heavy colonial buildings atop the ruins. This coupled with the natural draining of the soil by the consumption of the population leads to some serious subsidence. The cathedral, governor’s palace and numerous other buildings (or parts thereof) are disappearing underground.

V took some fabulous pictures of distorted archways, cracking stonework and teetering walls.

You can eat at any time of the day in Mexico. We saw the ideal birthday present for Chris Williams; a portable kebab stand/grill/ contraption/ item. Like one of those fondue or raclete sets only on wheels. Kebab; anytime, anywhere. Bring it to a friend’s or keep it with the Breville maker in the unused cooking implements cupboard under the sink.

We also spied the ultimate ‘pimp my ride’ accessory; a working hot dog grill installed in the boot of a car. Not an accessory, a necessity. Alpine eat your heart out (literally).

For one of our evening meals we did as the locals and took some fantastic fare from a street vendor. He dumped his hand into his treasure stove and pulled out items that resembled Cornish pasties. After feasting for around 2 euros we were distracted by another eatery with desserts for sale. V took a fruit salad and cream, me a pint of milk-chocolate mousse. V managed 2 spoonfuls, after 3 dips at mine I was already physically sick, but I persevered to the end. The French call this a ‘crise de foie’ (crisis of the liver) when you can no longer function from your food intake. In Britain we call it being a greedy b*stard. I lay on the bed and moaned myself to sleep.

Further adding to the cacophony of the city are the whistle grinders. Am not sure of their correct technical name but their apparatus consists of a pipe organ atop a pole powered by a handle. One khaki uniformed miscreant operates the offending device while another accosts you for change in his military style cap. The noise could only be described as equivalent to 15 coke bottles with random levels of water in them while a cat is forced to blow across them by inserting a pointy stick in its exit hole. I did put money in the man’s bunnet on the condition that he would stop.

Unfortunately these things are everywhere in varying levels of untune so there is no escape.

On our 2^nd night we attended the astounding light and sound show in the Zocalo (main square), just metres from our hotel. Moving pictures, accompanied by music were projected onto the governor’s palace walls. A riot of colour, it knocked the one at Chichen Itza into a cocked hat.

Teotihuacan

Only 40km from Mexico City is a staggering complex of pre-colonial architecture. It has two vast pyramids, the piramide del sol and piramide de la luna. The former (and larger) is the third largest in the world. Only Egypt’s Cheops and the one in Cholula, 100km away best its dimensions. As the bus (after enduring rush hour on the underground) headed away from the hub of Mexico City there was miles (or kilometres) of 4 and 6 lanes of crawling traffic trying to enter the city. If there was ever a country that needed a working train system, it is Mexico. Another similarity with Cuba (although Cuba is purported to have a functioning railway, although I never saw evidence to this effect). Insert your own gag about engineering offices and skills here.

Just as in Cuba, there were dilapidated dwellings nestling alongside the highways. This time they were clothed in smog from the traffic. We had been duped by Mexico City’s beautiful centre.

A busker joined the bus with his guitar and sang all the favourites. La Bamba injected directly into your left earhole does not a peaceful journey make. He made us and the other passengers smile and we dropped him a few coins when we disembarked together.

At the site, we were fortunate enough to be only two of the few visitors. This made us the focus of the tireless hawkers. Frankly they are brilliant. Toiling under the brutal sun every day to peddle some tat (granted, some of it is OK) for $10 Pesos (50 euro cents). They spot your nationality from your guidebook and throw their pitch in your native language. We had V’s Guide de Routard with us so we had ‘moins cher que pas cher’ from one linguist. ‘A present for your mother-in-law’ (a mask) was also a favourite.

At Chichen Itza, one young chap offered to exchange his merchandise for my watch. Decathlon special, fella. I wouldn’t want to cheat you.

We climbed the pyramids and the other temples where the views were otherworldly. Have a look at V’s pictures.

 

The same day we visited the Templo Mayor, and excavation site beside the cathedral in the centre of Mexico City. It was destroyed by Cortes and his Spanish troops and the stone used to construct the large (sinking) buildings that occupy the Zocalo today. Still impressive in its reduced state.

Just as impressive are Diego Rivera’s murals in the governor’s palace. As symbolic as the stucco shapes on the temples, you could spend hours looking at them only to find more hidden imagery.

 

One victim of the day was my Filthy Monkey T-shirt. I almost killed my fellow passengers on the metro with the stench from my arm pits. With the difference in height between myself and your average Mexican, they were ideally placed to receive the full onslaught. Stinking like a polecat, according to V. You miss a lot when you can’t smell, but not in this case, evidently. The shirt, a present from Allison (sorry lass) now sleeps with the fishes. The truth be told, I left it in our hotel for the maid. Perhaps with a litre of domestos and a wire brush it could be rescued. Or it might have already been buried by a passing cat.

23 million inhabitants in Mexico City. 23 million eyebrows.

Puebla

Buses are the way to get around Mexico (see the previous comment about trains) and we took a 1^st class coach to Puebla. These things are great; comfy seats that recline, movies, a little bottle of water given to you as you board and Wi-Fi. A bus with an internet connection! Magic. Polar opposite from Cuba, there is internet everywhere. In the centre of town you can hook up. Every café, every hotel.

So we settled down to watch Kevin Costner (in Spanish) and speed smoothly on to Puebla.

We checked in to our hotel (once we found it) and checked out the central square (Zocalo). It was a toasty day and there were hordes of school kids running through the fountains, drenching their school uniforms. The less brave were forced under the water by their friends.

Having an espresso, an old chap with his accordion played for us. I had no change to give him, so V explained that we would find him once we had some cash. Strolling the Zocalo a little later we crossed him, gave him a few pesos and I got a hug in return.

Puebla is a beautiful colonial town with buildings adorned with more tiles than a night out with Watson and Montgomery. Striking colonial architecture is everywhere. It is Trinidad (Cuba) with tarmac roads in place of the cobblestones.

We ate traditional mole (sauce stuff in various flavours, including chocolate) that night washed down with the local hooch, mezcal. The other local delicacies such as ant larvae and fried crickets we could either not find or I decided to back out of.

Again we toured pristine, empty museums and were guided diligently and patiently by Adriana, V translating her Spanish to French or English for me.

One night there was a light and sound show projected onto the Cathedral in the square.

Oaxaca

Taking a less classy bus (1^st class, down from grande luxe of our trip into Puebla) to Oaxaca we arrived around 6.00 pm and after 2 dire Disney films. Dropping off our laundry in a launderette we wandered into town. The pollution from the passing traffic was only rivalled by its noise.

One passing vehicle was a mix of steam and human power, with a wood fired boiler toasting bananas. We had to have some just because the whistle reminded us of the train in Cuba. Off he trundled down the street tooting his whistle. A bit like an ice-cream van in Scotland, but with steam and no ice-cream.

Popping into the local market we found some fried crickets/grasshoppers/sauterels and purchased a bag. Tasty beasts with some mezcal or a beer.

Another find in the market was a Christmas present for my younger brother, Ed. I have to admit that V and I have used it, but it is clean. See the photo, if I am brave enough to put it on.

A book festival was taking place and we toured the stalls while local bands played in the zocalo and a book reading at a nearby makeshift auditorium.

Mont Alban

Next day we jumped on a tour bus to the ancient Zapotec hill-top city of Monte Alban, chatting to a young Frenchman named Sebastian on the way.

Another scorching day under the baking sun, the site was staggering, with 360° views of the surrounding area. Have a look at the photos.

Tummy trouble meant that I did have to run (no pun intended) from the grand plataforma sur to the toilet later in the afternoon but I was still able to return to appreciate the best view to be had at the site.

San Cristobal des Las Casas

Platino was the top standard of bus you can get and we overnighted in one to St Christobal. I was just behind the driver so my leg room was OK if you are from The Shire. At least some parts of me managed to sleep.

We arrived in the cold morning in St Chrsitobal with a couple of hours to kill before taking our next bus to Ocosingo. Walking through the narrow streets breathing the morning rush hour smog we saw families of native people in their traditional clothing setting up their market stalls and already selling their wares. Breakfast and a further stroll around on the cobblestones before picking up our luggage and hopping on the bus to Ocosingo.

Tonina

Not much to say about Ocosingo. Dusty and ramshackle. Without checking our guidebooks to see how much a taxi to the Tonina ruins we hopped in a cab and V started to negotiate from there. Too late.

So we left the driver with his absurd one way fare and decided to wing it back to town in time to catch our onward bus to Palenque later that afternoon.

Tonina is truly a spectacle. Taking our time wandering the ruins, with only a handful of other tourists. One guy and a couple of girls were playing the drums atop the palacio de las grecas y de la Guerra. Very rustic. One other tourist had a cane and a limp and the bravery and determination he showed to scale the steep and narrow steps to the summit was as impressive as the site itself.

Bereft of piss-taking taxis we jumped in a collective (basically a Toyota Hi-Ace van) which took us back into town with 5 workers from the nearby tourist traps. Well worth the price as he raced one of colleagues and simultaneously impressed the ladies with his back-end out drifting skills. A venga bus sideways – it can be done.

Tamales (corn and chicken cooked in a banana leaf) at the bus station prior to picking up our bags and our next bus on to Palenque.

Palenque

A road more twisted than Jozef Fritzl leads from Ocosingo up to Palenque. All in it took over 3 hors to travel the 130km or so, so numerous were the bends and so steep the gradients. Having a wee in the back of the bus has never been such a sport. The journey time was compounded by two stops, one of 30 minutes, the other of 15. The reasons were unclear but this road was notorious for hold-ups and robberies of buses until fairly recently. There was police presence and we travelled in convoy, wild west style with another bus.

Our hotel was directly on the Zocalo where a stage had been set-up for some local entertainment. The noise was nothing to what occurred the next morning.

At around 5.00am the thousands of starling/ rook type birds that had kipped in the trees in the main square had a stretch, farted then screeched their little lungs out for 2 hours. Couples with ‘annunciadad Tony’ in his pick up with jumbo jet engine sized loud hailers strapped on top doing his rounds at 6.00am, we scrambled for the earplugs.

Breakfast then a venga bus to the ruins at Palenque.

The dimensions of these sites never stop from amazing me and Palenque is vast. Taking a guide gave a little more insight than that provided in our two guidebooks. The pictures say it all.

Back in the hotel we had a drink, some food, reserved our next residence in Campeche and settled down for the night’s cacophony from Alfred Hitchcock’s subjects.

Campeche

An early bus the next day took us to the Yucatan State and the city of Campeche. After seeing more huge temples than a Tefal factory we wanted to just take a break. It’s a tiring lark, this holidaying. Strolling the seafront for 3 km we reached a little seafood restaurant where we gorged ourselves on the tasty offerings from the fisherman camped on the beach. With our beers sweating in the humidity we watched the sunset.

On our return to the hotel we crossed a jazz recital in an open courtyard. Quick change and we popped round to watch and listen.

It seems that every year the US despatches jazz musicians to Mexico as cultural envoys. All free (apart from the booze) we sampled some good music, but below the calibre we experienced in Cuba. Standing with our drinks we were summoned to a table, as most of the onlookers were there to just listen and watch.

Duly refreshed it was time for more archaeology.

Uxmal

Mixing with the proles in a 2^nd class bus (no toilet, smelled of fish) we ground our way to Uxmal, luggage and all. It was raining just before we arrived, dropping the temperature but at the same time provoking the mosquitoes. An expensive and decidedly average lunch was consumed before entering the ruins. As you pass the security office you are confronted by the Casa del Adevino, a towering pyramid with an oval base. Unfortunately you can’t clamber up it, but all over Uxmal are equally impressive structures on which you can pretend that you are Sir Edmund Hilary.  Only a smattering of visitors meant that we could take pictures and chat peacefully among the well preserved edifices. Only when we ventured to the areas that hatd not been restored (in the middle of the forest) were we mercilessly attacked by mosquitoes. I had left my repellent in my big bag (big being the operative word) so within minutes I had legs that resembled the kebabs we had sampled in Mexico City. There are insects in Uxmal with so much of my blood in them they are now eligible to play football for Scotland.

Collecting our ruck-sacks we ambled down the road towards the bus stop to wait for the scheduled bus to pick us up. The mosquitoes were out in squadrons but now armed with my jungle formula repellent (50% DEET, it is chemical warfare) they instead blitzkrieged the German couple who were waiting with us. We couldn’t sit idly by as they performed a form of Bavarian leg slapping dance usually accompanied with large steins of liver compromiser. I duly passed over the toxic stuff (the repellent, not the German lager) so that they could ward off the winged attackers. They were due to spend a month in Mexico and had been in the North exploring the canyons and had headed south on the temple trail, like us. German efficiency.

The bus rocked up on time and we were on our way to Valladolid.

Valladolid

We were booked into an upmarket hotel, and it provided respite from the too friendly locals. Apparently Valladolidians (note: that is a made up term for people from the town) are renknowned in Mexico for their kindness. They would come and talk to us, show where we could buy artesian crafts, where to eat, where to go out, and so on.

The town is bustling with narrow streets, so the hotel’s interior garden was a haven of tranquillity.

It was our base to venture out to the nearby ruins.

Chichen Itza

The big one. World famous. 7^th wonder of the new world. Over-photographed and over-visited. We took the bus in the afternoon as we wanted to see the light and sound show at night, too. A bit of an error as parts of the site close at 4.30pm. Not mentioned in the guidebooks. Impressive in size and the quality of the restoration we were disappointed not to be able to climb or touch most of the site.

Now I’m in no position to judge based on my history of falling off of things and doing myself damage but one person falling down the steps (92 big stone beasties) and killing themselves shouldn’t stop others from being able to scale the most imposing structure, el Castillo.

Being able to view the surrounding structures from a vantage point as impressive as this would have provided Chichen Itza more majesty than what it imparted on us.

A bit of a shame, really.

It is as if an American had designed Chichen Itza; ‘Yup, we’ll have all of those but we want them really really big’. El Castillo, gran juego de pelota (the ball court), the cenote (a big natural well) and the grupo de las mil columnas (a building with over a thousand columns) are all super-sized. You just can’t get on or into them.

There is no museum at the site, and I feel this is error. Also they have missed a trick (or two) with not showing nor explaining the restoration work that has taken place and how they rebuilt the buildings to their present form. A series of photos, pictures, plans displaying the condition in which Chichen Itza was found and the time lapse of the uncovering and renovation. Also the engineering principles that allowed them to construct such large entities.

Or maybe it is just me.

V seemed to be nominated chief photo taker for the reams of other tourists, by far the most numerous we had encountered at any other site.

So with a sticky cake each and a cup of coffee we were hoping that the night show would raise our appreciation of Chichen Itza. Remember what I said about Mexican sound quality? No better example than Chichen Itza. Speakers tinnier than a Foster’s factory and lights that make those on a Cuban rental car seem illuminating. Oh well. We turned down an expensive taxi ride home and went to wait the hour for the bus back to town. With luck, it arrived in 5 minutes. Best part of the day (apart from the cakes).

Ek Balem

Ek Balem is an interesting site. Only partly refurbished and uncovered it is much less frequented than other large ruins. It’s infrastructure is also less, so we grabbed a taxi the next day which bumped along the narrow access road. There were families strolling the ruins and climbing the temple atop the imposing acropolis. Taxi back to the hotel to collect our bags then a bus to Tulum. It was V’s turn to have a dicky tummy but the bus ride was only 2 hours.

Tulum

Recommended by V’s Guide we took a hut in a hotel/ lodge run by a couple of French guys. I think it was solely so V could spend the time speaking her native tongue to the hosts and all the other guests, who were funnily enough, French.

V tumbled into bed hardly saying a word mind you, showing how lousy she was feeling.

A great spot to stay and we did something different on our first full day (with V fully recovered) by going to the local ruins. Although not constructed in the majestic style (or quality) of Chichen Itza et al, Tulum’s draw is that it is constructed on a cliff, fortifying the bay. Like Chichen Itza, there were plenty of tourists, as this area of Mexico is a magnet for holidaying American.  One rotund chap seemed to be spending his vacation with the family of his Russian wife. She appeared to be doing her best to annoy the chunky fellow. As she stepped over the rope that was supposed to prevent access to parts of the site, he cried out ‘no!’, as if hailing a dog. She sullenly stepped back over onto the path.

You just don’t know what you are buying over the internet.

Special mention also to the bearded hippy of around 60 years old who sat on the ruins in a yoga pose and chanted.

Americans; worth the entrance fee alone.

All of the beachfront is privately owned, with our hotel having a sliver with a restaurant, deckchairs, hammocks and a couple of well furnished cabins.

I won’t go into the corruption around all of this. Apparently no permanent structures are allowed, but concrete is pretty longlasting in my view.

After a swim, a sunbathe and munching fine food we wandered down the peroxide beach before grabbing a taxi back.

Coba

My gear was falling to bits. Jeans, walking shoes, socks and a couple of pairs of my grids. Instead of throwing my Armani’s, V suggested having them stitched by a seamstress. It was a guy, in fact and he put them back together for 2 euros. Happy we toddled off to the bus station to grab some transport to the Coba ruins.

When purchasing our ticket, the girl behind the counter short-changed me. I grunted (I don’t speak Spanish) and she immediately handed over the 10 pesos. She had been keeping them just in case she was rumbled.

This is a common trick with tourists in the bus stations. The same girl tried to do it to us again the next day and it happened before at another station. Travellers beware. Not a lot of cash but it is the principle.

In Coba you feel like Indiana Jones. The ruins are clothed in forest and are either partly restored or being restored as you walk around the vast site. Between the concentrations of ruins there are walks of a couple of km. Whilst walking towards the great pyramid, my flip-flop flopped. I suppose being nearly 5 years old is an excuse, but it still left me in a bit of a pickle. Trying to repair it with rocks and sticks of wood brought limited success so we resorted to renting a trike, complete with driver. Previously we had been chuckling at the lazy tourists who had hired one. Now it was us who received the cool stares from the walkers.

With a temporary repair we managed to scale the 42m high pyramid. From here you could see many of the uncovered buildings.

After purchasing some rubbish replacements (couldn’t get the real deal of a pair of Havaianas) we ate locally and took the bus home.

We tried to reserve our ticket to Cancun for the next morning, but apparently it is a first come first served scramash.

Early rising it was then on our last day in Mexico.

Cancun

The idea was to try and get to Cancun as early as possible and try and change our flight to Lima. We were supposed to fly from Mexico City, with a stop in Cancun before continuing on to Lima. We wished to miss out the Mexico City departure and meet our flight in Cancun.

After getting my correct change from the girl in the ticket office on the 2^nd attempt we boarded a bus to Cancun, then grabbed the airport bus on arrival.

LAN had been impossible to reach via the net (I left messages via their site with no response) and it was the same in Cancun airport. Not a soul at their desk or their office. After speaking to the lady at information we had the numbers for KLM?, BA (One World Partner) and LAN (or so we thought). We bought a phonecard and for the next hour tried to reach LAN. Eventually we did (courtesy of BA. The guy at BA could change our tickets but not revalidate them. LAN had to do this). LAN wanted to charge us US$150 per ticket change plus the equivalent cost of the tickets now. ‘Poke it’ was our reply. We had scoped out options to Mexico City and for 180 euros both of us could fly to Mexico City with Interjet. Now this is a terrible example of eco-toursim I know, but what can you do if your airline are bell-ends?

In Mexico City there were LAN people who turned out to be helpful and polite. LAN are like toilet paper: highly effective when they are there; hard to get hold of when they’re not and you’re in the sh*t.

After all of this, the plane was new and the service ideal too.

Only downside is V and I were not sitting together.  Lesson: check your tickets as well as your change.

Everyone should visit Mexico. Genuinely helpful, polite and courteous people with an enchanting history. Plenty to see, do and eat (for very little). I would go back tomorrow to explore the North and West, taking the train through the canyons as the German couple in Uxmal had. Fabulous.