I shot though El Salvador and Honduras, barely stopping to breath. In the former I did get find time to experience the best street food I've ever had. A plate piled high with amongst other things finger size prawns.
18/11/08
Once in Nicaragua, I was welcomed with a bang! The revolutionary party, the Sandinistas were demonstrating on the streets after a recent election controversially ended with half the votes being found in a bin. Their colours of red and black were splashed everywhere. Fireworks and flares were firing, flags were flying. People crammed onto car roofs (both stationary and moving) and milled in large groups, taking over much of Managua (the capital).
As I headed towards the smaller city of Granada I noticed another thing taking over Nicaragua, nature. Through every crack, gap and hole in the walls, pavements and roads was bursting with grassy weeds. Vines strangled and hung from every telephone wire. Branches buffeted the passing cars as they reached out into the road.
I checked into a hostel on the basis that it had the best name in my book, 'The bearded Monkey'. Got talking to some other travellers and wasted away the rest of the evening exchanging stories and suggestions.
One suggeation was the hostel's sister lodge, 'The Monkey Hut', which is on the edge of a lake inside a old volcanic crater. A group of us headed out the next morning. The crater lake was vast with the steep crater walls surrounding it like a panoramic mountain range. It took me and a guy named Simon an hour of continuous paddling in kayaks to reach the other side. Once there we found large rocks, which led to much plunging into the deep water.
That night back in Granada we all found a Music bar where the salsa was in full swing. A small group of us, Emily, Mikel, Trevour and I talked about a plan to head to the Island of Ometepe the following morning.
After a bus to the tiny port town San Jorge, we crossed lake Nicaragua by ferry to reach the Island. Ometepe is the biggest fresh water Island in the world with much of it taken up by two volcanoes. It's engulfed by the enormous lake Nicaragua which is so big it produces surfable waves and is the only lake in the world home to fresh water sharks. Darkness had closed in by the time we reached a place to stay so I went for a night walk, lit only by the night sky and accompanied by unidentified sounds piercing through the continuous rustling of the wind swept trees.
The next day we hired bikes. Mine had around one a half gears, brakes that worked intermittently and when did, wouldn't release and a buckled back wheel that rubbed against the frame. All in all it didn't live up to it's name of 'Torpedo'. Every bike we came across was equally poor. This really reflects the state Nicaragua's in, it's slowly running down with most of the people living in poverty, bike parts are low on their list of essentials.
On a small dirt track road I bumped into Guy and Ruth again cycling the other way. After the obligatory 'small world' comment, we had a quick catch up and said we'd try and meet in Panama at some point.
Upon returning from the ride, we saw people clearing streets and setting up a huge wall of speakers in the middle of the road. Word had reached the Island that the results of the election recount were in and the Sandinistas had won. After eating in darkness due to all street lights being turned off to accommodate the power needed for the party, we joined the celebrations. The energy and pace of the revelers went unchanged for hours with a somewhat eclectic DJ, playing everything from Traditional Nicaraguan music to the Venga Boys!
Next day was our last on the Island and we decided we wanted to go right around the south section, seeing as much as we could. We decided the best way to do this would be to hitch hike as far as drivers would take us. We managed to get three rides in all, the first being a pick up truck that dropped us at a small intersection. We had to walk for an hour till the next came but it was worth it. It was a large truck of banana farmers. We climbed in the back and held onto the metal frame. The driver then proceeded to thunder down the bumpy road at around 60mph, sending us all in the air each time he hit one of the violent ditches. With white faces we waved goodbye and walked off, shaken and quite stirred by the experience. The last was another truck but we had to hold on the outside. With no room on the back, I took one side where I was battered buy branches brushing past. The vibrations shook our breakfast pineapple from it's bag and we helplessly watched it bounce of into the dust.
After catching a ferry back we all went our separate ways. I found a cheap hotel in Rivas and planned to head for the southern boarder to cross into Costa Rica.
25/11/08
After a day looking round the North West town of Liberia, Costa Rica, I booked to go on a jungle trek in Rincon national park which boasts one of the most varied eco systems in the country. A small group of us were dropped at a meeting point and were told we'd be picked up in 8 hours. As each of us had a map I decided to go off alone to find the biggest waterfall in the area. The trek took me through varying terrain, from dense jungle, to open grassy plane. White faced monkeys swung from the trees and mongoose like animals (that might have been mongooses) ran across my path. On reaching the 80ft waterfall that fiercely cascaded into a turquoise blue plunge pool, I decided the only thing to do was to go for a refreshing skinny-dip. I can tell you now it was more refreshing than flipping over the pillow to the cold side on a Sunday morning. After trekking some more and seeing mud-bubbling, volcanic gazers, the driver fulfilled his promise of picking us up.
28/11/08
I caught the bus to Panama which felt like an escape from the Costa Rican capital, San Jose where I had the misfortune of spending a night and can safely say is the armpit of the Earth. I'd arranged to stay with another couch surfer, 'Benny' (Who I called 'Pueblo' for the first 5 hours, until realising this was the first line of his address!). Benny told me he was a bird watcher. Now I don't usually prescribe to stereotypes but Benny, a 200lb black guy with braided hair and a healthy appetite for loud, basey ragga music didn't quite fit with my idea of your average bird watcher. So the next day I agreed to join Benny and some bird watching buddies for my first taste of the niche pastime. We went deep into the jungles north of the city that run parallel with the Panama canal. With a pair of binoculars and an army of trained eyes and ears at my aid, I was able experience wildlife I'd have never known was there. Sloths draped over branches, monkeys passing overhead and rivers of leaf cutter ants were just some of the things that accompanied the many colourfully exotic birds I saw that day.
03/12/08
After realising the only job opportunities in Panama seemed to be in the city and the weight of South America pulling me towards it like a tug of war team, I decided to book a flight to Lima, Peru.
Preferring the local bus to the far more expensive taxi option, I headed for the airport. The driver saw I was more weighed down by bags than a single Mum after her monthly shop for her family of 5 but I still let him know I was stopping at the airport. With no road signs and no sign of an airport, I waited. After a couple of hours the drivers eyes widened and the bus screeched to the side of the road. Telling me we'd passed the airport, he let me off on a long stretch of open road. Luckily as fears of being stranded started to manifest, so did the earlier avoided taxi option. After the flurry of checking in I boarded just in time for my plane food to turn cold.
04/12/08
I spent a day in Lima then jumped on a 24 hour bus to Cuzco (the oldest city in South America and once capital of the Inca empire). I was sat next to the only other English person on the bus, Nick. As the bus company attempted to easy away the 24 hours with bus bingo (the prize being another bus journey!) and a DVD of Pavarotti and friends, we talked about the must-do trek to the lost city of the Incas Machu Picchu.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
11/11/08
I'm currently staying in Guatemala's old capital Antigua, under an hour from the country's current, pollution stained, charmless, Mcdonalds laden capital, Guatemala city. I've decided to take another much needed Spanish course, giving me time to send further applications to various countries as the time where I'll have to face reality and start work draws ever closer.
My last days in Oaxaca, celebrating the 'day (three days) of the dead' were a blast. After partaking in some Mexican traditions like listening to music in the cemeteries and some traditions closer to home like dancing badly to music whilst boozing, Felix and I got the opportunity to experience what very few other tourists would. One of his Mexican work colleagues lives in the remote town of Mazultapec, in the middle of the Oaxacan sticks. She invited us and another friend, Fiona to join her families/towns shindig.
A big brass band started it off in a back garden, all dressed as various monsters or clowns playing at a frantic pace whilst a raucous crowd, equally dress up, jumped around in mezcal fulled merriment. A stern looking Mexican, dressed in full cowboy suit moved in and out the crowd handing out beers and tequila. As soon as the band played what we learned to be the 'leaving tune', the crowd poured out the garden like beer from a upturned bottle, spilling into the street. From this the party turned into a procession that swaggered around the streets until choosing another garden to crash. This continued in twenty minute cycles, broken only when the procession came face to face with a rival procession on the street whereupon the bands would have a play-off, the most frantic claimed the win and continued off into the night. The lack of electric street lighting added to the strangeness along with adding a dense ceiling of stars. We soon noticed we were truly the only white people there and that this wasn't being done as a tourist attraction. We in fact were the novelty and were dragged in to dance or be ridiculed by the clowns.
I said my goodbyes on the Tuesday and slunk off into the night to catch the overnight bus to San Cristolbal for one night then on to catch a series of buses to Guatemala. I was welcomed to Guatemala by the border town of Le Mesilla which is one long, narrow road of market stools where anything (including cheep kitchen sinks) could be bought. Sellers were swarming on all sides of the rocking buss, giving the impression we were being passed along the street like crowd surfing our way to the exit.
Speaking of surfing, I'd decided to look into 'couch surfing', a website where people advertise there couch for people to stay on for a night or two and supposedly meet interesting travelers in exchange. After getting a few replies, I opted for an English teacher in Guatemala city named Harold as he offered a spare bed and room and the idea of waking up, having slipped down the back of someones sofa and playing guess the long lost objects didn't appeal. I did however decide to take up an offer of being shown the city on a Friday night by another CS, Chrissy as she'd lived there for three years.
Harold lives in a private road, with a shotgun wheeling guard at the end who scrutinises anyone who passes. Harold had to leave for a couple of hours, locking the 10ft iron gate behind him. Leaving me needing to contact Chrissy by the number she'd given me. This meant having to scale the gate and finding a pay-phone in a strange city at night. The iron gate clunked and creaked as I started to climb and I felt the eyes of the guard (shotgun in hand) burn into me. I hurriedly walked past with a plastered smile and gave a 'buenas noches', through a breaking voice. Found a nearby phone, made the arrangement then had to repeat the whole saga again, gate shaking back and fourth as I wobbled on top. I can only assume I was saved by my pasty gringo skin.
The next day Harold, his girlfriend (another Steffane) and I climbed Pacaya (an active volcano, an hour from the city). Guides were only taking people half way up due there being recent activity around the crater. Looking at it from a the safe altitude difference of 2,552m, it seemed fairly at peace with it's surroundings so we decided to take a closer peek at the peak.
Walking up the top section, a steep, charcoal black lava graveyard was the closest I'd felt to being on a different planet. The surface is brittle and razor sharp like dried sea corral and through it's lifeless features and twisting cracks, warm air rises, turning to mist as it meets the cool surface air. Approaching the crater I heard blasts of hot air firing to the sky and once reached, the blasts could be felt, shaking the ground and punching the air. Peeking over the edge inbetween blasts I saw the fiery glow of what lay beneath. I don't wear rings but if I did, the urge to throw one in, whilst reenacting a scene from Lord of the rings would have been too strong to resist.
Getting down was trickier then getting up and I spent most of the time sliding (both in and out of control) down the steep scree. The last hour back to the car was done in the dark and suddenly fire flies became visible, ambling across our path with their intermittent glow.
Antigua is a fascinating place. It's survived countless earthquakes over the years which has left most of the oldest buildings and churches half collapsed and are untouched for people to walk and climb around. Not only is the earthquake threat ongoing, it is surrounded by three Volcanos that are constantly viable for the colonial streets.
15/11/08
I experienced my first earthquake the other day (I say earthquake but it was more of a light tremor). I happened at school. As my teacher, an oldish woman around 5ft nothing simply held her tea cup steady, she had to convince me to release my white knuckled grip on the desk some minuets after it had passed.
It's a relatively small place and I managed to bump into a guy I met on the bus down a few times who also turns out to live in Oaxaca. Over a drink he told me he was a musician who made 'lounge music', he said he was traveling down to Machu Pcchu to record the ambient sounds of the air there. What he'll probably get is the sound of a tourist bus pulling up and the yells of a man selling 'authentic' Machu Pcchu peanuts but I didn't have the heart to tell him.
As my time here probably comes to a close, I'm wondering what to make my next stop which could be Nicaragua, El Salvador or Costa Rica but right now I just don't know.
I'm currently staying in Guatemala's old capital Antigua, under an hour from the country's current, pollution stained, charmless, Mcdonalds laden capital, Guatemala city. I've decided to take another much needed Spanish course, giving me time to send further applications to various countries as the time where I'll have to face reality and start work draws ever closer.
My last days in Oaxaca, celebrating the 'day (three days) of the dead' were a blast. After partaking in some Mexican traditions like listening to music in the cemeteries and some traditions closer to home like dancing badly to music whilst boozing, Felix and I got the opportunity to experience what very few other tourists would. One of his Mexican work colleagues lives in the remote town of Mazultapec, in the middle of the Oaxacan sticks. She invited us and another friend, Fiona to join her families/towns shindig.
A big brass band started it off in a back garden, all dressed as various monsters or clowns playing at a frantic pace whilst a raucous crowd, equally dress up, jumped around in mezcal fulled merriment. A stern looking Mexican, dressed in full cowboy suit moved in and out the crowd handing out beers and tequila. As soon as the band played what we learned to be the 'leaving tune', the crowd poured out the garden like beer from a upturned bottle, spilling into the street. From this the party turned into a procession that swaggered around the streets until choosing another garden to crash. This continued in twenty minute cycles, broken only when the procession came face to face with a rival procession on the street whereupon the bands would have a play-off, the most frantic claimed the win and continued off into the night. The lack of electric street lighting added to the strangeness along with adding a dense ceiling of stars. We soon noticed we were truly the only white people there and that this wasn't being done as a tourist attraction. We in fact were the novelty and were dragged in to dance or be ridiculed by the clowns.
I said my goodbyes on the Tuesday and slunk off into the night to catch the overnight bus to San Cristolbal for one night then on to catch a series of buses to Guatemala. I was welcomed to Guatemala by the border town of Le Mesilla which is one long, narrow road of market stools where anything (including cheep kitchen sinks) could be bought. Sellers were swarming on all sides of the rocking buss, giving the impression we were being passed along the street like crowd surfing our way to the exit.
Speaking of surfing, I'd decided to look into 'couch surfing', a website where people advertise there couch for people to stay on for a night or two and supposedly meet interesting travelers in exchange. After getting a few replies, I opted for an English teacher in Guatemala city named Harold as he offered a spare bed and room and the idea of waking up, having slipped down the back of someones sofa and playing guess the long lost objects didn't appeal. I did however decide to take up an offer of being shown the city on a Friday night by another CS, Chrissy as she'd lived there for three years.
Harold lives in a private road, with a shotgun wheeling guard at the end who scrutinises anyone who passes. Harold had to leave for a couple of hours, locking the 10ft iron gate behind him. Leaving me needing to contact Chrissy by the number she'd given me. This meant having to scale the gate and finding a pay-phone in a strange city at night. The iron gate clunked and creaked as I started to climb and I felt the eyes of the guard (shotgun in hand) burn into me. I hurriedly walked past with a plastered smile and gave a 'buenas noches', through a breaking voice. Found a nearby phone, made the arrangement then had to repeat the whole saga again, gate shaking back and fourth as I wobbled on top. I can only assume I was saved by my pasty gringo skin.
The next day Harold, his girlfriend (another Steffane) and I climbed Pacaya (an active volcano, an hour from the city). Guides were only taking people half way up due there being recent activity around the crater. Looking at it from a the safe altitude difference of 2,552m, it seemed fairly at peace with it's surroundings so we decided to take a closer peek at the peak.
Walking up the top section, a steep, charcoal black lava graveyard was the closest I'd felt to being on a different planet. The surface is brittle and razor sharp like dried sea corral and through it's lifeless features and twisting cracks, warm air rises, turning to mist as it meets the cool surface air. Approaching the crater I heard blasts of hot air firing to the sky and once reached, the blasts could be felt, shaking the ground and punching the air. Peeking over the edge inbetween blasts I saw the fiery glow of what lay beneath. I don't wear rings but if I did, the urge to throw one in, whilst reenacting a scene from Lord of the rings would have been too strong to resist.
Getting down was trickier then getting up and I spent most of the time sliding (both in and out of control) down the steep scree. The last hour back to the car was done in the dark and suddenly fire flies became visible, ambling across our path with their intermittent glow.
Antigua is a fascinating place. It's survived countless earthquakes over the years which has left most of the oldest buildings and churches half collapsed and are untouched for people to walk and climb around. Not only is the earthquake threat ongoing, it is surrounded by three Volcanos that are constantly viable for the colonial streets.
15/11/08
I experienced my first earthquake the other day (I say earthquake but it was more of a light tremor). I happened at school. As my teacher, an oldish woman around 5ft nothing simply held her tea cup steady, she had to convince me to release my white knuckled grip on the desk some minuets after it had passed.
It's a relatively small place and I managed to bump into a guy I met on the bus down a few times who also turns out to live in Oaxaca. Over a drink he told me he was a musician who made 'lounge music', he said he was traveling down to Machu Pcchu to record the ambient sounds of the air there. What he'll probably get is the sound of a tourist bus pulling up and the yells of a man selling 'authentic' Machu Pcchu peanuts but I didn't have the heart to tell him.
As my time here probably comes to a close, I'm wondering what to make my next stop which could be Nicaragua, El Salvador or Costa Rica but right now I just don't know.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
29/10/08
I recently got back from a couple of days on the Oaxacan coast, which is supposedly where the beach scenes from 'Y tu mama tambien' were shot and while we were there we discovered how remote and deserted a beach could be.
It's a six hour turbulent bus ride from Oaxaca over the coastal mountain range to the town of Pochutla. The road snakes like spaghetti strewn over a baby's bib and coupled with a diver intent on breaking his personal best time, it left all occupants and luggage sliding around like marbles on a skate board. However on the occasions I found my face pressed against the glass, I did get to take in the incredible scenery. At the highest points lush green mountain caps gasped for breath above the white water of cloud as the sun was slowly extinguhised. From Pochutla we shared a cab with a wild eyed Mexican who at the top a his voice kept making what can only be described as a Donnald Duck impression. After a long hour of this, we finally arrived at our destination of Crucecita.
The next morning we approached someone with the confident look of having years of local knowledge, with the hope of finding an unspoilt beach. He murmured his directions to us which thankfully he then murmured to a taxi driver and we were on our way. The beach was a ten minute trek through swampy forest (which we've since learnt contained crocodiles). What waited on the other side was well worth the effort, a sweeping stretch of sand cut off by the forest at the back and two rocky cliffs at either end.
After a short while we decided the cliffs had to be climbed and that maybe we'd find someone selling food on the other side. So with no intention of returning we took all our stuff and began to traverse round the rocks that stretched out to sea. Each time we thought we were approaching the end we found the rocks we'd just climbed only concealed more rocks, the heat and hunger started to bear down. We climbed for almost an hour and a half and for those who know their climbing grades I'd estimate in certain places it was 4a. With no rope, unsuitable footwear, heavy rucksacks and sweaty hands in the intense heat, it was a test.
Finally upon reaching the other side, our hearts sank as we stared at another deserted beach, this time a around a mile long. With the pangs of hunger hitting like a sledge hammer we cut straight through the forest and hit the welcome road. Luckily a taxi came within minutes and took us to a beach that served food. Here we were greeted by a conspicuous chap who led us to old shack he called his 'place of business' we were then introduced to his 'business partner', a man half hanging out his hammock, who once introduced, burped a 'hola' through alcohol laced breath. We took whatever we could get, drowning the food's taste with chilly sauce.
That night we watched a live band in the park band stand with beers and tortillas in hand, that was a civilised as that night got!
Next day we opted for the more popular beach of Mazunte where the big rolling waves made for a good session of body surfing. Got a 'collectivo' (a pick-up truck that people pack ontop of) back to our gruelling 6 hour bus bound for Oaxaca.
31/10/08
Oaxaca is truly beautiful city from the Zapotect ruins of Monte Alban overlooking the vast valley, the small suburb like town of El Tule that claims to have the worlds biggest tree, to the cobbled streets of the old decaying centre. At night, even in the busiest part of town, crickets can be heard chirping to themselves and warm breezes blow smells of spices down the narrow streets. No matter how narrow the street though, the traffic flys up and down. The streams of cars are held at traffic lights like over-eager dogs held on taught leashes and tear off the second they see green. In these brief still moments, street entertainers appear from nowhere, juggling and even fire breathing for the loose change on the drivers dash boards. Some of the drivers are equally entertaining; yesterday I sore a man on a small scooter wearing a wrestling mask with his two small children squeezed on the seat.
There is a strong sense that rules are there to be broken. This is a county where the smoking ban is in place but everywhere you go, bar staff are lighting everyones smokes before lighting their own. On a recent trip to the pharmacy, I noticed most of the people in there were buying cigarettes.
Food however is taken very seriously and groups of Mexicans can be found on every corner, chewing over their day along with numerous tacos. Street fiestas are never more than a short walk away and you're always made to feel welcome if you stumble across one. Art is also high on the list of importance, with galleries and exhibitions at every turn not to mention the blanket of street art that covers Oaxaca's walls. Often all three are combined. The other night we crashed an exhibition with a great live band and free mezcal.
Sleep has been tricky. The local dogs (who live on the roofs) have obviously learnt of the success of the West end musical 'Cats' and have taken it upon themselves to rehearse for their big moment with a chorus of barks and howls. I've donated enough blood to mosquitoes that I'm expecting one of them to turn up soon with a NHS cup of tea and biscuits.
I've stayed in Oaxaca slightly longer than I originally thought as I've been advised not to miss the 'Day of the Dead' celebrations this weekend as it's supposedly the biggest few days in the Mexican calender. This has given me time to continue Spanish lessons and get a much better taste of this city. Excitement is in the air as people everywhere are preparing to set things off tonight with a bang!
I recently got back from a couple of days on the Oaxacan coast, which is supposedly where the beach scenes from 'Y tu mama tambien' were shot and while we were there we discovered how remote and deserted a beach could be.
It's a six hour turbulent bus ride from Oaxaca over the coastal mountain range to the town of Pochutla. The road snakes like spaghetti strewn over a baby's bib and coupled with a diver intent on breaking his personal best time, it left all occupants and luggage sliding around like marbles on a skate board. However on the occasions I found my face pressed against the glass, I did get to take in the incredible scenery. At the highest points lush green mountain caps gasped for breath above the white water of cloud as the sun was slowly extinguhised. From Pochutla we shared a cab with a wild eyed Mexican who at the top a his voice kept making what can only be described as a Donnald Duck impression. After a long hour of this, we finally arrived at our destination of Crucecita.
The next morning we approached someone with the confident look of having years of local knowledge, with the hope of finding an unspoilt beach. He murmured his directions to us which thankfully he then murmured to a taxi driver and we were on our way. The beach was a ten minute trek through swampy forest (which we've since learnt contained crocodiles). What waited on the other side was well worth the effort, a sweeping stretch of sand cut off by the forest at the back and two rocky cliffs at either end.
After a short while we decided the cliffs had to be climbed and that maybe we'd find someone selling food on the other side. So with no intention of returning we took all our stuff and began to traverse round the rocks that stretched out to sea. Each time we thought we were approaching the end we found the rocks we'd just climbed only concealed more rocks, the heat and hunger started to bear down. We climbed for almost an hour and a half and for those who know their climbing grades I'd estimate in certain places it was 4a. With no rope, unsuitable footwear, heavy rucksacks and sweaty hands in the intense heat, it was a test.
Finally upon reaching the other side, our hearts sank as we stared at another deserted beach, this time a around a mile long. With the pangs of hunger hitting like a sledge hammer we cut straight through the forest and hit the welcome road. Luckily a taxi came within minutes and took us to a beach that served food. Here we were greeted by a conspicuous chap who led us to old shack he called his 'place of business' we were then introduced to his 'business partner', a man half hanging out his hammock, who once introduced, burped a 'hola' through alcohol laced breath. We took whatever we could get, drowning the food's taste with chilly sauce.
That night we watched a live band in the park band stand with beers and tortillas in hand, that was a civilised as that night got!
Next day we opted for the more popular beach of Mazunte where the big rolling waves made for a good session of body surfing. Got a 'collectivo' (a pick-up truck that people pack ontop of) back to our gruelling 6 hour bus bound for Oaxaca.
31/10/08
Oaxaca is truly beautiful city from the Zapotect ruins of Monte Alban overlooking the vast valley, the small suburb like town of El Tule that claims to have the worlds biggest tree, to the cobbled streets of the old decaying centre. At night, even in the busiest part of town, crickets can be heard chirping to themselves and warm breezes blow smells of spices down the narrow streets. No matter how narrow the street though, the traffic flys up and down. The streams of cars are held at traffic lights like over-eager dogs held on taught leashes and tear off the second they see green. In these brief still moments, street entertainers appear from nowhere, juggling and even fire breathing for the loose change on the drivers dash boards. Some of the drivers are equally entertaining; yesterday I sore a man on a small scooter wearing a wrestling mask with his two small children squeezed on the seat.
There is a strong sense that rules are there to be broken. This is a county where the smoking ban is in place but everywhere you go, bar staff are lighting everyones smokes before lighting their own. On a recent trip to the pharmacy, I noticed most of the people in there were buying cigarettes.
Food however is taken very seriously and groups of Mexicans can be found on every corner, chewing over their day along with numerous tacos. Street fiestas are never more than a short walk away and you're always made to feel welcome if you stumble across one. Art is also high on the list of importance, with galleries and exhibitions at every turn not to mention the blanket of street art that covers Oaxaca's walls. Often all three are combined. The other night we crashed an exhibition with a great live band and free mezcal.
Sleep has been tricky. The local dogs (who live on the roofs) have obviously learnt of the success of the West end musical 'Cats' and have taken it upon themselves to rehearse for their big moment with a chorus of barks and howls. I've donated enough blood to mosquitoes that I'm expecting one of them to turn up soon with a NHS cup of tea and biscuits.
I've stayed in Oaxaca slightly longer than I originally thought as I've been advised not to miss the 'Day of the Dead' celebrations this weekend as it's supposedly the biggest few days in the Mexican calender. This has given me time to continue Spanish lessons and get a much better taste of this city. Excitement is in the air as people everywhere are preparing to set things off tonight with a bang!
Monday, October 20, 2008
11/10/08
.............. Our half planned trekking trip got off to a slow start. Waiting at the bus stop, Felix snapped his only pair of glasses in two after over-manipulating them to stay on his head. With the prospect of jaw-droppingly beautiful mountain views being no more than a greasy blur, we decided to fix them. I of course had my trusty first aid kit to hand and managed to bind them together with a sticky plaster. This crummy repair job engrossed us both to the extent that our bus came, stopped, waited then left right before our unobservant eyes. Eventually another choked up and we were on our way.
We swapped our bus for coach and headed for the small mountain village of Cuajimoloyas. From here we planned to hike 10kms to an even smaller, more remote settlement named Llano Grande. We had been warned several times by several people that we should hire a mountain guide as the forest tracks are overgrown and in many places barely visible but thanks to the miss-guided boldness of youth and the Mears/Gyrils phenomena (the belief that having watched a posh bloke on tv squeeze water from elephants dung, you can survive on shoe laces alone), we disappeared into the thick forest leaving only the perplexed looks on the locals faces behind.
The air was incredible, the freshness stung the lungs but due to the altitude was also very thin, testing our hung-over limbs. It was an unusual mix of forest and jungle or 'fongle' as we decided upon. Everywhere I looked I was seeing species of plants, birds and insects that I'd never laid eyes on before.
With only my trusty compass and a map that would insult the work of a 5 year old using blunt crayons, we were soon lost. After going through a spectrum of emotions (desperation being one of them as I asked Felix if he had a lighter, with warming fires in mind) we stumbled on Llano Grande as evening was drawing in. We were greeted by home cooked food and cold beers by the incredibly welcoming locals. They put us up in a cabin with open fire, a magical setting that we both agreed might be better suited shared with different company but numerous games of 'shit head' (the ancient card game), kept us well entertained.
Early next morning we decide to hang up what was left of our male pride and hired a guide. He took us to the highest, rock covered peak in the area. At first we thought it was a particularly misty day but then realised we were in a cloud. The white whispes seemed to absorb everything they passed, suffocating sounds like a wave of cotton wool. The view from the peak was a silent expanse unlike any I'd seen before.
Our guide, who'd barely said a word for the first three hours, warmed to us and began telling us that pumas and jaguars were not uncommon sightings. Unfortunately they all seemed to have taken the day off.
After waiting for two hours for the bus that never came, we jumped in the back of a pick-up truck, carrying others back to Oaxaca (including an American girl who was threatening to throw up out the back of it).
That night, Stephanie came back with a two litre bottle of mezcal she'd bought from a farmer and the kitchen was a buzz.
.............. Our half planned trekking trip got off to a slow start. Waiting at the bus stop, Felix snapped his only pair of glasses in two after over-manipulating them to stay on his head. With the prospect of jaw-droppingly beautiful mountain views being no more than a greasy blur, we decided to fix them. I of course had my trusty first aid kit to hand and managed to bind them together with a sticky plaster. This crummy repair job engrossed us both to the extent that our bus came, stopped, waited then left right before our unobservant eyes. Eventually another choked up and we were on our way.
We swapped our bus for coach and headed for the small mountain village of Cuajimoloyas. From here we planned to hike 10kms to an even smaller, more remote settlement named Llano Grande. We had been warned several times by several people that we should hire a mountain guide as the forest tracks are overgrown and in many places barely visible but thanks to the miss-guided boldness of youth and the Mears/Gyrils phenomena (the belief that having watched a posh bloke on tv squeeze water from elephants dung, you can survive on shoe laces alone), we disappeared into the thick forest leaving only the perplexed looks on the locals faces behind.
The air was incredible, the freshness stung the lungs but due to the altitude was also very thin, testing our hung-over limbs. It was an unusual mix of forest and jungle or 'fongle' as we decided upon. Everywhere I looked I was seeing species of plants, birds and insects that I'd never laid eyes on before.
With only my trusty compass and a map that would insult the work of a 5 year old using blunt crayons, we were soon lost. After going through a spectrum of emotions (desperation being one of them as I asked Felix if he had a lighter, with warming fires in mind) we stumbled on Llano Grande as evening was drawing in. We were greeted by home cooked food and cold beers by the incredibly welcoming locals. They put us up in a cabin with open fire, a magical setting that we both agreed might be better suited shared with different company but numerous games of 'shit head' (the ancient card game), kept us well entertained.
Early next morning we decide to hang up what was left of our male pride and hired a guide. He took us to the highest, rock covered peak in the area. At first we thought it was a particularly misty day but then realised we were in a cloud. The white whispes seemed to absorb everything they passed, suffocating sounds like a wave of cotton wool. The view from the peak was a silent expanse unlike any I'd seen before.
Our guide, who'd barely said a word for the first three hours, warmed to us and began telling us that pumas and jaguars were not uncommon sightings. Unfortunately they all seemed to have taken the day off.
After waiting for two hours for the bus that never came, we jumped in the back of a pick-up truck, carrying others back to Oaxaca (including an American girl who was threatening to throw up out the back of it).
That night, Stephanie came back with a two litre bottle of mezcal she'd bought from a farmer and the kitchen was a buzz.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Mexico city then Oaxaca
My journey began on the 08/10/08. The plan; to take in the sights, sounds, smells, culture and people whilst traveling, exploring and working in the exotic far away land of Central and South America. This unfortunately had to start at Heathrow terminal 5 where the mountain of lost luggage with circling vultures is visible from the coach stop.
Before boarding the plane one of those bizzare yet strangely common reminders of how small a world we walk on occurred. I bumped into an old neighbour of mine 'Guy' with his girlfriend 'Ruth'. Not only were they on my flight but had booked into the very same hotel in the biggest city in the world!! A coincidence I put down to everyone's reliance on the google search.
After 12 hours of flying, some bad inflight films, terrible infight music (I suspect was selected by a hospital DJ) and the usual travel plan comparisons with others on board (who then steal your elbow room when your back is turned), I got my first glance of Mexico City from a 1000 ft up. Millions of flickering lights sprawled for mile after mile. They washed around mountains, linking up again on the other side like the incoming tide would a small rock.
After meeting up with Guy and Ruth we shared a taxi to the hotel and it felt as though we'd descended into the ants nest. Thousands of cars fighting for road space in a high speed bumper to bumper flow. After four or five phone calls the taxi driver worked out where our hotel was, on arrival we dumped our stuff and headed for the bar for some much needed cerveza and tacos.
The next day would be my only one in Mexico city before getting the bus South to Oaxaca to meet my step brother Felix so I headed out alone fairly early (which wasn't hard as my body thought it was some time in the afternoon). I enjoyed the time I spent there but felt one day was probably enough as the exhaust fumed hustle and ustle would have worn down a London taxi driver faster than a walk to the shops.
Guy and Ruth decided to get the same bus to Oaxaca. The bus entertainment was James Bond, Casino Royal played at full volume and in Spanish which I strangely enjoyed thanks to the over-the-top bad guy accents. The views were spectacular with cactus pepped mountains and people by the road side selling everything from tortillas to puppys!
After meeting Felix we ate at a small road side taco place, grabbed some beers from the shop next to our apartments and drank and talked rubbish on his porch (hammock included) till the jet lag was too strong to fight.
The place I'm staying in is amazing. It's a big open garden, each apartment has a bathroom and everyone shares the outdoor kitchen. The garden is dotted with different types of palms and lime trees with most of the herbs known to man grown next to the kitchen. There are seven of us sharing the kitchen; a French couple Paulina and Pascal, a Belgian named Stephanie, Yoko, a Japanese woman and an older Italian man, Claudio. There's also the extended Mexican family who own the place, have there own facilities but come and go most of the time. One of which has taken great delight in chanting my name, 'hola Jac.........jac....jac....jac'. There are also two dogs, three cats and a changing number of chickens depending on what's on the menu.
10/10/08
Felix and I walked around some of the markets where you can sample almost anything and I soon found myself chewing on a dried grasshopper which I guess could be described as salty chicken. I can't say I'd like a plague full for dinner though. The Organic market shares it's square with a free independent cinema that shows films from all over the world old and new. It's funded by a local artist and therefore doesn't charge for admission. What a great place! An opinion that wasn't totally shared by a girl I was talking to who had all her bags stolen on her first night in Mexico and even admitted to having to wear the same pants for several days in a row. We promptly left.
That night a few of us from the house went to a fiesta at the abandoned railway station (apparently Mexico's entire railway net work stopped running around 40 years ago but the track and stations still remain). A local big band kicked things off followed by a Gypsy band for Bulgaria accompanied by a DJ wearing far too tight tights and a jester's jacket! It was a odd contrast to be sandwiched between such noise, colour and energy and the ghostly tracks that ran into the night behind us. Bumped into Guy and Ruth, they said they were heading south the next day but we said we may hook up again in Costa Rica.
On the walk back home, Paulina bought a bottle of mezcal which is the local equivalent of tequila which was promptly opened and sampled by all. Back at the house the guide books came out and Felix and I made a hazy plan for a two day hike in the Sierra Norte to start the next day . . . . . . . .
Before boarding the plane one of those bizzare yet strangely common reminders of how small a world we walk on occurred. I bumped into an old neighbour of mine 'Guy' with his girlfriend 'Ruth'. Not only were they on my flight but had booked into the very same hotel in the biggest city in the world!! A coincidence I put down to everyone's reliance on the google search.
After 12 hours of flying, some bad inflight films, terrible infight music (I suspect was selected by a hospital DJ) and the usual travel plan comparisons with others on board (who then steal your elbow room when your back is turned), I got my first glance of Mexico City from a 1000 ft up. Millions of flickering lights sprawled for mile after mile. They washed around mountains, linking up again on the other side like the incoming tide would a small rock.
After meeting up with Guy and Ruth we shared a taxi to the hotel and it felt as though we'd descended into the ants nest. Thousands of cars fighting for road space in a high speed bumper to bumper flow. After four or five phone calls the taxi driver worked out where our hotel was, on arrival we dumped our stuff and headed for the bar for some much needed cerveza and tacos.
The next day would be my only one in Mexico city before getting the bus South to Oaxaca to meet my step brother Felix so I headed out alone fairly early (which wasn't hard as my body thought it was some time in the afternoon). I enjoyed the time I spent there but felt one day was probably enough as the exhaust fumed hustle and ustle would have worn down a London taxi driver faster than a walk to the shops.
Guy and Ruth decided to get the same bus to Oaxaca. The bus entertainment was James Bond, Casino Royal played at full volume and in Spanish which I strangely enjoyed thanks to the over-the-top bad guy accents. The views were spectacular with cactus pepped mountains and people by the road side selling everything from tortillas to puppys!
After meeting Felix we ate at a small road side taco place, grabbed some beers from the shop next to our apartments and drank and talked rubbish on his porch (hammock included) till the jet lag was too strong to fight.
The place I'm staying in is amazing. It's a big open garden, each apartment has a bathroom and everyone shares the outdoor kitchen. The garden is dotted with different types of palms and lime trees with most of the herbs known to man grown next to the kitchen. There are seven of us sharing the kitchen; a French couple Paulina and Pascal, a Belgian named Stephanie, Yoko, a Japanese woman and an older Italian man, Claudio. There's also the extended Mexican family who own the place, have there own facilities but come and go most of the time. One of which has taken great delight in chanting my name, 'hola Jac.........jac....jac....jac'. There are also two dogs, three cats and a changing number of chickens depending on what's on the menu.
10/10/08
Felix and I walked around some of the markets where you can sample almost anything and I soon found myself chewing on a dried grasshopper which I guess could be described as salty chicken. I can't say I'd like a plague full for dinner though. The Organic market shares it's square with a free independent cinema that shows films from all over the world old and new. It's funded by a local artist and therefore doesn't charge for admission. What a great place! An opinion that wasn't totally shared by a girl I was talking to who had all her bags stolen on her first night in Mexico and even admitted to having to wear the same pants for several days in a row. We promptly left.
That night a few of us from the house went to a fiesta at the abandoned railway station (apparently Mexico's entire railway net work stopped running around 40 years ago but the track and stations still remain). A local big band kicked things off followed by a Gypsy band for Bulgaria accompanied by a DJ wearing far too tight tights and a jester's jacket! It was a odd contrast to be sandwiched between such noise, colour and energy and the ghostly tracks that ran into the night behind us. Bumped into Guy and Ruth, they said they were heading south the next day but we said we may hook up again in Costa Rica.
On the walk back home, Paulina bought a bottle of mezcal which is the local equivalent of tequila which was promptly opened and sampled by all. Back at the house the guide books came out and Felix and I made a hazy plan for a two day hike in the Sierra Norte to start the next day . . . . . . . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)