Life after Cuba

Culture shock set in as I landed back in Mexico, in the most tourist infected part of the country: Cancun. I stayed an hour away from Cancun in a place called Playa del Carmen which is what Cancun looked like maybe 10-15 years ago; a main pedestrian street lined with tourist trinket shops, cafes, restaurants, bars, tour companies and of course, a beach populated with chaises longues and aqua blue Caribbean sea. I met up with a friend who had just moved there and who managed to find a CS who happily accepted for both of us to stay with him. This CS is one of the most peculiar persons I have met to date, a character to say the least. He’s from Colorado but he has a Southern drawl, which he doesn’t loose when speaking Spanish. The conversations with him seem to develop into strange twists, often not obtaining the answer that you expect and not understanding how you’ve come to talk about e.g. what colour pen to use to write down a phone number. He talks a lot, to the point where you don’t even need to contribute anymore than an “uh-huh” from time-to-time. He also repeats everything several times, as if he believes you haven’t understood the first time around. But he does take an interest in people and things going on around him, asking curious questions such as “what has your experience been of dentists in Mexico?” or “what do Australians eat?”. Everyday he wakes up at 5.30am and goes for a run, returning around 7.00am and starting on his first beer for the day. Everyday he would say that he would come out with us and everynight he would pass out at approx. 7.00pm and not wake up till the next morning. He practices chiropractics as a hobby (self-taught) and uses anyone as a test dummy (I never dared to…!). He lives in a room with a bathroom attached. No need to say, it was a very small space for all three of us!

So I spent a week there with the intention to clear my head and figure out where to from here. But I wasn’t able to get any head space living there, as well as the fact that I spent the week going out every night as my friend was about to start working in a bar on the beach and we received free drinks (most of the time). The second week I moved out to a friends house (who I met on the beach the week before) and had a much more productive week working out what I wanted to do next. I decided that I wanted to travel down by land as much as possible and avoid flying. Therefore this meant that I would need to go by bus from country-to-country, travelling down Central America. My first stop would be El Salvador. It was decided and time to move on after two weeks in Playa.

On my way to El Salvador, I passed through San Cris one more time (fourth time!) to see a friend. While there I had once again, the best falafel roll I have ever tasted and of which I dreamed about when living in Palenque. I was also introduced to the best quesadillas I have ever tasted in a little eatery which has no name and only opens from 8pm to 10pm, 6 days a week. It’s owned by a young couple who are the most inviting two individuals I have ever met. And the food… ummm! They’re very adventurous with their fillings, changing them every night with such things as garlic prawns, tempeh in a peanut sauce, mushrooms with pumpkin flower…! Definitely not to be missed if you are there!

While in San Cris I also got to try peyote, a cactus found in central Mexico which is quite horrible to eat (even dry as I tried it!) but it does heighten your senses and sends you on a long journey inside your mind! It’s used by many indigenous tribes in the north of Mexico in traditional ceremonies, religious and also for healing purposes. We spent an incredible night camping in the wilderness, taking eery photos, full moon shining on our heads, speaking beauty to our eyes until the coldness seized me and shut me away from the brilliant world around me and made me shudder to the inside of the tent where I battled the cold along with fits of intensive moments. The next day we woke up to find that workmen had already started the day, breaking away the rock from the mountain beside us, smiling at us as we woke up from a dazed sleep. Two little kids giggled at the sight of us, as they played with the wheel barrow. Everything remained glowing. The trees held an amazing green about them, the sun shined on as if it diffused gold on the ground and I felt content but exhausted from so much activity inside my head!

I left Mexico feeling slight pains of melancholy but also ready to continue on my journey to new lands, cultures and adventures. I arrived in San Salvador after 24 hours of travel by bus, greeted by my beautiful friend Mar who is half French and half Salvadorian. I fell into good hands and was welcomed very warmly, into a colourful and relaxed home with two young girls. I was also received with open arms into Mar’s group of friends who are all lovely, interesting people with very mixed cultural backgrounds. I was reintroduced to meditation and took part in an amazing meditation on the beach with the sound of the waves breaking and gently helping us empty our minds. I was also taken out by a lovely Melvin (a CS/musician) who took time out of his days to show me his city, even while I was sick as dog from eating the curtido (fermented vegetables) that come with pupusas (a stuffed tortilla).

For the first time in many years I felt what I use to feel just before Christmas thanks to Mar and her daughters. The youngest one is eight years old and still believes in Santa. The excitement and belief she still has for Christmas made me remember what it felt like to look forward to this holiday. We also had a Christmas party at a finca located right on top of a mountain with a 360-degree view of mountains, volcanoes, San Salvador and out onto the Pacific. The day consisted of a large group of friends gathering with their kids, presents exchanged, a piniata battering and lollies playfully fought over, alcohol being swirled in glasses under a beautiful clear sky, mountains of fine dining food, an 80’s band playing in the late afternoon, everyone dancing and kids timidly looking on until loosing their inhibitions. To top it all off fire works were let off from the garden as we gazed over the amazing view that surrounded us.

El Salvador feels alike to Mexico in many ways. People have similar features although there seems to be a little greater mix of cultures here than in Mexico. The markets are chaotic places full to the brim (just like Mexico), people yelling out what goods they’re selling and for how much, the occasional comment in English as you walk past and a mishmash of clothes, food, kitchen items, hardware’s and sometimes even animals. After asking many passers-by I discovered that there really wasn’t a historical centre as I had imagined it. San Salvador’s city centre is more to the point, one big market that extends on for kilometres, covering the crumbling old buildings which were once vibrant places where people lived and worked. The cathedral marks the centre but even that is covered by market stalls and lacks the feeling that is required for the centre of a capital. Tired, a little lost and feeling once again like the odd one out, attracting comments because of my height and white skin, I felt a little home sick in the initial few days, but this time not from Australia but from Mexico! After five months of living there, I felt quite comfortable and at home, accustomed to the people, the accent, the customs and culture as well as the friends that I have made. I always find it hard to move on from a place and get use to a new land. But El Salvador is a beautiful country and with the help of Mar I quickly got over this home sickness. 20 volcanoes populate the small nation and good surfing beaches are also found to which many Australians flock to. During this time of the year it’s sunny everyday and reminds me of the clear, bright skies that Australia is renowned for. The violence and the maras (youth gangs in El Salvador) that everyone talks about was not visible to me while in San Salvador. But people who can afford it live in residencies, which are walled off communities that are lined with barbwire and hold guards at the entrance. Many people also have full time maids and nannies for the kids, which quite surprised me. There has been a change of government this year, for the first time since the end of the civil war in 1992, FMLN, the guerrilla who fought against the government for 20 years, has now taken power. People are hopeful that this left leaning government will be the change that they are hoping for. So far the government has sent military in conjunction with the police, to patrol the streets of San Salvador to combat the gangs. Although early to judge, people say that there has been a decrease in violence since this initiative.

In my last few days in El Salvador, Agus the Argentinean who I met in Cuba joined me to travel down Central America. We had been in contact after I had left Cuba and it was decided that we would adventure together! We went to visit a set of villages in the North-East of the country where the guerrillas held power during the civil war. We went to visit the cave, located in the mountains of El Salvador where the guerilla radio was located in secret, a huge cave that was the centre where the guerrillas worked out of and where many slept and hid out. We also saw remnants of bombs that had been dropped in these small villages, causing craters and killing many. Astounding to think that this was the government doing this to its own people.

And today… We're off to Honduras!

Cuba

Check out Cuba photos here!

“The shortest shorts parading the streets, stilettos worn by the sexiest girls imaginable walking down the street with postures of confidence, boys walking with pride, in singlets showing their golden brown skin or strutting with the flare of someone who knows how to move their body. “Hay muchos bonitos lugares aqui” (there are many beautiful places here) say many Cubans. They’re proud of their culture and the country that they live in, even if things aren’t perfect. People walk around with musical instruments, supposedly to their next gig, possibly to play for tourists. Cuban salsa oozes out onto the streets from many openings along the street; Cuban cigars are smelt out of holes in the wall or in plazas where many people hang out in the obscurity of the trees. During the day, you may be surprised to see many people walking around with cakes in their hands, uncovered, leaving the cake open to any sort of danger or splatter. If you walk away form the centre of the centre, you start to see the decaying buildings which populate Habana. It looks beautiful to the eye but in reality isn’t very safe to live in and would go down in a second if any natural forces were to hit this city. Walking along the streets at night, you might come across people singing on the streets, rapping to another persons beat or letting out large booming, colourful voices. Habana feels exactly as I imagined from the pictures that had seen and the few documentaries that I have watched. “Tenemos el sangre caliente” (we are hot blooded) is definitely true and summarises well what kind of people Cubans are. The people I’ve spoken to from here are very intelligent and knowledgeable people. They know a lot about their history and the history of other countries (which they aren’t able to visit very easily). They know much more about other countries than most people in Australia do even though we are able to travel with little difficulty. The education system is obviously working well in Cuba and most people seem to take advantage of the fact that education is encouraged and is free. There’s also a really strong health system here and people get treated well and for free. The backdrop of the classic American cars which can be anything from shining and well kept to falling apart at the seams, makes you feel as if you’ve stepped back in time in a 1950’s romantic movie. I have to keep on reminding myself that I’m in Cuba as it still feels surreal, having been a dream of mine to travel here for many years. An old man sitting next to me in the square has just bought me a rolled up piece of paper which I thought held a cigar in it but in fact has roasted peanuts. The piece of paper was a reused one with notes written on it from a class. A generous gesture from a stranger who I’m sure doesn’t have that much to give.”

Notes on Cuba:

Most people agree that Cuba has a low level of crime in comparison to other Latin American countries and corruption is quite minimal. This may be due to the high quality social system that is in existence here, as people have access to all the basics for free. This includes a comprehensive system of security at work,.good working conditions and care for people who are in need where it be poor health, disabled, old age, maternity, etc. I was told that everyday there´s morning exercises organised by the government for the elderly. People are respected and valued here and aren’t turned away from e.g. a hospital because they don’t have health insurance. Unemployment is also very low at 1.9%, the lowest in Latin America.

On saying that, people aren’t paid very much in Cuba and there seems to be discrepancies between certain careers. Doctors for example are paid 22 CUC a month and taxi drivers can earn double this. Generally people don’t earn very much at all (1 CUC equals $1.15 Aus) and things are very expensive in the shops, especially when you´re earning 22 CUC a month! For example a pen costs 1.50 CUC and shampoo costs from 3.00 CUC up and often these products can only be bought in CUC (which Cubans aren´t meant to earn but of course need). Therefore people can’t afford to buy much and many have converted to working in the hospitality trade as here they can earn tips undeclared. The thing that is astonishing is that everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, is owned by the government. It’s hard to absorb this fact when living in a country that is based on neo-liberal capitalist principles. The brand name shops (such as Adidas or Puma) that are operating in Cuba are a joint businesse with the government where the government owns 51% and the company 49%. From my understanding, if you have your own business than you must pay the government a huge amount before you are able to profit yourself and the business would be in the name of the government.

In medicine school, doctors learn about herbal and homeopathic medicine along with traditional medicine. Herbs used in certain remedies are not opposed in Cuba as they are in the west and there are several main pharmacies that sell herbs to the public. Cuba appears to be more ecological than most countries. They use everything to the maximum, serve street food in reusable containers, don’t have plastic bags available in shops, use limited machinery for farming duties and use permaculture /organic farming as the main approach to agriculture and horse and cart still being the main mode of transport in the country.

There’s only two sorts of accommodation here in Cuba. Hotels or rooms within homes (called Casas Particulares). I stayed with a lovely family in Habana. The grandmother made me a birthday cake and they all took good care of me. They had set up their Casa Particular illegally for the first 6 months, therefore weren’t registered with the government. Now they are registered and have to pay 175 CUC per month per room to the government before they are able to make any profit from the enterprise. I paid 15 CUC per night for my room and there weren’t always people in the second room while I was there.

The food in Cuba is definitely not as rich or varied as in Mexico. The street food (which you can only buy with cuban pesos) consists of greasy pizza, hot dogs, cheese sandwiches, dry tamales and boxed lunches (cajitas) consisting of rice with a few beans and meat. Most of it is very unhealthy. I guess that people eat mostly at home as it’s cheaper and would only eat out once in a while, therefore not being so affected by the unhealthy street food diet. But there is beautiful cane juice available in Habana which you can buy for 1 cuban peso (less than 5 cents), freshly squeezed in front of you which you drink on the spot and hand back the glass to be used again. Soooooooo good on a hot day!

There are so many varieties of people here from black to white to super tall to short and everything in between. There are many who don’t look like they are Cubans (my idea of Cuban) who are obviously Cubans by their accent and the general manner in which they behave on the streets (e.g. white blondes). I didn´t get hassled half as much in Cuba as I have been in Mexico for example, maybe due to the fact that there are people of all looks here. Generally people are lean and the mix between African and Spanish blood has created gorgeous people who have beautifully fit bodies who definitely have the right to flaunt it as they do. There are many young couples, exhibiting in the streets while they go for meanders, all looking stunning. People dress well here, especially for going out at night. Girls wear stilettos with almost nothing on their backs and the shortest shorts or skirts possible. Ed hardy t-shirts are on many males backs, along with the big brand names such as Nike, Dolce and Gabana, Versace, etc. I was genuinely surprised to see such expensive brands being carried by many young people in the streets. When asking a friend, I was told that these come in cheap from South America where I guess some of these clothes might be made.

I asked if there was discrimination here in Cuba and most people answered not within the Cubans themselves but there definitely is between the tourists and Cubans. Up until a few years ago, Cubans weren’t allowed to enter the tourist hotels. Tourists are kept as far away as possible from the Cubans. Starting from the two different currencies that are used (CUC which is for tourists and cuban pesos which is for the Cubans). The impact of the Fidel government on liberty and freedom is subtle to a tourist but when you start questioning Cubans they tell you in hushed voices that they’re not meant to talk against the government, that any opposition will be acted upon quite severely (loosing your job, imprisonment), that Cubans aren’t able to travel outside of Cuba unless they have a formal invitation and that all costs are covered by an outside source, they’re not meant to accept tourists in transport that is only meant for Cubans such as 3 wheeled bikes and machinas, that they’re not really allowed to interact with foreigners, that they’re not meant to have a relation with a foreigner and shouldn’t be seen in public together, that it’s illegal to host foreigners at home unless they have a permit to do so…the list goes on. Access to internet is also minimal as most Cubans can´t afford it and the internet available is censored (just as they´re trying to do in Australia!).

There’s a definite island air to the place which comes from the combination of Habana being right on the coast, how hot it is and how everyone is always out on the street. I love this. People live outside rather than indoors, hanging out, chatting, meeting up, watching, going for strolls, kids playing while old men play dominoes from morning to night, sometimes sipping rum while intensely concentrated on the game.

There are so many museums in Habana that I sincerely believe that it would win the Guinness book of records for the city with the most museums. Every building which the government is unsure what to do with, is converted into a museum. Therefore there are museums about absolutely everything such as the museum of numbers, copious amounts on the different aspects of the revolution, art museums, natural history museum, cigar museum, rum museum, victor hugo museum, and anything else that you can think of.

There are many holes in the wall in Habana which is where shops operate from (mainly who sell in cuban pesos) or eateries who sell take away food. Many are located in buildings that are falling apart, making the place look impoverished but still full of life. The markets that I visited had limited fruit and veges available, appearing desolate and a little lacking.

The Che is everywhere. Pictures, wall art, photos, paintings, within political propaganda and on everyone’s lips. I was travelling with an Argentinean, Agus, in the second week of my time in Cuba who I had met through my casa particular and when asked where we were from, I got a blank look when I told them Australia (after people guessed anything from Chile to Peru to Venezuela), whereas the Argentinean had people asking him to come to their house for a coffee and praising him for being from the same country that Che was from.

Political propaganda is also everywhere, especially along the highway, on big billboards saying things such as “Tenemos y siempre tendremos socialismo” (we have and will always have socialism), “Anniversario de 50 anos, la revolucion continua” (50^th Anniversary, the revolution continues), or anti-United States messages portraying the states as the evil force against the Cuban revolution that will be vanquished. Billboards are actually only used for political messages rather than for advertising as they are back home. The billboards picture anything from Fidel, his revolution team, the five prisoners who are imprisoned in the U.S. and of course the Che.

Agus and I thought it would be cheaper and more authentic to hitchhike with Cubans rather than take the tourist bus, which is the only option apart from taxis for tourists. It was difficult for us to work out where to do this from, how to get there, if it was easy for us to get picked up, etc as most people that we asked seemed to be part of the scheme to get us on the tourist bus – vague with their explanations and telling us that it wasn’t possible when we knew that it was. Finally we made it to the road leading to Vinales (the cigar making district) and were picked up by a big truck, which was already carrying 10 Cubans in the back. With the wind in our hair and oranges and lollies shared around, we ended up having to pay for the ride (as everyone else) but it ended up being 40 cuban pesos (a little under 2 CUC) instead of 12 CUC with the privilege of experiencing how Cubans travel. At times I felt like a refugee, hiding when we came across police as we were told that we weren’t really meant to travel this way. More and more people came on, sometimes there would be packs of people waiting for a ride under a bridge and the truck would drive straight past them as there were just too many to all fit in.

We arrived in Vinales at night and thanks to a woman in the same machina as us (a collective taxi), we found a Casa Particular straight away. We were asked for our passports and visas so that the owners of the Casa could note down our details in their records to give to the officials. We both had our passports but I hadn’t bought my visa with me having left my big backpack in Habana and not knowing that I needed to travel with it. The owners almost hit the roof with fear. At first they told us that we had to leave straight away but after some reflection they agreed that we could stay for the night as long as we didn’t tell anyone that I didn’t have my visa with me and that we would go straight back to Habana the next day. We agreed knowing very well that we wouldn’t be doing such a thing after travelling all day to get here and not seeing anything of Vinales. The owner a little later explaiend that all the Casas Particulares had been checked by the police apart from there’s. This explained why they had so much fear about us staying with no visa, the anticipation that the police could come at any moment. The next day we said our goodbyes to the Casa under the understanding that we would be heading back to Habana that day. We found another Casa Particular a little further on who also asked for my visa but when told that I didn’t have it with me she just said not tell anyone and left it at that.

In Vinales as we walked around the stunning hills covering the countryside, we met an old man on his horse who invited us to his house for a coffee, the coffee beans originating from his small coffee plantation on the side of his house. He showed us his coffee plants and also his tobacco plants that he used to sustain his life through selling the leaves to the government. He rolled a cigar with expert ability and proceeded to light it, passing it around to both of us as well as his 4-year-old grandson who had a few puffs with a nonchalant attitude. As we sat on his front porch, sipping our coffee and watching the grandson causing havoc with whatever he came across, I looked across the fields and felt a calmness and contentment at the beauty that encountered my eyes. The old man wasn’t living in luxury but he was based in such a beautiful part of the world which overruled any sort of lavishness he may have craved.

From Vinales we went to Trinidad which is a good 10 hours away from Vinales, having to return to Habana to get there. We stood out in the rain waiting for a return ride but as it was pouring so much, the few cars and trucks that appeared just screamed past with no hesitation of stopping. The machinas we came across didn’t want to take us at first for fear of the police and then said that they could but that they would have to charge almost as much as the tourist bus. We finally organised a ride on the local bus by being smuggled on first and sitting waiting on the bus for a good 20 minutes before other passengers were allowed on. We paid a little more for this privilege but were quite happy to finally get going, especially since we were completely soaked from the down pour. In Habana we paid a machina to take us all the way to Trinidad. Half of the way into the journey, we hit a storm (once again as it happened for my entire second week in Cuba caused by a nearby cyclone) which prevented us from seeing anything in front of us. It was night by this time and I became angrier and angrier with the machina driver for not wanting to stop. The storm ceased and I relaxed when I could see in front of our windscreen again. We arrived in one piece but completely exhausted after 12 hours of being on the road.

Trinidad is the oldest city in Cuba, with cute cobbled stone streets and old colonial houses as well as the beach nearby. One night when we were looking for a place to eat dinner, a woman stopped us and told us the menu that she had available in her home restaurant. As she was saying the menu she lowered her voice and said something in a hushed tone. We couldn’t hear what she said and asked her to repeat it. She did and finally on the fourth time we understood that she was saying that she had beef available. We asked her why she was whispering and she responded that beef was illegal to have in Cuba. Apparently that’s not the only thing that´s illegal. Lobster is also illegal. The only place that can sell these products is in big tourist hotels (government owned of course) as it is seen as a luxury that Cubans can´t afford and if you happen to have a cow, you should only sell it to the government. You can get more jail time killing a cow than killing a human, somewhere between 4 and 10 years.

So when I asked people if they were happy with the current government structure I got a mixed response. Some believed that the transfer of power from Fidel to Raul would create some changes in terms of more freedoms economically and personally. This hasn´t occurred so far and although people do feel that the social system is advantageous for Cubans, there´s still a sense that part of the system is discriminatory against Cubans. Finally, the CS I met in Habana admitted that Cuba has its positives and negatives but that he likes it here and he believes that all countries have their pros and cons, ¨who´s to say which system is better...?¨

Day of the dead/dia de los muertos

Check out day of the dead photos here.

This was my second time back in DF, the second biggest city in the world so they say. This time I stayed in the ritzy suburb of La Condesa which is the equivalent to Paddington (for those who know Sydney). Lots of café lates been sipped in over priced cafes/restaurants while BMW’s and Hummers are being driven around with taco stands still on many street corners (not so much like Paddington!). There’s some interesting places to go out to in these parts and I did take advantage of this, mainly with my friend Alex (my ex-flatmate from Sydney). In the second hostel I stayed at I encountered a guy in the dorm room I was staying in who sweared that he recognised me. I thought he was using this as a pick up line but it turns out that we met in Morelia 3 weeks ago with Jen, while we were eating quesadillas. He had tried to start a conversation with us and both Jen and I weren’t too responsive He remembered and said that we had ignored him, which is probably quite true. It’s funny how things come back and hit you in the face. On saying that he wasn’t the nicest person I’ve ever met and he definitely annoyed me a good deal for the 3 days that I stayed in the hostel, constantly complaining about everything and whinging copiously.

So after a week of staying in hostels, I decided to finally give the old hostel living a rest and go back to couch surfing. The first couple I stayed with had a loved one pass away and so had family engagements to attend to which meant that I had to leave. Kindly, the couple found me another couch surfer to stay with whom I got on with superbly, especially for the weekend of dia de los muertos (day of the dead) which we were both very obsessed about!

Days of the dead is celebrated profusely in Mexico and is when the souls of the dead come back to join their loved ones. It is celebrated officially on the 1st of November (dia de los inocentes) which is when the souls of the children are honoured and the 2nd of November (dia de los difuntos) when the souls of the adults are honoured. The two days are happy celebrations, joyful, colourful and full of life, with lots of food, sweets, drinks and humour in the air. The celebration dates back to the Aztecs, believing that death is a door to another existence and that on the days of the dead, the souls are reunited with the living. Calaveras (skulls or skeletons) are everywhere during this time, playfully acting out scenes from the living, from skeleton mariachis playing a tune, to skeletons enjoying a lavish dinner or dancing joyously together and wearing large grins on their faces with sombreros on their heads.

Our first stop with my CS David was the markets in DF where they sell absolutely everything you can think of including sugared or chocolate skulls which are colourfully decorated and given out to friends and family with their names written on them, Halloween costumes line the stalls, skeleton toys hang waiting for their chords to be pulled by kids, paper decorations of all colours picturing skeletons in various scenes are in abundance used to adorn home altars and offerings, zombie dolls, and there was even a witchcraft/voodoo section. It was the 31st of October, the day before the first official day of the dead and therefore the markets were jam-packed full of people buying their last minute day of the dead presents and decorations. The air was festive with little kids dressed up for Halloween and asking for trick or treats to passers by.

That night I went to a Halloween party with Mariana and her boyfriend. I dressed up as a witch (a last minute put together!) and Mariana’s mum, who’s starting out as a makeup artist did my makeup (luckily enough as I don’t think I would have looked much like a witch otherwise!). The party was chock-full to the brim but after some pushing, we managed to get in and see the efforts that everyone had put into their costumes. I’ve never been to a Halloween party where EVERYONE was dressed up and had really put lots of thought into their particular characters. I saw pirates, draculas, clowns, zombies, skeletons, devils, wrestlers, the scream, lord of the ring characters, genies, the works! And very typically Mexican, mariachis appeared at midnight and played for an hour to the weird and wonderful characters floating around the night.

The next day David and his other couch surfer (also David) and I went to Xochimilco, one of the remaining indigenous areas of DF and also where there’s canals, called the Venice of Mexico. Here they had offering after offering bordering the footpaths with traditional day of the dead bread (sweet bread which is prepared especially for the day of the dead as the belief is that the dead love sugar), candles, sugar skulls, brightly cut decorative paper, food (favourite of the dead), tequila, cigarettes, decorations, poems, photos and much more depending on the offering. Each offering can be either for one person who died, a group of people, a tragedy that occurred or an issue that is going on in the community. Poems called calaveras are written about people who are alive in a humorous manner, normally making references to a quality or a defect of the person. Kids write these about their friends as a part of day of the dead on the 2nd November and there are many calaveras also written about politicians and other well known personalities. The market in Xochimilco was full of day the dead flowers mainly Zempasuchitl flowers (marigold flowers), which are either yellow or orange and are used to line the floors to help the dead find their way and decorate the offerings.

We caught a collectivo trajineras (a typical boat that goes on the canals of Xochimilco) and gently moved along the picturesque canals along with the many other trajineras. Trajinera merchants are also floating about, selling anything from beer, corn on the cob, chips, clothes, toys, rugs and there was even a photographer who looked like he was on a safari holiday waiting for clients. There were mariachis (of course!) who would hook up their trajineras with the requesting trajinera and would play in the middle of the canal. I was surprised by the amount of Mexicans that were on the canals and the lack of foreigners around. David told me that it’s a common thing to hire a trajinera with a group of your friends, to celebrate a special occasion.

As night fell over Xochimilco, we decided to take a look at the local cemetery (cemeteries are only open at night during day of the dead celebrations) and watch the vigils that were taking place. Unfortunately as soon as we arrived, it started to rain fiercely upon us and so we hurried from grave to grave trying to see as much as we could in between wet blinks. After 10 minutes of this, we gave up and, completely saturated, made our way to the metro. In the metro we were the only two who were wet. Other passengers looked on curiously, probably wondering why we had persisted to walk in such a heavy down pour.

The next day we continued our day of the dead offering obsession by going to Coyoacan, a part of Mexico city which has a rich culture to it and has many intellectuals and artists living there. Our first stop was the cemetery where we spent a good hour winding our way through the narrow paths, viewing tombstones and the decorations that loved ones had placed on them. Many families were already there at 11 in the morning, cleaning, decorating, praying, talking to their loved ones, singing along with the Mariachis that some of them had hired, laying down flowers, having a picnic, drinking (vodka for example!) and sitting on the tombs having a chat. It was the most social cemetery I had ever been to and seemed like a fantastic way to interact with the idea of death and dead loved ones. Kids were of course also there, helping and taking part in the rituals, laying down flowers on the graves with some of them dressed up in their Halloween costumes continuing to ask for trick or treats.

Next stop for the day was the centre of Coyoacan which had more formal offerings than what I had seen so far. These were prepared by the council and many of the offerings were to artists that had passed away from the area. I was most impressed with the large pictures that had been designed with a mixture of petals and seeds. In another area, some offerings were set up which explained the different elements that are placed on the offerings. They described that water is placed so that the dead are never thirsty, food because it’s the belief that the dead still live on and come down to eat on these days, day of the dead bread with little strips that symbolise bones, candles are there to lead the dead towards the divine light and flowers symbolise the sun which shine on the lives of the souls.

In the afternoon we went to the University City again (went on Saturday night but couldn’t really see much and it was too cold for my liking!) where we saw the amazing offerings that the university had set up. Every year they have a theme which each department adheres to and this year it was a tribute to Edgar Allan Poe, the famous America writer who is considered to be the inventor of the detective-fiction genre. Amazing structures were erected of giant skeletons, spiders, bloody hands coming out of the ground, skulls in all corners, decapitated heads sprawled on the ground, swords stuck through bloody hearts and scenes of skeletons being killed. All very gory but surprisingly quite appealing to look at. Kids were going around with their parents and all had smiles, seeming content and not at all scared by what they saw. I started to think about how death is treated in Australia and the differences with Mexico. We seem to cover up and not talk about death, as if it’s a taboo subject. Here, it’s out in the open, gory, jokingly uncanny, cheeky and joyful. Kids are confronted with death from a very early age and are accustomed to it. Death is celebrated rather than just simply feared as it seems to be in my country. I think I might start to adopt this tradition and also call it my own...!

My first visitor

Photos relating to this blog here.

I had my first visit in Mexico a couple of weeks ago, all the way from Australia! That’s right my good friend Jen came over for 3 weeks, joining me on my travels around Mexico and a well earned holiday (well at least for her!).

Arriving in Mexico city, the first thing we did was head to one of the biggest markets of the capital La Merced. As we strolled through the many aisles of fresh vegetables, fruit, meats and every other edible product you can think of, I re-experienced seeing Mexico for the first time as Jen oohd and aahd over the abundance and variety of fresh food and as time went on, shared with me, her initial impressions of Mexico.

After a few days in DF, we set off for our first stop, Morelia where they were hosting their annual international film festival. We spent the afternoon finding accommodation. The first place that we had found on the internet we discovered didn’t exist and so we got our packs on and waddled down the narrow streets, thinking we knew where we were going but in fact being very confused with the very straight forward grid like streets of Morelia! We found a little hostel that had a sunny roof top terrace with beautiful views of the city. In fact, apart from one other girl who we never saw, we were the only ones in the hostel for the entire 3 days that we were there for.

During our time in Morelia we visited lake Patzcuaro which we were told is a beautiful place but for some reason we found it quite hard to find and every person we asked seemed to be surprised we wanted to see it. We had also heard about thermal pools in a small town on the lake, which we especially went for. Instead of finding thermal pools we found row after row of small water slide theme parks, all deserted. It was a strange site to find on the outskirts of a small town in Mexico and a little disturbing seeing all of these parks without a soul in them.

We finally found the lake and understood why everyone was surprised we wanted to see it. But, we still took the time to sit by it and have a drink appreciating the tranquility of the place. Upon our return to Morelia we were told that we hadn’t gone to the right town – makes sense! We also went to see some films that were part of the festival which were brilliant. Poor Jen had to sit through one which spoke only French and had subtitles in Spanish. She managed ok though!

From Morelia we hit the coast, first to Acapulco which in summary looks like the gold coast with high rise hotels surrounding the beach and people trying to sell their crafts/food to the tourists lying on the beach. We did however, meet a couple of Irish lads at the hostel we stayed in (one of them typically Irish and enjoying paying people out – especially me and my apparently strong aussie accent hah! And the other a stock broker bachelor who hardly drinks and is super health conscious) and spent most of our time visiting Acapulco with them. One of Acapulco’s tourist attractions is the young cliff divers who climb a huge cliff with no harness and then dive into the sea. It’s very impressive to watch and terrifying for anyone who has fear of heights.

Next stop – Puerto Escondido! A huge surfer destination, especially for Australians (with lots of bogan surfers…) Both the Irish boys and us were heading to the same place so we decided to travel together and ended up staying for a week! It was the perfect holiday destination, breathtaking beach just across the road from our accommodation, few tourists as it was low season and lots and lots of stunning sunsets. We spent most of the time eating at cafes/restaurants (way too much!), sleeping on the beach, surfing, going out to bars (“it’s just Ooh La La tonight…!”) which were mostly deserted and lots of relaxing. The boys took some surfing lessons and so did Jen. On the first and second day I decided that since I was from Australia it should be in my instincts to know how to surf. Bad idea. Stood up for no more than 2 seconds on both occasions, mainly doing body boarding (or just resting on the board trying not to feel sea sick). On the third day I let go of my ego and decided to take some lessons. I stood up and surfed 2 or 3 waves all the way through! It’s a damn tiring sport but I enjoyed it and by the end I even started to think myself as a surfer (until I was reminded that I had surfed the tiniest and slowest waves possible in a place which has the fastest breaking waves in the world!).

Near the end of our stay we had a little encounter with the local police while sitting at a bar on the beach. A cop came up to us out of nowhere and was obviously disturbed that a street dog with a broken leg started to bark and growl at him quite ferociously (we seemed to attract quite a few street dogs in Puerto – I blame the Irish boy Mark for attracting them!). I proceeded to appease the cop by saying that it wasn’t our dog, but Mark thought it would be a good idea to tell the cop in broken Spanish that he needed to be taken to a vet. Unsurprisingly the information wasn’t accepted with much joy. Three more cops appeared out of nowhere to reinforce the message. They used the pretext of drugs as the reason for their being there but in reality they were just using their position of power to make us fearful and hopefully for them, hand over a bribe as many people do (especially tourists who get scared off). I assured them that we weren’t doing anything illegal but they still kept on standing there. Everyone just sat there looking down at their feet waiting for them to leave. Finally the owner of the bar came and chatted to the cops telling them that everything was fine and that we were under his care. The cops left and we with relief also left but as we turned around to the spot we were sitting, the cops had returned checking the sand to see if we had possibly left anything on the ground.

Our last stop was Oaxaca city, a very indigenous city which still holds many traditions, customs and festivities related to their culture. We had a crazy night on Mezcal, a drink which originates from Oaxaca and which is quite similar to tequila. It also comes from an agave plant and has a smoky flavour to it which is quite strong. A night on the Mezcal and somehow you become a little mad, renting a mass of balloons to pose for a photo from a passing street vendor for example! We recovered the next day by going to see some ruins – nothing like a bit of sun and some archaeological sites to treat a hangover.

As an early bday present, Jen bought me a Temazcal, a traditional Mexican sweat bath which was and still is, used as an integral and important part of the natural medicine here (originates from the Aztecs and has a lot of symbology attached to it). First you are made to strip down and with a simple sheet around you, you crawl into this very small room which is meant to symbolize entering your mothers womb and is heated up to an extreme temperature. You then sweat it out for 10 mins or so until a woman enters and beats you with traditional herbs which are said to cleanse your spirit. Then another spell of intense heat while prayers are being chanted and finally you’re given a rose petal bath. You also leave the room by crawling, naked as if you are being reborn. You feel like you’ve been to death and back after this experience, stripped of everything and exhausted. You are then given a relaxing massage from head to toe which if you’re like me, makes you fall asleep! What an experience!

We went our separate ways after Oaxaca and so parted with they Irish boys. It was sad to see the holidays finish (well for some of us ☺) and sad to know that others were going home (Jen) and leaving others behind (me). We were back in DF at the crack of dawn, having taken yet another night bus and not having slept for much of the journey. We painfully drove around trying for what seemed like hours, to find the hostel that I had the address for and then to find it to be absolutely empty. Finally the caretaker popped up out of nowhere and we were given our room and told that we were yet again, the only ones there. Jen had her last Mexican meal that day and that night we parted, her back to Australia and me staying put. I sat in the hostel feeling sad to be on my own after such a nice holiday but also excited about what was to be next.

San Cristobal, Guadelajara, DF

Many places have been visited since leaving Palenque, well, many more than in the last 3 months anyway!

First stop was San Cris (again!) where I spent 2 days couch surfing with the first couch surfer I surfed with upon arriving in Mexico. 2 girls from Casa Argentina times (Guatemala) were also staying there and it became a nice little reunion catch up. Cinthia and I took advantage of the many bars and clubs located in San Cris to also catch up on some nightly shenanigans and lots of dancing that we missed when living in Palenque. We also went to visit the Canyon Sumidero which has cliffs 900 metres above sea level and is quite impressive especially from boat level, cruising on the Grijalva River. The river flows into the hydro-electric dam which generates something like 35% of electricity for all of Mexico. Amaazing!

Next stop… Guadelajara…

Impressions -

A payaso (a clown) is sitting next to me on a bench in a pedestrian street that reminds me very much of Pitt street mall in Sydney. He is most probably in his late 70’s and has a blotched red nose, white cheeks and a pink face with white lips. He’s smoking a cigarette, his legs are crossed and he is wearing ¾ business pants which have been frayed with scissors. He holds a juice in a plastic bag with a straw sticking out of it and is clutching a bag which has seen better days. He wears a short straw hat that sits on an angle on his head. He looks fragile for a clown, as if his skin might break apart upon touching him. He also doesn’t appear to be too fussed about doing his job, perhaps having forgotten that he is wearing his clown gear. Further down the street sit an old couple on the ground who are selling a collection of bathroom items including a whole lot of dry bristle brushes. The old man is interlacing the raw material together with which to make these brushes. His face has a gentleness to it which invites you to talk to him. The old woman is well marked with coarse lines running all across her face and hands. They look out of place here in this commercial shopping precinct, or is it that everything else looks out of place surrounding them…

There are definitely not as many different cultures here in Mexico as there are in Australia. I have now become use to seeing a certain type of cultural look and when I encounter other nationalities, I catch myself starring at them, amazed at their differences. I now understand why I’m singled out although I don’t feel that I look that different to Mexicans, but the remarks say otherwise. I am also known as ‘la Australiana’ and am identified with the stereotypes of kangaroos, the Crocodile Hunter and surfing, all things that very much describe who I am!

Because it’s so expensive to live on your own, the majority of young people live at home until they’re married or they have a decent stable job. From my impressions, this means that parents are much more part of their kids lives than they are in Oz. This is what I experienced when I visited my friends in Guadelajara. All of them live at home, and although they are given the freedom to do what they want, they are still very much part of the family unit and their parents are part of their lives. Family seems to carry a bigger importance here than in many other places. Sunday is a traditional family day. You see many groups of families out and about, doing activities together and spending time together like you don’t really see back home.

There’s a strong skater culture in Guadelajara, or at least I met many skaters when I was there. The influence of this sport is like anywhere in the world; from the clothes that you wear, to the music that you listen to and what you do in your spare time. I guess one of the differences here is that being part of this culture doesn’t prevent you from still being part of and enjoying Mexican culture. Skaters who listen to e.g. industrial rock or metal still appreciate the classics of Mexico, Marimba and a whole variety of different styles and will still enjoy e.g. going out dancing salsa even if they don’t know the steps properly!

Some of the houses in Guadelajara are absolutely stunning. I have never seen such big luxurious houses in my life before. There’s definitely a very large division between the haves and the have nots here. I was told that most of the mansions belong to the narco traffickers. I guess it makes sense. Where else would they get money to build such humungous houses?! But then all of the friends houses I visited in Guadelajara were also quite big and impressive and most have maids - and this is the middle class. The justification for this is that having a maid here costs much less than what it would in Australia, therefore only the well of do so in Australia whereas here more people are able to afford to do so.

DF – next stop Distrito Federal (Mexico City)

I spent a week in DF and was shown around by a friend of Cinthia’s called Jesus who lives in Colonia del Carmen Coyoacan. He made it his mission to show me DF and spent 3 days being my guide. His parents also joined in and took us out to a Sunday lunch (family time!) to a historical part of DF. We went to Mercado Chopo which is a fusion of many different pop cultures (goths, skaters, punks, hippies) in the one place. It’s an interesting market which has a very slight resemblance to Camden market in London but is definitely not as big. It also has many bloody dolls with skulls sticking out and many more day of the dead type of knickknacks.

On the Tuesday of my week in DF I managed to convince a few friends to come to the Luchas Libres with me. Now the concept here is similar to the more well known WWE wrestlers from the states – but much more entertaining in my opinion! The wrestlers in Luchas Libres get dressed up in what looks to me as super hero costumes and wear masks that cover their faces and makes them look mysterious and tough (until they get onto the ring…). Once they start fighting, it looks like they’re all partaking in amateur theatre, throwing pretend punches at each other, and taking it in turns at pretending to be hurt. The crowd yells abuses at the wrestlers to egg them on and at each other depending on who you support out of the wrestlers. Some people take their wrestling very seriously and many wrestlers are very famous and are worshiped. Masks are sold all over Mexico and are seen as collectors items (yes, I have one too…!) I’m told that 70 year old grandmothers sometimes go along and are very passionate about their wrestling, yelling abuses such as “dale carbon!” (translation: give it to him asshole!) to the luchadores. All in all, it’s quality entertainment!

On Friday just before I had a ‘guest’ from Australia come to visit me, I went out to a club with Cinthia and a friend of hers. Now some of the clubs here do things a little differently to us in Australia. First if you’ve driven there’s usually a car part attendant out the front of the club who takes your car from you and goes to park it somewhere around the club for you. Of course tipping is required. Next if you want to be guaranteed to get in then you need to phone up in advance and book a spot for you and your friends. This way, you don’t need to line up and wait outside for hours like all the others who forgot to call. Usually you have to pay a cover charge which is relatively quite expensive for Mexico. Once you’re in you get taken to a table (you have to be at a table if you’ve booked) and if you’re at a table it means that you have to buy a bottle of something (rum, vodka, gin, tequila…) The only problem is that if you’re only a few then maybe a bottle of liquor is a little too much for you to get through in one night (especially if one of you is the designated driver). Doesn’t matter . Throughout the whole night you have a waiter who attends to you and pours you your drinks at your table once you have bought your bottle. I found this to be the most frustrating as he is always around, watching and seeing how much you’re drinking, ready to pour your next drink even when you don’t want one. If you want to get rid of him you have to pay him for his service which is a minimum of 15 % of whatever the bottle cost. All in all, an expensive night out! Obviously not everyone can afford going to these sorts of 'lugares' here in Mexico…

On the night that my ‘guest’ arrived (the 2nd of October) was the anniversary of the 1968 student shootings in Plaza de las Tres Culturas 10 days before the Olympic games took place in Mexico. A large crowd gathered at the famous Zocalo with banners, megaphones, figurines and buses. The protest in 1968 was during a time when there was mass struggle in Mexico after many years of a one party political system. They had taken to the streets once again to pressure the government for basic political reform. The massacre was a planned affair. Snipers were positioned in large buildings surrounding the Plaza and shot into the crowd killing somewhere around 300 people (this number is disputed). When the shooting stopped the wounded were dragged by the presidential guards and taken away. The government initially stated that it had been provoked by the protesters but later it became known that this was far from the truth. To this day there are many questions left unanswered – Who ordered the massacre? How many were killed? Who are those whose bodies still haven’t yet been identified? The protesters this year at gathered at Zocalo to remember the protesters who died in this massacre and to call for justice once again, asking for the government to establish the truth of these massacres. Police were out in force that night in the streets surrounding the Zocalo. I have never seen so many cops in one place before even during APEC in Sydney there were fewer cops then there were here. Welcome to Mexico!

Leaving Palenque

Check out 3 months worth of photos here.

I have officially left Palenque. That’s right, 2 weeks ago today I left what was my job for 3 months and my home for the same period of time. I left with mixed feelings. A little weary about what the future holds and where my adventure will lead me to but also feeling happy to be on the move again and not locked into any particular project. I definitely will be sad to be leaving my flatmate Cintho – we’ve spent a great last 6 weeks together, eating our way through our time in CAM, with wacky adventures and lots of belly laughs (and food babies!)

A little summary of Palenque for those of you thinking about going to visit (damn you for not visiting when I was there!) – it’s a small town that tries to act bigger than it is, mainly because it has an influx of tourists coming through all year around to visit the ruins nearby. People are a little apprehensive of newcomers (understandably with the amount of people coming for short visits) and therefore are a little reserved. But the atmosphere of Palenque is very relaxed probably partially to do with the heat that it radiates - a constant sauna where sweat runs off your skin in litres. There isn’t much to do in Palenque town apart from eat your way around and check out the nightly activities at Parque Central (normally it involves Marimba music being played and eating deserts from the stalls in the plaza). On the other hand, the surroundings of Palenque have a whole lot of amazing waterfalls, wildlife, jungle, ruins and many, many adventures to be had.

As for a little update on my work, Cinitha and I worked hard to pull together the recycling campaign launch in a little less than a month. It was frantic and stimulating, working to such a tight deadline, but sometimes a little frustrating, especially when people from within the organisation weren’t too supportive or helpful. We had surprisingly lots of media interest and although I was pushed to be the one who spoke to radio and television, I managed to get out of it as I believed that my 3 months old Spanish just didn’t cut the mark to be heard throughout the media! The actual day itself rolled out well and could even be called a success. We had quite a few people who came along, including school kids, media and community members. Of course the municipality failed us by promising to lend us some tables and never turning up with the goods (this was after visiting them 6 TIMES to make sure that they would provide these tables). We solved the table situation by quickly escaping to our office and stealing the tables from any place we could find, wildly piling them into the back of the ute and screaming off towards Parque central. We had workshops on how to make a compost, how to weave chip wrappers into e.g. purses, how to make flowers out of egg cartons and lots more arts and crafts for kids. We had speakers, documentaries, a singer, my guitar group performing and even a karate group came along and performed (without the organisers prior knowledge – not very linked to the environmental theme...but what the heck!)

So after the event I went about trying to make sure that the campaign would be continued (with not much success I believe). I was a little disappointed overall with how the organisation functions in regards to management and everyday work that the workers are meant to carry out. A lot of projects aren’t well planned and are rushed together with little ongoing input. It seems a little tokenistic, a way to say that they have worked on e.g. capacitating women in one day. But, I do believe that CAM has a lot of potential and is well placed to make sustainable change in communities. They have lots of contacts and are close to the grassroots and the coordinator has a lot of knowledge. Little by little changes can be made.

Nest stop - San Cris, Guadelajara and then the famous DF!

Ruins by night

The other day, a friend of mine told me to shut my eyes and to hold out my hand while he got something out of his paper bag. I did as I was told, suspicious of what would appear in my hand. A very light weight item was placed there and I was told to keep my eyes closed and eat it. With distrust I warned him that I was vegetarian but he reassured me that it was fine to eat. I munched on a crunchy, salty item which didn’t taste bad but didn’t resemble anything I’d had before. I was then told that it was an ant. I gulped in horror as I peered into his paper bag that was filled with bull sized ants, all fried and salted, ready for a squeeze of lime and chilli before being crunched on. “It’s not an animal, it’s an insect” he said, smiling. Of course, I had to prove that I could eat them with the knowledge of what they were. With chilli and lime, they’re really not all that bad!

I experienced another unusual Friday night this weekend just passed. While walking a friend to the bus station I passed some couch surfers whom I had met in San Cristobal. They had just arrived and were heading to a hotel situated right next to the ruins. They held a hand drawn map which showed how to get into the ruins from the back of the hotel, through the jungle. We decided to try and find the path that night. We set off around 9 pm with torches in hand. Passing under a barbwire fence which had been somewhat pulled up, we were suddenly in the jungle. We followed what seemed to be a path with animal noises all around us adding a sense of reality to where we were. The blair witch project definitely entered my mind a few times while walking in the darkness. In one instance I spotted some glowing eyes in a bush, which ended up being a bandicoot, scared off by four sets of eyes gleaming back at him/her. Ten minutes into our journey we spotted lights in the distance that seemed to be heading towards us. We turned off our torches apart from one which was a red sensor light and attempted to tread quietly over the crunchy leaves and fallen branches in our way. Several times the path ended and we hastily searched for a different way that would take us in the right direction. We had to go back on our tracks several times to follow a different fork that we had come across. At one stage we were attacked by ants who crawled up our legs and bit hard into our skin (probably getting me back for eating them!). The lights that we had seen heading towards us, we discovered after a while, were fixed lights from the street, not at all coming for us! After walking for around an hour and arriving at yet another dead end, I was ready to head back to camp, not believing that we would find our way there. One of the guys in the group pleaded for us to wait and set off scrambling up a huge rock. After a few minutes he signalled for us to come up. Reluctantly we followed through. He had found signs that other people had been through the same way – rubbish on the ground. A few more minutes of climbing over very large branches that had fallen onto the path, we arrived at a very small wall that resembled some of the ruins that we had seen. Looking over to the right of the wall was a cleanly laid gravel path. I couldn’t believe it, we had made it in! It felt like we were on the yellow brick road, heading for a mysterious adventure. The next few hours were surreal. Wondering around the ruins, climbing pyramids and tunnels, being attacked by bats that were hidden in some of the rooms of the pyramids (seemed like a scene from a horror movie!), scorpions scattering across the rocks of the ruins and looking up from the top of pyramids into a brilliantly lit sky with thousands of stars shining down on us. At around 1am we were all starting to feel the effects of sleep deprivation and headed back out of the ruins, along the same path we had come on. Half way through we started to hear the amazing sounds of the Howler monkeys up in the trees above us. It’s an impressive sound to hear the cries of these monkeys so close. One was extremely close by and sounded like what I imagine a jaguar to sound like when attacking its pray. We decided to head onto the road where guards were sure to be but where ferocious sounding monkeys would not. Almost reaching the hotel, a guard saw us and stopped us. He made us empty our bags and pockets and seemed to be searching for drugs (sneaking into the ruins and taking mushrooms is a regular occurrence). He questioned us asking what we were doing wondering around in the jungle at night and did we know that it’s a prohibited area at night, etc. We mumbled something about being lost and he let us go saying that next time he would take our passports (for those of us who weren’t from Mexico). We headed back to the hotel, content with our nights adventure.

Picture thanks to Josh Metzger

Scattered bits and pieces

I have never seen so many people being arrested as I have seen in Palenque. I don’t think that this is a sign that there’s more ‘criminals’ here than in other parts of the world. There’s a lot more police here, as far as I can see, and they are eager to show that they’re out in force, safe guarding our streets. My theory (and not only mine) is that they are more active and visible here because of the tourists. They want to portray the image that there is high security here - so that tourists can go back home and tell their family and friends that Mexico is safe – that narco trafficking is under control and that the rebel group (the Zapatistas) are being monitored by the police and military. A good excuse to have so many police and military populating Chiapas.

The other day I went up to San Cristobal for a meeting. Along the way there, we encountered two military checkpoints. One stopped the bus and demanded that we all get off the bus and stand outside with our bags open. They searched the bus as well as our bags (not very well may I add, if I’d had something stashed away in my bag I would have easily gotten away with it). 45 minutes later we were allowed back onto the bus.

On another trip when I was coming back from the border of Guatemala and Mexico, we were also stopped twice, this time by police. The first time they asked a few people from the minibus to show their identification and let them go with no dramas even though some didn’t have anything to show. The next time they asked the same people for their identifications and those that didn’t have any with them were asked to step off the bus. 20 minutes later they were returned to our minibus. Later on, one of the men who was taken off the minibus told another passenger that he was a migrant and that he had given money to the policeman to enable him to continue his journey – probably up to the Untied States.

I’ve been given another week off from work as the coordinator of the organisation I work for has gone on holidays. Although I think that it’s a little soon for holidays after only starting 5 weeks ago, I still appreciated the time off, especially since I had visitors. On one of those days, we went down to visit Yaxchilan, an ancient Mayan city which is located on the border of Mexico and Guatemala. This site is not half as popular as the one in Palenque as it’s a little out of the way – off the beaten track as they say... Once you get to the border you have to catch a boat along the Usumacinta river, which takes approximately 30 minutes to arrive to the site. Yaxchilan is set in amongst thick jungle, probably resembling what Palenque once was before it was populated by swarms of hotels and tourists. To get to the ruins, you have to walk through this jungle, amongst trees that seem to be 1000’s of years old and have a sense of awe about them. It started raining while we were adventuring our way around the ancient city and this set the scene perfectly for my jungle daydream of dangling vines, earthly smells mixed with rain, ancient mystifying temples and stunning views of the jungle from the tops of the pyramids. An India Jones adventure!

Near San Cristobal I went to visit a small town called Chamula. It has a reputation for holding traditional indigenous (Tzotzil) ceremonies and Shaman rituals in its church. Upon walking into the church you are welcomed with the smell of pine needles scattered all over the floor and 1000’s of flickering candles which people have meticulously placed in front of various saints pictured around the church. Bundles of people are seated on the floor around these candles, reciting prayers, singing, crying, offering beverages to the saints (and drinking them) such as Posh (moon shine from these parts) while children play on the sidelines. A small band plays music while people partake in these devotions. Different coloured candles are for different rituals/prayers and the number of candles also depends on the ritual they are performing.

In a small community festival in one of the suburbs of San Cristobal, I was introduced the local brew – Posh. Derived from sugarcane it is drunk with a mixture of fruit or just pineapple which bread can be added to. It’s strong but with the fruit it tastes just like a fruit drink. At the house I was staying at, they had two demijohns filled with the stuff. We didn’t know it at the time and inserted one of the demijohns into the tap and filled our glasses with it – one mouthful later I spat out the gulp that I had taken, surprised to taste pure alcohol rather than water.

Food and other less important things...

For the last 3 weeks I’ve been living off approx. $30 a week (350 pesos). I had set myself a strict budget without even realising it until the other day when I calculated how much 350 was in aussie dollars and surprised myself with how little I was spending. I decided to increase my budget so that I could actually splurge a little and enjoy, most importantly, all the delicious food around. So now I’m on approx. $60 a week (have to pay for accommodation now which I didn’t have to before). I’m cooking a lot at home rather than eating out which is why I’m able to live so cheaply. I buy as much as possible at the market and then go to the grocery store for any extras.

Palenque doesn’t have the widest variety of food to choose from when you’re cooking at home – the market caters for strictly Mexican diets and the grocery stores are small and full of foods with lots of sugar and processed to the max. No wholemeal breads here, no cous cous (my favourite grain!) and no basil to add for taste. But there’s definitely an abundance of chillies, tortillas and tropical fruits which I have never heard of or seen before. Agua stalls are at every corner of town which provide an abundance of fresh fruit drinks from Jamaican flower to coconut to tamarin and corn. With Palenque’s heat they are definitely a necessity! Paleterias (ice block shops) are also everywhere (which I have developed an addiction for) and so is corn, served with mayonnaise, salt and of course, chilli.

They say that your appetite diminishes when you live in a hot place. I believe this is a misconception – at least for me! It seems that all I think about at the moment is food, which is why I’m writing about it! I have now moved in with 3 girls from Mexico city who are also big eaters and enjoy food just as much as I do (damn, less for me!) They arrived here last Monday and we all moved into a house together that same day. They are here till the end of the year to do their internship with the same organisation I’m volunteering for. This has meant that I have finally relinquished my living room living and sleeping on the floor situation (and inferno…) for a house with a lot more space and breeze entering through its large windows, cooling the house down. There are two bedrooms that we share between four.

I have realised that peoples attitude to sharing space is different here than it is in oz. People are much more communal livers here and share space quite openly with no qualms about sharing all space, all the time. The girls I live with have become like a family. Everything is done together – eating, going out, working… It has taken me a few days to get use to this as I am programmed to live more independently, doing my own thing in and out of the house. The other night I went out for a coffee with a couple of people from my dance class and just before heading home I checked my phone and saw that I had four missed calls and a message from the girls asking where I was and that they were worried about me. I was really touched by their caringness after only knowing me for 3 days. This generally summarises how people are in Mexico. People look out for you even when they don’t know you well. They help you if they can and will share what they have with you if you are in need. Hospitality is taken seriously here. If you are a guest, you will be put first in front of everyone else and everything will be done to make sure that you have nothing lacking, even if it means another person needs to sacrifice e.g. their food or bed for you. Guests are accommodated quite happily even if there is very little space left; there will be a way to reshuffle everyone so that all fit. This happened to us (3 girls and me) when we went to visit a community outside of Palenque on Friday. After meeting the local women’s group and organising some workshops with them, we were invited to have lunch with some of them at their house. They made us a feast for lunch, took us down to the local river for a swim (in all of our clothes as is the tradition here) and invited us to stay for the night. The hammocks were bought out and we were all found places to sleep. We also got taught how to make sweet tamales (if you don’t know what a tamale is, refer to previous post!). We used 70 corn cobs and only ended up with 20 tamales (trust me, it’s not all that much). I was surprised with how much work went into making them, definitely will value them more now!

On a complete different note, I have started guitar lessons. I am meant to go everyday for an hour after work, five days a week. The teacher though, is a little more relaxed about which days he works and which days he doesn’t…! I’m being taught Mariachi style guitar which will allow me to stand outside of my loved ones window at midnight playing him love ballads, as they do here! The idea is that I’ll be able to take what I’ve learnt and apply it to other styles of music…Hopefully! Like I mentioned above, I’ve also started dance classes (my only form of exercise in this intense heat) I’m doing Columbian salsa and hip hop. I didn’t realise that Columbian salsa existed. It’s a mixture of the jive and swing with some funk added and of course, Latin sensuality. I love it! It’s danced very fast and you finish the class completely drenched from head to toe, feeling like for once, you’re not just a sweaty blob but one who has actually done some exercise. Hip hop on the other hand is surprisingly less to my liking (I find it harder to do some of the moves) although we did learn a dance routine to a Michael Jackson song the other day which I’m definitely going to replicate on the dance floor sometime! Speaking of Michael, since his death there has been a massive revival of his music here in Mexico. He’s played everywhere including on the tourist party bus that laps around Palenque at night. All accusations have definitely been forgotten here and he’s now reached the status of untouchable god.

Casa and Tabasco

The organisation I work for is called Casa de Apoyo a la Mujer which translates as support house for women. The ‘Casa’ works mainly in 2 areas: health, which involves consultations by a doctor and sexual health promotion in communities; and support for women’s groups in communities such as micro-credit projects or a community garden.

The first week I started I was told to take a week off as they were really busy and I was quite sick. The following week started off slowly. Everyone was really busy and therefore had no time to sit down with me and talk about what I would be doing. Finally, half way through the week the coordinator and I had a chat and we worked out that I would help launch an environment campaign focused on recycling materials which we could then use in various ways, such as using plastic bottles for seedlings in gardens, or making tote bags out of plastic wrappers/bottles and encouraging people to use reusable bags rather than plastic. I was and still am very excited about this project. It’s exactly the area of work that I am interested in and was wondering before I started if the Casa would be keen to start a project like this. At the moment I’m doing lots of research on how we can use the recyclable material to benefit the women’s groups we are working with. There’s an amazing project taking place in Guatemala where they using plastic bottles stuffed with rubbish to build very much needed housing www.puravidaatitlan.org/index.html (in Spanish but has pictures!).

Last weekend I spent it in Tabasco (right next to a town called Tequila). That´s right, where the hot chilli sauce is meant to come from, but doesn’t. The name was stolen by a U.S. company and adopted as their own.

As I waited for my couch surfer to come and pick me up from Villahermosa (the capital of Tabasco) bus depot, I saw a clown sitting at the bus station, looking miserable. No one else seemed surprised to see a clown just sitting there, blending amongst the crowd. I guess clowns also need to use public transport to get to places – still seemed strange to me. I hear that clowns are quite common in Mexico. Well this was my first sighting of one here.

Also as I waited, I saw a white ute pull up and signal for me to get in. My couch surfer had told me he was coming in a white ute to pick me up so I jumped in and off we went. We said our greetings and 10 metres up the road my fellow driver asks me where I want to go. At this point I realise that maybe I got into the wrong car and so I ask him his name. Name doesn’t match. It turns out he was just passing by and offered me a lift = wrong car! No need to say that I quickly got out (clumsily dropping my bag and sarong on the road in a state of fluster) and said my adieus.

My couch surfer and his best friend had obviously decided that they would sacrifice their entire weekend to chauffeuring me around to the best sites around Villahermosa, the best food and taking me out to various bbq’s and even back to the families for lunch in a small town where one of them grew up. They were the most generous and hospitable people I have met here. I was introduced to beautiful traditional food - a local fish called moharra (cooked on woodfire) which is found everywhere here; platanos (a type of banana cooked in their skin until golden) with cheese and cream sprinkled on top; pozol – a drink made from ground corn and roasted cocoa which is more like a porridge type meal than a simple drink – this drink has been made for centuries and was/is used by field workers to sustain themselves throughout the day in very hot conditions; amazing caramelised fruits which are meant to be eaten with pozol and cocoa slices – cocoa is in abundance in Tabasco – my couch surfers family has fields of cocoa trees at the back of the house; sweet tamales (made from corn dough with lots of different fillings – these one’s had little fruits inside and were the best tamales I’ve had so far!); and last but not least, quesadillas – (tortillas with melted Oaxaca chese) eaten at one particular café called Dona Mary (highly recommended if you’re around the area!) which had pretty much any filling under the sun available including this superb mushroom called huitlacoche… mm..mm..mmmmm!

Don’t have any photos to show of Tabasco as I took with me an uncharged camera… =(