Miscellaneous Mexican Musings

Well, I've been back in Mexico City at my cousin's, just chillin' for a bit before I head off south. In the end I didn't visit Mazatlan or anywhere else on the coast, as I really couldn't be bothered and I was beginning to smell and my clothes needed washing (for those unfortunate enough to have lived with me before, they will know that things must have been getting pretty malodorous for even me to notice that). So instead of regaling you with my exploits, in this post I shall talk about things that I have noticed here and thought somehow odd or different or unexpected.

First of all, I have come to the conclusion that Mexico is a nation of hypochondriacs. How come? I hear you ask, surely it must be the Yanks that are the world's master pill-poppers. My conclusion stems from the incredible profusion of pharmacies. Almost every other shop here in Mexico is a pharmacy, it's ridiculous; I don't understand how they can all make a living. I mean, having lots of food stalls, restaurants, etc. I can understand because everyone needs to eat, but not everybody is ill (or they might just be sick?).

Secondly I have had the dubious pleasure of watching a bit of Mexican TV, and even after a short while something becomes quite apparent: almost everyone on TV (from the actors in the execrable telenovelas to the kids in adverts) is pure Caucasian (i.e. only of European descent), whereas about 80% of Mexico's population is actually mestizo (i.e. of mixed European and indigenous ancestry) and only 10% Caucasian.

Then there's change. Well actually there isn't. Nobody ever has any change and people in shops seem particularly insulted if you happen to only have large denominations. So quite often I'll have to ask taxi drivers before I get in whether they have any change. Though this can sometimes work to your advantage when, for example, paying for a museum entrance. Sometimes the person on duty just can't be bothered running off to his neighbours to see if they have change and may let you in for a rounded-down fare.

And finally for those of you back in Blighty who drive and complain about traffic calming measures, well you ain't seen nothin yet. Although here they are generally confined to the main roads. It seems as if the authorities couldn't be bothered with traffic lights, and so just put sleeping policemen before junctions and let the people sort it out themselves (the apparent philosophy being that if/when they do crash, then it will be at a slower speed and so it won't matter as much).

That's about it, and I'll probably be off south in the next day or two, as I find it difficult motivate myself to do anything constructive when I don't have to pay to stay the night.

Beanless In Mexico

I've finally managed to tear myself away from the Barranca del Cobre, even though there were a few things that I wanted to see (ah, the sacrifices I make in the name of exploration and the advancement of human knowledge). I caught the Copper Canyon railway (or the Chepe as it's known locally) from Creel to a suitably awful town on the coast called Los Mochis (stopping to catch a view of the actual Copper Canyon itself, and going a bit trigger-happy with the camera as a consequence, at Divisadero on the way). The railway really is a feat of engineering as it winds through the least railway-friendly territory known to man. What's more, when they were building it I think they were given all the reject track pieces from the Americans after they had built their own railways, because there is not a single piece of straight track on the whole line! Not only that, but there are some incredibly tortuous meanderings and doubling-backs to accommodate the ever-changing topography. Not only is their track-laying incredible, but the speed and and punctuality must be the envy of Virgin Rail: with an average speed of under 30km/h and a delay of just under 3 hours, it's a record Mr Branson would be proud of! (For those of you (luckily) unacquainted with the British railway system, this final remark will probably be rather obscure.) However all that can be forgiven because of the stunning scenery through which the railway passes, which must surely rank it alongside one of the rail journeys of the world.

I arrived at Los Mochis at 2:30am and decided to save money on a hotel room by getting a bus to the town of Alamos and sleeping on it instead. Alamos itself is a small town, with charming colonial architecture that reveals its important history (another mining town, and also an important stopping point on the Camino Real). But more important to me is the fact that Alamos is the epicentre of the breeding range of the small moth Carpocapsa saltitans (again ex-students should note the italics, capitalisation for the genus name but none for the species name) that lays its eggs in the seeds of a local shrub. When warmed the larva pulls on threads that it spins within the seed, causing it to move around. That's right folks, they are Mexican Jumping Beans, and unfortunately this year's crop was a complete failure and so there are none about, and consequently I am not a happy bunny. Ah well, some things are just out of our hands.

The next couple of days are going to be a bit bus intensive as I return to Mexico City via Mazatlan, each time taking the night bus to save money on accommodation. But since I'm not much of a beach bum I doubt I'll stay long on the coast.

Goodbyes And Penises

One of the great things about travelling alone is that you have to actively go and speak to people and interact with them, otherwise you just become a wandering hermit. And this allows you to meet lots of different and interesting people, and perhaps share part of the journey together. 5 days ago I met Karla, una chica muy chida (and not a little brave to go travelling with a nutcase like myself), and together we visited a bunch of places around the Barranca del Cobre and had a lot of fun. Not only that, but she also helped me immeasurably with my Spanish by persevering with my butchering of her language and correcting me whenever necessary, as well as teaching me the many diverse meanings of chingar and the difference between cargar and cagar (which can help avoid many an embarrassing situation). But unfortunately, as many times as you meet wonderful people, you also have to say goodbye, and so we parted our ways when she took the train for Los Mochis earlier today. However hopefully we'll be able to meet up again some day.

Well, that's enough of me maudlin, I'm sure you've probably had your fill of that and so I'll continue by recounting today's occurrences. I decided to rent a bike and discover the surrounding area, which is home to many weird and wonderful rock formations. Among these are the Valley of Mushrooms, the Valley of Frogs and the Valley of the Monks. The latter being by far the most impressive, with pillars of rock reaching up to 20 metres in height. In the local Tarahumara language, however, their name for the Valley of the Monks actually translates to "The Valley Of The Erect Penises", which I, personally, think conveys the image of the rock formations much better (and would draw many more (female) tourists without a doubt). But I suppose the conquering Spaniards must have been rather prudish. Pity really.

P.S. For any of my ex-students who might be reading this (heaven forbid) I especially recommend the Valley of the Monks as it is a fantastic example of primary succession.

Canyoning

Karla and I set off from Creel on the Guachochi bus (another reason why I like this place is that the place names are so cool) in a bit of a hurry after a bit of a mix-up regarding departure times. But we got it in the end and got off at Samachique hoping to hitch a ride to Batopilas, some 65km away and at the bottom of the same named canyon. We thought we might as well start walking in the general direction to see some of the countryside as well. 5 hours later, in the middle of nowhere, with only 2 cars going in the right direction (although there were plenty going the other way) we had just about given up hope of getting a ride to Batopilas when along came our saviour in the form of a pick-up going all the way there. So there we were, standing in the back of this pick-up (well, I was standing, Karla didn't feel too great standing up whilst going over one of the bumpiest and twistiest roads on earth). The descent down the Batopilas canyon just took my breath away: you start at over 2400m and within 30mins you are under 500m after the most fantastic ride of your life (beats any roller-coaster any day) with sheer drops on all sides. It can also be a bit of a brown pants time as well, especially when you see the abundance of crosses littering the wayside, indicating sortie de routes, but luckily our driver was a local and so has survived a sort of Darwinian natural selection process. (Actually, thinking about it, I'm not sure whether I'm insured for hitch-hiking, I'll have to look up the small print of my policy.) For sheer size the Grand Canyon is king, but for beauty and diversity Batopilas sure gives it run for its money. When you start at the top it's quite chilly with hardy pine forests, but at the bottom you have a subtropical jungle with cactii and sweltering heat.

The next day we decided to visit a church close by (7km away) that's called "the lost cathedral" because it's built in the middle of nowhere with nothing close by, and no-one even knows why it was built there as it was so long ago. Although we made the mistake of leaving a little to late, so we got absolutely roasted in the midday heat, luckily it's also possible to swim in the river close by. Unfortunately the river was barely more than a foot deep, but at least it cooled you down somewhat. We thought it might be better to wait until the late afternoon before returning and so spent the rest of the day hanging out in the shade of the church, playing cards, getting annoyed by the local kids and getting scared shitless by a big tarantula. I can easily see why the stereotypical Mexican is always having a siesta because it really does get far too hot to do anything meaningful. Upon getting back though, we got a nasty surprise when we inquired about buses back to Creel (where we had left our bags) for the next day: it being Sunday there are no buses, so we'd have to hitch-hike back (the old lady at the hotel was very encouraging: "you'll never get a ride, not on a Sunday."). But in fact it only took an hour and a half to get a ride out of town.

Given the splendid natural beauty of the Copper Canyon area I'm surprised so few people know about it (including me before coming). It just goes to show that most of us are very ignorant about the incredible diversity of landscapes that there are in the world. And as well as being an amazing natural spectacle the area is also enthralling because of the local indigenous people, the Tarahumara (although they call themselves Raramuri), who remained isolated from Western influences until very lately. They are unique in that they are incredible long-distance runners, who think nothing of clocking up distances of a hundred miles in a 24 hour period, and this just with a pair of sandals made out of discarded car tyres!

Hot Springs

Today I went on a small tour to some nearby hot springs in which you could also bathe. Very relaxing and just what the doctor ordered after the past few days on the road without a shower. The setting was absolutely gorgeous, deep within a canyon and surrounded by pine forests. Actually I didn't need for it to be at the bottom of a canyon as it entailed a tiring slog back up a steep hill to get back to Creel (perhaps during the course of the trip I might get better at the whole walking thing) Tomorrow I plan to set off into the Copper Canyon national park for a couple of days with a Mexican girl I've met here called Karla, who has been helping me with my Spanish and teaching me the multiple meanings of the word chingar, a staple of the Mexican vocabulary. However there's only one bus into and out of the canyon every day, so it might be some time before I'll be able to get back to civilisation so don't worry if I don't post for a while.

Finally...

...it's happened to me, right in front of my face, fabulous, can't describe it. OK, that's corny, but I am actually celebrating my first day in Mexico without rain, woohoo! Now that was one thing I wasn't expecting when I came. When you see all those Hollywood films full of cacti, deserts and locals taking long siestas in the shade of their sombreros you expect the place to be as dry as a bone. But instead I have been greetd with a green and fertile country with a temperate climate due to the high altitudes and even the deserts seem to be teeming with plants.

So here I am in Creel, which is close to the Copper Canyon (Barranca del Cobre) national park. There are actually six canyons in the park each of which is deeper than the Grand Canyon. So I can't wait to get into the canyons and do a bit of trekking as the views from the bus were absolutely breathtaking, which is more than can be said for its speed, somehow I think it must have been suffering from a severe case of asthma. I think I'll probably be staying here for some time as it's so beautiful and the hostel is dead cheap: 4 quid for a bed, breakfast and dinner.

I was far less impressed by the city of Chihuahua on the other hand. The city is the administrative centre of the state of the same name (in which the Copper Canyon is situated) and I had to pass through there to get to Creel. Therefore I thought I might as well spend a few hours checking out some of the sites (there aren't many as Chihuahua is famed for being a bit of a dump, but there were still one or two that interested me). However I wasn't even given the chance to do that as the guy at the left-luggage counter in the bus station never turned up and so I couldn't pop into town (unless I wanted to trundle arond with a big backpack, a prospect which didn't make my heart race). On the plus side I did manage to spot a Chihuahua dog in Chihuahua city, which made me laugh. Small consolation I know, but you have to make your own entertainment sometimes.

Zacatecas

The past 2 days were spent in Zacatecas, a charming colonnial, ex-mining town and state capitol. Before I begin recounting my adventures I'd like to just make a quick advert for the hostel where I've been staying, which has to be the friendliest and most fun hostel I've ever stayed in (probably has something to do with my intake of beer and mezcal). It's run by a father and son (Ernesto and Ernesto) who are both incredibly helpful and make you feel right at home. So if anybody is planning to visit Zacatecas (which I would recommend) then you must stay at the Hostel Villa Colonial.

Well, that's enough of that. Yesterday I visited my first proper ruins in Mexico some 40km from town, called La Quemada (meaning "the burnt one"). The setting is absolutely spectacular: right in the middle of the desert on top of a series of hills, so you have a great view of the surrounding area. The ruins themselves were nice enough (although there didn't remain any really big structures) but what fascinated me more was the abundance of wildlife, especially insects and other various creepy crawlies (I even managed to get a few poisonous spiders crawling over my jumper but managed to brush them off).

Then today was spent looking around Zacatecas. I have begun to notice a rather annoying Mexican habit in town planning: they always seem to put their towns next to high, steep hills and put the youth hostels at the bottom, and anything I want to see at the top. Sometimes they outdo themselves by having 2 seperate hills on either side of the town, and such is the case with Zacatecas. But I must say I did have some fun climbing up the Cero de Bufa. (If you want to see some pictures have a look at the following site that I found from some people who visited a few years back.) Anyway, I'm leaving tonight and taking the night bus to Chihuahua, a place I've wanted to visit for years as it is filled with childhood dreams of packs of ravenous, yapping, midget dogs (probably not an accurate picture, but what the hell).

Perverted People

Nothing much happened today as I spent most of the time on buses, but something there made me think about stuff and has become the subject of today's rant.

On the buses today I got to see 2 films: one was The Full Monty (heart-warming comedy) and the other was The Missing (new film with Tommy Lee Jones, where he plays an Indian looking for his missing grand-daughter and dispatching any baddies that happen to get in his way). One of these films was quite heavily censored, and can you guess which one? that's right, The Full Monty. This film about friendship, acceptance and responsibility was deemed far more dangerous for the minds of young Mexicans than a couple of people killing right left and centre to rescue their (grand) daughter (which I admit, is worthy cause).

So what was cut from The Full Monty? well most of the final scene as well as several rehearsal scenes. So according to the Mexican censorship authorities seeing 6 male posteriors (scary as that might be) is more damaging to the moral fabric of society than seeing scores of people being killed in various imaginative ways. And that's the crux of my rant today: we seem to regard sex and the human body as some sort of horrible taboo, whereas in actual fact it is a wonderful thing that we all like doing and are (almost) without exception the products of; and on the other hand the depiction of indiscriminate cold-blooded murder and complete disregard for the value of human life is seen as normal. Why? Are we so sick and twisted that we would rather blow everyone away (in the killing sense that is) than see people enjoy themselves?

Personally (and I think this won't make me many friends) I place the blame squarely at the door of the Abrahamic religions (you know, Judaism, Christianity and Islam) that know that someone, somewhere is having fun, and that it is their job to stop them. You know, the whole covering of one's body, no sex out of wedlock, and masturbation as one of the ultimate carnal sins. And yet none of these things harm anybody else. Ah well, such is life I suppose, but it doesn't mean I have to like it!

Learning From Experience

Today I went to Real de Catorce (Royal 14?) and was seriously underimpressed. The ghost town moniker is a bit exaggerated (although there are some quite nifty abandoned houses) but the settings, nestled amongst the mountains and only accessible through a long tunnel, are pretty enough. The fact that today was the start of the Saint Francis celebrations probably didn't help much either: the town was packed with religious pilgrims and a plethora of stalls selling pretty much everything imaginable, except anything useful that is.

After wandering about the town for about half an hour I was already bored and so when a bloke came up to me and offered a horseback tour to the desert with maybe some peyote if we can find any (for the uninitiated peyote is a hallucinogenic plant used in indigenous shamanic rituals and the active ingredient is mescaline) all for 300 pesos, I thought why not. Bad decision. Not that anything wrong happened mind you, it's just that there are 2 things I will not be trying again in a hurry (or ever at all).

Lets start with the more innocent one: horse riding. Sarah (one of my housemates this year who used to go horse riding every weekend) has risen quite significantly in my esteem. I used to think that there wasn't much to horse riding: just point the beast in the right direction and let it do the rest. How wrong I was! Riding a horse requires you to be alert all the time and is physically quite demanding when the horse is doing anything but a gentle walk. After close to 4 hours in the saddle I don't think I'll be able to sit absolutely comfortably for a few days yet.

As for the second, peyote, for those of you thinking of trying it I'd recommend you try some prepared stuff (infusion, etc.) or just pop down to Camden market and get some shrooms instead, because peyote must be the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted. I is so horribly bitter that with every bite I was physically fighting the urge to throw up, and even now more than 6 hours later just thinking about it makes me want to retch. I don't think I was able to stomach enough of the stuff for a sufficient hallucinogenic trip and so all I got was a lingering urge to throw up.

Ah well, you live you learn. Hopefully the rest of you will learn from this and not make the same mistakes. On second thoughts, don't listen to me, make the mistakes yourselves, it's a much more effective way of learning than having me preach at you. So off you go my children, experiment away!

San Miguel's Faustian Trap

This'll have to be quick as the internet cafe is closing soon. At the moment I am in a rather dire little town called Matehuala, but it's just a stop over before I head off to Real de Catorce tomorrow. But that's to come, what about what has happened.

Well, when I left you last I was off to sample Guanajuato's night life, however it turned out to be a bit disappointing and there wasn't as much on as the night before (I know because it kept me awake!). Although I did get to experience a traditional Guanajuato street band (called estudiantistes), which had the added bonus of being free (hey, I am Scottish after all). Anyway, from Guanajuato I travelled to a small town called San Miguel de Allende (I wasn't planning to originally but I was told that it was worth a day, so I thought what the hell).

SMA turned out to be quite a pleasant town with some well preserved colonial buildings and quaint, steep cobbled streets and plenty of different styled churches. Unfortunately the reason for SMA relative good state of repair is also its downfall: gringos. The place was swarming with them. It turns out SMA is quite a hotspot for retiring Americans, so the town has entered into a sort of Faustian pact: the gentrification of the town comes at the cost of a Yankee invasion. I didn't really visit any museums or stuff but was content to just walk around and soak it up. I also met two guys from Guadalajara and we spent the evening together walking around. It was interesting to see the locals getting dressed up and promenading around the main square as live mariachi bands played. In the old days this was how young men and women would get the chance to meet and perhaps share a brief glance or a fleeting moment together. I also learned a bit of vernacular Spanish from the guys. Apparently chido is good, gacho is bad, and cachondear is very good. The next day I had a bit of time to kill before my bus left for San Luis Potosi so I decided to visit the jardin botanico (botanical gardens) and I was very glad I did. It isn't really a botanical garden in the sense that we might recognise at home, instead all it is is a well maintained piece of land beside a creek, but the enormous diversity of species was absolutely breathtaking. And needless to say I found quite a number of strange and exotic insects, which really made my day. I'm sure the place would also be an absolute heaven for any twitchers (like my former colleague David) but unfortunately I'm not much of an ornithologist. Anyway it was one of those places where you actually feel you want to pay the entrance fee and that they really deserve it.

And so tomorrow I am off to Real de Catorce, which is supposedly a spectacular ghost town up in the mountains, but unfortunately tomorrow is the start of the St Francis celebrations (that last about 3 weeks) which means that the place is probably going to be packed so I don't know if I'll be able to find a place to crash. I'll let you know how it turns out...