Chiapas: the Political and the Mystical

Chiapas is probably best known to the rest of the world (if they’ve heard of it at all) for the birthplace of the modern Zapatista movement.  The Zapatistas (Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional, EZLN) formed in the early-90s as a left-wing revolutionary group opposing the neoliberal policies of the Mexican state. Their primary goals are indigenous rights and control of their land and other resources. They stand out as being mainly nonviolent, adeptly using the internet to gain support and disseminate their messages, and by placing heavy emphasis on women’s equality and rights. Their signature appearance is the black balaclava and face scarves.

San Cristobal de las Casas is the cultural (not political) capital of Chiapas. After leaving Puerto Escondido, we spent several days there shivering in the mountain cold. San Cristobal has always held a fascination for me, in part because of its centrality in the Zapatista movement, which also attracted many related and un-related development projects. However, I really didn’t know what to expect, arriving there nearly two decades after the height of the international popularity of the movement.

On the surface, there appeared to be little of the politicization that was previously in your face. The city is an intriguing mix of cosmopolitan and indigenous. The main pedestrian walkway and squares are populated with quaint and funky international restaurants, cafes, bars and shops. This is the not the cosmopolitanism of central Mexico City, with 7-11s, Burger Kings and department stores. Here you find the Revolutionary Café where a 7-piece Cuban band entertains large crowds at 2am, several authentic Argentinean restaurants (serving Canadian AAA beef), schwarma, a Spanish wine bar, alternative art stores, and an English language used bookstore worthy of any Canadian city. This, in the middle of one of the most indigenous cities in Mexico. Most of the population speaks a Mayan language (mainly Tzeltal or Tzotzil) as their mother tongue, as well as a second Mayan language and Spanish. The people are shorter, darker, and more reserved than their northern compatriots. Their clothing reflects their geographic and cultural origins, many of them in hand-woven dress.

The political is evident in quieter ways here. For instance, many of the small stores stock books dealing with indigenous rights and revolutionary texts. I happened upon a little store that first appeared to be selling local needlework and crafts, but once I was inside, I saw that all of the needlework promoted the Zapatistas and women’s rights. Little village scenes in bright colours were accompanied by slogans about a woman’s right to participate in work and politics. Trinket vendors inevitably sell Zapatista dolls and barrettes along with hammocks and shawls.

As homage to the best drink in the world, we went to the “coffee museum”, where I thought we’d learn about the process of coffee production. Instead, we learned about the beginnings and success of the cooperative movement in Chiapas that is led by small indigenous farmers. I visited the Mayan Medicine museum, where the practices of traditional indigenous medicine are preserved, researched and taught anew. The museum also has a whole room dedicated to teaching visitors about the injustice of Intellectual Property Rights and the theft of natural resources for pharmaceuticals from local populations. They also pledge to never drink Coca-Cola, because it: leads to obesity, rots your teeth, causes indigestion, leads to osteoporosis, does not support local potable water, does not support labour rights, and supports the assassination of unionists (see the picture of the poster here).

We left San Cristobal to visit the Mayan ruins in Palenque. We stayed near the ruins in a little ‘hostel village’ called El Pachan. One could not imagine a place more distinct from (and less political than) San Cristobal. This area was created several decades ago to offer cheap lodging in the jungle to the multitudes of Western tourists that were coming to visit the ruins. It was reforested by one of the local families heavily involved in archeology, although you would never know it’s not the original landscape because of the speed at which the jungle grows. A dozen sets of cabins, hostels, hammock hooks and tent platforms, and their associated travel agencies are hidden in a set of jungle pathways surrounding a large outdoor restaurant. It is not an easy place to arrive in the dark, as it is apparently more ‘authentic’ to not have signs posted.

I think it may be one of the strangest places I have ever stayed. Staying in a rustic jungle cabin near ancient ruins is certainly magical…but slightly less so when 200 other people are doing the same thing. We met several people who had come for a few days, like us, except they had come for a few days 30 years ago! There are your standard hippies, hemp jewelry, fire-dancers, hula-hoopers and drugs on offer…and there is also a couple practicing ancient tattoo techniques (think boards with nails and small hammers), practitioners of traditional Mayan medicine, a European shiatsu master, and local Mayans who have helped excavate their ancestors’ temples at the main site. At the middle of all this is Don Mucho’s, the only restaurant in the area, itself a strange beast. They make the best homemade pasta and pizza we’d had, and the prices are reasonable…but the service was abysmal (and not in the ‘you should just relax, everything’s a bit slower here’ abysmal…more like 'getting garlic toast for dessert, being served the wrong meal, or getting served an hour after your table has finished eating' abysmal).

The ruins at Palenque, of course, were amazing. As in many ancient sites, hearing the history and anthropology of the area and its people was interesting. Hearing the toucans and howler monkeys as we walked through temples was surreal. But mostly, it was the location of the excavated temples and buildings in the middle of the jungle…and knowing that what we could see was only 5% of the old city, that thousands of buildings are sitting under the encroachment of the jungle. And to think, this was one of the smaller Mayan cities! The pictures (here) are much better descriptors than words.

The Scenic Drive to Escondido

The first time I had heard about the drive was from Paco, my Mexican advisor.  We were trying to figure out if there was an error in the Lonely Planet. “Really?! Seven hours to go 250 kilometers from Oaxaca City to Puerto Escondido.  That sounds wrong!”  On Google Earth the satellite images looked reasonable.  There were a number of mountain passes, but there is seemed to be a well-marked road. 

Paco advised us that we either needed to be messed up on every substance to be found or mentally prepare for the ride of your life.  He started with a list, “Don’t eat breakfast, don’t drink anything but water, don’t drink alcohol the night before, take Gravol, focus on anything that seems to not be moving and pray to whatever god seems the most appropriate.”…mmm…well could it really be that bad?

We got picked up at the hostel in Oaxaca city by a white van being driven by a guy who couldn’t have older than 16. The van had the usually array of holy trinkets on the dash and a wide variety of Mexicana CDs in the sun visor.  Over the speakers some trance music was pumping and this seemed like a great pick up service to take us to the bus station. When we arrived at the station, we starting taking our bags out of the van as I was appraising the vehicle parked beside us: a large new Mercedes mini van with AC and nice seats that seemed very reasonable.  This was going to be good.

Our young driver then took my bag and handed it off to another guy who was climbing on top of the roof of the piece of crap we just arrived in. No, this is a joke, I thought.  Catherine figured out that I was not impressed and asked what vehicle we were taking, and of course, it was our marvelous beater of a van.  Ok, no time to freak out, I immediately got up on top of the van and started to assist the kid tie down our bags because if the drive was half as bad as Paco had mentioned, this was going rip our bags apart. 

I was getting nervous and then it got better, the kid that was tying down our bags got into the driver’s seat and told us we were leaving.  We got back into the van and noticed that not only were there no seat belts accessible, they were actually removed…(really, who actually takes the time to remove the seat belts from a vehicle? Isn’t that like taking the time to remove emergency slides from an airplane or lifejackets from a boat?) 

So, the trance music started back up and our young driver hit the gas.  There were only 2 speeds in this van from hell, Stop (like you landed on an aircraft carrier) and Go (like you got away at the end of a horror movie). For the first 30 minutes after getting out of the city the road was relatively straight and it was nice to check out the small properties and people selling goods on the roadside as they went by in a blur.  Then we started up into the mountains.  Our driver started passing every car he could and often with opposing traffic within spitting distance. Then the turns started and this guy thought he was in a rally car. People (us) were thrown around the back and the luggage was sliding side to side.

Side Note: This was the week before the Lady of Guadalupe holiday and there were people doing pilgrimages over the mountains.  There were dozens of people in white shirts running and biking with lit torches on the highway.  Our driver was passing them and their support vehicles within a foot or two and I am sure he was trying to see if he could put out the torches with the wind from the van. 

Every 5 seconds or so we were drifting left or right around another turn with no guard rails and easily a 500 meter drop.  After years of working in boating safety industry, you often think about how crashes happen and what the outcomes may be.  This is a little morbid but it was an important skill for that job.  I started to think that seatbelts were not that important when you were dropping 500 meters to your death.  Somehow that actually made me feel better and I stopped worrying about the seatbelts. We avoided head-on collisions at a regular rate through winning the continuous game of chicken in the middle of the road. At least the van could not get up to a speed above 60 kms because of the turns.

I knew it was getting bad when even the Mexican passengers started to curse the driver.  I started clocking time on my watch in 15-minute increments to try to figure out how long we had left.  After about 3 hours we mad a stop for a guy, who on the way out of the van was mumbling something to me and patted me on shoulder.  Somehow, I think he was wishing me luck.    

I realized that I was white knuckling the seat in from of me where a kid was actually fast asleep.  It is amazing what kids can sleep through. At this point I figured that either I needed to give up or get out of the van. There was something about being in a mountain pass in Mexico in the late afternoon that made me think that if we got out we would be riding in the back of a pick up truck in another hour, 500 pesos poorer and wishing we had stayed with the crazy kid driver in the sketchy rave van. 

Really, could it be 7 hours? The rave music stopped and there was going to be a change in disks.  Good, maybe some Phil Collins or something to slow the kid down. Nope, Mexican heavy metal came on, and with it the race against some invisible rabbit continued.  I was actually becoming physically tired by hour 6.  We finally started to see the coast and we started losing elevation.  We came into an area that had been washed out and our driver decided to move though the pot holes without considering where on the road he was and if there was any traffic.  

Finally after arriving 6.5 hours later, I realized why people go to Escondido and stay for so long. There’s no way a sane person who do that drive again while they could still remember the first time. It was also one of the most beautiful places I had ever been. It is rated as one of the most challenging surfing destinations in the world, but surfing there seemed to be much easier after the drive down.  

Photos of Palenque ruins

CLICK HERE for pictures from the magical Palenque ruins and surrounding area

Photos of San Cristobal, Chiapas

CLICK HERE for pictures from beautiful San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas

Five Ingredients

Mexican cooking is actually quite varied and inventive if you consider regional variation, all the fruit and vegetables available, and feasting dishes such as mole. However, everyday Mexican cooking relies almost solely on the following components:

·      corn

·      cheese

·      beans

·      meat (undefined)

·      salsa (mainly tomatoes, chili peppers, onion and cilantro)

Honourable mentions go to:

·      salt, lime, and chili pepper

·      avocado

Take corn, maïs, the most important Mesoamerican food source. Corn tortillas serve as plate, fork, spoon and napkin. They can be soft or hard, toasted, dried and rehydrated in soup, sized big or small, deep-fried or baked, used flat, folded or rolled, made skinny or fat, coloured white, yellow or blue. There, you already have the architecture of 2 full pages of a menu. Ground corn makes atole, a breakfast drink. Corn in the style of hominy is the main ingredient in pozole stew. Corn mush is filled with meat and wrapped in banana leaves to make tamales. Corn on the cob is BBQ’d on the side of the street, eaten with salt/lime/chili pepper or dipped in mayonnaise and parmesan cheese. Roasted corn is taken off the cob, mixed with the same and called esquites.

Cheese, queso, can be the main filling to many forms of tortilla, or merely a decoration. In contrast to corn, there are really not many varieties of cheese used in mainstay Mexican cooking. But the few that exist are used in almost every meal.

Beans, frijoles, are also a standard affair. Usually black, and either soupy or dense and refried, they can accompany cheese as a filler, sit in their own spot on the plate, or be added on top of pretty much anything.

Meat is hard to escape at any meal. Chicken is the standby, but processed ham is a favourite. Bacon, sliced beef, shwarma-style mixed meat and hotdogs are on offer. By far the tastiest method of serving meat is in tacos, but that does not stop them from sneaking ham into most everything.

Salsa, salsita…what a wonderful invention! The delicious combination of an infinite variety of tomatoes and chilies with onion, cilantro, salt and lime make the world a tastier place. From mild to inferno, from chunky to pureed, red, purple or green, salsas add the necessary interest to a snack or a meal.

Salt, lime and chili pepper powder can be (and are) added to anything you can think of. They flavour all the meals mentioned above. They are sprinkled on every fruit. They serve as salad dressing. They are shaken and squeezed over potato chips. They are added to beer along with tomato juice, creating an all-Mexican drink called the michelada.

Avocado gets its own paragraph just for existing in such abundance here. Beautiful, creamy and mild, it can accompany pretty much anything, stand on its own, or create the basis for guacamole, one of the finest foods in the world. Complemented, of course, by some form of tortilla, perhaps filled with cheese, meat or beans, and served with a little salsa on the side. 

PROVECHO!

Photos in Oaxaca

CLICK HERE for photos of around Oaxaca City and Puerto Escondido

El Ruido: the many noises of Mexico

You don’t realize how quiet life is in Canada until you visit Mexico. As in most developing countries, life unfolds in the public sphere, for all to see and hear.

Vendors, advertisers and public service announcers all use the truck-with-giant-megaphone tactic. Water and propane are favourites, their call generally proceeded by an electronic music ditty. Steam whistles announce charcoal vendors. Dragging metal chains publicize something else. Main street corners host men yelling unintelligibly (to the uninitiated) – perhaps directing you somewhere, perhaps selling you something unseen. Add to that the softer, repeated invitations of every street vendor of food or goods for you to buy, enter, browse, eat…

Music, of course, is ubiquitous – a lovely part of Latino culture. The choice of music can, however, be questionable. The reggae, salsa, son, reggaeton, Spanish and English pop music, these are everywhere and welcome accompaniments to the surroundings. The ranchero music (best described as Mexican polka) less so. The karaoke (ranging from slightly bad to really awful) much less so, particularly when the most popular karaoke bar is directly across the street from your hotel room. The previously-mentioned, perpetually and purposely out-of-tune organ grinders of Mexico City, would be welcome to never play again. All forms of music increase in presence and volume between 8pm and 3am.

Animals add their own noise to the cacophony, both diurnal and nocturnal. Street dogs seem to bark only when provoked or in a fight, but domestic dogs cooped up on small patios convince you that animal control is a positive step. In nicer, greener locations, various birds can be heard. In all locations, roosters crow incessantly. The popular belief that they cock-a-doodle-doo only at dawn is just plain wrong. Dawn, morning, midday, dusk and pure darkness are all cause for them to alert the world. Now in the jungle, the newest animal noises are the hum of crickets and the brutal, fear-inspiring roars of howler monkeys.

‘Obras’ (loosely translated as ‘work’) occur in all locations, at all hours, seemingly increasing just when you try to sleep (see ‘music’, above). Jackhammering, pick-axing rock, concrete walls or sidewalks, generators, lawnmowers, small and large machinery all contribute to the general auditory chaos. Car horns warn, communicate and declare a healthy dislike for your mother. Protests and religious chants can occur at any time. Explosives, either gunshots or fireworks, are much like the roosters. Supposedly they are to happen only at dawn to invite the favourite patron saint in or scare the bad spirits away, but they are ongoing day and night.

All this is punctuated by the closeness of neighbours. Whether they are snoring through the walls, hosting a teenage pool party, banging up and down metal staircases, disciplining children, having idiotic conversations, or just living their lives, you are a part of it. In fact, in our remote jungle cabin near the Palenque ruins, we just heard our neighbour pee….

Mexico City - Mucho Mas (John)

As we approached the city by bus, I really didn’t know exactly to expect from a city with almost the population of Canada.  Other then it was going to be big and that most people we talked to felt that it was not very safe.  We had done a lot preparation for this part of the adventure.  Once we arrived in the historic district, it was a lot easier when we started to look at the city in pieces, as neighborhoods or by activities, just like any adventure. 

One thing that was not expected is that the great city does sleep, but the city workers don’t.  Catherine has mentioned this in her post, so no need to repeat the story in-depth.  Overall Mexico is noisy, but Mexico City takes the amp volume up to 11.  There was noise almost 24 hrs a day in the downtown core.  By about the 3^rd night the noise started to fade into the background.  You have a choice: either forget about it or just get up and do something until you are so tired that you go back to sleep.  I certainly noticed right away that there were waves of people selling things, bands in the streets, and public protests the size of a tsunami.  I figure when there are so many people the constant noise just becomes part of life for the locals.

In terms of public demonstrations mentioned above, on one of our first nights we walked out of the hotel into what seemed to be a flood of people as far as you could see.  Realizing that the doormen were laughing and not locking the doors to the hotel, we figured that this must be somewhat normal.  In fact it was the electricians guild (union) that was marching very peacefully for different rights and in support of a political party.  Both the level of passion and the noise were amazing.  The march went on for over 20 minutes with motorcycles spinning through the crowd and people dressed in costumes shouting into bullhorns.  We walked in the other direction, but it would have been interesting to have had followed that crowd.  Over the next couple of days there were different protests and parades down our street, including a Zombie parade where thousands of people dressed up and in their best zombie walk, moaned the length of the street.

One of the most unique and interesting experiences for me was when we went to see the Belles Arties gallery and the murals of Diego Rivera. While sitting in from of one of his most important works – Man at the Crossroads http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Man_at_the_Crossroads , a small Mexican man approached us and asked if we wanted to know about the mural.  We were not sure if this would be a costly “yes”, but we decided to see.  It worked out that the man was a retired history professor and just simply loved telling people about the public art in the city.  It also works out that seniors get many free services in Mexico including free admission to galleries and other public exhibits.  R2 (as I started calling him) explained the mural in such detail, running from one end of the mural to the other and asking us questions about different elements. By the end of R2’s presentation, I was left speechless and shocked at the level of detail that had been put into the piece of art from the early 1930’s that basically outlined most of the major international issues that would occur in the next 50 years.

Over the next couple of days were ran into R2 multiple times and he took us to other locations to see Diego’s art and gave us a glimpse into Mexican culture that we would otherwise never had seen.

We met up with our friend Matias Gonzalez’s family during our stay and the Gonzalez’s (Simon, Diana, Ina, and Paco) were amazing tour guides. We visited a small “hippy” town south of Mexico City.  En route through a mountain pass we experienced our first rain in our 3 weeks in Mexico…and did it ever rain.  Visibility was reduced to about 10 feet and we came out of it hoping that the worst weather was over for the day.  We got to the small town to see that sky had parted and we thought it would be ok.  Until the wind switched again and within a couple of minutes the downpour had followed us from the mountain pass soaking everything including the market vendors in the town.  We jumped into the entrances of a couple of different storefronts around the local market as street vendors desperately tried to cover up their products.  Diana and me were in one storefront and Catherine and Simon in another.  All of a sudden Catherine and Simon ran by in the rain hollering something about ice cream.  It seemed like a decent idea and we all started running down the street until we came to the most wonderful ice cream shop that was packed with people eating ice cream and watching the street turn into a river.  After about 20 minutes the rain stopped and we started out to see the town.  As quick as all of the vendors had covered their products, everyone was back in business.

After touring some of the market and the stalls with roasted grasshoppers snacks that were actually yummy, we then went to see a cathedral and there was a wedding going on.  We made a decision that it was inappropriate to crash weddings in Mexico and we went to see the adjacent building that had been turned from a convent into a local museum.  It was beautiful and lots to see including a garden with a variety of fruit trees, and a rare look at guava trees.

After a good walk through the tourist shop, we walked out in front of the church to see a number of musicians and performers. At first we were thought for certain that the performers were there for the wedding until we saw a funeral procession walking to the church while the wedding was finishing.  Oh my god! We anticipated a religious train wreck.  The funeral parade got to the doors of the church and then suddenly stopped and moved to the side, likely realizing that the times for the two events were overlapping somehow.  It was like watching a car crash between the pope’s bullet proof car and a bus full of nuns at 5 km per hour, and with that we decided to get out of there before conversations started regarding the scheduling and if the priest was drinking. 

We had gone back and forth on seeing bull fighting, but it was an experience that could not be passed up.  We had gotten tickets online and we were not sure about our exact seats, but it was really cold and overcast as we headed to the Arena.  We got there and started looking for our seats and I thought that they were in the lower bowl.  As it worked out they were in a covered balcony and a little far from the action. An usher walking us down the row farther and farther until he came to the two seats at the end.  Looking up, we were less than 3 feet from the band’s drum kit and this was going to be an experience, a loud one.  Within about 20 minutes the bullfighters were talking the field and it started to rain.  All of a sudden the band didn’t seem so bad, as we were in the only dry place in the crowd and the band was actually really good!

I couldn’t help but go for the bulls knowing that the deck was drastically stacked against them. In one of the matches, a bull would not go down, no matter what punishment was put against it. The crowd’s anger started to turn on the Bull Fighter for not being able to finish the match in proper form.  The bullfighter was expected to kill the bull with a single thrust of a sword into back of the bull’s head and this was like a “Kids in the Hall” or “Monty Python” skit after about 20 stabs.  All of a sudden there were foam set mats, beer glasses, and other merchandise was flying at the bullfighter from everywhere and he walked of the field in disgrace to a chorus of da da da ..da da.  The bull was taken off via another exit, a proud walk, only to be killed at the end of the corridor.  Not a good ending, but something nice to know that at least one Bull won in the ring.  The band played a different song this time and it must have been a song for when a bull wins.  They were all looking for the sheet music and cues from the conductor. It was a song that is not usually played. 

We decided to stay 2 extra days in Mexico City to go to the Lucha Libre.  This was something I was looking forward to since going out at Nacho Libre last Halloween. We met up with our friends and went to the arena.  Picking up a couple of masks on the way to make sure we could completely get into the festivities.  It was everything that could be expected, except for no midgets.  This was ok, because the crowd and the wrestlers made up for it.  The costumes were fantastic and the acrobatic abilities of some of the wrestlers were Cirque de Soleil quality.  The crowd and the fighters tossed verbal jabs back and forth and often the wrestlers even ended up fighting in the front row of the crowd.  At one point a mother took her small baby girl in a pink Mexican wrestler mask to the ring, said something to the largest wrestler in the ring. He then held the baby up over his head in the ring as the crowd went wild.  So many things happened at this just one event that would have gotten the organizers in trouble with Canadian authorities and on the evening news.  We got all of that excitement and also 1-liter beers for the equivalent of 4 dollars. 

After over a week in Mexico City, I am still absorbing everything that I saw and experienced.  It is an amazing place with a lot of international potential.  I certainly feel like I experienced much more than I would have ever expected in a week.  To truly understand the city you would likely need much more time.

Photos of Mexico City

CLICK HERE for some pictures of Mexico City

Holy Mole in San Miguel Allende

Well if there was ever a Mecca for the Canadian crowd that listens religiously to CBC, those you find at jazz and folk festivals, SMA is the place.  We had the opportunity to stay with two amazing people, artists Glenn and Vivian, at their incredible casa in a studio that would be an inspiration for any artist. We were inspired from the first time we watched the sunset from their rooftop patio overlooking the city. 

SMA was the ignition point of the Mexican war of independence, when a group of upper class folks met in the equivalent of a book club and started talking about political issues; the idea of social reform spiraled into a complete political change.  SMA still seems to maintain a political voice because of the wide variety of ex-pats and a vibrant arts community.  Conversations about global political issues are very easy to find in the midst of cocktails. 

The SMA arts scene has been important for may years with people like Hemmingway and Kerouac hanging out at local bars surrounding the center square. These same bars today don’t even get going until midnight and are still happening at 4 or 5 in the morning. 

A highlight was a visit a local botanical garden, which as you can guess, was all cactuses…I still think it is cacti.  One of the most amazing parts of the garden was a unique exhibit in the center of a greenhouse where some fun scientists had taken electrical sensors and put them in a cactus like it was a green prickly alien from area 51.  They then hooked up the wires to a stringed instrument that was like a harp made of a selection of very beautiful woods.  As the cactus reacted to its surroundings it created different electrical pluses.  The harp was programmed to hit specific notes based on the electrical pulses.  It was really interesting to hear – almost like a chant.  There was very little repetitive “music” and it was certainly not a p-funk cactus, but the sounds were mesmerizing.  I wonder what it would have sounded like at different points of the day, under different weather conditions, or if someone started up a chainsaw.

We found amazing food in SMA, some of it by chance.  After visiting some of the local markets we were getting hungry and spotted a 4 table, hole-in-the-wall place.  We were in the door just as it was opening.  The waitress came over and explained that it was a set menu and that the chef was really good.  That sounded pretty exciting and the idea of someone make the decision at that point certainly took away the need to stare at the menu while I was hungry, which is often torturous.  We asked if there were any nuts in the dishes and we told no by both the waitress and the chef who was also the owner.  She was a lovely lady that came out to say hi, which was a great touch.  Looking up at the wall as we waited for the first course, I saw a picture of her with a bunch of different people including Johnny Depp.  Pretty cool.

The meal was amazing with a potato consommé that tasted like the best buttered mashed potatoes as a soup, a vibrant salad with amaranth, and then the choice for the main course, pasta or chicken with mole.  Now, I know that mole always has nuts in it, but the chef assured us that there were none.  It was amazing, rich, spicy, and well, nutty.  Within about 15 minutes I was starting to feel like I got kicked in the stomach by an angry mule.  I don’t really remember the dessert but I am sure that it was also amazing.  My breathing was ok and if it had been a truly serious attack I would have been on my way to a hospital by this point.  Catherine was pretty worried and ready with the ole epi-pen, but I didn’t need her jabbing me in the leg, back or ass and screaming for help yet.  We walk through the street and through a market and I was getting sicker and delirious and then the time was right, and I projectile vomited over a bridge into a brook.  I was really pissed off given that it was one of the best meals I had ever had.  I was sweating all over, par for the course, as this was not my first nut rodeo.  I figured I was out of the woods at this point and I decided to walk back to our accommodations, straight up a 2 km hill.  By the time I reached the hilltop I had puked 3 times and I was feeling great.  So the lesson was that mole is never a good thing to eat when you a nut allergy, no matter what the chef had told you. Good times!

So, SMA was a very interesting place where cultures and people found each other through common interests and a love of art.  We ended our stay in SMA with an amazing evening of music and a tribute to Stevie Wonder by a jazz and blues ensemble in a historic theatre.  This place was truly unique, even if the mole had nuts in it. 

Guanajuato - Tunnels Leading to a Place for Dreamers

Leaving Leon, a major industrial center specializing in leather products in the western central Mexico Highlands, we made our way towards one of the most talked about towns in Mexico, Guanajuato.  This town is rich in history, including being the epicenter for the beginning of the Mexican war of independence.  We arrived at the bus station with very little of the historic town in sight.  I was curious about the situation, but I have been learning quickly to not get too worried about anything that didn’t initially make that much sense. 

We flagged a cab for a short ride to our hotel, which was only accessible by an alleyway.  I knew we were supposed to be heading west to the hotel, but we started north and then the cab turned into a tunnel in the side of rock face and started to descend into the dark with light provided only by an occasional lamp.  The tunnel kept twisting for a while until we came into what seemed to be a ravine, “…well… that was not that bad…” then back into another tunnel and underground again.  At this point I was getting into the ride and it reminded me of the Miner’s Museum back in Glace Bay, NS.  Then we resurfaced onto a narrow street lined by colorful brick houses. The town was like a bowl lined with houses up to the ridge.

The cab ride had been almost 25 minutes when we finally stopped suddenly on a narrow one-way street at a historic theatre.  Catherine seemed to know the route.  We turned into the alley beside the theatre and looked up at a very steep climb with our packs.  We started up only to meet a guy on a motorbike coming down at a good clip.  The sun was setting as we found our way to Casa Bertha.  Inside the hotel / hostel, there were stairwells that connected two separate building that were joined to form the hotel. 

We got to our room, quickly unpacked, and decided to go for a walk and see the town after the long trip.  By the time we got back outside the temperature had dropped over 10 degrees and it felt like a Canadian fall.  We went down towards the main square and found it filled with people.  This was every night in this town.  There was music everywhere, people and costumers singing along and others being serenaded by mariachis. 

Over the next couple of days we enjoyed great food and amazing sites, including a Cervantino museum (Don Quixote).  Yes, this town has its own museum for dreamers.  It is easily one of the artistic capitals of Mexico and the birthplace of Diego Riviera among others.  We visited a Mummy museum and other locations that kept making this small hidden town even more unique.

On our last night, we met up one of the troops of university musicians that parade every night with a 15-piece band in costume and play at locations all over town.  This musical tour was an amazing experience that quickly became a parade of people and musicians (and rooftop dogs), and a fantastic opportunity to see many historic sites. 

Like the settings of Don Quixote’s adventures, Guanajuato was a place for dreamers and romantics. The city provided an atmosphere that is unlike anything I have experienced.  It is a place where anyone could get lost or find themselves.

Midnight jackhammers, dead bulls, the Metro, and a Jewish deli: Mexico City (according the Catherine)

A major distinction between Canada and Mexico was illuminated during our week in Mexico City. In suburban Canada, you can't run anything louder than a blender on your deck after 6pm for fear of disturbing the peace. In Mexico City, you can schedule major roadwork where jackhammers shatter concrete from anywhere between 10pm and 4am.....nightly. This, coupled with the ubiquitous organ-grinders that have been out of tune for almost 40 years (yep, that's when the last German organ-grinder tuner died, and he forgot to teach anyone else his skill), and our tiny, smelly room meant we slept little during our stay in the nation's capital.

But we stayed an extra day, two days, four days past when we planned to leave because there is so much to do! Our first day there we discovered how to use the Metro system - genius. Not only is it cheap (25 cents), it's efficient, all its lines and stops are identifiable by numbers, colours and symbols, the transfer points are used as public art displays.

A highlight for me was visiting Coyocan, the town (now a suburb) where Frida Khalo and Diego Rivera lived for years. Her old house is now a somewhat strange museum, and a few blocks away sits a museum dedicated to Leon Trotsky, built from the house in which he was assassinated while he was in exile in Mexico. John has told me I'm not allowed to grow a uni-brow, even if I admire her work.

Another highlight was an unanticipated 'tour' around Diego Rivera's most important and famous mural, "Man at the Crossroads", reproduced by Rivera after the Rockefellers cancelled the one in Washington, D.C. for being too communist. (Mind you, this was not an exaggeration on their part, as Rivera painted a central hammer and sickle as well as celebratory scenes of Russian Communists). We were looking at the mural when a small older Mexican gentleman asked us whether we would like to know something about the mural. Arturo turned out to be a retired history professor with a true obsessive love for Rivera's work, and he walked us through this mural, several others on site, and another 252 of Rivera's first murals in a government building the next day.

Although I was hesitant about attending based on personal ethics, we went to a corrida de toros (bullfight), as you can't truly be opposed to something you've never experienced (well, yes you can, but this seemed reasonable). As it turns out, we probably never need to attend another corrida. I booked tickets online and when we arrived we were disappointed to find ourselves in an awkward balcony right beside the rhythm section of the band...until it started to pour rain and we had some of the only dry seats in the house. All of the sudden we loved the band. 

The corrida is as unfair of a sport as you can imagine. The bulls are stabbed with a variety of knives and swords by a variety of people (sometimes on horse, sometimes on foot). There are four extra men at all times to distract the bull, while the main matador regularly changes horses, takes water breaks, and rests. The bulls are bred for several years for one fight, as they are always killed. All this being said, it is hard not to admire the skill that both the matador and the horses exhibit, particularly at the beginning of each round. However, by the end it seems a cruel and inhumane sport.

We did see a couple of exceptional occurrences that night (aside from the totally unreal spandex suits these guys wear...wait for the pictures) - one bull succeeded in jumping the fence twice despite a sword driven between his shoulder blades. And, we saw a bull "win"! The matador was unable to kill him within an appropriate amount of time or tries, and the crowd boo-ed him (actually 'chinga tu madre-ed' him) out of the ring. Apparently this never happens. Nevermind that that they took the bull out back and shot him - in principle he won.

We were lucky enough to have family of a friend show us around Mexico City and the surrounding area on several occasions while we visited. We shared many lovely meals and experiences, but perhaps the most surreal (or postmodern) was ending up at a classic, stereotypical Jewish deli at midnight after their daughter ran the Nike 10km race. It's a city of endless possible experiences.

Photos of San Miguel Allende

Click HERE for pictures from San Miguel - including John being a cactus