Sleepy Taxco to Eventful Oaxaca

Taxco

From Mexico City we took a 2-hour bus trip to the picturesque town of Taxco. Famous for its silver and precious stone mines it offered the perfect opportunity for some stylish shopping for me (and some disgruntled tagging along for Erik).

The lovely town of Taxco.

The town itself is perched upon extremely high hills, with steep, narrow cobblestone streets that are exceedingly difficult to navigate. To get from A to B the town uses tiny, beat up VW beetles to zoom around (see Erik's Beetle Insert below for a history lesson). We were witness to more than one adorable traffic jam during our stay.

Beetle jam!

Oaxaca

Next up, we headed through to the slightly larger city of Oaxaca. Stiflingly hot, but with plenty to do, Oaxaca formed the base for a number of day trips and hikes. Our first excursion saw us heading out on a 3-day hike through the forest.

To begin our trip we headed off at 6:30am to the Second Class Bus Station. It lived up to its name.

Before we continue, if you'll permit me a small aside: On the whole, I have found Mexican people to be incredibly friendly. Always quick with a smile and a warm greeting. So much so that even when sitting in a restaurant, new patrons on their way past our table would greet us with a bright 'buenos dias' (good day) before wandering off to a table of their own.

It was therefore a rather unpleasant shock for me to meet my first godawful Mexican at the 2nd class bus station. She was the culmination of an entire nation's nastiness crammed into one miserable human being. With a face like a withered lemon, and an attitude just as sour, she greeted my friendly request for coffee with a belligerent grunt and slopped some brown oily liquid into a cup. Not wanting to poke the bear any further, I paid and fled as she continued to bark angry Spanish at me. I can still feel her flinty eyes boring into the back of my neck.

Anyway, back to the hike:

Day 1: To Latuvi

Our hike started off very pleasantly along a shady pine trail through bucolic scenery. Even I couldn't find fault with it. At around the 1.5 hour mark, we switched guides. Our new guide was a lot more talkative and insightful, pointing out interesting plants and fauna along the way. Of course, we barely understood a word, but nodded sagely and oohed and aahed in what we hoped were the right places. The path then took a steady descent, going steeply down slippery pathways strewn with pine needles and damp foliage. After nearly 2.5 hours of constant downhill, we were convinced that if we went any further, it wouldn't be long before we reached the centre of the earth. Luckily, the path finally evened out and we at last reached the hilly town of Latuvi which would be our home for the night.

Note: At the beginning of the hike, Erik insisted on carrying one backpack with all of our stuff in it. It was very, very heavy but he didn't complain once. (He made me write that.) In truth, he didn't complain once, but rather multiple times.

And so it begins. (Also, Erik's leg appears to be missing for some reason)

Day 2: La Nevia

We continued our walk at 9am sharp the next day. It was a rather pleasant walk, as walks go, particularly because it lasted only 3.5 hours. After some gruelling uphills we made it to our cabana in good time and were treated to a pleasant afternoon of non-stop relaxing.

Yay! We've reached the cabanas!

Day 3: Benito Juarez

The last day saw us wake with some confusion as we were convinced we'd overslept. My watch said it was 8:30am and we rushed around packing and getting ready to go, since we were meant to leave at 9am. As we raced to the hut where we were to have breakfast and meet our guide, we were surprised that no one was there. Except for the rather confused looking chef who was in charge of our breakfast. It turns out that this tiny town is in a different time zone due to daylight savings time (it's 1 hour behind). Adding to this, I have a crappy watch, which can easily confuse 7:30 with 8:30 (the demarcations are rather ambiguous - Erik really hates this watch). Long story short, we showed up to breakfast at 6:30am with plenty of time to spare. After breakfast, we started our walk at 8am (their time). It consisted of 3 hours of brutal uphill along what barely passed for a path. I spent most of it sweating profusely and swatting at swarms of mosquitos that were desperate for some unknown reason to climb into my ears and nose. It was then that I began to suspect they found my Tabard insect repellant rather alluring.

Erik enjoying one of the giant bowls of coffee that are served with breakfast.

We finally arrived at Benito Juarez, only to discover that we had to walk a further hour along a dry, sun-beaten road where we could flag down a bus. It took a further hour of waiting by the barren roadside looking hopefully for any sign of life before a bus finally arrived to drive us the 1.5 hour bumpy ride back to our hostel.

After a much needed shower, we headed to the rooftop bar of the hostel for a well-earned beer and some cards. It was here that we met a fellow South African (from Maritzberg) and two friendly girls from the UK.

They invited us round to their table for some beer and shithead (a card game for those of you who might be concerned). After a few rounds, Andy (the South African) whipped out some chapulinas, a local Oaxacan delicacy consisting of deep fried and seasoned grasshoppers. They were about as tasty as they sound.

Down the hatch! (we weren't smiling quite so happily afterwards)

After this, we headed out to a little-known Mezcal bar, where to our surprise they were playing the rather famous and also slightly creepy music of SA band, Die Antwoord. This was followed by some street-side hotdogs (delicious!) and some drinks/dancing at a local club. All in all, a pretty eventful day.

The following day we wobbled out (with slightly tender heads and blood-shot eyes) to some beautiful ruins just outside the city. With green rolling lawns and a vast expanse of exquisite Mayan architecture it was a great end to our Oaxacan stay.

At the ruins.

That evening we hopped on an overnight bus and headed out to San Cristobal (which is Erik's story to tell). 

Erik`s Beetle Insert

One thing that strikes one in Mexico is just how many old VW Beetles there are. Poor Marcelle now has a permanently sore shoulder from playing punch-buggy. We were quite confused as to the vast number of these old models, thinking that the Mexican people must just take really good care of their cars. But judging by the poor condition of their roads, this seemed unlikely, so we decided that more research was called for. It turns out that Mexico was the last country in the world to stop manufacturing the old model - in only 2003! - and this was largely due to new government policy banning 2-door taxies in Mexico City and regulating cars with higher carbon emissions. For a few decades the VW Beetle was consistently the number 1 selling car on the roads here. In some of the towns we have been to, notably Taxco, the number of these cars is quite ridiculous.

Zihuatanejo y Mexico Ciudad

Zihuatanejo

After we had rinsed off all the volcano dust and patched up Marcelle's knee we headed to Zihuatenejo, a lovely seaside town a few hours distant. Zihuatenejo (pronounced zee-wa-ta-ne-ho) is perhaps best known to westerners as the beach at the end of Shawshank Redemption that the main 2 characters escape to. As much as we tried, we didn't find Andy Dufresne or Red. I guess the law must have eventually caught up with them. They are probably in some flea-infested Mexican jailhouse as we speak.

Marcelle flying high.

The search for Tim Robbins knew no limits.

We spent a few fun days in Zihuatenejo, swimming, snorkeling and even parasailing, which was exciting. We also took a cooking class with Monica, a local who runs a school from her house. We learnt the art of making chile rellenos - stuffed chile peppers - though the chance of us successfully duplicating the dishes are remote, as the 5 page cookbook we were given contains approximately 15% of the steps that we witnessed.

Chile Rellenos 1, Erik 0.

Marcelle is always her happiest just before meal times.

Mexico City

From a small, quiet seaside village we decided to head to one of the world's largest, most bustling cities - Mexico City. With 20m inhabitants it really is a crazy place, though surprisingly green in places. The city is just packed with history - going back literally thousands of years. The historical part - also where we stayed - is built in and around Tenochtitlan, an ancient Aztec site. the Templo Mayor ruins were no more than 300m from our hostel. The city itself used to be a small island on a large lake, which was drained after the 1500's when the Spanish took over. Almost all of the Spanish cathedrals were built on older Aztec sites, often using the stones from the pyramids that they were replacing. It's strange to look at a 500 year old cathedral and view it as a comparatively recent build.

At the Basilico de Guadalupe, overlooking the city. Apparently if you are lucky you will see a vision of Mary. All we saw were people trying to sell us plastic Jesus statues.

Perhaps Mexico City's greatest attraction is Teotihuacan, an ancient Olmec city on the outskirts of the city. Built from 100BC onwards and inhabited for a thousand years (which is hard to grasp), the city predates the Aztec occupation by almost a thousand years. As said earlier, this place is old. Teotihuacan is famous for its 2 enormous pyramids - the pyramid of the sun and the moon. The pyramid of the sun, the larger one, is the third largest in the world, and weighs over 3 million tons. And it was built without the use of the wheel, boat or earth moving equipment. Yip, nothing beats slave labor for effective results. Look here to see where they are.

At Teotihuacan, looking down the Avenue of the Dead (the Piramide de Solar on the left).

With the Piramide de Lunar in the background.

To transport Mexico City's 20m people the city has a very effective transport system of buses and trains. They are nice and cheap, too - the metro costs 3 pesos for anywhere on the grid and a bus trip is 2 pesos (R1 = 1.33 pesos). It is also on these transport systems that one gets to people watch, and by people watch I mean watching everyone, and I conservatively mean everyone, sucking face. Fat or thin, ugly or attractive, it doesn't matter. Public displays of affection seem to be a national sport. On our metro trip to the bus station we were blessed with the spectacle of watching a middle aged man play tonsil tennis with, I kid you not, a midget. If there was a saliva-spread disease this city would be wiped out in 1 week, tops.

BA, pitying the fools who can't reach the top of the pyramid. And, holy shit, special effects are amazing these days.

Mexico City was also where we met our first South African on our travels. Not only was he South African, but he recognised me! It turns out that we were both at Rondebosch Boys in 1998 - though I was in matric and he was in Std 6 (which would explain why I didn't recognise him). What a pequeño mundo. We met, in all places, a toy museum, where he was painting a mural.  We weren't painting - we were being freaked out by the dolls.

Sharks, a menace even 500km from the coast.

As mentioned, the museum had some pretty strange stuff in it.

It was also in Mexico City that I had a rather memorable meal. I had been wanting to try pozole, a meat and vegetable soup, for a while, and eventually we came across a place in a market that sold it. I was expecting a thick, dark and colorful soup full of flavor. Imagine my surprise when, instead, I was served a bowl of watery slop not too distant in looks from tapeworm in dish water. The meat was pale, and had an odd quality of changing color when looked at from different angles, a bit like oil on water. The vegetables of the soup consisted of chopped up onion, cabbage and radish served on the side, all still raw. You will be pleased to know that I gave the soup a good go, eating a good 75% of it. I regretted this the next day when I read that the pozole from the market we ate in consists of pig's ears and pig's snouts. I think I will stick to tacos from now on.

No Tocar. You didn't have to tell us twice.

Tequila Town y Volcano Capers

Guadalajara

Our next stop was the sprawling city of Guadalajara (second largest after Mexico City).

After a brief scout of its many plazas, restaurants and bars, we headed back to the hostel to book a tequila tour. The next day saw us up bright and early on a tour bus to the town of  Tequila. After a 1-hour drive, anticipating tequila-fuelled mariachi bands in the streets, we were a little deflated by the rather bedraggled dust bowl that is Tequila. However, once we arrived at the Tres Mujeres (Three Ladies) distillery things began to look up.

Erik chopping a Blue Agave cactus. Step 1 of 3 in the fine (and very simple) art of making tequila.

 Our guide took us through the surprisingly simple process of making tequila, which was both very educational and interesting. Then the drinking began.

Shot 1 of 4.

We watched with growing concern as our guide poured four tequila shots for each of us. Namely Blanco (what´s known as Silver back in SA), Reposado (Gold), Anejo (aged in French-Oak barrels) and Extra Anejo (the really good stuff). It was not yet 11 o´ clock and already the party had started.

After the distillery, we were given an hour to totter around town on our own. We put this time to good use by visiting the Jose Cuervo distillery and having a few margaritas for the road. Then on to lunch, some tequila liqueur tasting and eventually home.

Woo!

Erik faces his greatest fear in the plaza inside the Cuervo distillery.

Now it was time for round two. The same evening we headed out for our first Lucha Libre (Free Fighting) wrestling match. The stadium was packed with locals wearing colourful masks, drinking 1-litre beers and getting ready to rumble. Inside the arena, we took our seats near the ring, while most of the rowdy crowd stood packed behind a wire fence. As the wrestlers bounded onto stage in their flamboyant lycra outfits, the crowd began to jeer and boo at their least favourite wrestlers, rattling the wire cages and shouting ´Puta tu madre! Puta tu madre!´ Using our amazing translation skills, Erik and I worked out that they were calling the wrestler´s mom a whore. Charming.

We weren´t allowed cameras into the venue, but this gives you the general idea.

It was all in good spirits though, and as the evening went on, we joined in cheering (without the swearing of course). All in all it was a kick-ass evening we´ll never forget.

Uruapan

We then headed for the much smaller town of Uruapan, famed for the still-steaming Volcan Paricutin, which erupted just seven decades ago, decimating the small town nearby and everything within a 9km radius. Of course, we had to climb it. For a Google Earth view of the volcano and others in the area, see here.

Catching a bus to the town of Angahuan, we met some guides who offered us horses for the trek to the base of the volcano. So we saddled up and headed out. It was then that I met my steed. Her name was Caballito (which means Little Horse in Spanish). But what she lacked in size, she made up for in speed. Her complete disregard for her own (or my) safety extended to zooting down steep slopes and wandering perilously close to sheer ledges. In short, Little Horse had a death wish.

Me and my not-so-trusty steed.

Despite this, we managed to get to the base of the volcano in one piece. It was here that we said goodbye to our trusty steeds and hoofed it on foot.The way up was daunting, to say the least. A steep, steep slope of slippery shale and soft volcanic sand sucked at our feet with every step. For every three steps forward, you would slide two steps back. By the time I reached the top, I was wheezing, dusty and on the brink of homicide.

Ugh.

Then I saw the view.

Beautiful!

We stood on the edge of a steaming volcano, looking into the wide caldera while the sprawling lava field showed us the scorched earth left in the lava´s molten wake. It was spectacular. But now we had to get back down.

It was a long slide down the opposite side of the volcano, where you had to surf/slide down on your feet. Needless to say, I fell. After tumbling head over heels and smashing my knee against a rock, I finally came to a stop. Once Erik was assured that I´d suffered nothing worse than a bleeding knee and wounded pride, he began to laugh and lament the fact that he hadn´t got it on camera.

The aftermath of my epic tumble. Please note the sand dune in my shoe.

A church within the lava flow that didn´t make it through the eruption.

Once safely at the bottom, we started the long trip home. It was a long, challenging, saddle-sore day. But it was worth it.