Mexico, cycling Britain, then Barcelona

www.gurneysjourneys.com

Thursday 25^th August                                                                                 

The adventures in the jungle began today. I am going to a Zapatista meeting about the sixth declaration from the Lacandon jungle. I have no idea what to expect, but I am fairly sure Marcos will be there. Coooel.

I left with the Austrian girl, Eva. She had talked me into driving her out into the middle of nowhere, to another Zapatista caracol, because she needed to get a permiso from them to stay in a nearby village. It just so happened that the town where the meeting was being held was on the way to the caracol, so I was kind of happy to check out where we would be the next day. I foolishly underestimated how long the journey would take to the caracol. We set off and were soon on a dirt road, with holes and puddles. We were still on the dirt road an hour and a half later and had not reached the meeting place, let alone the caracol I was getting pretty worried now, the plan was to go back into town to spend the night, and at 5pm  we hadn’t arrived and were clearly not going to make it back before dark. We started asking people how far it was to the meeting place, they kept saying an hour!!! I was sure it could only be 7km at the most though, so we kept on and eventually people started telling us we were nearly there. At 5:30 we arrived at the meeting place, and got out of the car to see what was going on, it all looked very cool, a big Mexican style marquee was being set up at the bottom of a field behind the village (a Mexican marquee is a large tarpaulin spread over some trees they just hacked down in the jungle with a machete).

From this village they told us it was 45 mins to an hour to the caracol. Bugger. But then someone else told us it was half an hour. Better. It was quite clear that we were not going to make it back into town, so I quickly got myself used to the idea of driving to caracol and staying there, (the Zapatistas are always very accommodating when people go to visit.)

Then I had a real test, the rain started coming down, hard..we are in the jungle remember. I was a bit scared to say the least, driving on these crappy roads with water running down them and puddles- who knows how deep- everywhere. I only hit the bottom of my car three times. And was happy when we arrived. We weren’t really in the mood to go through the interview, “show us your passports”, “why are you here?” but obviously we didn’t have much choice. At the end of the meeting they hadn’t said anything about staying with them and I was getting worried they were going to expect us to drive back in the dark, but no, it was fine. We asked them, and they kept their stern faces and said yes of course. They showed us to a barn and luckily we both had hammocks. We spent the evening trudging around in the mud between the café (serving only beans and tortillas), the toilets (very very bad), and our barn.

In this caracol they are not wearing ski masks… I guess they do that in Oventic because there are loads of tourists, but the buildings have murals and the buildings have similar functions, the “junta de buen gobierno”, “the meeting of good government” and the advice centres.

In the night there was a thunder storm on top of us. It was a bizarre experience in the pitch dark, you saw the flash and seconds later the thunder was cracking and the ground was shaking. It was all over fairly quickly and we went back to sleep as best as we could.

Friday 26^th August

After more beans and tortillas for breakfast we drove back down the scary road, which wasn’t nearly as scary in dry weather, and tried to drive into the village for the meeting. They stopped us at the entrance to check us in and I was the very first person to write my name in the book. But arriving early didn’t help us that much as we just had to sit and wait  outside for two hours. Then when we did finally get in we left our stuff in the car and wandered down to check out the sleeping. Slightly better than a barn, we were sleeping in a classroom this time. But without our stuff we had no way of saving ourselves a space, and by the time we returned with our hammocks we had to get very friendly with the Spaniards and squeeze our hammocks in between theirs.

After we have a sleeping spot we assess the situation. There are lots of foreigners-more than I imagined- and I feel like a bit of a social outcast because I shave my armpits. They are mostly Italian, Spanish and French; English people don’t, on the whole, have revolutionary tendencies. The area is pretty festival like, with shops, the main marquee and a muddy path leading down to makeshift toilets (actually better quality than last nights!)

The scenery is stunning. My favorite hills are the ones with a scattering of trees and intense green grass underneath- they look so perfect for walking on.

At sunset, a teenager gets behind the keyboard and starts playing really dodgy Mexican music for everyone. He doesn’t stop until 2am! At which point those of us who are trying to sleep in the next door classroom breath a sigh of relief, only to be subjected to more terrible music from a CD two minutes later. It was a different  atmosphere to a normal party though; no alcohol, and much more intelligent conversation. I met the guy who started the narco news website and a journalist from the New York Times.. pretty good going I thought.

Saturday 27^th August

I missed Marcos arrive!!! What a dufus. I think I was too busy deciding between quesadillas and a pot noodle for breakfast. But luckily the spectacle of the Zapatistas arriving and leaving was repeated several times during the weekend. The masked panel behind the front table consists of 12 comandantes in the front row, half women in indigenous dress, and behind them about 14 armed and uniormed members of the EZLN (National Zapatista Liberation Army) and sub-comandantes….including Marcos with his pipe and walky talky and everything you expect. It’s GREAT to see him. He looks exactly like all the pictures you have ever seen, but in real life he is magnetic, his eyes, oooh, I was swooning, I admit it.

And then I fluffed it a bit; when he started talking I got carried away trying to take photos (which is a complete waste of time when your camera is a cell phone) and after missing the beginning of the speech I couldn’t even get the gist of what he was saying. Doh. But actually even if I was concentrating, my Spanish isn’t good enough.

So the meeting consists of people from various minority groups and NGO’s offering support to the Zapatista’s new declaration with short (or long) talks. Ideally these people would be sharing their practical suggestions for making the world better (stopping prejudice, racism and rampant capitalism- that kind of thing), but the reality is that most people talk in terms of ideals and how things should be (waffling lefties). And they have beautifully planned speeches, which they are too nervous to deliver well, trembling in the presence of Marcos it’s almost as if they are trying to impress him.

The meeting went on until 3 am and they were still only half way through the 150 or so groups that wanted to speak!!! I didn’t listen all that much to be honest, it was hot and crowded. But the whole time the zaps at the front were concentrating and listening- how hot must they be with those masks on??  Wow. The point of the meeting is that they are listening to the people and they make a point of listening to everything people want to say. Towards the end of one speech that dragged onnnnnn, the crowd were getting a bit agitated. After the speech Marcos stood up and basically told them if they were bored listening they should piss off. And he meant it about listening because he was still there at 5pm the next day. Hardcore. Respect to the members of the panel who got through the whole thing without falling asleep.

Anyway my highlights were firstly watching the army walking off into the jungle. The crowd surrounding Marcos as he walks out the back door is massive and includes the Tzoltzil women from the village wearing their best dresses and lipstick for the occasion. Then as they escape the crowd you can see them walking off further and further until they disappear completely into the jungle. It is such a powerful image, I was tingling a bit… off they go, no one knows where, or when they will be back.. (well actually in 2 hours to carry on the meeting, but like I said the image is whats important.)

The other highlight was watching MC Loco rapping at the panel at 2 am. He had the audience standing on benches with their hands in the air, and Marcos loved it too..he applauded for the first time of the day. Then you have to imaging zooming out and looking down on the scene.. this rapper is going for it in the middle of a field surrounded by mist and jungle and he is performing to a panel of mostly indigenous people to whom this type of music is totally foreign. I was pissing myself. Oh and at the time I had just had a conversation with a radical political science student from UNAM (the same uni that churned out Marcos) in which he told me that although this whole show appears to be a social movement, “under the water” they are actually forming an army to take over the country- proper revolution style! Then he asked me if I was prepared to pick up arms and fight with the zaps. He seemed genuinely disappointed when I said probably not.

Sunday 28^th August

The meeting continues- it was only supposed to last one day! But as the day draws on there are less and less people. By the end Marcos doesn’t even give a closing speech, (maybe because everyone is so ready to leave) which is a shame because I was ready to listen to him this time. Man those zaps must be tired, 2 full days of listening. I could never even make it through an hour long uni lecture.

They ended the meeting just in time, before a massive storm. Unfortunately we didn’t get out fast enough and had to walk back to the car getting drenched. We were going to wait it out in our classroom, but I suddenly remembered the task ahead - driving for an hour and a half down a dirt road- and made sure we got out of there as quick as possible. I was driving with soaking wet shoes, hooning it through mud and the small channels of water that were appearing everywhere, hoping to get out before it got too wet. Luckily we were following a taxi ie a normal non 4×4 car. I was thinking “whatever he can get through I can too”. It was actually quite fun, (in the UK, if roads like this existed, you would not see people attempting a road like this in a normal car), up to a point. That point was when I drove through a river. It was not a puddle, it was 20 metres of driving through deep water. I had butterflies in my stomach for that and the rest of the drive…I was expecting worse to come, but luckily there was nothing worse than that bit and when we could see tarmac in front of us I was shouting and waving my hands around, doing a drum roll on the steering wheel, that kind of thing. Pfufffff.

Monday 29^th August

I am genuinely chirpy around the hostel today; the staff don’t know what’s come over me! And I find some girls who want to come to Guatamala with me- great news. We have a planning meeting and they want to go somewhere else on the way, which is fine by me because once they’re in the car I know I will finally get to Guatemala. We arrange to leave at 8am tomorrow. Perfect. But as always when you make early morning plans I have a great night. I run into the English girls from the meeting and have dinner with them. They are students who put me to shame, I spent my time at uni partying and sleeping. They are involved in loads of things; from running political club nights, to managing a fair trade café which offers homework clubs for local school kids, to running the Nottingham Zapatista Solidarity group (which is why they are here). Wow. 

Tuesday 30^th August

Bastards. After dragging myself out of bed for an 8am start the girls come over and say “sorry, our plans have changed we’re not coming. We tried to find you yesterday.” This pisses me off. For about 30 mins then I formulate a new plan; sod everyone else they are too unreliable I’m just going to leave the car, pack a small bag and go on the bus. This also means I can come back for the last Zap meeting. I mean Guatemala is only four hours away and the last meeting is going to be a great time, even more like a festival, so I may as well come back.

So I’m just hanging out, getting things done for the day. But San Crisóbal has changed since the meeting; I recognize people on the street and bump into people in cafes to have intelligent conversation with. Actually my head hurts with all the chatter (half of it in Spanish) and I need a nap. The most interesting information I gained was what the right wingers are led to believe about the Zapatistas. I’m going to be checking a couple of things out. The guy from Mexico city said that Salinas (a very very corrupt ex-president) funded the Zapatistas 1994 armed uprising during his term to distract the world from the fact that he was moving so much of “his” money to Switzerland that it accelerated an economic crisis. Hmm. And also that the government really was helping the poor people of Chiapas with their “solidarity” programme- now that I’m sure is rubbish, the solidarity programme was used to get votes in the 90’s (“we can’t finish the road until after the elections, so you’d better hope we are still in power” – hint hint) and I didn’t even know it was still running.

He also said that one of his friends was a spy for the government and was hanging out with Marcos at this very moment. Do you think I should warn him?

Wednesday 31^st August                                                       

Bloody dormitories. I am sitting here using a head torch to see the keyboard so I don’t disturb my room mates. It is daylight outside and this room is so dark I need a torch. Well guys I really am going to leave for Guatemala today. And I’m going to leave my beloved computer behind for a couple of weeks, booo.

www.gurneysjourneys.com

Wednesday 10th August

I am officially too old and grumpy to cope with dorms any more. Last night was a particularly bad night though, with Mexican Marco sweet talking the English girl on the bed next to me, but failing to get any action (luckily! I really wouldn’t want to hear that), then soon after that (at about 3 am) someone thought it would be a good idea to take several flash photos.
Getting up in the morning I discovered some good things about this hostel, pancakes for the free breakfast, and people around to accompany you on activities. I found 3 other people to come in the car to the villages of Chamula and Zinacantan, where the interesting local customs involve whining at tourists for money, and sitting in a weird church with pine leaves all over the floor. The locals come in and sit next to lots of lit candles, often with a chicken and some fizzy drinks, and wail whilst rocking back and forth. The fizzy drinks are to make them burp, which apparently gets rid of evil spirits, and in a stroke of marketing genius coca-cola seems to be the drink of choice for this ritual.
The problem I had with the church was the really bad glockenspiel version of Christmas carols they were playing, in August!
In the second village we were lucky enough to arrive on a fiesta day. Everyone was wearing beautiful embroidered outfits in deep blues and purples and there were stages for live music and food tents set up. We stopped for barbecued chicken and were glad to see people looking happy and enjoying themselves (less whining), but we were too cold to stick around for very long.

Thursday 11th August

I had an intellectual day today. I visited a Mayan women’s cooperative where they recycle paper and make beautiful cards to sell, then I went to the Na Bolom museum and was inspired by Trudi Blom; an amazing woman who was an activist in Europe against fascism before WW2, got thrown in prison twice before moving to Mexico, where she met women who fought alongside Zapata in the revolution. She became a photographer and then made friends with the most remote Mayan tribes, the Lacandon Indians and spent the rest of her life fighting to preserve their culture. The museum was also her house, and is now a hotel. They still preserve the tradition of sitting down to dinner together; this includes guests at the hotel, any volunteer workers, archeologists or guides who happen to be around, as well as any Lacandon Indians who are at the museum at the time. One time Trudi had the Governor of Chiapas sitting opposite a Lacandonian! Wow, with the class differences in Mexico that rich governor had probably never even looked an Indian in the eye before, and then he is dining with one.
I also read a letter from Marcos in Spanish. I didn’t understand that much, except he’s causing a stir by slagging off the lefty presidential candidate, and he was making jokes about having put on weight since last being in the public eye.
As well as all this intellectual activity I manage to go out tonight to Madre Tierra, which is full of crusties. I haven’t seen this many dreadlocked people since being in the circus field at Glastonbury 2000. I didn’t realize San Cristóbal was such an attractive place for hippies….but now I can understand how reggae music became so popular here.

Friday 12th August

An easy day, soaking up the atmos along Guadalupe street, popped into a church and an orchid garden, had a hot chocolate, that kind of thing.
After my easy day I was ready for a night out (psyched up for reggae), but it was ruined by a police raid at El Circo. They shut down the music for about an hour and wandered around searching people, and filming the whole raid. That shows the level of trust people have in the police here, they have to film everything to prove that they were not being violent and aggressive to people during the raid. When we were allowed to leave, after they had finished, I was done for the night and went back to my new great hotel room to actually get some sleep.

Saturday 13th August

Another easy day, pretty much spent with Laura watching the rain from Mayambé restaurant and then from a café.
I went out to buy a phonecard at 7pm, and rather surprisingly didn’t get home until 1am. I met Jesús and his friends in the internet café, we soon picked up a couple of other girls and we went on a bar crawl. I practiced my Spanish loads, and the Mexican guys are all from San Cristóbal… locals. When I left the bar Jesús was insistent that I go to his house the next day for his dad’s 58th birthday party, I had to say yes before I was allowed to leave.

Sunday 14th August

The thing about traveling is that you pretty much want to experience as many random things as possible, so I went to meet Jesús. He was there on time – well only 10 mins late, which is extraordinary for a Mexican, and he drove me to his Dad’s house. I met his entire family, uncles, cousins, nieces etc and ate head tacos and roast beef. It turned out that Jesús was only back from Veracruz (where he now lives) for the weekend to go to this party, so I felt slightly awkward about being there when maybe he should be spending time talking to his family, but he had insisted I go and my new traveling ethos is to never turn down an invitation.

Monday 15th August

I was a bit iffy today. I walked up a big hill which helped, and then read the paper in the square. Met one of the Mexicans from yesterday for dinner (with some international friends too) and had average food in a posh looking restaurant. Disappointing, as the food here has been excellent so far.
Tuesday 16th August

Mountain biking with Los Pinguinos was supercool. We started early and went uphill a long way before following beautiful tracks down through little villages and by the river. I fared quite well I thought…. there were definitely people slower than me, and the downhill bits were fun. Yey, it’s my new sport, kind of like skiing…. you have the hairy downhill bits, but in between you are just tootling along through beautiful scenery. Except on skis getting up the hill is a bit easier.
I spent hours on the internet looking at volunteer work, and then went to meet the Mexican again (hopefully he has my cell phone which I left at the birthday party on Sunday). The Mexican (his name is Fito) didn’t show up. I was left sitting in the bar on my own, which I don’t normally mind, but here in San Cristóbal I don’t think it is the done thing. After getting some strange looks, and not making any friends, I decide that this is the kind of place where you are expected to hook up with a gang from your hostel, and any random company is considered better than being alone.

Wednesday 17th August

Move to a new house, a hostel where I have a bargain room and proper hot showers, mmmm. I have to move car to make way for bicycle game in the street outside. There is a fiesta in the nearest square, but for the next couple of hours the fun and games is in our street. Mexicans really are easily entertained. The game involves cycling slowly with a thin stick, then as you approach the washing line they have hung up, you have to try and hook your stick through a small ring dangling from the line by a red ribbon. The game is good, it’s the fact that they play and watch round after round, in the rain. We got bored and cold after about 5 minutes.

Thursday 18th August

Great day. My second ever visit to Ranch Nuevo caves, but this time with a guide; 10 year old Luis, who points out formations in the rock such as the head of sub-commander Marcos (without his pipe) and an exact copy of Guanajuato cathedral. My favourite was the ostrich. In the afternoon Chris, in return for being driven in the caves, came on a hike with me. As expected the guide book gave us completely stupid directions (such as “head for the two timber shacks with red roofs”), which lead us to a quarry at the top of the wrong hill. “You want the ruins?” the campesino said, “they’re at the top of that hill.” Great. We eventually found some small piles of rocks (I knew it was a crap site - I just fancied a walk) and then made our way back into town. We were hardly surprised to see an enormous sign to the ruins (Moxviquil) on the main road. Oh hail to the guidebook.

Friday 19th August

Today I found some random people from the hostel to come to a far away village (Tenajapa) where people stared and giggled as we walked down the high street. We ate in a comedor that served chicken, chicken, or chicken and it tasted exactly like the casseroles I make at home, a bizarre find in Mexico. But the highlight of the trip was visiting the women’s weaving initiative shop. We watched her working and the progress is SO slow. (I personally think she does it much faster when there aren’t tourists watching – but I’m a cynical witch). This is the kind of stuff I imagined selling in my fair-trade-eco-friendly-promote-indigenous-rights company, but since they claim it takes 3 months to make a table cloth, the UK prices would be astronomical. And I find it frustrating that these products are painstakingly hand made here, (imagine making a 2 foot wide embroidery bracelet - but much harder because you have to thread it through a loom as well) when machines have been invented that can do the task just as well.

Saturday 20th August

Since my new travel principle is to accept all invitations, today I am going to Fito’s ranch, about an hour out of San Cristóbal. It is his birthday gathering, and I am expecting sunshine, countryside, people and a little bit of luxury. Stine from the hostel is coming with me and as it is pissing down in SC we are glad to be leaving. Unfortunately it is still drizzling when we get to the ranch, and there are only four people there. The countryside is fantastic though, they have all sorts of fruit trees at the ranch and as we were dropping down from the mountains on the way here we saw some awesome scenery.
The weekend is somewhat marred by the fact that I lock my keys in the car soon after arriving and can’t get any of my stuff. The locksmith from town is drunk and at a party so he can’t help. Also, there is no electricity or water (so much for luxury), and when Fito goes out at 11ish to pick up some more friends he gets back so late we are all sleeping. The party never really got going!

Sunday 21st August

Sunday things get a bit weird. Fito’s dad manages to break into my car, which is fantastic news. This means I have my stuff and can go for a swim with the others, but it’s a bit chilly in the pool and we are all waiting for the hot tub to fill up (ok, there is a bit of luxury). The hot tub is just about full when Fito’s dad comes by again, he is chatting with everyone, and then suddenly they all get out of the pool and walk off. Fito quickly explains that they are going to play basketball at someone else’s ranch, and that me and Stine are welcome to stay by the pool if we like, then they all disappear! It’s very sudden. They said a non-mexican goodbye (waving, instead of doing the rounds kissing everyone), Fito quickly makes a lame arrangement to meet me the next day…he doesn’t even give a time, and then me and Stine are left there, at this random ranch in the rain. Odd.
Luckily for us, we don’t want to play basketball in the rain and we would much rather get wet by finding a raging waterfall (El Chiflon), hiking up to it and standing in the spray.
By the time we get back I have just enough energy to eat and go to bed.

Monday 22nd August

Today I managed to persuade the Frenchman and Stine to come on a real adventure.
We didn’t even know where the place was, but we were on the right road and aiming for a Zapatista caracol called Oventic. This is a self governed community where they are “keeping up the resistance” by providing their own schools and medical care, and painting all the buildings with revolutionary murals. When I asked them if the government minds what they are doing, the front man in our meeting reminded me that they are still involved in low-level warfare, so yes they do mind, but they also realize it’s kind of a good thing. I think “war” is putting it a bit strongly these days; they have been talking, not fighting, the last few years.
Anyway, we missed the Zapatistas standing on the gate and drove straight past the place the first time, but when we came back and parked they really did ask for our passports and give us an interview about why we wanted to come in. While we were waiting a the door, a woman with a gash in her leg was helped off a combi and through the gate by a group of men - it would seem that the clinic is functioning as it should for the local people; she was waved straight through, and I’m pretty sure no one was questioning her about medical insurance before treatment.
They were a bit offish with us because we hadn’t arrived from an organization, but once they had decided to let us in they gave us the welcome speech and showed us to our “junta”. During the meeting we were sitting facing 2 males and one female; genuine ski-mask wearing Zapatistas. The guy in the middle did all the talking, and we were somewhat disappointed that he kept giving us the same spiel and avoided answering many questions.
There is a strange mix here of being open and inviting in tourists (there were about 20 around on this day), but at the same time not wanting to give any details. He wouldn’t tell us how many people were in the community (“lots” he said) or whether they were planning more caracoles. And we didn’t really learn much about how it was run.
He did tell us that the caracol governs seven villages, provides a primary and secondary school and allows individuals to be “in”or “out” depending on whether they agree with the Zapatistas or not. When we asked what we could do to help it was quite refreshing to hear an answer that didn’t involve money… “tell people about us”, he said. So I am. (Well I’m telling the few members of my immediate friends and family that actually bother to read this website anyway).
As we wandered around the complex we saw the schools, and several artisan shops, run by the community with the name of the artist on each piece of embroidery or jewelry. There were also shops selling “laminas” which are an example of how the people in the community are looking after themselves economically without relying on tourists.
My favorite shop was the one selling cassettes of revolutionary songs.

We were inside for about 2 hours in total. We concluded that no one lived there except the foreign volunteers; it is clearly the administration centre with meeting places and drop-in advice centres, but no homes.
After buying a Marcos t-shirt each we left, through the stunning scenery and the pouring rain. I got confused though when I saw groups of teenagers with backpacks walking along the street. They looked exactly like school kids to me, but why are they going to a school that’s not the one with Che Guevara on the side that I’ve just taken photos of? If I was being cynical I would think that maybe the seven villages in the caracol are actually pretty tiny, and that there are a fair few people who opt out of the self-government scheme.

Tuesday 23rd August

Ooops. I left my cell phone from England in the car. I actually thought last night “Oh, I should go and get it” but I was tired and had a cold and it was raining. Who would break into my car in a thunderstorm? Some arsehole that’s who. So today I cleaned up glass, then phoned UPS who are also arseholes (41 mins for 1 call), said goodbye to my adventuring friends

Wednesday 24th August

A lovely day sitting in the sun. First at the spare parts shop, then a splendid couple of hours at some cowboy’s workshop where I watched them replace the glass in the window. They ripped out parts of the door with absolutely no consideration of how they were going to put them back again, just hacking away at the lock with a screwdriver. But hey eventually it was done and it was pretty cheap.

On the road!!!!
www.gurneysjourneys.com

Tuesday 19th July
 
DF to magic hostel in Oaxaca city today. Driving on my own was easy. I’ve decided I’m on a mission to teach Mexicans to drive by setting an excellent example: I use my indicator, and then I move in that direction. I’m hoping it will catch on.
On the way out of the city my favourite volcanoes were looking fantastic, Popcatapetl was throwing up plumes of smoke. (Little did I know it was about to erupt…just a little bit, on Friday)

Wednesday 20th July
 
Mitlaaaaaa, we visited the archeological site; good size (small) and my favourite thing to look at was the original painting left near the church. Obviously the original paintings at teenager height had been scratched over with graffiti, but the ones up high were still intact.
Teotitlán was jaw-dropingly expensive, it’s famous for rugs, but I don’t know how they sell any if they really think we are going to pay $6000 (300 of your English pounds) for a bed sized rug.
To top of our tour we went to see El Tule. It’s a very big tree, but Dave wasn’t impressed and thought it didn’t warrant the town being built around it.

Thursday 21st July
 
Drove to Escondido via highway 131 with some random French girls I met. That is a very bad road with potholes and rain and fog. 7 hours after we set off we arrive in Puerto Escondido, and, surprisingly, Zicatela beach is full. We end up in a half built hotel.. well it’s cheap anyway.
 
Friday 22ndJuly
 
It’s always nice to have breakfast overlooking the pacific and watching the surfers. The French had left when I got back to the hotel, and my shower was ruined when I pulled the shower head off. I really hope he wasn’t serious when he said “we will follow up any payment due for damages” on the form we signed. Spent the afternoon with an American called Frank, he showed me some ultimate frisbee tricks. Then drinks with some of the old sea dogs, I think they were bit wrecked. Actually I think they are pretty much wrecked all the time. Turns out most of the people with business’ and money round here are foreign. Dan also warned me how much stick you can get for stealing someone’s wave. He reckons someone got their house burned down. But by the time they were arguing about whether Tim the Californian or Greg the Canadian had more money I was getting pretty bored. Although I was surprised to hear Tim’s claim that his personal water supply is equal to the rest of the town’s supply put together.
So, I can’t find Frank and finally get round to calling Tanya…. Guess what? The Mexican has let me down and she’s not coming after all. It really does seem that Mexicans are unreliable.. however much I want to be wrong about it. The half built swimming pool at the cheap hotel is a good example.. the owner had to sack the guys who were doing it and when he asked all the other hotel owners who had pools, every single one said, “oooh no, don’t get the man who did ours he was awful it took us forever”.
Anyway I shed a tear about my destroyed plans and hopes of driving to Guatemala when Cecil started talking to me. I did really well meeting him; he has met Sub commander Marcos…wow! And he’s a film maker who lives in New York. And he’s Mexican and he knows more about the Zapatistas and Mexican politics than I do. (I doubt any of the sea dogs I met yesterday could claim that). So I chat with Cecil whilst watching fire dancers on the beach and getting very very annoyed with the troop of public school English sitting too close by. I’m not sure the Mexican believes me when I tell him I already know their life stories just from their accents, but when I here the conversation about which a-levels they took I know I do. And that’s pretty much what sends me to bed.

Saturday 23rd July
 
I seem to have brought my posh Mexican lifestyle with me on holiday. So much for mixing with the locals on my travels! I finally plucked up the courage to go round to Cecil’s house at about 6pm. I rang the bell and was shown through to the lounge by the “help”. She was wearing a uniform; a Oaxacan white embroidered dress, and when I walked in, as well as a nice white wine in a basket, there was a little bell on the table. Once again I am out of my league. Once again it doesn’t bother me and I just go with it. Diego, the father, is an architect, and a bloody good one if this place is anything to go by, and Patricia is the younger girlfriend. They are friendly and invite me to the pool. wow. We’re in dream home territory here, and this is the holiday home. Well after the swim I have to sit down to dinner with no pants on (I was wearing my bikini when I arrived and that is wet now, obviously). I find this slightly uncomfortable, eat a little then get away when I can, promising to meet them in a bar later.
I never make it to the bar because I am too busy having the worst diarrhea of my life. I don’t sleep at all and nearly land myself in hospital on Sunday by getting really dehydrated (even though I was drinking loads of water). But I dragged myself to the chemist just in time and the doctor came and looked after me.

Sunday 24th July
 
Sick. But Cecil finds me and brings me fruit! Hooray. Being ill with no one to look after you is horrible. He invites me to the palace to stay in the guest room and I have to say no as I’m scared I’ll shit myself on their floor. And the idea of anyone other than me (i.e. the “help”), clearing up my shit is very wrong.

Monday 25th July
 
Still quite sick. I eat some crackers and bananas

Tuesday 26th July
 
Better!!! I will not be eating off the street again in a hurry. I make it into town and decide to stay in my nice (although slightly pricey) hotel until the surfing competition on Sunday. But then I tell them and they are kind enough to point out the competition is Monday and Tuesday. I let a Mexican masseuse have a go at sorting my chakras out. He rubbed a lot of sand into me (by mistake), and beat me with mint leaves (on purpose). Apparently I’m even better now. Ah, and I discovered the magic of my new small, but great for getting my bum brown, bikini. Some random boys, young enough to be my students came over and asked me what I was doing later! I couldn’t stop laughing.
Am I really going to stay here another week?

Wednesday 27th July
 
Yes. I clearly am going to stay another week in Puerto Escondido. But I’m going to work hard on the writing, see some world class surfing, and ask for a discount at the hotel. I don’t think I’ll get the discount though. I’m sure they can see right through me and know I’ll pay.

Saturday 30th July go back
 
Well I’ve done four solid poos since the last entry; you can’t imagine how happy I am about that. My bum is getting browner.. in the sexy bikini.
I met a range of awful people last night: I ate with a guy who asked “are you a happy person?” half way through dinner. No wonder he never gets past first dates. I mean what are you supposed to say? “No. Actually I’m a miserable bitch..” I ditched him and hung with the aussies at my hotel where I was subjected to monologues by a girl who says each sentence of her story twice. I HEARD THE FIRST TIME! Then I went to a beach party where I got to practice my Spanish. But after I’d been talking to the guy for a while I realized he must be on cocaine or something as he was just gabbling without any concern whether I was understanding, listening or yawning (which I was, regularly). So tonight I’m going to stay in with my new best friend Barbara (Babs) – that’s my computer.

Sunday 31st July
 
A whole lot better than last Sunday!
Last night was my first proper experience of “Iguana”. It doesn’t start until 3am so I was pleased with myself for staying out late. I was so busy trying to avoid talking to idiots that I didn’t talk to anyone at all until about 1am, when I met some 20 year olds shouting rude words in French. They are easily the beat people around because they are actually having fun rather than pretending to be cool.
And today, apart from sleeping, eating and watching the surf at sunset, I didn’t do a whole lot.

Monday 1st August
 
The tiburones versus the malaguas in the Mexicans only leg of the X-games. The commentator insists on saying “I see some bumps out the back” several times even though everyone can see clearly that this is tiny surf for the “Mexican Pipeline”. Then at 10am when it’s all over I swim, rest and eat. The woman at the taco shop is my new friend, even though she is the millionth person to look at me like I’m crazy when I tell her I’m alone. And so far 100 % of the people I’ve met responded “teaching english?” when I told them I was a teacher here. I prefer the response Dave got in Oaxaca, “You’re not one of those joker TEFL teachers are you?” to which he lied and said no!

Tuesday 2nd August
 
The big day…X-games eleven. No Kelly Slater though, but the waves seemed quite good. (To be honest it’s hard for me to tell. The commentators seemed to be getting very excited, but that’s there job innit).
C.J. Hobbit got spat out of a tube after everyone thought he had been knocked over (that got a big cheer) and the East team won overall (no one seemed particularly bothered by that).
I spent the rest of the day looking for pro surfers, (My favourite is Corey Lopez). Then went out for a few drinks in the evening where I completely embarrassed myslf and acted like a 15 year old. I met some good German guys who were quick to pick up on my sense of humour and realize that I was taking the piss out of myself. Unfortunately the pro groupies didn’t find me amusing and thought I was being serious when I referred to myself as a “pro ‘ho”.
The upshot of the evening was that I had brief drunken conversations with Chris Ward, someone else, and Brad ……….., founder of x-games, then fended off the advances of a German and staggered home to bed.

Wednesday 3rd August
 
I left Escondido!!! And I managed it with a hangover.
After perusing the beached of the Oaxaca coast (because I have a car, and I can!), I end up in Zipolite in a cabin with holes in the roof. So when a storm comes in during dinner I’m not best pleased. Luckily only one of the two beds is wet, and none of my stuff.
Because everyone told me not to go alone I am now under pressure to meet people, which means being polite. Then hopefully I can put up with them long enough to get to San Cristobal, my next port of call. Actually maybe I should just be nice and stop being rude about everyone.

Thursday 4th August
 
1. Move out.
2. Meet “suntekkers” for breakfast… the 100 % “teaching English is it?” record still stands, and I have now stopped being rude about everyone so I will say nothing.
3. Go for a snorkel trip- what better way to make friends? Except it turns out I am the only person. So after stopping at several hotels on the way to Puerto Angel (the next beach), they cancel the trip. Puerto Angel is great for swimming and I have a bit, just a bit, of a snorkel and see an eel and an unpuffed puffa fish.
4. Meet yet another Mexican (I’m in a bit of a quandary-when I want to meet Mexicans I only meet foreigners, but when I want to meet foreigners.. guess what?). But he monologues me, and he mumbles, all the way home. He told me it was a 3km walk back, I was imagining the cliff path around Cornwall, but actually it was along a track and then the main road, and the whole way I was trying to concentrate on what he was saying.He definitely said that a bird once landed on his head, and this was a sign from God. And that had something to do with the fact that he wants to be a sculptor, but is actually a fisherman.
5. Move to a hotel where there are loads of potential friends. But as soon as I put my hammock up they all leave to get overnight buses back to Oaxaca. Great. Now I’m stuck talking to the American manager. I don’t know what to make of him yet, (see I’m still not being rude).

Friday 5th August
 
Today I mostly snorkeled and sat on a boat. The kid from the boat jumped on the back of a turtle and held it still while hoards of Mexicans and Italians in bright orange life jackets swarmed around posing for photos. Hmmm. Poor turtle. They do these trips every day, I wonder how often they get the same turtle. “Oh bugger, not this again” he’s thinking.
My best company yet for dinner. We spent an interesting five minutes discussing with the neuroscience student how to perform brain surgery on rats, whilst sitting among candles on the beach, eating great Italian food and being able to see the milky way. (traveling’s great). Unfortunately none of these guys are going my way. On the way back along the beach we watch storms off towards the horizon, enormous streaks of lightning illuminating in bright orange the clouds around. Beautiful. I love nature when it’s looking so good.

Saturday 6th August
 
Without an activity Zipolite is pretty boring. Actually it’s the heat that gets me. I’m just too uncomfortable to be able to read my book. I’m definitely leaving tomorrow.
Tonight the dinner conversation is not as stimulating. Luckily the stars are all still there and in the sea the luminous algae is just about visible. The three girls, Charlie, Rosie, and Katie actually asked me “What part of London are you from?” Obviously in their social bubble the rest of the country doesn’t exist.

Sunday 7th August
 
I’m still here. I did wake up at 7am, but after being kept awake at 2ish by the English lads shouting, and having had a couple last night, I’m not really up for the drive today.

This is lucky in a way because I saw something bizarre and interesting on the beach. A couple of nights ago my new sexy bikini (which was actually a bit small for me) was stolen from the chair outside my room (thieving Zipolite hippies). Then walking along the beach today I spotted a big hairy man wearing a t-shirt and MY BIKINI BOTTOMS! How does this man possibly fit in my pants? And why the hell would he want to wear girls’ pants anyway? The people here are very strange. I’m getting my camera in case he comes back past.
mypantssmall.JPG

Monday 8th August                                                                                       
 
I finally left Zipolite. After hanging out with aussie Linda for 2 days she decided to come with me to Tehauntepec tonight and then to San Cristobal tomorrow. It is true that there are no tourists here, but you can see why; it is hot, the hotels are shabby and there’s not a whole lot to do. We look for some frescos the “bible” had told us about, but some man stops us from walking down the street because of the bandinos (?). Hmmm, then dinner in an almost empty restaurant. Pretty standard for traveling in Mexico.