Totally frikkin Mexico

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I woke up on my make-shift bed, having driven up 'route 1' the previous night from LA back to the Bay area. Something was really bugging during the whole journey....I had come all this way across the Atlantic Ocean. Had spent a lot of time (and money) enjoying the California lifestyle, and during the past 3 days, had revisited places that I had seen 3 years ago when I first came to the West Coast of the USA. Something dawned on me, the feeling that I was simply reliving what I had seen before, and the second time around, none of what I saw really interested me that much.

My feelings were not new, I had been keeping them hidden for some reason (which I still do not understand why) and when I really looked into my soul I realised that I was not 'travelling' in the sense that I expected, and had merely moved my life(style) from one place to another. Even though the new venue was sunnier, hotter, and had better coffee shops, nothing seemed that interesting.

With this awakened sense of discovery violently decreasing my admiration of the places I'd been, things I'd done, and people I'd met in the USA, inspiration urged me to move onward. Although this decision now makes me feel like I left a few things unfinished, it also reminded me that I am able, willing, and allowed to make decisions willy-nilly. Life is Good.

Once I'd overcome my violent urge to book a ticket to some strange place, defeated the urge to get a tattoo, and drank a cup of coffee, I reeled through different websites to find a cheap ticket to, well, anywhere other than California. Looking firstly within the US, but as my plans unfolded before me like an animated cartoon, a subtle desire to visit an old friend filled my senses. With that, I decided to go to Mexico city (murder capital of the world according to my mum) and within 20 minutes of making this decision booked the cheapest flight I could find.

After scrawling a handwritten letter to my host trying really hard to explain my feelings, and announce my severe apologies for leaving her band and my plans had somewhat changed, I packed all my bags, left my key under the doormat, and departed.

My flight didn't leave until 11pm that day, and as it was only 3pm, I decided to go down to the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco to have a wonder round, and collect my thoughts, my heart pumping with adrenalin constantly, and a feeling of extreme excitement caressing my ego. In turn, this changed my plans as I got on the wrong train, and soon realised that I was heading directly to San Francisco International airport. I took this as fate, and prepared myself for a long wait in the departure lounge. Having downloaded the first 2 episodes of the new series of "The Walking Dead" (starring Andrew Lincoln of 'Teachers' fame) I knew that I was not going to get bored.

Once I had boarded the plane, I realised that I really had to learn some Spanish, all the directions from the cabin crew and pilot being delivered in the romantic language that I wished I had learnt at school. Memories flooded back of being 13 and choosing my GCSE options, having studied French and German for 3 years, and really wanting to speak the 3rd most popular tongue on this planet, I chose to drop both and move on to Spanish. However; complications of my educational future stopped me. I was at a private boarding school in Cornwall, mainly funded by the Royal Navy (my dad's soon to be ex-employers) and as he was to leave the RN for 'civvy street' I had to move to a school in London where it was free to go to school. It became apparent that I was to spend the next semester of schooling at a new school, where Spanish was only an option to students who had studied it before, and as I had experience in French under-my-belt my options were directed into having no options at all. Bum. Anyway; knowing that my spanish was limited to saying hello, goodbye, and, um... son of a bitch, I prepared myself by buying a phrase book in the departure lounge. Flicking through this, and whilst wearing headphones, deepening my vocabulary aloud. I can imagine that this looked pretty hilarious for my fellow passengers. A 'gringo' wearing a baseball cap (Stone grey, Volcom, Flex-Fit Fitted size 7 5/8, purchased in 'Lids' in NYC) announcing that i needed a taxi to my friends address in Mexico City. I'm sure most people are aware of the strange way your brain makes you speak louder when wearing headphones and listening to music, and for some reason I forgot about this phenomenon. Whilst everyone else on the flight was sleeping, I was playing banging techno, and (poorly) practicing my Espanol.

On arriving at Mexico City airport (minus my main suitcase that had been lost by Virgin America on a flight from NYC to LAX) I was ecstatic to see my good old friend Dave Kongialis from my later school years waiting for me at the arrivals lounge. His pale, goblin-like skin still hadn't changed, his intonation on the English language had though, and I expect this is from not speaking English much anymore. We exchanged hugs, smoked some cigarettes (something we regularly enjoyed in toilets, or behind trees at school), jumped in a cab, and made our way to his house in Districto Federal de Ciudad Juarez. His apartment being located in a building set behind some motor spares shops, and the foyer decorated with lots of memorabilia of dead people, skeletons, and skulls. I had forgotten that today was Dias de las Muertas, (Day of the Dead) a bit like Halloween, but less american, and more of a celebration of the dead than a piss-take or an opportunity for kids to eat sweets. After a few more cigarettes, a couple of beers, and a visit to a taco shack down the road, I was introduced to his cat 'La Twata' or 'Twat', made my bed on his floor, then fell asleep.

Having not smoked any ultra-grade weed for nearly 2 days (a good thing) my dreams were vividly distinct, and filled with memories of an old flame. A person's subconscious is a bloody interesting thing, and having spent the last 10 months attempting to defeat feelings of lost emotion, I realise that people, love, and relationships have created a massive void in my subconscious. As much as I feel like a totally free, able, hungry, and solid individual. My dreams sometimes remind me that my conscious reality is nothing more than a mask of the senses, like a postcard of emotion written through a filter of subconscious thought, and when dreaming, the postcard turns into a Mills and Boon novel. Human nature may feel sometimes like a very direct experience, but feelings that please the conscious, differ from those that amuse the subconscious and are somewhat beyond comprehension in daily life. Just as time and space cannot really be explained with one theory or simple answer (even after recently reading Stephen Hawkings' latest book). I conclude that my love of companionship on a deeper level will only be nurtured by the void being filled. With this (somewhat heavy) realisation, I decided to get drunk, REALLY drunk.

After sampling some of the local brews, and other local pleasantries, the night raced on with discussion between Dave, myself, and Dave's amazing lady 'Abril' (April). Abril has only been learning English for a few months, and with my lack of espanol, we exchanged conversation utilising the goodness of Google Translate. If this tool was not available we would not have been able to communicate, and we definitely share a very similar dark sense of humour. We listened to music, drank beer, and gave ourselves colds.

In total I spent about a week in Mexico City, fulfilling all my senses, and sleeping a lot. I learnt that Tacos are fucking amazing, that Pink Town is like Soho and I am very attractive to Mexican gay men, that beer with lime & salt around the rim of the glass is actually quite nice, that KFC is better in the UK than the US and Mexico, that produce like meat and poultry are too expensive in the UK, that it is a good thing for the internet to not be near me, and finally; that I needed to sit on a beach.

My next (literal) port-of-call was Puerto Escondido, in Oaxaca. A surfing town that experiences some of the biggest swell seen in North, Central, and South America. Playa Zicatela is home to the 'Mexican Pipeline', a huge break that can reach over 30 feet during season (June - August), but with smaller (still dangerous) surf all year round. Dave recommended I stay in 'la Hostal Buena Onda', which translates to 'Good Vibes'. Perfect for an ex-member of 'Vibes' crew (I left when it got a bit too much like a poorly scribed sequel to Nathan Barley). I arrived in a Nike tracksuit, at 8am, and was greeted by the janitor who showed me round, talking spanish (he thought I could speak it) after showing me the facilities. When 9am came, I met the hostel's main man, Pierre, a Parisien who, when I explained that I was english replied with "Nobody's perfect". I replied with nothing but laughter, and as I reminded him of the 2 weeks his country lasted during WW2, I remembered that I quite like the French. So we patted each other on the back, talked about of great french footballers (mainly ex-Chelsea) like Franc LeBeouf, Michael Essien, Marcel Desailly, and Didier Deschamps. We were interrupted by his beautiful, pregnant, and amazingly kind Italian wife "Simona". I immediately wanted to hug her, and for her to tell me stories before I went to bed, but thought that this might be asking a bit too much for £4 a night. I put my suitcase (returned to me by Candy (another Frenchie) of Virgin America lost baggage fame) into my dorm, put my boardies on, and sat on the beach.

For days, I did nothing but read, lie in a hammock, soak up the rays, and smoke the local vegetation. I made friends with a group of boys from New Zealand (Rich, Darren, and Ben (or 'Bin'😉 and from Australia (Dane, and Tim). My first memory of Tim being my first night when he brought a canadian girl back to our dorm, and duly 'delivered his payload' whilst the other 5 people in our dorm tried to ignore her wailings over the sound of a oscillating fan sweeping across the room. An social plateau that each member of our dorm (including me) would reach throughout the next week.

With the swell being very small, and the nights being long, my newly found family and I spent most of the week drinking large bottle of beer (Familiar) which were collated on a tab system. Take a beer, write it down, pay later. As the week went on and I drank through barriers I didn't know existed, I wondered how much my tab would be when I left. Usually when going to the fridge for another beer. Sometimes, if you stood without flip-flops on, and slightly damp from swimming or sweating, the metal parts of the refrigerator would deliver a pretty hefty electric shock. I thought that this could be a punishment from a higher being for drinking so much, but then I remembered that i do not believe in God (etc etc) and that science was to thank for such an experience.

In the daytimes, I achieved such feats as:

Visiting a Waterfall (Cascada de Reforma), with the Southern Hemisphere english speakers, with Eva (a lush Kiwi lady who is travelling on her own) and Inga (a lush german lady who is also travelling on her own). ;-)

Wake-Surfing in a Crocodile infested laguna which was loaded with Phospho-illuminescent plankton that when agitated, glows purple. This trip was organised by some locals who took a shining to a very beautiful Israeli lady, called Shenhav, I had befriended, and was staying in the hostel next door. Viktor, the man who arranged the trip was reluctant to take any of her friends on the trip, but when she insisted, he had no choice. For some reason the man who drove the speedboat ("Gordo"- really small, delusions of granduer/napoleon complex) seemed to dislike me intensely. Telling me just before I leapt into the water to try wake-surfing that we were above a crocodile nest, that I was "too serious", that I reminded him of Ricky Gervais, that I was crap at wake-surfing, and generally everything he said to me was negative. I think he was jealous that I was over 4'5", had nice clothes, didn't have to slime on girls for them to talk to me, and didn't subscribe to his bullshit about how many big waves he has surfed, or how good a dancer he was (I saw him in a club later that night stuck to a wall whilst i was throwing MAD shapes). Later on after we got back to shore Gordo decided that we should have a game of football. He decided to make the teams, choosing "white versus black" as the selection method. So, my team consisted of Shenhav, who was slightly darker than the Australian guy "Greg", and a dreadlocked irishman "Brian" (from Dublin, same age as me, born in February), and me. However, if she had joined the "black" team, the teams would have been unfair. The "Whites" totally schooled the "Blacks" in how to play football. I took it upon myself to totally take "Gordo" out of the game. His cocky attitude not translating very well to the football pitch, where I have dealt with an abundance of small, quick, and over zealous showmen. My aerial advantage, John Terry-esque commanding of the back line, and ability to ignore fancy footwork and take the ball from under his feet every time he tried to trick me, was too much for the whole opposing team. When Gordo realised his team had lost (badly), he just walked off the pitch and started taking the piss in spanish. Whatevs, DICKHEAD.

Got taken on a tour of a mountain town 4 hours from Puerto Escondido, by a canadian who lived next door called Ryan. On arrival we procured some Magic Mushrooms in a jar full of honey, and after dinner we all sat around the fire and ate our share of the jar. After about an hour it became apparent that someone had eaten maybe more of their fair share, and it seemed slightly worrying that our tour guide was more fucked than everyone else. Especially when his unsane laughter was fuelled by the fact that I looked like "a crazy skater DJ". Again I felt some negative vibes toward me, maybe slightly jealous of my laid back attitude towards, well, just about everything. However, I did really connect with a couple (Johan (Swedish) and Micha (German)) who live in Switzerland, and made me laugh SO much. They talked about their housemate 'Suzy' who the felt I'd really get on with, and the way they explained her personality made me think she was like a german Rachel Shrieves, and made me really miss her. The next day we experienced "temezcal" where you sit in a small hut, and white hot stones are doused in herbal 'tea', making vapor that enlightens the senses, cleans the sinuses, and makes you sweat like.... a rapist.

So not that much of my time was wasted on getting wasted, but after about 7 days of drinking, partying, trying (somewhat successfully) to nail women to my bunk, and getting to know the locals, I decided to join the boys from down under on an excursion to Barra del la cruz. A small town near the biggest, most beautiful beach I have ever been to. They are mostly are here to surf, and on various occasions since being here I have tried (unsuccessfully) to join their ranks. It reminds me why I prefer bodyboarding, but getting some exercise for my body has really made me figure out that I need to get back to fitness. My chubby posterior shadowed by very well looked after men, and their doting female onlookers.

So from here I think we are leaving today, moving onward to a place called San Cristobal, from there onward to the Yucatan Peninsula via Palenque, through Belize, and to Guatemala for a festive season of partying, eating, and to see another old friend.

Until next time fare ye well xxx

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