Still not dead after a whole week in Mexico

Contrary to the assurances given to us by most people we met north of the border in the USA, we have survived a week in Mexico, and have neither:

a) Been struck down by a vicious mutant form of the swine flu virus.

Nor:

b) Been riddled with machine gun crossfire after being caught up in a savage battle between the military and the narco-terrorists.

Furthermore, I have been trying out my Spanish on the locals, and have thus far managed to avoid (as far as I'm aware) asking "would you mind if I fondled your wife's breasts?" whilst seeking directions.

Highlights so far:

The DESCENT OF DEATH! into Copper Canyon

A bit over-dramatic, granted, but this section was long and scary, although ultimately exhilarating. Copper Canyon is 6,000 feet deep, and has the old silver mining town of Batopilas at its bottom, where we stayed for a couple of nights. The 40 mile passage in and out is basically a glorified donkey track, being about as wide as a car and muddy, rocky, and gravelly in turn. The hairpins wind up the side of the canyon in a way that leaves little margin for error. Loads of the group fell off (not us, hooray!), but fortunately no-one ended up over the edge.

Delightful San Miguel de Allende

From where I am writing this. This is an old Spanish mining town, with some fantastic architecture and colourful markets. At least when the Spanish raped and pillaged the place, they had the decency to leave behind some quality features for the locals to utilise later as tourist attractions.

Off for some more cheap drinks now, so Adios Amigos!

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