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Published: July 18th 2009
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An old friend has asked me via facebook, having read my blogs, exactly what I´m doing here. Not a clue, is my answer, aside from seeing as much as possible before I die, which is what I recommend everyone does frankly. I know she´ll agree.
After Angel at BandB Mexico was so down on Bamba ("Pfft! All high all the time! Left a couple here for three days before taking them to the bus station! Rubbish!"), we were rather worried they wouldn´t show, especially after the disatrous initial conversation where Jas seemed to spend about ten minutes spelling our names and email addresses to a man who spoke no English. At 9.15am on Friday morning, the time they said they would pick us up by, we were really getting rather worried. But, at 9.17am, a very apologetic Juan turned up in a very nice car to whisk us across town to the Bus Station West, laughing and joking and discussing Talking Heads on the way. He helped us with our bags and showed us exactly how to hand in our prepaid ticket number and get our tickets, check in our bags, and get in the gate queue to be searched
before getting on the uber-luxe ´First Class´(apparently there´s a ´luxury´one too, but I can´t quite see how to better what we got...)
Bus travel in Mexico is the only way to travel...literally. They abandoned the unreliable and dangerous trains years ago and now only a few railroads still go - most notably the turisticos Copper canyon and Tequila Express routes. These buses are booked for us by Bamba, who also organise transfers and trips, all paid for in advance by us before we left England, which is the British way to travel ("Pfft! Ripped off" Angel would say). These buses, as we slipped into our mega-legroom, extra-comfy seats and proceeded to watch the three films put on for our leisure (Les Miserables, which Jas said was the "most disappointing moment of my life" when she realised what it was; Casino Royale, which is rather confusing in Spanish; and Deja Vu, the irony of which was not lost on us as we´d watched it the night before in the Hostel), were even better than the plane we flew in on.
A very comfortable six hours later, watching the amazing mountain scenery change from having white rocks to red
rocks and back again a few times, we arrived in Oaxaca, and attempted to get a taxi. Not easy: there is no queuing system to speak of, and taxi drivers seem to take a preference to which passengers they want to take. After ten minutes we started to get a bit pysical, until one nice chap took pity on us and picked us up. After peering at my scrawled handwriting (my Spanglish is legendary in a crisis), he drove us to Calle de Las Rosas, where Casa Gigi was situated at no, 518. Only there wasnt a 518, at least not between 517 and 519. After rather a panic, we managed to locate 518 up the street an entire block away. Very gratefully we paid out 40pesos (that´s about 2quid - look at my face when I tell you a beer is about 45pesos...mmm...happy...) and rang the bell.
before we really had a chance to speak, a little old youthful-looking lady had started nattering away at us in Spanish, directing us to a neat little room off a central and eccentric courtyard full of plants and cacti and birds in cages, and lit the mosquito repellenmt before leaving us
to it. Wow. And she hadn´t even asked us to pay yet. Then we heard screeching, and went back outside. Our little old lady was washing a kitten. In a net. It wasn´t happy and was bawling the place down, sounding uncomfortably like a child, as Gigi herself (for twas she) lathered-rinsed-repeated and then scrubbed it dry, finally letting it wobble off to its sibling who was hiding, terrified it might be next, behind a plant pot. "Onos", Gigi exclaimed, holding up her palm to signify that there were four more of the little buggers to catch and wash. The parrots behind her cawed, laughing, and we ran dwon to the Zocalo to find dinner.
Its a bit early to eat in Mexico at 7pm, so everywhere we´ve been so far has always been a bit empty, although not entirely lacking in atmosphere. Oaxaca is busy on a Friday night, so we pulled ourselves through crowds and found ourselves in a beautiful indoor'courtyard restaurant called Catrina de Alcala, with modern art on the walls (next to a gallery - loads of these here, and bookshops: Heaven, if I spoke Spanish) and twinkly star-shaped lamps on the ceiling. We
drank a Catrina fresa cocktail that deifitely has tequila in it, then ate a selection of cheeses, some extremely posh fajitas, and, the piece de resistance, dessert; a chocolate pyramid, decorated with blue Agave liqueur and a piece of edible silver. It could only have been more Aztec if it had been served on an Obsidian platter. Words cannot describe.
We had been hearing frequent explosions from outside, but no one had seemed bothered so we thought nothing on it. "Que" i asked, pointing at the ceiling, and was told "Finis de cursas"...end of the course: we stumbled outside and right into the end of Uni fiesta, with brass bands, papier mache figures and fireworks...and hundreds of dancing students. What fun to enjoy over a cold beer in the Zocalo later...
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Mum
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Fantastic blogs Lar
Fab blogs Lar, Very witty. Glad to see that you two are having such an interesting time. And the food.... Hope you are both getting plenty of exercise to work up an appetite for the next meal... You will probably be able to speak better Spanglish by the end of the month. Shame about not being able to see Freda Kahlo's house though. I know, it's not my holiday... I am going to stay with Marcie for a week on Monday next so I will not be able to read your blogs until after the 29th. Will be thinking of you both. Stay safe and have a great time.. Will look forward to catching up on your next episodes when I return...Love and kisses, Mumxxxx