Ash Monday in Puebla - April 16 to 20th 2016

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Merida would be seen by bike over the next two days, so was my intent

Kicking off on Saturday at a tardy 8:15am, as early as the bike hire shop on Paseo Montejo opened, was nonetheless a sweaty business. Amongst the old shack of city bikes, in varying states of function, was a comfy blue seater.

Without the basket, I could well look like I was exercising, a sight seldom seen here so far.

Navigating by basic "left here right there then straight ahead" instruction, I got out of town via avenida Yucatán, blending with highway traffic for a few kilometres before peeling off left towards Conkal. Long straights of tail wind cycling ensued. There was no way I'd conk out on way to Conkal at that rate.

Yet returning, visiting a second basic village named Chablekal, added more than minutes to my cycling time with essential but curse worthy head winds.

The heat escalated. A driver shouted at me pedalling away on highway 178. "Incomprehensible Spanish" he yelled, but being a Toyota Corolla sedan driver, I assumed it was something sensible, like 'the strip of broken chip aside it was actually a bike lane'?

Come 11am it was positively stifling. Pool / shower time is anytime and I'd selected the hottest and driest month to visit.

The afternoon evaporated as quickly as beads of sweat in air conditioning. On our way to Uxmal, promises of night lights and a superior experience to the day before were speculated on by my amigos.

And it was true. The absence of incessant souvenir stalkers, touting every bit of tat, made this a unique place. The meaning of Uxmal is "three constructions", the number three reoccurring again and again in the symbolism of three life levels - heaven, terra firma, and hell (with respective colours often embedded in rock)

Supposedly this civilisation was anti Chichen-Itzá, although it's symbolism featured similarly toward the Mayan mythology - 12 levels of rain God, 13 of fertility, multiples of 8 serpents on the friezes and 5 connections to the cosmos (Centre, North, South, East, West). God Kulkukan was clearly busy, with many decades expended to create this site.

After 3pm, with the mercury hitting 38C, the masses taking siestas meant we virtually were alone in this 1500+ year old site that, gasp, we could climb on!

In a state of architectural amazement, our bilingual guide (proficient in Spanish - English jokes) brought the place to life. The sounds of the Bee Gees greatest hits, emanating from his shirt pocket, was only slightly irritating, and come our return leg after an amazing light show, it was a reverse musical education.

A soppy love song began playing. "Lo que me faltaba" - the last thing I needed. Swiftly we switched to Fat Freddie's Drop, with señor allowing not one but 12 songs all the way to Merida, with our hands swaying in the air, and señor tapping the steering wheel in pleasure. Thumbs up to NZ music!

Must have been too much of that henequen plant or coca bean with chilli at the chocolate museum which made that evening a sleepy one.

But Sunday was a day of action and cool morning not to be wasted, as the second ever ciclovia was to happen in my second Latin American country. Not yet convinced Mexico is cycling friendly, these events allow cyclists free reign of the boulevards on Merida's outskirts in the safety of closed roads.

Less populated and expansive than Bogota's ciclovia, it was lovely to see people exercising early on the day and support alternate transport modes - skateboards, roller blades, tandem and single bikes, and smiling joggers. I pondered yet again the absence in my first world home country of such a progressive minded event.

Hotel Doralba, my temporary home, would be left that afternoon. Sin café and sin yogures, the breakfast bar had run dry. It was time to break out the mameys before heading to two key central sites, the government building opposite the grand cathedral, and the esteemed house of Montejo where noble Spaniards determined who would marry into their clan, who would rule the next decade and who would be coming to visit of notoriety.

Siesta time approached, coinciding with quieter streets where you could get from A to B without the hoards.

It was another 38C stinker. This climate called for a shorty onesie purchase, allowing for plenty of lunchtime expansion around the middle, a 90 peso gem. We tried to lunch at a Yucatan favourite. Come 3pm there still was no food delivered and an unpacked bag to attend to. I left. My onesie intact.

Señor taxi came an hour later thanks to the power of Miriam's Uber smart phone app. Airport and 5 star hotel ahead, estoy aquí !

Yet it never would be easy, would it. Budget airline, and 15kg maximum baggage - probably written into the fine print somewhere that I'd neglected to see.

The going rate was 500 pesos for a 21kg bag, about $50NZD or 5 and a half onesies. I'd an option however - repack. So out my contents came and most put back in, reorganised mid terminal, and getting off at 200 pesos cash (when their preferred method, my credit card, wouldn't work), I called it square and made for the next place, Mexico City.

Gate 8 met our plane after much circling a dry mountainous landscape, and a decent hour later some baggage began arriving on our carousel, by the likely one baggage handler.

Waiting, I was approached by a jandal wearing backpacker. Admiring his two sets of jandals, we got chatting over Cuba stories and a prospective taxi share to the old town. Once out of the terminal and into the cab with my pre purchased voucher, señor taxista brought us back to square one, the taxi rank where a started.

An extra individual was clearly not permitted and so I farewelled Luke and headed, late, to my home for the night. Hilton Reforma. King bed. City view. Gym. Lap pool. Heaven!

A short night it was after emptying the desert and dust from my pack. Meanwhile on avenida juarez, couples canoodled in bus shelters/ footpaths/ park benches. Something was in the Latin water.

My unreliable taxista for an airport transfer was swiftly replaced by Federico, señor affordable taxi.

Half an hour later we had rendezvoused at the bus station in terminal one, got our tickets to Puebla and boarded luxurious ADO bus comfort with, surprisingly, wifi.

Arriving into town two hours later, the volcanoes known to these areas were distinct in their absence. Puebla was in the throes of a volcanic ash storm from Volcán Popocatépetl, with it's sister, the sleeping lady suffering impossible love, taking a good rest.

As did we feel.

Miriam went off to work like a Trojan whilst we went trinket and textile shopping in the old town. Los sapos street was brimming with antiques, earrings, necklaces and cushion covers begging to be purchased.

Clad in our bandanas looking like we're to rob a bank, a patient Fernando stood aside, gave a mans opinion, and with little obvious pain, the shopping was over, for then.

Then the dust descended. Winds rose, glass beer canisters were carried around the cathedral precinct for home beer brewing, and plans amended for an evening of luche libre. Exhaustion won over, a cafe smoothie in Puebla helped recuperate, and a late evening limited as best we could.

Discovering this area by bike was part of the plan for our next day. Warned very strongly by my Mexican amiga of drivers behaviours and bad neighbourhoods, the two of us nonetheless set off toward Chulula.

Climbing up the hill on dirt roads (behind yet another private housing establishment) and with the sun trying to break through the heavy volcanic haze, we managed a kilometre to the summit. The path then took a dangerous turn - fast and narrow lumps and bumps to the bottom, not my fortay, so I walked like the big scaredy cat I am.

Opting to pedal roads where I could see my path, we split, and I raced into the distance towards the two volcanoes, volcán P, the fuming one, and I, the reclining lady with an angry lover. The cloud above was long and white, the amount of ash seemingly better than the previous day, but to be retold later when one blows their nose or has a shower!

Thanks to technology, I'd retained my GPS connection and navigated home, even if señor security was absent behind one of the many gated communities that I was staying at. Deteriorating Spanish ability at crucial times would be directly proportional to dehydration and come sundown, it was promenade and errands time.

On a mamey mission, we fulfilled that within minutes at the local Mercado, closely followed by sapotes negro (black chocolate fruit) and pink flesh bananas. Helmets came next, my last one becoming a donation to the community of cyclists.

The dust indeed had settled with the sun that night, the two volcanic shadows of the Puebla district barely visible behind the dispersing cloud around 8pm when we rolled in home. Late Spanish meal times aside, we all faded into bed even later, and myself ready for the coming day of my University presentation and community facility visit.

Nerves manifested with an early rise from bed, and the rain filled streets, often sadly strewn with rubbish and graffiti, complemented my tired and imminently middle aged body. A bit bedraggled but hanging in there with spirit!

First up was the gerontology facility in a lesser privileged part of Puebla. Smiles came from all directions, even before we had clocked in, walking along the footpaths of broken concrete.

Senor reception checked our IDs and in we passed, with this place certainly well used by the look of the reception. It transpired, with several folks spoken to, that for under 100 pesos a month (about 8NZD), those with disabilities and on a pension could access all types of care here. Truly an integrated service by all appearances, there were optometry services, geriatrician assessments, medical assessments, podiatry, social services, chaplain services, dentristy, psychiatry, basic medical imaging and of course physiotherapy. Elisa and Juan run the clinic which also had a hydrotherapy pool. But at 15 patients an hour at their peak times, and a wage equal to 200NZD weekly, it is no surprise they top it up with weekend private work (working 6 days a week)

This was a one stop shop, with hair cutting done voluntarily, handicrafts made and some sold, wood and metal crafts similarly produced, basketball and activity classes for all ages, and some sterling looking chess or checkers players thick in competition with their fellow pensioners and patients, of all manners of disabilities. By all impressions, the place ran like clockwork!

Next up was the University gig. UPAEP, Universidad Popular Autonoma Estado de Puebla. Gasp, my stomach turned into knots resisting the great campus coffee that we downed beforehand. It was 16-17C and I was sweating.

Miriam made it all come to life with brilliant translation. Once the formality of introductions were complete by the main professor of Physiotherapy, and with some interjections of mine in Espanol, an hour had so quickly passed. Question time came. A few had to leave, and some interesting facts about NZ healthcare revealed to these Catholic University students. As dry as talking about compensable care was, they were thirsty for more!

Followed up with a decadent lunch and more conversation practice, a night ahead with the students is nigh, and will no doubt satisfy some curiosity about their trans-Pacific colleagues. “Can we work in NZ?”. “What are the training requirements?” “Do you really have 60 million sheep and 4.5 million people?”

On to Mexico city tomorrow, the 21^st

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