Topic: North America
Mick had that bunny in the headlights look , as he stepped into the bright lights of the arrivals hall at Mexico city's main airport. It's not that the place is different. It has a Burger King, is clean, and looks like any other new airport in the world. It's just that you are in , “well” , Mexico. Drug cartels, be heading's, corruption, Julie Bishop telling you not to come here and, if you accidentally do, leave straight away for some where safer like Syria. Stuff plays on a travellers mind during a 3 hour flight inbound. All the other gringo's had the same wide eyed stare, like the Federales where going to come and steal their children the moment they walked through the gate. Thats not correct they generally wait till you get outside before they steal your children. Fortunately not all was lost, “My names Russell and I'm here to help”. After the obligatory welcome, I grabbed a bag and headed past a bunch of well armed cops keeping a eye on things. I already had a spare smart card transport pass, which is the most difficult thing to obtain at the airport. On to the bus, another cop stands in the door way to look after you. Twenty minutes later we jump off on a quite dark street near the down town area of Zocalo. Not to worry its Monday night, not many people around but plenty of cops to keep us safe. It turns out that they have just broken up a long running union demonstration in the main square, most of the cops aren't here for us, there here to stop the teachers reoccupying the square. Has the same effect though. We arrive at our hostel which is in a stylish restaurant/hotel complex. I think the hostel is the old staff quarters, but whatever it is it's very smick. We head out to dinner past our police escort.
Down town Zocalo, during the day time is much less daunting. The shutters come up and the place is full of people, restaurants squares,and, shopping. It's not Guatemala, there is no one with a 12 gauge pump action guarding the Nike's store. Like most big city's, the centre is full of shops selling the important things, Joyeria ( Jewellary), Zapata's(shoes) and Ropa (clothes). There is lots to see here, and the place is big. The city is home to some 21.2 million people, making it the largest city in the western hemisphere. We head off to the local park which houses a whole pile of museums. The anthropology museums houses a fantastic history of past and present cultures, a day in it's self. It's a great place for architecture lovers, My favourites are, Placio de Bella Artes, the old university full of mosaic murals, and the Reforma area full of new skyscrapers, and shopping plazas. The public transport is good, cheap, and quick. In five days we see about 100th of what's on offer.
The local bus station TAPO, is a huge circular building, just out of the centre of town. From here hundreds of buses leave daily to all parts. Where off to Puebla an old town full of churches, about 4 hours away. The first class buses are quick and safe. You get searched more getting on than a Jahadi flying El Al. Twenty dollars gets you a comfy lay back seat, a snack, drink, set of headphones and a couple of latest edition pirated movie s, quite often in English with Spanish subtitles. Square tick, Church,s tick, then off to Oaxaca. more churches, and museums, good grub, and the odd ruina (pile of rocks). I am going to explode if I see another gold plated church full of bleeding Jesus's. We miss Hierve el Agua but you cant do everything.
It's time for a change of transport style, for twenty bucks we catch a Colectivo seven hours to the beach at Puerto Escondido. Colectivos are small 12 to 15 seat vans prone to roll-overs, due to the large amount of luggage tied to the roof. It's a long day of twisty bumpy roads sitting on a hard seat. Finally we arrive to find ourselves in the Bali of Mexico. We check in to a nice resort and live it up “Map Boy” style. Cocktails around the pool $ 2.50, each and a bang up steak dinner. We head down the road for Crapes on the beach for desert.
Next morning it's back to cheese n bickies. We catch the chicken bus 70km down the road to Zipolite. (Zee-po-lee-tae) The bus has no muffler, no ac, and no padding on the seats. Everyone else is sitting at the front so we take a couple of seats at the back. There doesn't seem to be a speed limit in Mexico, so every thing travels as fast as it will go. The way the locals solve this problem is by putting what feels like a curb and channel across the road at random locations. These are generally in front of restaurants, and other high value targets. You are free to go past schools, and kindergartens at full speed. We soon discover the suspension has been removed from the rear of the bus as an economy measure. Every time we go past a restaurant it feels like the back of the bus with the wheels removed, has been dropped off a four foot high wall on to a concrete slab. After an hour , my kidneys feel like they have been used to train a bunch of kick boxers. We jump a taxi for the last 10km with a couple of Canadians escaping the winter back home, and cruise in luxury down to the beach.
I'm really glad Mick wanted to come here. I was here 30 years ago with a couple of friends when there was nothing on the beach but a couple of huts. Mark and Karin used to work in the fishing industry in Alaska during the summer and head down to Mexico with little more than a guitar, and a few clothes for the winter. We stayed in a grass roofed, 30 square foot, adobe hut that leaked like a sieve when it rained, and baked when it wasn't. The bed room was a couple of hammocks hung under the tin veranda. There was a tap out the back in the middle of the paddock with half a 44 gallon drum and a shower head hanging off it. You left the tap open, and when the water started it refilled the drum, if you happened to be there you could also catch a shower. Rent was $5.25 a week split 3 ways. I won't mention the toilet faculties. The beach was 30 meters away the next neighbour was 500. The beach was a mile of pristine sand with a couple of small islands at each end, and a couple of good surf breaks. There where a few other hippies camped out in the bush, Surfing, Hackey sack, The Grateful dead, Bob Marley, and smoking Gunga where the main pastimes. Food was a twenty minute taxi ride to the market at Puerto Angel once a week, or a bit of bartering with the locals. Clothes where optional, Karin is a pretty little blond, and all the local Mexican boy's used to come down the beach to watch us go for a swim.
Things have changed a bit in the last thirty years, the beach is still here, clothes are still optional, and there are still a few of probably the same hippies hiding out in the bush. There are now palapas ( little huts ) all along the beach interspersed with restaurants, and small hotels. Some time in the 90's the Italians discovered the place, so you can get a good coffee, and great pasta here. Italian is spoken almost as much as English. There is a little road that runs behind the beach with shops and cafe's now. At night time it is filled with hippies selling jewellery on little tables between the cafes. The building code hasn't changed much which gives the place a nice ramshackle feel. There are no ATM's or credit cards taken, as a token to the 20 year olds the camp sites have wifi. We are staying in a nice bungalow that looks out on to the beach, the showers are still cold, and the attitude relaxed. I could stay here for a month.
Unfortunately it's not gonna happen. Tomorrow back to Purto Esco, then off to the Yucatan. No 40 hour chicken bus rides for us. We catchen da plane. Hasta Luego Dude's.
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