Remember when I got kicked out of that Starbucks because there was an earthquake drill? Well, we’re back there again.
It was a slow news day. Most of the group went to Teotihuacán but I had already done that. Museums were closed on a Monday. Shops didn’t open until 11. As usual, I awoke at a ridiculously inappropriate 6am, packed my stuff and went the easy option of the hotel breakfast scrambled eggs. We were scheduled to meet at the hotel for 2:30 to leave for the bus station. Cabin fever hit. I couldn’t sit in that hotel room, wasting precious discovery time. I just couldn’t. So I checked out early and hit the streets with the goal of buying thicker pants after yesterday’s pant-wetting incident with the car full of asshat Mexicans and the puddle had exposed my vulnerabilities.
I exited the hotel to this scene. Street food. What was it? Who knew? I would find out!!!!
It was …
I’d had this warm rice drink before. It was quite good for ocho pesos (maybe $1.80 AUD). Onwards! I headed for Reforma, one of the main drags to check out an old statue of Cuahmotec, Montezuma’ ill-fated replacement. I saw a painting of him in the National Gallery – the Spanish were burning his feet. Here he is. Inexplicably, he was ringed by about 20 cops. 500 years too late for a protective detail …
So then to Starbucks for bad coffee and ejection. After, pants quest began. I headed for a nearby shopping centre. By now, it was bitterly cold. About 15 degrees Celsius but the wind was brutal. Mexicans used to the sun were running around in Gortex and street vendors hawked gloves, wooly hats and stupid Rasta scarves on the pavement. I shivered in my thin pants and light jumper like a human form of those giant chattering teeth.
Pants quest is the impossible dream for me. I am short so everything needs hemming, there’s high risk of booty gap-age in back and my tennis ball calves tend not to fit int drainpipe thin cuts. But Mexico was a revelation from the waist down. Here I am among my people. Here I am the perfect height. Here things fit!!! I literally walked into a shop and bought two pairs of pants off a cheap rack and they fit perfectly. What is this shopping nirvana for short people?!?! How can I ever go back to the land of giraffes and the dreaded Regular leg??? I immediately got changed in the toilets – still freezing. One quick stop for street tacos for lunch – two for 24 pesos (5 bucks) plus free soup, then time to shiver back to the hotel.
I won’t bore you will details of the bus. It’s a bus. It was a comfortable coach. Movie dubbed in Spanish. We arrived in Puebla (pronounced P-webla) maybe 7 ish and it was so incredibly cold.
Dump and run of bags straight into orientation walk in the dark and cold. I don’t think anybody was particularly thrilled with that, but perambulate we did. With my minimalist jacket, I was quietly begging for it to be over as a little piece of me died inside and my chilblains reappeared on the outside. Soon, we would head for the warm climes. Soon …
Tanya took us to La Pasita Bar, famous for La Pasita liqueur and an extremely eclectic decor.
The art nouveau bar was stuffed full of knick knacks and memorabilia from Disney and Marvel, through to sketches and artwork from random corners of the world. The bar keep fixed us the local specialty – a shot of herbal liqueur with cheese marinating in it on a toothpick. Bottoms up! Never say no to a free shot is my policy. Got more mileage out of that one than my Australian Unity Hospital Cover. Not a truly hideous combo but can’t say I would go back for more. The liqueur itself was nice. After attempt at a quick dinner gone horribly wrong – our table fed and watered quickly but not the other and then an incomprehendo bill fail on the staff side – there was no way to make the wrestling on time. Worse, we went back to the hotel to meet Brin who skipped dinner due to intentional fasting and I took the opportunity to drop something back in my room. In the confusion, I got left behind. Tanya had to run back. The others went ahead. It was all a bit of a schmozzle. We were half an hour late. This illicit pic was taken before I was told photography could be met with a face-first piledriver.
Lucha libre wrestling is one of the most iconic modern Mexican experiences. It shares much in common with those glory days of Hulk Hogan and Macho Man Randy Savage my brother and I grew up binging on from the local VHS rental store. Except everybody wears a mask – but one guy wasn’t. (Cop out.) Good guy usually wins, there are amazing comebacks from the dead, guaranteed action in the aisles and better choreography than West Side story. Some of the moves were quite spectacular with guys hurling themselves with acrobatic precision from the ropes onto their ancient, apocryphal enemies. The crowd favourite was the last match between the white masked and tight white pants hero and the clear bad guy who got his mask ripped off. But I preferred the previous three on three match between the bright yellow costume guy with no mask and his striking teammates, a huge woman in a full pink and black bodysuit (I was fully convinced it was a guy in a fatsuit for two hours) and A KID!!! No more than maybe 10 surely?!?! Living my brother’s Hulk Hogan dream of leaping from the ropes to elbow the baddie in the nuts!
Vendors spruiked the expected beers, refrescos (softies), doughnuts as well as the more local fruit in a cup, cemitas (rolls), and some LED toys. And the lucha libre masks! Dave bought one with no mouth so spent the evening inhaling chemicals. There was an American flag one. I wondered if purchasing one and asking when the wall would be built would be a better beating than anything witnessed in the ring. It was entertaining and I think it had to be experienced – that female wrestler was amazing – the way she wore her belt was braver than any smackdown I saw. But unless I was a bit closer to the action or there was something pretty special, I feel like I have seen it and don’t need to go again.
After the wrestling, it was time for a reunion of even more proportions. David, my previous tour guide, from my 2017 trip from Playa to Antigua lives in Puebla and Ubered in to visit me. By this time, it was 11pm and the cold was like a drill straight into my joints. The only place open was the Irish bar around the corner where I felt truly bizarre polishing off a Michelada Negro Modelo (that’s a beer with Worcestershire sauce, lime and a salty rim) and a tequila shot. That’s multiculturalism. David and I had a good chat about culture, history, dreams and imagination. Then half a bottle of mezcal that he gifted me. Needless to say, it was a late night and I was very glad the buffet breakfast was in house.
Lock and load for the ruins of Cholula, daylight exploration of Puebla including Latin America’s oldest library and a disappointing dinner.
HockTales: a Central American Adventure 