First, let me thank you for your patience, dear reader. Sporadic Internet access and WordPress reliability – two mutually exclusive concepts sometimes – mean it’s a few drinks between posts sometimes. Like an ancient scroll of Maya wisdom on par with the Dresden Codex, Tanya has passed some knowledge onto me. The Mayan ancients had observatories and sacred rituals; Tanya has an app for Mayan cosmology and astrology. The modern Mayans believe each day of the year has a unique symbol and number that determines your course of life and personality etc. My symbol has to do with with settling of debts. It’s right on the money, so to speak. Very McDuck-ian as I don’t even have a credit history. I am off the grid, black ops for debts. (The symbol also looks like a retro TV. Cool.) I thought I was walking in the footsteps of Scrooge on this trip, but we may have been walking parallel webbed footpaths all along. Incidentally, my number is 7 which means I am indecisive as anybody who has ever tried to get me to pick a restaurant – or a career – will appreciate. Apparently 7 is right up the middle of the numbers. You would think that would mean I would be into moderation. Apparently it’s the opposite which is entirely true. For example, I can choose to drink all the cervezas or none of the cervezas. With me, it’s all or nothing.
So we hopped in our mini-van (Oaxacar – I am cracking that one twice) for our daytrip of stuff around Oaxaca. No blood sugar drops and late German sausage serving fiascos today. I filled up big at nearby Cafe Alex (come for the egg-white omelet, stay for the wi-fi, endure the coffee) and was packing more snacks than Rambo had magazine clips down his pants. Last one on the bus again, but fed and watered so worth it.
First stop, the mega tree. Actually called the Tula tree. But technically not because it was just called a Tula tree because it was in the town of Tule but it was not a Tula tree per se (because that is a type of tree?) but was a cypress. Ok, got it. The tree trunk was of rather enormous girth (giggle) and about 2,000 years old. A nearby tree was only 1,000 years old. Hardly worth getting out of bed for comparatively. The grounds were very pretty with rose bushes, a colourful church and I arbored (please laugh or at least groan) good intentions towards the manicured topiaries. Although the jury was out about the one with a guy on the horse or bull with the weird tail.
Next Hierve el Agua, which Tanya had first described to us as Boling Water. We all had visions of lolling about in hot springs like bunch of julienned vegetables in a cauldron. Instead, it just meant water to swim in. Oh. Less fun. Scrooge wears clothes. I suspect he doesn’t like to get his spats wet. I can’t recall ever having seen him swim, despite his species. I too am not much of a swimmer but I will go along with a potential pool posse if the possibility presents …
There was a choice between going straight for swimming or hiking to check out the petrified waterfalls before the Kardashian pool posing. I chose hike first and butt admiration later. After a bit of the old Sid the Seagull slip, slop, slap, (that’s putting on sunscreen for the non-Aussies), we hit the trail with a new, random guide. Two minutes in, we saw this.
At first the hike descended through cacti and rocks. An entirely different environment to the mega tree which was an hour and a half away. More arid and desert like. I preferred it. The ‘where’s Jo?’ Protocol was in force as I was pretty slow on the way down with the picture taking but am also about as sure footed as a cautious knock kneed klutz on stilts as a general rule.
The petrified falls loomed overhead like Elsa from Frozen had turned them to solid rock with her magic Disney powers. They also looked a bit like an uber real Santa’s magic cave spilling out over the edge of a cliff. Water cascaded down them. I climbed up a slope for this picture with my grippy sandals, so not daunting. The view over what was surely a national park of some kind was amazing but I didn’t want to risk carrying my camera so close to the edge.
I am the weak one in the herd going down and expect to be picked off by a predator but on an incline, I am usually quite fast. A superpower resulting from a low centre of gravity from being a short arse, ace cardio that street tacos and platanos haven’t yet managed to diminish, and a better inclination towards handling the burn in my legs than the fear of falling off steps going down. Plus, once I am in the lead, I just really want to see what’s ahead! So Dave and I gunned it back up the hill like mountain goats, stopping only to take admire the flight of three eagles and snap a large proportion of photos and videos that completely missed the mark.
By now, the sun was heating up. I felt smug in my suncream application at that point, not remembering that I had neglected to protect my legs from feeling the burn in a non-cardio sense. The others seemed to be taking their time on the hike incline. Surely there was time for a beer? That answer is always affirmative. I may (did) have wasted (did waste) precious drinking time in my stressed out failure to locate my wallet in the ‘special place’ I put it that day. I tossed towels, shoved sunscreen, hurled hats! Nearly pitched a fit! Found it and the fella couldn’t deal with the change. Dave despaired. I was ashamed. Nobody came out of this well. Time to make a disgraceful exit for the pool.
It was cold!!!! I am such a wuss!! I paddled across to the other side of the chill pool to sit on the edge, basically because my limbs were threatening total paralysis despite the smiles.
I was glad to go when it was time to collect our things. The temperature had been baking but dipped a bit. Time for lunch. That always makes me smile! This was a buffet at a local restaurant so speed, variety and all you can eat protein. In life, three of my favourite things. Winner, winner, chicken mole dinner. (Is too much mole ever enough???) And there was salad!!!
Next up on the Oaxaca tourist pub(lic sites) crawl were the Mitla ruins. These are Zapotec if you are going to give them a name that I can spell in an iPhone in the back of a bus and that people can look up in an index, but the local people don’t like that name. The Aztecs named them that. Imagine the Aztecs came through, trashed your joint and gave your people a new name. Would you want to use it??
The Mitla ruins belong to the later period of ruins in the Oaxaca region when the civilisation was in decline. They are the tail end of the Monte Alban ruins and people that are the subject of the next post. Mitla was around approximately 1200 AD. They belong to the people living in the Valley of Mexico.
Mitla is short for Mictlan which means City of the Dead. The Aztec god of death and the underworld is Mictantlecutli. I wonder if he was Mick for short? Remember the Templo Mayor – he was the creepy statue with his liver hanging out. So the Aztecs named the city afterwards. They named it that because there are tombs here.
So there is the big house – not a gaol- where the wealthy people lived. Four chambers inside for rooms. Dark in appearance but take a photo with no flash and you can see. Also temperatures controlled and beautiful carvings. See???
The house has its own atrium in the centre and the carvings represent things like the mountains. Doors very short. I only just had to duck through. Only one inch shorter!! I tried so hard to get through like limbo! Fail! Still these are clearly my kind of short-limbed, half-pint midget kin. I felt very at home. Just needed Netflix, some Lego and a beanbag.
Just outside the house is a main plaza.
Brin and I found these enormous cacti and decided photos with our heads popping up behind them were our most pressing need.
Then tombs!!!! The underground entry was only 4 feet high and others had to crawl. Me? Crawl? No need to lower myself like a peasant giving obeisance to a feudal lord! I just needed to squat and waddle like a Cossack (or a duck – why is this Scrooge thing so easy??) Dignity preserved.
A disappointing lack of corpses or mummies but no infectious disease or ancient curses. Even Stevens. There was, however, this beautiful wall carving that I realised I had seen at the Anthropology Museum in Mexico City in the photographic exhibition.
Being such a super history nerd, I could be dropped off at a room and stay all day. I find them exciting, invigorating, energising; they make me feel alive! But it was time for free samples at the mezcal distillery and you know I am a sucker for a freebie. If you didn’t, you do now.
First we learnt about the process of cutting up, soaking and ageing the agave plant. Fun fact – mezcal can be made of multiple plants but tequila is just one. Mezcal is more refined and pricier. It can be smokier, like whiskey. It’s also mixed with flavours to make liqueurs. You don’t get that with tequila. Mezcal is what Mexicans drink.
Below is a photo of my mate at the mezcal distillery. He asked me if I would have a sample. I said, “I never say no!” Then it was on. Double shots for Jo. I took it like a champ. I saw the faces scrunch at the young mezcal. I was stony faced like a Rodin sculpture. Actually, I liked it! Pineapple, pistachio, chocolate, mango, just hit me with them all mate. He obliged. I noted my sample cup filled up more than others. And look at the special present he gave me.
I had planned on buying a bottle of mezcal as a gift for my friend and it was half the price it was in town. Plus I saw a nice shot glass. Old mate’s nefarious plan to get me smashed on mezcal and buy half the shop had backfired. He hadn’t counted on the old McDuck stinginess!
But then we hit the textile factory where the weavers may have benefited from his cunning plan …
It was also about now that I noticed the raw pinkness of the sunburn on my legs. Roja. Oh well. Nice shorts line.
The fella showed us the plants and fabrics used to dye the textiles. The factory was quite famous for Disney reps visiting them to consult for the authenticity of fabrics depicted in the Coco movie. Another fun fact is that the men do the weaving, not the women. I have never seen that in any culture before. The machine was a beast!
It was time for shopping. A strange feeling cane over me. Mezcal? Truly, I probably sank at least 10 more free samples than anybody else. A desperate need to hang onto a piece of a place where I am happy? I needed a rug. It was like agua. Like water. An urgent pressing need. In all seriousness, I had always wanted a rug for my apartment. The floor is a bit plain.
The rugs were rolling out like red carpets at the Oscars and I was the starlet with the credit card. The guide helped me at first, explaining to me that these particular rugs featured the carvings at Mitla. I was sold. No way I could get a rug from Ikea with the unique carvings of a MesoAmerican ruin I had seen half a world away on the same day. It was fate.
We narrowed it down to a rug with mountains, steps and symbols from the house at Mitla! Amazing! I have agonised over the purchase of such things before. This was done without even measuring the room or the rug. Risky? Definitely. Expensive? Yes. But unique.
And now I am kind of stuck with it … And it doesn’t fit in my bag … It has its own bag … I have my own baggage train like the Queen of Sheba …
Stay tuned for further adventures with me and my new fuzzy sidekick that will probably take up most of my lounge room.
HockTales: a Central American Adventure 