No cars or Tones and I – marked safe from Dance Monkey one day – just a fantastic sleep, despite the thin mattress that let the rungs dig into me every time I rolled over. Must have been tired.

My expectations for the jungle shower were, like many of the Mayan doorways, not high. (I tell you – these are my people.) Dad would have enjoyed the standard operating procedure shower. All I got was a drizzle of hot water, more appropriate for a Jamie Oliver salad dressing and I resigned myself to a hokey pokey sponge bath (you put your right arm in and you shake it all about etc). Our host, Gabriel, later informed me via Manuel on the jungle translation grapevine that you had to let it run, then turn the cold on then the hot kicked in. Yes, the shower Illuminati conspiracy against me is worldwide. (As I write this, I am in Cuba wondering how to inform the owner of the guesthouse that I just broke their shower curtain rod.)

Breakfast was Mexican scrambled eggs (that means it had tomato in it), some beans and tortillas. Always tortillas. Mas coffee too. That means more. Gabriel was starting to get me despite the language barrier. Load me up with the hard black stuff, my man. Twice. He bid goodbye to us as he had to visit the bank and would be gone by the time our transport arrived at 2pm. This was not the simple pop around the corner to the ATM. There was no Banknorte dispensing tree. It was a 5 hour round trip for him.

Manuel was so taken with the chill factor of the cabanas that he decided to chuck in his plans and stay two more days. Gabriel was thrilled!

At 9am, we emerged from our rooms for our 4 hour walk in the Lacondan jungle. Do you walk in the jungle? Or is it automatically a trek by virtue of it simply being in the jungle? Or is a machete required for it to qualify as a trek? I had gone full Chuck Norris (is Chick Norris the female version?) sans weaponry. Camo singlet, cargo shorts, thick khaki socks. Our guide, Rosalita, dressed like she was headed to the 711 to replenish her snack stash. A loose fitting dress and flip flops??? WHS alert!!!! Exposed toes in the jungle???? And I thought I was tough braving tinea in the gym showers. Rosalita was badass.

Again, para habla no Espanol. I walked/trekked through a contextless bubble for a while. It was the dry season but the ground was muddy for about half the time, resembling the mushy brown frijoles I ate three times a day. Everything was green and lush with a dense canopy that prevented me donning my sunglasses, although we entered clearings frequently enough to blind me with light. The walk itself was very easy. Flat ground with consistent terrain for the most part. I felt very relaxed walking along in the green world of Locanda, having no idea what was going on for the most part. I took this two-day  side trip for the ruins but the jungle walk was a definitely a cool bonus that I really enjoyed more than I thought I would.

Manuel did impart some secondhand nuggets of Rosalita wisdom to me. Early on, she started saying something that made Manuel and the other couple instantly drop their gear and reach for the big spray as if their lives depended on it. Spray and roll on was being applied with breathtaking speed.  I figured it was another lesson on mosquitoes, zika and dengue – ho hum – heard that one before. No. Manuel told me there was a fly in season for the current month only. The fly injects a worm through its leg subcutaneously (that means under human skin – I just like the word). The worm then injects a poison into the human bloodstream that can make you very sick. She ordered us to apply BandAids to any new dots that might appear on our arms over the coming days because that starves the worm of oxygen and kills it. So if I end up looking like Norman Gunston, you will know why. I saw two flies on my hand that day that I immediately crushed – I don’t know if it was THOSE flies – I wasn’t going to wait to find out.

We saw a lot of cool stuff in the jungle. First, a mega tree. It was not on par with the Tula tree. Not even close. I think it was only a couple of hundred years old. But we all had to hug it because it gave us magic juju??? I will be happy if it doesn’t give me hives.

Rosalita explained about the Locandan community and their use of the jungle. Basically, they use it for everything. They live entirely self-sufficient lives (except for those flip flops, Rosalita, that’s bull), thanks to the jungle. She showed us plants for spices (smelt like pepper), cooking fish, washing dishes and making clothes and fabric. She even showed us the specific plant she used to make her bag! The Locandan jungle belongs to the people who are autonomous – the Mexican government has no influence here. That means they can’t log or touch the jungle which is great. The Locandan people have been taking care of the jungle forever and it’s still here; hopefully that can continue.

Apparently the people are mostly vegetarian, living off plants and eggs. They use animals for farming purposes and only eat meat once a year when the crops are particularly fertile and the animals are fat. I thought to myself that the vegetarian meals back at the cabanas now made sense.

Other cool stuff she showed us included a plant that produced the green dye for the original US greenback. Not anymore though. Surely that’s Panetone something now. Plus Trump would have logged the whole jungle if he had anything to do with it . Also we saw a tree that was not a tree! It was as big as a tree, it stood on the ground like a tree but it was really a parasite that fed off the neighbouring tree and took it over to become bigger than the original! So the opposite of Grease 2.

Rosalita led us to the not so world famous Laconda ruins which consisted of one structure on top of a hill. Another observation Edificio???? Manuel reported that this was all that remained of another Mayan city. It was probably a day’s walk from Bonampak which would have been a doddle for the Mayans who walked sacbes (white roads) for trade and other purposes. Could the actual people depicted in the Bonampak murals have sat on the edge of this very structure like I was right then? I had no way of dating the Lacondan building to know if it was contemporary with the murals (790 AD), but it was extremely cool to feel connected to the people in the murals in that particular moment. The vibe was very tranquil, looking out into the dense jungle. We sat there chilling and briefly forgetting about killer mutant flies.

Quote time. Willie Scott: “The entire place is crawling with living things!” Indiana Jones: “That’s why they call it the jungle, sweetheart.” Rosalita had a keen eye for wildlife spotting. (Almost as good as me with loose change on the ground.) This picture of a toucan is why I bring a camera with decent zoom on my adventures.

We also saw a bright green snake, a cool little lizard, big ants, and termites. Better yet, we ate the termites! They tasted minty! You would have to devour a whole mound to get any nutritional value because they are so tiny. Shame Mounds Bar is taken. That would be a great name for a minty termite protein bar if the Lacondans wanted to make some extra cash. I doubt it has nutritional value either.

Rosalita had one more surprise up her sleeve. Did we want to visit a cave? Yes please! She led us to a rushing river with muddy banks and waded straight in, beckoning us to follow. Oh Rosalita … the flip flops … it all becomes clear now … I removed my Kathmandu walking shoes and merino socks. Although I knew payback would be a blistery bitch with wet feet later, I gingerly waded into the river. The water only went up to ankle height at best but the current was strong and it was like walking on sharp rock edges in parts. Stupid baby soft Westerner tourist feet. One false move and it would be a faceplant transplant. Manuel helped me across, leading me to the softer rocks. We then clambered over a short, muddy vertical wall before crunching the jungle undergrowth barefoot. I briefly wondered whether my travel insurance would cover me if something hairy lurked under the leaves.

Finally, the cave! Well, we stood at the mouth of a small cave and saw bats. Bruce Wayne had clearly downsized. That was it. Back we went. Well, the others went for a swim in the deeper part of the river but I hadn’t brought my bathers so I dozed off on a bench waiting. I did, however, have the bright idea of using Wet Ones to remove the mud and my feet dried while I waited. Winning!

Rosalita returned us to the cabanas for lunch –  chicken breast. Hang on! Didn’t they only eat meat once a year? Was I eating the chief supplier of huevos for the household????? If so, it was a delicious honour. It will remain a mystery for the ages because I wasn’t going to ask and I wouldn’t have understood the answer anyway!

The remainder of the afternoon consisted of killing time before the transport picked me up. There were two shops in the vicinity – one was a house with a beer fridge and a huge pile of life jackets, the other had more products and a small monkey on the cashier’s lap. No signal or wifi. I looked at the garden and chilled on my porch with some downloaded podcasts. Some Chinese randoms turned up with a dubious printout of a booking, Yucatan license plates and asked if there were any ruins on the area. Well, we weren’t here for the beer fridge, lady!?!?! I struggled to conceive of any possible reason for driving aimlessly through the Lacondan jungle on dirt roads with bugger all English or Spanish if you had no idea that world class ruins were around the corner. To top it all off, the woman demanded an early dinner at 5pm and sported a steel rod in her leg. She could barely walk 10 feet without assistance. The Mayan ruins with sheer vertical steps would be a barrel of laughs for her. It was a very random incident in people watching.

Just as I was beginning to get worried, the transport turned up half an hour late. I said goodbye to Manuel before heading into town.

Francisco and I had planned a final dinner but, as I arrived back quite late and he had an urgent work thing to do, we had to abandon the idea. But he still met me to return my luggage, carry it to my room and see that I was all checked in at the Intrepid hotel where I would rejoin the tour group. All was not lost though. I would see Francisco at Palenque the next day in his element- as tour guide of the ruins!

So my evening consisted of a run to the Chedraui, a giant supermarket next door to the hotel. I grabbed my old faithful tuna – one can for the road and one pouch of pieces for dinner – and a diet lime mineral water before perusing the fascinating shelves of Mexican products. I found a Carlos V sugar free chocolate bar for later too. (As I write this offline on the road to the Bay of Pigs in Cuba, I am craving that simple tuna. I have put so much bad stuff down my little gob since then.)

Then it was back to the hotel to learn that Kobe Bryant died in a helicopter crash. It always seems that somebody famous dies on my trips. So there’s that box ticked then. Celebrities – mark yourselves safe from Jo’s trip from now. Sorry Kobe.

Tune in next time for my reunion with Francisco, King Pakal and the world famous Palenque ruins in the heart of the Chiapas jungle.

5:30 pickup from the hotel but let’s be honest, I hadn’t slept a wink. (I never seem to sleep or get tired. I may have been vampirized on Day 1. Totally using up my 100 sick days when I get home if that’s the case.) I was like a kid on Christmas morning looking for a big fat Santa sack of Mayan goodies. Bring me history, archaeology and the ancient world now!! Plus I am a bit of an early riser anyway. I get up at 5.45 for the gym before work 5 days a week. You may have noticed that my switch is permanently set to On. I don’t really know how to sit down and chill, so the title is a bit of an in-joke. Except you know it now too.

First stop was actually breakfast. The Kijnum Balam tour operators weren’t so cruel as to force people into the jungle for 12 hours uncaffeinated. Might as well perform ritual sacrifice on us. Might be kinder. The restaurant was more of an outdoor cafeteria with free ranging chickens and cats. I hit the buffet of huevos revueltos (scrambled eggs), tortillas, beans and my old mates, the fried platanos. I threw down two black coffees with the speed and confidence of mezcal shots (well, within reason – I like my trachea to function). Then time to like on for 2 hours to Yaxchilan.

I was literally and metaphorically in the dark as it was still very early and the guide didn’t speak English. Poquito Espanol is one of my favourite phrases. It means ‘little Spanish‘ – like I speak enough to order my dinner, make myself understood and pick out key words but there’s no way I can pick up slabs of verbosity spouting from the mouth of a guide like a verbal AK47. So when he gave us the plan for the day I had no idea what was going on. He asked me for something – I thought he was talking about the air conditioning. He wanted my nationality. He then read choices for a set menu for lunch but it was at the speed of light. He asked me and reduced the lengthy options to chicken or beef. I went chicken.

The van eventually hit the dock – Embarcadero sorry – that’s a very cool word – much better than dock. I got something about toilets and snacks. That was it. Clearly a crucial piece of information was missing about timeframes because one minute I was buying a cheap necklace of my homie King Pakal of Palenque and nek minnit, there was no group but I saw this empty dock and a boat clearly waiting for the next lot of people.

Thanks for waiting. The driver of the van turned up and said something in Spanish to me which make me feel a bit like it was my fault I got left behind. With a few gestures and communication via calculator (not EGGS or BOOBS), I understood that I should get on this empty boat and return on another one at 12.15. Ok. As I donned my life jacket, the boat containing my group turned up. They had remembered me and turned around!

Possibly feeling bad about this group betrayal, a young Mexican guy started talking to me in English! His name was Manuel. He was from Mexico City but lived in Paris with his girlfriend. He was travelling independently through the Yucatan and the only other person on the boat alone. After we disembarked, he suggested we explore. I could tell we were going to get on. So, as the guide took the main group in the direction of the Gran Plaza, we headed in the opposite direction for the Petit Plaza. And what an adventure that decision turned out to be!

Unfortunately my context of the sites is limited without any commentary and the English information panels only said boring stuff like ‘this structure had three rooms made of stucco and paste’. Did an engineering student with a major in narcolepsy write them? I want to know what the building was used for!!! Temple, observatory, training centre, admin, house. Who lived or worked here. Explain the decoration. Is anything special about it. Any mythology or cosmology? What about influence from other areas here?? I want to know about people, not rocks!

So we found the petit plaza pretty quick and easy. It was a steeper climb than some of the more senior members of our retinue might have managed without a small crane. But easy for two eager explorers!

The howler monkeys were going off. FYI – howler monkeys sound like dinosaurs. Jurassic Park sampled their cacophony for the T-Rex or velociraptor sounds. Serious. We could only hear them but it was either a West Side Story turf war or an orgy. we explored around a bit and then followed a roughly hewn jungle path for 10 minutes until we came to a crossroads. To the plaza or to something called an Edificio? Gran plaza was too vanilla. And so commenced a 15 minute trek through rough terrain like this vertical wall below.

We honestly had no idea when this Edificio would manifest, how far the path would go or whether we had enough time to get to the Edificio with enough time to explore and still return back to the Gran Plaza. I was still burned from the boat betrayal. I had no wish to sit on the dock of the bay watching the tide roll away like Otis Reading again.

But then a crumbling structure loomed into view ..

I clambered up. Manuel climbed a matching one (his and her Edificios?). We snapped photos of each other across a wide gulf spanning the two high rise buildings. Technically speaking, these were Edificio 39 and 40. I later learnt these structures were for observing the cosmos. We climbed right to the top of Edificio 40. Naughty? Possibly. Thrilling? Definitely!!!! That’s the photo at the top. So awesome!!! Honestly, trailing off into the jungle with no idea of what’s ahead was so exciting! Although, I was conscious of potentially missing out on moneyshots in the Gran Plaza. So we gunned it back down the green, rocky, overgrown slope. Trees beckoned as tempting handholds but I worried about grabbing furry tarantulas. I did grab a vine at one point though!

We eventually made it back to the main thoroughfare via the verso side of a hill. Manuel and I explored the contextless temples surrounding the plaza which featured amazingly well preserved carvings such as this.

The plaza itself was nothing special as far as Mayan ruins go. No epic temples or stelae. Yaxchilan is all about the jungle setting. I climbed something else I shouldn’t have. The tour guide then yelled, ‘Yo! (Insert Spanish here!)’ No Google translate needed. In trouble again .. Decided to bring up the rear for more pictures … Might as well dig myself a deeper hole with the group.

We hopped back on the boat for our lunch. No habla Espanol grilled chicken for me. This came with chips, coleslaw and frijoles (beans). Everything comes with beans. Bonus mystery dessert. And bonus dessert two when another couple decided to pay for free ice cream for all! I even forgave her for telling me off for moving my jumper off the floor earlier.

Now for Bonampak! My dream! It was another hour or so drive from Yaxchilan in the van. This time, I told Manuel we were going straight for the murals while the others faffed about with the guide. Bonampak is small site. See below. That’s it. Murals in the building on the right and the view are it!

I charged up the stairs as if my personal trainer was cracking the whip. INAH, Mexico’s equivalent of National Heritage, takes the murals so seriously that all visitors must sign in prior to viewing.

They didn’t disappoint. It was a visual and photographic feast. I stood hogging each doorway for ages, going back and forth between them. Manuel and I had them all to ourselves and he moved on after 5 minutes. I must have gawped for a good 20 minutes at least.

Three rooms of murals. The first with bright blues, the second more damaged and the third with more orange hues. All featuring processions, war, human sacrifice, religion. Men and women in ceremonial clothing, magnificent headdresses, jaguar pelts, fantastic adornments. The classic sloping Maya forehead is clearly visible, evidence of the practice of head binding.

Truly, it was the most awesome thing I have seen this trip. These murals have been preserved like this – no filters – since 790AD. So unique. No other Mayan site has this impact of colour but also such a rich depiction of real people doing such powerful stuff. (Can you tell I am writing this in a moving airport line!?!) Again, it’s the combination of beauty with intensity. I can’t look away.

With eyeballs and soul full, we headed back to our jungle cabanas for the night. Me, Manuel and a Spanish couple ate a dinner of cheese tortillas and salad and hung out in this river. Swimming was the theory but it was too cold for me. I kinda wore my bikini and sat on a bench in the river drinking beer from the shop until I froze.

Then bedtime in the jungle cabanas where I slept fantastically well!!!

Stay tuned for my next post on the Locandan jungle trek. However, in real time, I am headed to Cuba where internet access is meant to be el crappo so it may be 10 days or more between blog posts. So hasta luego!

I realise this picture looks weird because I am not in it. Mea culpa. Desculpe. Apologies. Sorry. Not sorry.

Today I ditched the tour group for a planned Indiana Jo independent side adventure to Palenque, a town in Chiapas that still retains its gritty frontier edge. It’s not like the other towns with the nice colonial buildings. This one is all about the neighbouring Palenque ruins which are awesome but, much to your surprise, not why I was there!

Since I was a kid, I had dreamed of seeing the wondrous colourful murals of Bonampak, a Mayan ruin a few hours from Palenque. There was no way to squeeze it into the Intrepid itinerary. However, I have a friend on the inside …

I was previously here in 2017 when I met Francisco, one of the tour guides at the Palenque ruins. As I have such an interest in Mayan history and archaeology, we have kept in touch via WhatsApp. He is now my mate and I knew he could help me set up a side trip. So he did. He booked me a spot on a two day adventure to the Yaxchilan Mayan ruins, the Bonampak murals, an overnight stay in the Lacondan jungle, a 4 hour jungle trek and then transport back to Palenque where the Intrepid group was scheduled to arrive on the planned itinerary. It just meant I would miss three days in San Cristobal de las Casas but I had already been there. Lovely but I had seen it. So I booked a bus, a hotel for one night, signed a waiver and hit the road!!!

The only downer was the bus to Palenque was three hours after the 13 hour night bus arrived. It was a 9 hour journey. Ugh!

However, I used those three hours in a resourceful, MacGyver-like fashion. I showered at the Intrepid hotel, breakfasted, walked up the main drag, outsourced the purchasing of presents for my nieces, bought a cool drink bottle with a Mexican logo that made it look like Starbucks that I have since been using in hotels that have not been providing glasses. For brushing my teeth etc. TMI?

After leaving the precious rug and some of my other luggage with Tanya, I taxied you the bus station and got on the correct bus! Success!!! Celebrate the small wins!

The 9 hours flew by, largely because I wrote blog entries. I have no classy pictures of truck stops for you. We stopped at a few stations to pick up other passengers, leaving about 10 minutes or so for a quick lunch run reminiscent of that Seinfeld episode where Kramer leaps off the subway car to grab a gyro. For me, it was a Subway and a coffee. No, don’t toast it you fool!!!! The only incident of note was refuelling at Villahermosa when we were forced to get off the bus on one side and the bus drove around the other side of the station without me realising. Another kind passenger raced off to grab me just before it left.

When I arrived, Francisco picked me up from the bus station to go to the tour agency to pay. Then we went for world-class Chiapas coffee. Chiapas is the Mexican State most famous for coffee – no nasty dishwater here. I had two. Francisco went for a tomale run, buying 6 and insisting I eat 4 to try all the flavours. So delicious. One was called a Chapateco, like a local from Chiapas. Pork, chicken, a green leaf like spinach, and I think I ate another chicken. Seemed rude to bust out the camera here so no photos.

We talked for ages about Palenque, the ruins, Mexico, my trip. All sorts. It was a great night on the street. He then drove me to my hotel where I quickly sorted my luggage to take only the necessaries for two days and he took my main rucksack to watch for two days rather than me lugging that through the jungle. The hotel itself was pretty nice by the look of it, although I didn’t get to experience any of it.

Apologies for a very boring post but it was not exactly a thrilling day!

More soon ..

I was rudely awoken at 4.40 to my bed vibrating like an old Sandman in the dunes in the 70s. A siren wailed in the distance as I opened a bleary eyelid. WTF??? Was I in a love motel in a vibrating coin operated bed like in the Leisure Suit Larry computer game Mum confiscated from me??? No, it was just an earthquake measuring 4.5 on the Richter scale. Ok. No worries. Nobody seemed particularly concerned. I had pants on if I had to get up. I rolled over and dozed a bit. So yes, now I can say the earth moved for me alone in my bed in Mexico.

Upon achieving a higher level of consciousness (fully woke!), I received a pleasant surprise when I checked my banking app to discover my rug was a thousand dollars cheaper than I thought it was. No hangover from the mezcal or buyer’s remorse either. But the reaction may be a delayed onset when I discover exactly how much it is to post home …

It was a momentary existential crisis. Had I betrayed the spirit of Scrooge? Was he shooting me daggers over the top of his pince nez glasses like a Yoda to my Luke? Failed me you have. In bank balance, certainly. But in adventure, I think not. It is all part of the epic story. The rich tapestry if you will – ha!!! The only thing missing from the comics I read as a kid (or now) was a manservant or a stubborn camel with a name like Kaboobie to lug it home. (I know that’s another cartoon, but there’s something very Carl Barks-ian about the name. FYI – Carl Barks drew the comics.)

Today was another big day. Just the way I like them. Monte Alban ruins in the morning and then back to town for choose your own adventure for the afternoon, then the 13 hour night bus to San Cristobal las Casas.

Monte Alban is a pretty old school ruin and, unlike Mitla, it’s massive. But visitors can’t see it all, of course. The site was founded about 500BC and abandoned by about 750AD. The civilisation that flourished here dominated the area now known as Oaxaca, e.g. the Valley of Mexico. It was the major city state with contacts and trade connections all the way up to Teotihuacán, buying obsidian from the northerners. Like Mitla, Monte Alban has tombs but no commando crawling down there. All blocked off. Some of the trees are cotton, featuring tufts of white puffs high up on the branches. My rug is made from these trees apparently.

We perambulated around to see a headless jaguar and a view of the main plaza. See my head obstructing it below or my whole body obstructing it right up the top.

The weather was initially quite chill. I was regretting the sleeveless option in the shade, but it warmed up! Vendors hawked their wares within the site. I bought two replicas of pieces excavated from Monte Alban – one ball player and a healer wearing a jaguar skull. Awesome. I am always on the hunt for sock-packable replica antiquities. Small, lightweight things that link with the sites I have visited.

We descended into the main plaza where I instantly felt happy and at home.

Jose (our guide) walked us over to a few buildings but I mostly remember the observatory featuring carvings of what was initially thought to be dancers. Big no. Bodies swayed in the breeze but they were not really dancing. They were doing the salsa of death, the tango of carking it, the mambo of the big sleep. Male captives were executed by full castration and the movements of their bodies in death looked like dancing – that’s what these carvings on the building represent.

Regretfully, we had to leave the plaza but went via the ball court where I took this smart arse picture. Depending on archaeologists, anthropologists or tour guides, the ball court was either used for sport (a ball game where you couldn’t use hands or feet and had to aim a ball through a hoop) or a ritual where that happened but it was not a game played but more of a sacred practice where winners or losers were sacrificed. Either with honour with the obsidian blade (e.g. quick and painless) or in a horrible way like disemboweled or castrated. The ritual is the preferred school of thought at the moment.

A quick visit to the museum to check out some mutilated teeth, a deformed skeleton (twisted spine), a carving of what happened to women who couldn’t have their meat and two veg removed (they bled out from a live hysterectomy – good to see punishment was not gendered), a skull with example of head binding and holes to alleviate pressure from diseases like encephalitis. I pulled a swifty to do a toilet run and a 2 second smash and grab of the gift shop for the guide to the site before joining the others on the bus back to Oaxaca.

Free time was the order of the day. A few of the others went back to the German place but I just couldn’t risk another extended wait. I was burned from how long it took to cook a pork sausage on a stick last time. There was only one thing for it – cheap, small and fast street tacos!!! (Just realised the street tacos are a lot like me!) Two bad boys of mystery meat down the hatch and into a street market for browsing.

After the restorative powers of a coffee, I bought a cool little Frida Kahlo skull with intricate carvings. I managed to leave the shop just before the old traveller’s bowel bubblings – my own personal 4.5 Richter scale rumbler – hit with the force of a tsunami. Uh oh. Rapido to the cultural centre, por favor! Make haste! It was my only hope in a sea of shops!I immediately complied with my own mental directives, striding purposefully in the way only those threatened with the most dire of rear issues truly can move like the wind. As I saw the sign, I dropped my bag and the small Frida skull shattered into a million pieces. My guts burbled and cramped. Sorry Frida. I charged ahead, dumped my bag at security, went through the metal detector, got directions and barged through an entire temporary exhibition to get to the end. An officious cleaner told me to wait because the floor was wet. I shot her a look that generally gave the impression that the floor was going to be wet and brown if she didn’t let me in right now. Blessed relief soon followed.

The cultural centre is about the history of the Oaxaca Mayan people. It’s pretty much a museum inside a Dominican convent. And it’s cool. That much you should know. Sooo many Mayan artifacts pulled from Monte Alban and surrounding areas. Also tells the story of conquest and daily life all within a unique setting of labyrinthine passageways and rooms. Plus a beautiful cactus garden!! I didn’t have time to visit it but I could see it at least.

I went back to check out the temporary exhibition. All in Spanish but I got to see the Mask of Calakmul who appears to be on a holiday to Oaxaca.

The main collection was outstanding. So many Mayan artifacts. I blew a photographic load there in about an hour. No English though. But that does encourage speed. So I was through there in about an hour and a half, but it was quite magnificent for a small museum.

I popped quickly into the Santo Domingo church next door. You can see it through the window shot above. The ceiling was a magic cave with the usual genealogical chart of saints tracing their lineage back to Jesus but very low and ornate. Very pretty. Just enough time to dash back for a replacement Frida skull – sadly not the same design but close – much to the befuddlement of the staff who I think were of the misguided opinion I was trying to ask for my money back on the original shattered Frida cranium. Google translate fixed it quick. The very sweet girl tried to put Frida together like Humpty Dumpty but she was well beyond Selleys superglue redemption. I bought a bag of chocolates to share with the group as it was also a chocolate shop.

Time to return to the hotel. The group left in taxis for the bus station.

The overnight bus to Oaxaca was 13!hours. A nightcap to help us go night night )and to get the giant bottle out of my bag) was in order. I busted out David’s old mezcal, Brin went for the cups and the juice and we drained it to the last drop. On the bus, I passed out chocolates to the group plus a French couple who I mistook for two of our people in the dark. They took them too .Did they think it was part of the service???? I didn’t sleep a wink because the rug occupied all my leg space. It was only later that I noticed the overhead compartments…

Thank you for your diligence, loyal reader. Stay tuned for more HockTales very soon because I am on another bus right now!

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.

My loyal followers my have noticed I am quite prolific today – three posts in one day! I am on a 9 hour bus to Palenque and finally have time to catch up on my blog posts. It gets quite difficult to pack them in. You may be getting the idea that I don’t sit down much. I do – mostly just to buy a coffee somewhere to use their toilet! The rest of the time I tend to be up from 6 and then we get to our rooms 9-10pm depending on what we’re doing. Then there’s often packing or photo backup. Or sometimes actual sleep!

Today was rise and shine – meet at 7 in the foyer to grab taxis to bus station for a 5 hour bus journey to Oaxaca (wa-ha-ca). Too early for the hotel breakfast so opted for risky business at the bus station, picking up a 16 peso (4 bucks) pastie. Chicken mole flavour.

Was I taking my life in my hands? Would I rue the day I wrapped my gums around mole? Would the mole be ratty (Wind in the Willies joke)? Actually, it wasn’t too bad. Needed more filling if anything. I could have gone back for mole. Then it was time for 5 hours of bus antics that won’t bore you with. When we arrived in Oaxaca, it was hot!!! We all stripped off down to one layer! Sun! Glorious!

Tanya led her ducklings around on the mandatory orientation walk, but I was hungry. One pastie and a bunch of snacks just can’t cut it. The Hocking metabolism and blood sugar demands real food like the Aztec gods demanded blood. So a lot of the walk was a dizzy blur to me as I concentrated on trying not vomit and to keep conscious. Tanya took us to a German place???? Yes, German!!! I basically have no idea what I ordered. The waiter couldn’t describe a shaslick in English. This is what emerged from the kitchen but it was 4pm which is not lunch. I nearly threw up into a pot plant waiting. Naturally, our table was the last to be served.

After sausage-based reinvigoration, I was humN once more! I noted with great mirth that the restaurant had the same cushions from H and M as me. Ria and Ali then decided to wander around. We saw a street vendor selling a local drink called Tojate – the chocolate drink of the gods! How could we resist?!?! We decided to share one. First, she scooped a ladle of a suspicious looking clear mead-type nectar substance into the cup and then added powdered water. The gods drink powder?? You would think they would prefer protein powder.

Not sure which gods drink this. Possibly the gods of bad taste?? The gods of earthly punishment upon humanity? It was simultaneously malty but bland and weak. We passed it around for a bit before walking down Aways and ditching it in a bin, but then this happened.

The foil brew leaked through a hole in the bin and dropped everywhere. We fled the scene of the crime as far as the street corner before we turned around to see a bin cop on the case. Uh oh. Busted. We ran. He pursued us in his halo pu of a clean up cart. We hid in a craft shop until he wheeled by with a clatter.

When it was safe to come out, we headed for the zocalo. Oaxaca is famous for its street art. Case in point.

Then we walked past the mezcal store where they lured us inside with free samples and then plied us with lots more free samples of straight mezcal but also loads of flavoured liqueurs. We told our lies that we would come back and headed for the market. Say cheese! I sampled some of this cheese in an omelet later – it’s stringy like mozzarella. This pic also shows the variety of colourful mezcal liqueurs

We were pretty full after having only eaten at 4pm but the group met for dinner and squeezed in these bad boys. I had the steak but other meats were available. Dave excelled here, ordering a side of grasshoppers and only eating a few. (I don’t mind them. I put some in my dinner. Crunchy. ) And making us all piss ourselves laughing with a fake stretchy tongue that he had been saving to play a practical joke on us all.

It was dinner and a show with lovely costumes!

It was a pretty short day, given the 5 hour bus ride. So I shall leave you here, dear reader and we can pick up at a later date!

I’d woken up worse but certainly woken up better. Mezcal and tequila tend to agree with me, but perhaps not mixed in a cauldron of a belly already containing a cheesy herb shot and a beer. No time for hair washing or cat-like self-preening. I barely made it downstairs to breakfast, grabbing lids off the buffet and dishing up random foods before fully registering any of it. Slop! Was that beef stir fry? Heap! Pikelet? Slide! Plantain? I hastily applied the charm offensive towards an unoccupied gent with a name tag reading ‘capitan’, ordering my usual Americano (black coffee). We had ten minutes before hopping our cabs. I shovelled everything down my gob like you would imagine a cartoon steam shovel could cram its digger full of food down an animated mouth.

Then I saw eggs …

El Capitan helped me get the young girl who was apparently new to scramble some eggs and throw them on some tortillas to go. This was a bit of a revelation apparently. Eggs in a tortilla? Unheard of! She was taking aaaaaaages … Eggs aren’t hard … just crank the heat, woman! (You know I burn my pots, right?)

There is now a favourite phrase. It gets uttered three or so times a day in Dave’s Leeds accent. “Where’s Jo?” It’s because I am always last to the foyer, last to the cabs, lagging behind taking a picture, or trailing off because something has caught my attention. Basically, I am pushing time right to the limit to extract the maximum out of every possible situation or experience here. I wanted the eggs to make sure I had enough protein to prevent a blood sugar drop before lunch time. El Capitan handed them to me in a styrofoam container. I spun around; everybody was gone. I saw Dave and Tanya hopping into the last cab and I madly dashed across the street. Made it just in time again. When we got to the meeting point, this was the view greeting my friends. Dave was only too happy to capture the moment for posterity.

You enter the ruins of Cholula via some dark tunnels. Authentic post-modern period. Mid-century to be exact. 1950s. Mexican ranch style?? Seemed a bit of fun.

Cholula was a later MedoAmerican city, famous for two things. One of the biggest massacres by the Spaniards and their allies, all the local communities resentful of years of tributes forced on them by the Mexicas (Aztecs) on the March to Tenochtitlan. And the biggest pyramid in the Americas measured at the base. Unlike many of the other sites, no large structure survives to tell a tale of horror. As you can see from the photo, bits of the foundation and original floors survive. The guide stated that evidence of Teotihuacan stretched down to the area known as Puebla here too, as shown in the style of construction.

WordPress won’t let me load evidence but squirrel spotting fest 2020 continues unabated. I saw two more in the Cholula ruins. Evidence of shattered stelae indicates internal power struggles were present.

The volcano of Popocatepetl looms large in the distance. This has blown its stack a few times in recent years, but seems safe today. Closer, the yellow church of Our Lady of The Remedies sits atop a hill. A cruel, cruel hill. Now the weather begins to heat up! My low-grade headache starts to crank up. My shin splints begin to ark up as if I had worn put a mascot suit from the knees-up and a group of bored kids had kicked the crap out of my vulnerable, exposed front shins. Bloody Castillo Chapultepec!!! Nothing for it but to power up the hill.

The view over the community of San Pedro is quite stunning and we all stood there gawping for a while. Except Dave who was perving on our arses.

It was a stunning view of San Pedro on one side and San Andreas on the other. Never the twain shall meet apparently. Like Springfield and Shelbyville. After admiring the view, I discovered my own personal remedy in the tienda (shop) – coffee flavoured Coke No Sugar. My friends and I were hooked like mad caffeine addicted a few years back and then the product was pulled from the shelves, forcing us to go cold turkey. We went through the stages of loss, grief and deprivation like crackheads. Now, here it was on the top of this hill in a random shop when I had a low-grade headache. I couldn’t resist.

After admiring the view, the Zoolander photographic orgy commenced with Tanya pap snapping Brin and me in a few places.

As for the church itself? You couldn’t go in unless you wanted to attend a service but I could see that it golden with some saints. [Insert standard church description here.]

Upon descending the hill, the shin splints renewed their attack on me with steel-capped intensity. Dear god – and here was my familiar RSI from too much blogging – oh joy. I cracked open the Coke No Sugar. All I could taste were memories. As for the drink, it tasted flat. I have migraine drugs that render most soft drinks flat to me but I had to try for old times sake. My tears would have made all the baby Jesus’ cry. (Fun fact – there are shops in every town where you can buy a baby Jesus in whatever skin colour you want a buy his outfit, underwear, accessories etc. repair shops too.) The lady of the remedies had stiffed me. After lunch at a local vegetarian cafe, we Ubered back to town for a wander of Puebla’s highlights.

First, the Puebla basilica in the zocalo. Sure it looks big on the outside but I had not anticipated the level of bling on the inside. There was some serious cash splashed around here circa 17th century but no English captions meant no idea what was going on.

Behind the basilica is Latin America’s oldest library. Ali and I thought you had to pay to see it so the plan was to engage zoom lens, snap and move on but the sign was for something else and the library was free. So in we went.

Memories of my PhD study days cane flooding back. Sleeping on top of 500 year old books in the British Library and National Archives before joining the dark side as a coffee drinker to stop being strong armed outside by the security guards. Good times. The big circle thing is a wheel for spinning the big folios around. Overhead on the upper shelves, is a mannequin who I assume to be the original benefactor Mr Palafox (maybe). I worked in a library for 14 years so I can tell you first hand there are plenty of dummies in those buildings, but this is the first time I have ever seen a plastic one.

Next was a visit to the smaller church of Santo Domingo which had this beautiful gate and a ‘VIP let’s kick it’ exclusive section for services featuring a Mary with a huge skirt.

A few of us met up for a rooftop drink to watch the sunset. Free nuts came – thank God, because we were all starving by that point – but the sunset didn’t really. We snapped some nice shots as the light faded and headed off to dinner as recommended by Ali’s friend.

The restaurant had funky decor with corn wallpaper. Most of us ordered tacos and two vegetable platters to share, feeling quite deficient in the vegetable stakes (not steaks – although I guess you could have an eggplant steak??) of late. Remember – vegetable platter is what it said. How is this a platter????

Despite hunger levels rising to 40 Hour Famine levels and I was starting to feel my lack of sleep, this was pretty funny. However, the tacos were sensational. Mine were a delicious octopus. The others had chorizo and claimed it was the best tacos they had eaten yet. High praise and an excellent comeback!

Stay tuned, dear reader, for the departure to Oaxaca in which our fearless heroine shows no regard for her digestive system in risking a bus station chicken mole pastie for breakfast. (Did I survive at all?? Is this a ghost writer??)

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.

Today marked the beginning of the Intrepid part of the tour. Turns out that I am the only one travelling my route all the way through to Cuba – I join another group when I get to Havana. The rest of this group are going through to Costa Rica, Guatemala or Panama. But it appears that I will get Tanya, the tour leader, on the second of my big tours from Antigua through to Costa Rica. That’s great because she seems really nice. I have a single supplement so rooming alone which means I get to laugh at my own jokes and cant blame anybody else if the toilet gets clogged. Let’s pretend it hasn’t and move on.

This was the final full day in Mexico City and, as a Sunday, the last day for the museums to open. (They close on Mondays). So the plan was a brief guided tour of the city, followed by a smash and grab of taco joints, a trip up the LatinoAmerican tower for some views and then free time to hit any museums. Simples!

I haven’t mentioned the weather yet. You may think it’s all sunburn, bikinis and margaritas here. Big fat no. It’s been pretty chilly and yours truly only brought light cargo pants, t-shirts and a lightweight long sleeved zip up jacket for the plane. Fine during the day but I’ve been suffering when the sun disappears. My chilblains have reappeared with blotchy red ferocity. I knew it wouldn’t be hot – I do my research, come on! – but there is more of a bite in the air than anticipated and the attitude of ‘suck it up princess – run lean so you don’t have to carry a big jacket and can thus buy more skull products’ has proven more difficult to execute than planned.

The group met up early and walked to the subway station to catch two trains to the Zócalo, which is the word for main square. Fun fact about the subway – the first two cars are always reserved for women and children for a safety perspective. Yet another thing TransAdelaide can learn from the Mexicans. It was clean and safe. No idea what it cost because it was included in the tour. Bit crammed but so what?

I have to say I was tempted to ditch the orientation walk because I was plenty oriented. Full oriental if you will. In fact.. First stop was the Metropolitan Cathedral where a Chinese New Year dragon procession was partying on down one of the main drags. But I wanted to go into town anyway and the tacos were included. We took a spin inside the cathedral where I shared my wisdom about its earthquake wonkiness. I was pretty chuffed I had gone earlier because half was closed due to services. Random thought – I think Virgin Mary is like Skeletor or a Ninja Turtle action figure in that there are different versions of her with different costumes and accessories. Do you have to collect them all??? Next, tacos!

When I saw this, I knew we we going to eat the el pastor taco which is pork with a piece of pineapple. The taco famous for taking care of you after a big night on the turps. I watched a Netflix documentary called The Taco Chronicles on it before I left.

Reports were mixed but I liked them. El pastor took care of me. Stopped me being hangry at least!

Next stop, the LatinoAmericano Tower which is an observation tower with a big clock in it. Along the way, I had a good chat with Brin, the Bulgarian chap who arrived late. His shorts made me feel cold. This was an option so we had to pay but I can be uncharacteristically un-McDucklike about these things. If there’s no way I can beg, steal, scab or scam my way into something, I will pay for the experience. After all, Scrooge sat on top of the money pile, I am only partway up it and adventures require the cold hard dosh sometimes. Sometimes it’s worth it to see views like this to put a city into perspective.

The tower had three observation decks – 37, 40 and 42 from memory. The photo of Belle Arts was taken from 37 which, although not the top floor, was the best because it was unobstructed by roofing structures or protective barriers. I enjoyed looking at the cathedral and tried to see the Templo Mayor but couldn’t quite make it our. A few of us tried to go up to the next one but mistakenly took the descending lift to the ground floor and annoyingly had to repeat the entire process back to 37 and then find the alternative lift to 39. And then it was time to go anyway.

Time for more tacos!

This time, it was standing room only on the street at a taqueria serving mystery meat. My favourite! Well, nothing is really a mystery once you’ve downloaded the Spanish to English Google Translate file but that’s cheating. Tanya did solve the mystery, deciphering the strange glyphs on the wall for us. It was a slaughterhouse of horror. Stomach, cheeks, brains, tongue, tripe – you name it and it’s in this pot with the cactus. At one point, he pulled out a skull with the teeth still on and sliced and diced it all up. After revealing pork sausage as an option, people clamoured for it as a safe option. I had one too. Then the spirit of culinary risk reared its head. While the others went for another safe option, I went for a meaty grease megamix of randomness from the pot called a mixto. Yeah, baby. Protein and mystery lipids all the way. Bit of spicy verde all the way. Brin went for full tongue. (Europeans aren’t backwards in coming forwards sometimes.) I told Dave some obscene jokes not fit to print. (If I don’t say this on a blog post, just assume it happened.) Brin and I split another safe option taco. Excellent. All my wry smile, I contentedly acknowledged all my food needs were catered for gratis and I was ready to explore the city with a full stomach and a clear head.

Most people headed for the Belle Arts Museum but I had already stuck on my Zapata moustache. Brin gave me a hot tip that the post office was a hot little art nouveau number ripe for perving and right around the corner. Hock away! He was right. The architectural equivalent of a Mucha lady baring her shiny iron balustrades for all to see.

My original plan was to Uber to the Castillo Chapultepec in the park after failing to cram it into the same day as the Anthropology museum. (What a vivid imagination that I even thought that was possible!!!) But Brin told me about MUNAL, the Mexican museum of historic art opposite the post office. I looked at my watch. It was 2pm. Could I get out of the art museum and get to the park with enough time to get through the castle before it shut at 5? It was gonna be tight but if anybody can smash an art museum, it’s me. Whenever the museum hits about 1900, my interest starts to wane and I can hoon like a driver on his last demerit point outrunning the cops. Oh look, a laneway market!!!

Ok so it was a timesuck but I regret nothing! I found a blanket with a cool Aztec design on it for 100 pesos which is about 20 bucks and best of all, FIVE Mexican themed Lego men. An Aztec, two lucha libre wrestlers (one is Santo) and two characters from the movie Coco. I unashamedly love Lego. I love building the sets and collecting the Minifigures. Finding Mexican Minifigures in Mexico was my El Dorado! (There was a dodgy Trump. I briefly thought about wrestling matches with the lucha libre guys before moving on.) Art museum time!

Good news – On Sundays, museums in Mexico are free. Bueno! Bad news – the museum made me pay a fee to take photos. Malo! Oh well. Instead of a pass, they handed me a ring constructed from paper and sealed with a staple that I had to wear on my finger the whole time. Ok then. This giant sculpture was out the back. It was pretty cool.

Ok. Need to smash this museum. a complete lack of English captions helped immensely. No distractions. I was forced to glean what I could from Spanish which was surprisingly good. The first collection on indigenous voices was outstanding, including some of the Victorian era paintings of Montezuma that are romanticised but very pretty. I thought this one was a bit of a stunner too.

Other highlights included an alabaster sculpture of Colombus disembarking from his ship, a painting depicting the discovery of pulque, various landscapes and cityscapes, and a ceiling fresco on the top floor in the vein of Italianate romantic style (you know – women in flowery robes, gods, wreaths, putti flying around) but with symbols of 19th century industry like cranes and modern bridges. A tour group of at least 20 people was lying down on their backs looking up at it. It looked like the Jonestown massacre with so many bodies everywhere. After coming up empty in the shop, I hightailed it out of there and hailed a cab for the Castillo. One hour and 15 minutes. This was going to be as tight as my pants are going to be by the last day of this trip. But I might never get the chance to see the Castillo again … Rapido, por favor! (I know that from Amazing Race.)

With eagle-eyed intensity normally reserved for watching footy games on the SANFL app, I followed the blue dot on Google maps. The castle was in the middle of a huge public park. The Central Park of Mexico City if you will. The cab couldn’t drop me in there. One hour until it shut and it was 12 minutes away on foot. I thrust my 50 pesos at the cab driver, threw my backpack on my bag and ran like the wind!

Now I am pretty fit as you may have gathered from the odd comment about protein shakes and grilled chicken breast. I used to run – I loved it. I have the mentality and determination for running but I have bad legs. I am put together like a clumsy marionette with stupid McDuck feet that go in and out and make me clomp like 300 kilo graceless fat chalumpa. So I ran on and off, knowing I would pay for it. (Three days later, hello my old friend shin splints.) But it was a thrill. I bolted for it as if I was in Amazing Race headed for the finish line!

I hit a bag check and a locker dump, but no tickets and no camera fee. I did have a big hill to run up though. Out of the way, slow peasants! Stop lollygagging, as my year three teacher would say. I trudged up the hill mightily, with arms powering like pistons! I made it! 45 minutes! Game on, moles (mol-ays?)!

Immediately, I knew I had made the right decision. Another El Dorado of treasures and loot. First another mural of exploiters – this time with a top hat – vs the workers but then it was all about the history of the Spanish conquest in Mexico with a few choice objects and paintings. Again, no English. Perfect for speed. I can figure out most stuff anyway. I know that’s Ferdinand and Isabella, I know that’s Charles V and his son Phillip for example. And I know this is the Zócalo in Mexico City. I loved this painting. Precious sands through the hourglass lost here. So much detail. I have a lot of photos.

I legged it through the rest of the Castillo. Room after room of pretty things with security speaking the international language of getting antsy at the end of the day. I whizzed past these.

With a Tudor history PhD, I have seen some truly horrible portraits in my time but the Castillo takes the cake for all of them together in one place. Their impact is like stepping into a room after a dog has dropped a massive eggy fart. You can’t help but be filled with revulsion and incomprehension. Surely inbreeding was responsible for this gene pool of horror?

I just managed to see the King and Quern in front of a glittering coach.

The security guards kicked me out of the coach house. That was it. No bueno. 5pm. I could see one more area with sculptures outside but an impressive effort overall. However, during my mad cultural cram, the weather turned nasty indeed. It could be described as 70% of a good pudding down. Consistent and wouldn’t not let up. My rain jacket was conveniently located at the bottom of the hill in the locker. I made a mad dash for it but it still took me a good 10 minutes in the rain and I was soaked. I still don’t really know what any of the castle was about though. Will have to Google.

The park vendors engaged poncho and umbrella selling mode. I desperately wondered what to do. There was no shelter anywhere. I headed for the edge of the park, thinking I could find an adjacent coffee shop. That was a complete bust because the road was impassable to pedestrians so I walked along the outside of the kath. I heard a car rev up and then sploosh! Water sprayed from the gutter up my pants leg as the car sped off into the far lane with all the passengers laughing. Mexic****s! So I trudged along cold and wet in the rain until I found a coffee shop. The barista took pity on me and handed me a serviette. I must have looked a fright on par with one of the castle portraits. I holed up there for an hour before I considered myself dry enough to avoid a soiling fee in an Uber back to the hotel.

A few of us met up for dinner at this cool food court type place in a big shed. Instead of going to the counter, staff came to you with menus.

Stay tuned vigilant viewer for the next exciting instalment of HockTales featuring the escape from Mexico City to Puebla.

Lesson of the day. Cafe de dias in Starchucks (intentional) translates as coffee of the day. It comes out of a box. It is goon box coffee. It should translate as swill of the day. I thought for a moment I had mistakenly ordered decaf. But it’s the gamble I am willing to take in my daily games of Mexican roulette – what is this thing? Who knows? Will I eat it, drink it or do it? Probably.

Today’s adventure comes to you two days later from a Starbucks on Reforma, one of Mexico City’s major roads and location of statues of long-dead heroes and assorted men from bank notes. But it’s all about the National Anthropology Museum. More specifically, the Archaeology floors that I examined with the meticulousness of the Archaeology student I was 20 years ago. I loved learning about assemblages, ancient people, architecture and customs, particularly in MesoAmerica which was not easy to do in Australia. Unfortunately, whatever idiot side of my brain processes spatial stuff couldn’t keep up with the book smarts side. I was total rubbish at practical things like lab work, plotting mud maps and drawing ceramics, so I had to bail. Oh, I graduated with decent marks because the grades were always in the reports. But I just knew that I couldn’t work in the field. I have always loved it though.

I knew the National Anthropology Museum would be epic. It’s basically the number one thing to see in Mexico City on all recommended lists. It was an Indiana Jo archaeology Disneyland Day without the mouse ears basically.

The day began with me exiting the hotel on a quest to find an alternative breakfast location. The hotel breakfast was fine – no complaints – it was a reliable source of huevos (eggs). But it was just getting a bit boring and well, easy, dining at the same place. So Google Maps revealed the location of a place on the way so I packed my kit and was off. (Am always reminded of the line from Temple of Doom – ‘Shorty, get our stuff!’ – that Indy yells about three times in the film. I am both Indy and Shorty in this adventure so I think it works.)

After the odd misstep, I found the cafe. Sparkling chandelier, fancy music, croissants – French patisserie. Oh crap. I have fabulously bad luck at these places. It’s like the French can smell the stench of reality and unpretentiousness on me (yes I was wearing deodorant) – this was no different. I saw people eating eggs and asked for desayuno (breakfast). They took one look at the backpack, 1 litre bottle of water, clompy responsible walking shoes. and all I got was the pastries menu and a cheap seat at the counter like a poverty-stricken backpacker from the doss house. Low blood sugar began to kick in. Quickly, I computed the options in my head. I was in the middle of the Sahara desert of breakfasts. No carts, nothing open for miles that I knew about other than convenience stores. You may ask why I didn’t just walk out and buy a bag of crap from the 711 or eat a big fat Danish. Two reasons – a combo of the tablets that I take for migraines and my own metabolism means that I can’t process sugary things for breakfast. I will pretty much end up with a racing heartbeat and nausea. Those pastries were out. Also, lack of food scrambles my thinking. Access to savoury stuff quick is imperative. So I went the least damaging route – a quinoa and carrot muffin and a double espresso. The muffin was minuscule. I have scraped bigger baking disasters off the inside of my oven. Only option was to eat and throw myself on the mercy of whatever menu fate had in store for me.

(How interesting. I believe the entire city has been kicked out of buildings for an earthquake drill. Now I double regret that coffee because there’s no access to a toilet. Oh joy.)

I decided to walk (Camino) to the museum. About 40 minutes and see what else I could find on the way. As luck would have it, 20 minutes around the corner was a group of taco stalls. One was clearly more popular than the others with a queue and Michael Jackson’s ‘Beat It’ pumping through a Bluetooth speaker. This was deliverance! Two delicious lamb tacos for second breakfast for the cost of half that tiny thing resembling a muffin. Backwards two fingered salute to the French! Viva Mexico!

I navigated a treacherous path through roadworks that blocked most of the street, barely managing to escape with my pants legs clean from the dirt and grit being shoveled everywhere. More planks than the Pirates of the Caribbean movie crossed trenches most of the way along. Not a Farmers Union Iced Coffee in sight. The path took me to Chapultepec Park, also known as the lungs of Mexico City. It is one of the biggest free and open green areas in Latin America, filtering out much of the smog which I personally haven’t seen. I took in the statues, an amphitheater, a squirrel that ran across the path, a massive monument and a billion little carts of snacks, toys (the one of choice being a plush monkey that sat on your head and shot water from somewhere), key rings, nasty jewellery etc. You know what I mean. One side was dedicated to fitness with jogging and tai chi. The other dedicated to the pursuit of pleasure (ie crap). The anthropology museum was on the other side of a lake lined with more stalls. I ambled my way there, knowing I had to meet the group at 6. As long as I was out of there by 5ish, it would be cool. No stress.

I arrived at the building, checked my backpack and commenced the onslaught on 22 rooms plus two temporary exhibitions. The first of the two was on the private collection of a 19th century diplomat called Alfonso Reyes. Or his money bought stuff??? Origin story vague without English panels but the stuff was amazing! I am particularly fascinated by art that intertwined the horrific and the beautiful. The painting below was a particular favourite. I stood for ages taking in every little detail.

I started snapping my camera with the energy and enthusiasm of a paparazzi looking to upskirt Diana circa 1985. Next were two screens depicting the fall of Tenochtitlan. Conquistadors and Aztecs drowning, toppling from burning buildings, impaling or shooting each other … Such rich detail. Lots more paintings of the Eagle eating a snake on the cactus (what’s on their flag), cacti, maps, small statues, huge portraits of Montezuma. Even the landscapes were great – normally I am all about the portraits or paintings of people. Wow! And I hadn’t even hit the main collections yet! I entered the main courtyard to this powerful piece.

I was fully psyched for the next temporary exhibition on photos of Mexican ruins depicting their changing appearance over the passage of time and evolution of photographic techniques. Scroogian fantasies are constructed brick by ancient crumbling brick of crumbling old temples with precariously protruding roots and local guides posing with pack horses etc. I am also obsessed with the travels of Stephens and Catherwood, the famous Yank and Pom who sketched and wrote their way across the Yucatan in search of the Mayan temples in the 1840s. So to see turn of the century photographs ruins I had either visited or seen in Catherwood’s sketches was very exciting to me. Sadly, my pho’s of photos are a bit reflective and not too good to post. Double sadness was a total absence of exhibition merch.

Lightbulb moment! A pre-emptive stomach strike was in order to prevent vaguing out halfway through. I headed for the knife and fork symbol on the mapa which corresponded to a bit of a fancy cafe but not French! A friendly older chap named Marco served me a delicious omelet and coffee and commiserated with me about the fires when he found out I was Australian. Best of all, I took soooo many pictures of squirrels!!!!! This is the best one.

The bottom floors – 11 rooms – are dedicated to archaeology, covering the broad geographic and culturally diverse areas of Mexico. The first rooms go right back to mega fauna and prehistoric man. The dioramas and miniatures were outstanding in detail. I particularly appreciated unnecessary details like sabre toothed tigers digging their massive canines into Australopithecine figures or this mammoth taking out five guys, featuring fine details of bloody craniums.

The Preclassic rooms featured elaborate reconstructions of temples and paintings I saw at Teotihuacán the day before. I turned around and let fly with a violent expletive of shock when I saw this.

It was absolutely massive. An awe-inspiring structure to me but a selfie magnet to most others. The feathered serpent, Quetzalcoatl, is one of the main MesoAmerican gods. It’s everywhere. Nine skeletons were found under the temple with their hands bound, victims of sacrifice. This was a reconstruction of a temple at Teotihuacán but we never saw this!! Where was it??? Vaporised?!?! Hidden under a tarp??? Sucked up by aliens?? Spewing!!!

The green bird, the musical puma, talking jaguar – replica paintings and statues all there and English captions! Two other big rooms reconstructed to look like temples. Amazing. Then I hit the post Teotihuacán period when groups in the area competed to fill the power vacuum left by the Teotihuacános. The Toltecs were a fairly earring group, famous for these massive statues called atlantes. They had hundreds of them and they are huge. I will also point out that each room had a garden outside with plants and mini reconstructions of buildings or site miniatures.

Room 6 was the Scrooge McDuck Money Bin of the museum. I felt like an adventurer stepping into a secret chamber of antiquities. History punched me in the face with the intensity of a full- force jab to the cranium packing a five finger knuckle-duster. It was the AZTEC ROOM! (Although, technically they called themselves the Mexicas). I could blow my entire WordPress storage on photos from here. The first thing you see is this.

Despite its position at the opposite end of the room, the Aztec sun stone is a deity unto itself dominating the crowd flocking to it. It hangs high on the wall so people can pose with it for the obligatory photo. See me right up the top of the page! The myth that this was the Aztec calendar has been fully debunked. Nope. Buh bow. These are the Aztecs after all. There will be blood. Actually, gladiators would lie down on this huge carved stone for ritual sacrifice. The deity in the middle gripping some hearts is a bit of a giveaway. Not sure which part of the calendar people mistook that for originally. Star sign of the hangry??

This reconstruction of a temple shows the braziers to the left and right where the priests would burn incense (not Glen 20). Quetzalcoatl is in his usual place at the bottom of the steps. Victims performed a back bend over the stone in the middle while the priests carved their heart out and hurled the body down the steps. They didn’t do this for kicks. The Aztecs believed that sacrifice was necessary to keep their society going – for the sun to keep rising, for the rain to keep falling, for the grain to keep growing. Captives from other tribes and local people were killed but so were children whose tears were considered especially delicious to the rain god, Tlaloc. And kids these days think it’s rough if they can’t get wifi!

Tenochtitlan was built on a lake which is why it’s wonky. You can see theong causeways the Spaniards rose up. During the battle for the city that the Spaniards eventually won with the help of a little thing called smallpox, many conquistadors, horses, armour etc plunged right to the bottom of the lake off the causeways. A few were destroyed to cut off escape routes. You can also see the Templo Mayor on the model. Left is the Tlaloc side (water god), right is Huitzilopolit (war god) side. The Eagle warrior workout zone – perhaps like the Crows shed for the time? – is just next to it. Some of these buildings would be under the Metropolitan cathedral now.

This is Coatlicue- skirt of serpents (literal translation of the name) goddess. It is a very awesome statue. I looked at it for ages.

Eventually I left this room with heavy heart, enriched soul and a billion pictures. The rest of the archaeology rooms were dedicated to regions. The first was the Puebla, Oaxaca region which has a big site called Monte Alban. Now I know there is a secret underground room there because the museum created a replica under some stairs. Everywhere you went, there was a new little thing to discover!!

The Olmecs were an ancient civilisation that many of the other cultures try to link back to in the same way that family history nuts try to link themselves back to William the Conqueror. They are most famous for giant heads!

The next room was the Maya who are still my favourite culture. I love the clash of cultures and the rich history of the Aztecs vs Spaniards and I could read about the horrors of the conquest all day, but there is something about a Mayan temple covered in intricate glyphs and carvings in a humid jungle surrounded by quetzal birds and howler monkeys that leaves me weak at the knees. A feeling of adventure centuries later continues unabated. Discoveries are still being made and the Mayan culture continues to thrive today. So I hit these rooms with mucho gusto!

That said, there wasn’t much here compared to what is in the Yucatan Peninsula, the Mayan heartland. Downstairs was a reconstruction of the tomb of King Pakal from the Temple of Inscriptiones at Palenque. My old mate Pakal. I saw him on my last trip to the Yucatan. His tomb is famous and I will save that for the Palenque post, but I can say that the lid on his sarcophagus looks a bit like he is piloting a spaceship if you look at it the wrong way. So I had a giggle when I saw him in his outfit here looking like he was about to go up in Apollo XI.

With a flick of my wrist, my piece of crap twenty buck Target watch revealed that I had been in a reverie for 5 hours. I had about an hour and half to get back to the hotel for the group meeting. Decision time. I elected to ditch the top 11 floors of ethnography l, figuring I would see live people walking around in traditional costumes soon enough. I didn’t want to waste time perving on dummies. I figured I would rather check out the lake. So, like a Choose Your Own Adventure book of the 80’s, I made my fork in the road choice and hooned through the last room on the Hoboken and Anasazi people of Southwestern America. (Wondered if that was a stretch??) Then the obligatory visit to the gift shop with a disappointing variety of merch. Only a bookmark and a cheap magnet of the sun stone – really??? Shorty get our stuff!!!! Ok – grabbed backpack from locker and headed for lake.

Didn’t have that much time. But the following discoveries were made – a guy charging for photo ops on dummy horses dressed up like cowboy horses (el dodgy), lots of paddle boats, a strong busking culture, obligatory Starbucks and a terrifying absence of 3G when I needed an Uber to get back to hotel. Oh crap. Too far to walk. Maybe it was the trees in the park. Time to retrace steps back to main drag where the signal might come back. Ended up flagging a cab. Got back to hotel. Another successful escapade!

At 6pm, I met the Intrepid group. There are 16 of us. A family of 4 from Australia, two Aussie couples, three women from the UK, one chap from the UK and a Bulgarian chap living in the UK. We went out for dinner where I had grilled chicken in an effort to counterbalance my two Negro Modela beers. Dave, the chap from the UK, had chicken mole. This was mole unlike any other I gave ever seen. It was thick like chocolate pudding and super sweet. On enchiladas, it was kinda wrong. It is now a bit of a running joke. For Aussies, you pronounce it mo-lay. I explained that a mole is like a slag in Australia. Dave and I get on stupendously. (Hi Dave if you are reading this!)

Stay tuned for further adventures in tacos and explorations in Mexico City