When we last left the story, our fearless heroine was speeding through the streets of Mexico City in an Uber towards the Autobuses de Norte (bus station). I noted the driver buying an energy drink from a street vendor (literally a guy selling stuff through car windows) with the awesome name of Amped. How Jason Statham. I hoped his heart rate didn’t have to remain above 80 bpms for him to negotiate the Mexico City traffic. Rapido, por favor! He burned an appropriate amount of rubber to get me there on time. Mission accomplished, Mr Amped!

(Omg – as I write this Bindi Irwin is on TV in a cafe. The screen says Los Irwin. It’s dubbed. So strange. We now return you to your scheduled programming.)

I met Adriana, the young, bubbly tour guide who I later learnt was working and studying history. That alone was worth a tip from me at the end of the day. (Insert soliloquy here – I worked nine years in the evenings and on weekends to achieve my PhD while working full-time as a librarian. So respect to her! Rejoin main text paragraph now. ) On the morning of expansion pack guts 2.0 of the market tour, I ate a lot of included foods and scabbed a lot of freebies. Plus a good litre of water that I managed to not dribble down the front of me. I was essentially a fat agave plant ready to burst pulque if the issue wasn’t remedied. Naturally, the Baños (word for toilet) required exact change and the less-than-friendly-couldn’t-crack-a-smile-if-you-paid-me-wtf-is-customer-service-girls at the bus station shop refused to change money for such a purpose. Maybe if I was after crack it would be ok??? I was strongly tempted to perform a ‘clean up on aisle 6’ number for them out of spite but it wasn’t warm enough for my pants to dry. Fortunately, Adriana came to my rescue by rustling up change from the group. Naturally, I struggled to tie the knot back up on my pants as I heard the urgent call for my name reverberating across the tiled surfaces that desperately needed some White King loving. The real Spanish conquest was me triumphing over the drawstring to get on the bus in time.

The bus journey to Teotihuacán is 1.5 hours long, give or take. The time flew by as I chatted with Sylvia, a lovely lady from Brisbane travelling with her husband, Laurie. Turned out we were on the same tour group scheduled to meet the next day. After sharing our stories and commenting on the oddness of being offered something resembling a vanilla slice between two Saos as a viable bus snack for purchase, we arrived at the site. Incidentally, Betty was on the bus too! But today her name was Patty!!!! Had I heard one name wrong? Was she going by a different name each day? Could I do that? Could I really be anybody??? Like Alias?? I don’t know who I would even be! (Incidentally Jo is a terrible Spanish name. J is pronounced H so technically I am Ho. I never grew up aspiring to become a Ho. It’s not the path I thought my life would take me. I just hope all the Mexican baristas aren’t judging.)

Segue into Teotihuacan history. This ancient site pre-dates the Aztecs by hundreds of years – maybe even 1000, I can’t remember. But it’s physically close enough to Mexico City so everybody thinks it’s theirs. Also no wheels in PreColombian times so no Delorean to go back in time, so tough luck Aztecs. Teotihuacán was the biggest city of its time with a huge economy based on trade generated from the obsidian mines. Their cultural influence extended into the Yucatan Peninsula as lots of guys hoofed it for a really long way to trade with the Mayans in one direction and basically anybody else who would do swapsies with them in any other direction. Teotihuacán designs, motifs and styles were incorporated into other cities. It was founded by 4 different communities coming together and ultimately torn apart by its own internal power struggles. After Teotihuacán fell, the ruins became a ghost town. Incidentally, the Aztecs did discover them and adopted them as a place of great power because they were pretty impressed by their scale. Eventually, nature reclaimed the pyramids and hid them under big hills of trees, dirt, shrubs etc. But they were rediscovered in the late 19th century and excavated around about 1900. Adriana has a cute habit of referring to it as the city of the goths instead of the gods. No self-respecting goth would be out in their black lacy spiked best and alabaster white makeup in the Teotihuacán dust bowl on a hot day.

Teotihuacán was originally a city of colours with only vestiges now remaining from the ravages of time and man’s inhumanity to man. Adriana showed us red frescoes of leaders dressed as jaguars, pumas playing music and starfish with boggly eyes. As with everything, there was a deeper symbolism. The boggly eyes were in fact the symbol for water.

Below is a baby temple. Apparently the citizens of Teotihuacán used to just keep building little temples of top of or in existing temples.

This one depicts brilliant green birds and a symbol that looks like a flower but is the Teotihuacán symbol for the universe. The 4 communities, also how the city was structured with power at the centre.

Around the corner was an authentic sacrificial altar. This is what would have been at the top of the two pyramids you are about to see except that, in an ironic twist, the pyramids themselves have been decapitated of their top levels. I felt a definite chill pass through me here. It was a special kind of place where I felt I had to pay respect.

Time to check out the pyramids which aren’t actually pyramids because there is no pointy bit up the top. They are temples. But these buildings or structures have gone down in history as the Pyramid of the Moon and the Pyramid of the Sun so it’s easier to just go with it. Incidentally, revised opinion is that they are not the sun and the moon either – they are goths- I mean gods. But I am not spelling them!

The Pyramid of the Moon is the smaller of the two but the steepest to climb. Laurie pinged his quad muscle coming down. Going up requires a class from the Ministry of Funny Walks as you must zig zag across the steps. It was a short but punishing climb to the top for this view.

The walk past the Avenue of the Dead vendors hawking their wares commenced. Apparently the street was lined with bleachers for watching processions. So a bit like expensive premium seats for the Christmas Pageant they never pulled down??? The day was overcast and reasonably cool. Teotihuacán can be baking hot by all accounts but this was fake-it not bake-it. Sunglasses for glare only.

The hike up the Pyramid of the Sun was not as steep but there were a lot more stairs, so overall more vigorous. My cardio is excellent but I did puff a bit, feeling more like a waddling McHock with an expanding tailfeather than I would have liked. But it wasn’t too bad. Ask me in 6 weeks how fit I feel.

The view from the top was miles of cactus and unrecognisable landmarks other than the other pyramid.

Unlike the Moon which was blocked by bunting, you could summit the Sun. So yes, I went right to the top! After 10 minutes or so, it was time to meet up at the bottom and head for the home of Miguel, a local artisan. A pack of wild street dogs with amorous intentions, bared teeth and aggressive attitudes followed us the whole way from the site to a tienda (shop) and then to Miguel’s place. Miguel had three border collies and a cat so no way were those dogs getting in. After we gained safe passage to Casa Miguel, we learned the many uses of the agave plant.

Miguel made paper, food wrap, a needle, thread and dye to colour it just standing there in five minutes!

Miguel is also an obsidian artisan who toils away in a workshop. I busted open my crafts cherry and bought a few choice sock-hideable items including a bracelet that I am wearing constantly. More importantly, he showed us all these other uses of the agave plant. It truly is the plant that keeps giving!!!!

After the shots and splurge, it was time for dinner. We piled into the back of a ute (hey Mona!), seated on upturned Coke cartons. This was the life! Speeding through the back of nowhere, glimpsing the light show of the pyramids in the distance. Dinner was a pretty speedy affair with just our group around a table under a lady’s pergola. We dined on lentil soup and chicken enchiladas with green sauce and cheese before a short walk back to the bus station and the long journey home. We said adios to Adriana who did well out of the tips, judging by the crinkle of notes I could hear in my half-comatose state. My new mates, Laurie and Sylvia, were kind enough to shout me a cab ride as we were staying at the same hotel. I didn’t pass out on them. I think we were all grateful for that.

Stay tuned for the next exciting instalment – Indiana Jo battles the National Anthropology Museum and meets the Intrepid group.

Intrepid daytrip 2 – Markets, Teotihuacán, and dinner with local family. I have decided to split it into two posts. Otherwise, you will be scrolling all day!!!

After another night with my ever present neighbour, the tomale truck making his 10.30 rounds, the sleeping was a big rough and it was an early meet up. The ever-present Peter was on hand after another tissue wrapped toast and he whizzed next off to kinda near the meeting place???? But not even Peter could whizz up the pedestrian mall so old mate Google did the rest. I met Ava, our guide, two Swedish girls (names gone – they kept to themselves) and Constantine, a young Russian living in London with companies everywhere. Ok then. I told him a wrote things for the government. He asked me if I wrote speeches. At my affirmative response, I laughed inwardly at any thought of me propping up a local propaganda machine.

Ava then escorted her little multicultural ducklings mother hen style to the square where I must confess to vaguing out since I have seen it a few times. Then she led us to another square, Santo Domingo, where the Department of Education was opposite the a series of buildings for printing. Traditionally for wedding invites, less traditionally for fake IDs. Maybe I could get an Aussie drivers license there? Why have the Australian unis not cottoned onto this funding source?? The square and nearby church were all askew, the pavement sloping as a result of the earthquakes.

First proper stop was a market with a library, the familiar CDMX mega letters and more of Mexico’s mega murals. Perhaps I shall call them MMM for short. We didn’t look at the market at all. Just the MMM. The movement seems to have been a 1930s-40s phenomenon about how the capitalist industrialist exploiters were ripping off the farmers and workers. Why are the exploiters always bald? You would think they could afford Advanced Hair (yeah yeah). Duckling walk recommenced to market 2 which I don’t believe to be that notable. Yellow chicken fed on corn – check. Corpses and grain – check. But I found out what Mr Tomale craps on about with his megaphone every night at 10.30.

Ava also grabbed us some churros. Then it was time for a ride on the public transport bus. Note to Adelaide Metro. Please sub contract out all your buses so drivers can pump their own party tunes out and pimp their rides with Marvin the Martian vacuum cleaner gear sticks. Fun fact – chivalry is alive and well in CDMX. I don’t think I had accumulated anywhere near a food baby to be mistaken for a gestating female but a man gave up his seat for me. In fact, all the men gave up their seats for all the women. Well, when in CDMX.

After disembarking with the usual mandatory warnings about watching your bags, Ava navigated us through the labyrinth of stalls to the toilets. (Will spare you recap on that. ) Then explained a little on Santeria and witchcraft stalls featuring stuff like skeleton statues that you leave offerings to if you want a new job or good juju etc, a small statue of the patron saint of drug dealers with a dope leaf throne and some aerosols spray cans full of magic spells for love, warding away bad people, good luck, you name it, don’t say it, spray it! I wondered how bad they really smelt. What if you doused yourself in the love one but it stunk???? Sadly, there was no taking any of those bad boys through Australian customs so we moved on. Time to eat!

Then it was time to eat again. This time, blue corn tacos! This lady was slinging ‘me outside like nobody’s business. Either potties and cheese or cactus and cheese. Cactus all the way, lady! Incidentally, tastes like green capsicum.

We caught the subway one stop to a place called the Jamaica Market and we saw these poor kids scraping prickles off cacti all day. I wondered which old bald exploiter was responsible.

Time to fill my guts up with more food. Despite the burgeoning stomach lining, this was a good thing. I knew there would be no lunch provided on the 1.5 hour bs trip and nothing at the pyramids so was fully prepared to stuff my face with every comestible with a metre radius of my gaping maw. First we hit done free samples of mole.

Time to get serious with barbacoa. The biggest fight I think I ever got into in my life was about the spelling of barbecue (I am still right) which derives from the word, barbacoa. I sat there on my stool, gloating that I would quite literally eat Lucas’ words. Winner, winner, lamb taco dinner. We gorged on a delicious broth from the barbacoa, hibiscus juice and lamb tacos. So good! Constantine questioned the presence of onions on his breath, but I chucked them right in. Suffer, Constantine.

Next, the fruit and sweets section where I couldn’t resist asking what this monstrosity was.

It’s tamarind and it’s salty and disgusting!!!! We were stuck with a bag. I was ashamed.

Then we headed through a few other free samples on the fruit market. Avocados were 20 pesos a kilo so 4 bucks? The Swedes snapped to action with their cameras!!! Then we had a quick spin through the flower market which isn’t really my scene, then a final cactus based tortilla product with cheese before Ava hurled me into an Uber to the bus station.

I must say Ava was quite lovely too. She was like a mum for the morning! She took a picture of me with her to send to the next Intrepid guide to make sure she was meeting the right short redhead.

Stay tuned for the next episode!

No, I was not flashed by a man in a trench coat. The day started with some toast wrapped in a tissue and ended with a salad in a burger joint. Let me fill in the blanks.

Hidden Mexico is an Urban Adventure – a day tour run by local Intrepid guides. I was up at 6:30 for the shower with tiled pattern not fully appreciated by the myopic sans glasses before racing down for a ham and spinach omelette, three cups of coffee (mas? Si!) and toast wrapped in tissues to help them warm??? Flashback to reverse phenomenon of me being a kid and Mum wrapping a pineapple and cheese sandwich in alfoil to keep it cold but not disgusting. Back to reality. Toast rock hard but comes with nice chilli butter. With a final swig of cafe solo, time to pile into the back of the cab driven by Peter, the hotel’s cab guy who probably enjoys hotel kickbacks on peso touristicos.

For my (salad?) day, Caesar was the tour guide (I also wondered if that made me Doctor Zaius with my PhD and red hair). (Come on – you knew this blog was going to go down some random rabbit holes.) My two other companions for the day were Allan, a cool old gent from Boston and Betty, a little lady from Singapore with a big hat that she preferred to keep on and miss out on things rather than remove when she was asked.

First stop was the Templo Mayor. Winner! I was planning on going there later so time and dollars saved! Very Scrooge-like! These are the ruins (and museum) of the original major pyramid of the city of Tenochtitlan (what Mexico City was called) before Cortes and his band of merry conquistadors scorch-earthed the place in 1521. The pyramid was divided in half with the left dedicated to the rain god, Tlaloc, and the right dedicated to the war god, Huitzilopochtli. You realise what a kiss-ass, I am on these tours right? I have done all the reading, I am up the front absorbing all the learning, the guide engages with me because I dig (archaeology pun intended) his culture. All Scrooge aside – I did archaeology and history at uni at uni Tributes literally flowed down the steps of the pyramids from the decapitations and heart-ripping (don’t say you can’t die from a broken heart!), as people were sacrificed to maintain the natural order of things or improve bad juju of drought etc. I have always wanted to see this – bucket list stuff.

Next building over is the Hall of the Eagle Warriors. Not much left to see – reminding me of the performance of my Eagles in the SANFL in recent years – but some small frescoes that are magnificent. They also extracted a big statue of Mictantlecutli, god of the Underworld here. The entire site is sloping and apparently there are ruins down very deep that are only just holding the cathedral in place. Mexico City is a bit like the House of Fun at the fair – definitely on shaky foundations. It’s had three major earthquakes in the 20th century. Apparently there was a minor one the night I arrived and I never noticed – although I woke up 4 times that night …

Around the corner is this epic skull structure with each skull apparently fronting a long tube that pushes all the way through to hold the structure together. It’s like the long black rods on my Lego Voltron holding the legs to the torso! And I might add that the temple translates as Snake Mountain and Caesar cracked up laughing when I asked him if Skeletor was lurking around. (Behind is the cathedral poking out for a sneaky photobomb.)

The museum is really awesome. Except that the big moonstone was wrapped up like my rock hard toast for restoration. There is also a giant jigsaw puzzle looking piece of a woman appearing to give birth but she is really sucking in the souls of the dead warriors through her uterus and expelling them into the underworld. (How soon for a hysterectomy???) A random moment was when Caesar was telling us about Trotsky and how he was murdered with a toothpick instead of an ice pick. Ah, Spanglish.

Then, adelante! (Forwards!) To the National Palace where Cortes once lived and the presidente now lives. At this point, it was time to start swigging on The Drink Bottle Of Doom – otherwise known as the expensive drink bottle with magic filter removing dodgy water bacteria. Moment of truth. Would my organs liquefy into putrid slush from typhoid from the hotel tap? Or would I save serious McDuck bucks in never buying bottled water again? I sucked. And sucked. And sucked. Nothing. I tilted. I squeezed. Eventually a trickle dribbled into my mouth – roughly the amount you’d give a soldier who’d been machine gunned for palliative care. More dribbled out the seal and onto my top. I spent the rest of the day with 800ml of this shame dribbling down my front. Let us return to the National Palace where I saw this.

There were a lot more murals – some with big elephantiasis knees featuring the Spaniards as grotesques which was cool – but only 6gb in this account means I can’t upload them! Caesar took us for cheap eats. 5 tacos and a water for 50 pesos or 3 bucks Aus. Pork flavour and retried beans. I was by now missing my lettuce, chicken, avocado, sweet potato and basmati rice traditional lunch. I am a bit of a health but at home. But throw me halfway across the road in a flying tin can and I will always eat whatever cultural thing there is to eat and suffer later. So 5 tacos and a lengthy conversation about Trump with Allan it was. Greasy and I missed my veg but when in Rome!

A stroll down the mall and then through Chinatown beckoned. Eventually, we hit a local market where I saw some horrific plucked turkeys (one for the therapist – truly the corpses were massive). We hit the exotic fruit section. I was never going to buy anything but the spirit of scab was strong. Finally, Betty came in useful! She couldn’t figure out which fruit she wanted. Having never eaten a fig, she had to try one! Who was there to help her out with a quarter? Moi! What about that other weird fruit? What was that? The shopkeeper thought Betty was going to pony up some cash and free fruit kept lobbing into my gob as if I were a big Pac-Man mouth gobbling up Betty-supplied pac pellets. In the end, I think she bought one piece of fruit. Then we ate grasshoppers. Well, I did! Crunchy, proteiny, salty! Why were these not on the plane???? I would eat a bag of these at my desk at work instead of a tuna can.

The tour broke up three hours early so, carpe diem, all Hocking adventures free time. I knew exactly what to do. Just around the corner was the magnificent Belle Arts Museum that I thought I would miss, so with Google Maps and $5 roaming in case ‘around the corner’ was not a geographic certainty, I was off like a frog in a sock! Caesar told me it was free. Caesar was telling me chicharron – that’s pork – so let’s say a chicharron pie. 70 pesos it cost me but still only a couple of bucks. The vertically challenged volunteer was also telling me a solid chicharron when he said I would get access to the special exhibition, the murals and ‘everything’. Turned out everything was, in fact, nothing. The main collection was locked up tight. More boxes than the storage warehouse at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark were in a corridor. The murals were pretty epic – mostly from the 30s and 40s – and a few exposed boobs that would get me banned from Facebook. The special exhibition was about Zapata but minimal English captions. However, I did get to play with some some fun stuff.

It was about this time that three cups of coffee, 5 tacos, a bottle of water, RSI in my thumb, two nubs of thumbnails and a hellish double knot in the drawstring of my pants created a perfect storm of conditions for a bathroom disaster. Took me 10 minutes to get those pants off. The torment was real as I bled down under the fingernails, considering whether to throw myself on the mercy of whatever poor unsuspecting woman walked in the door. I will never tie a double knot again.

Greatly relieved that I didn’t have to walk around the city like a 3 year old going home from kindy after an accident, I returned to the Belle Arts Museum to take photos with my phone because of a bizarre camera ban. Cameras with no flash = ban. Phones with no flash = fine. No comprendo. Anyway, even without a collection, the building alone is worth the price of admission. It is an Art Deco masterpiece with MesoAmerican and North American designs throughout. A magnificent dome caps it off.

Time to hit the frog and toad. I have been particularly struck , and a tad disappointed, by the lack of tourist tat. Seriously, I haven’t seen one nasty shop selling Mexican crap yet. Where are the tea towels, fridge magnets, post cards, shot glasses and boobs made out of shells I have come to rely on for a laugh on every country???? Really, I was just looking for a fridge magnet. I walked up the mall side of things past the organ grinder (no monkey), looked in a couple of shops and headed home. Which leads us back to the salad at the beginning of this lengthy post. The only thing open near the hotel was a burger joint but I just couldn’t face a burger after those tacos.

Stay tuned for the next post – markets, pyramids and local artisans!

Scrooge would have taken a steamer or a sopwith camel with three Junior Woodchucks. I took three planes, with only one meal provided in over 18 hours flight time. Clearly Qantas is on a quest to emulate Scrooge too. The Mystery of the Chicken Pot Roast was down the hatch and solved very quickly – although the barley might be on a milk carton somewhere as it was largely MIA. The rest was cookies, bars and nuts. I also question the legitimacy of the Coconut Jelly Lamington in a gelato cup with a lid. Australia Day three weeks early?

I am 5’1. I was essentially built for this. Economy is Gold Class cinema to me with a blanket and a disturbing lack of cocktails the size of fishbowls. The problem this time was the 14 hour flight with one solid meal. Lift your game Qantas. I was one hour away from Lord of the Flies – the vegan next to me was perhaps ironically destined to play Piggy.

LA transit was the usual shitshow. Pleasantly surprised by the speed of the ESTA machines and their new ability to take a photo of my face, not over my head. But, as per usual, an hour wait in the queue played havoc with my spare time smiling at Babe Ruth chocolate bars and thinking about the Goonies in the shops. Three guys on the desks looking more Brooklyn 99 than dedication to the job. Not particularly concerned about the huge queue. Then I thought maybe I would prefer than to an authoritarian, in-your-face Trumpian moron. If they would hurry up. Then there was a huge fight by bag check between an airport guy and one man just trying to move quickly through. Probably didn’t help that the bag trolleys handled like three wheeled homemade go-karts and I banged the officious airport guy on the leg. I would like to say he was the first, but it would be a lie to make baby Jesus cry. In the end my two hours between flights turned into a 20 minute dash for food and some headphone cords. The American Airlines flight was a bit of a doze fest. 3.5 hours with no screen. A patient ginger gent on my right might have copped a semi-comatose Hocking shoulder slump or two.

I was picked up by the Intrepid transport promptly, cranking ‘Uptown Girl’ on an 80s channel. They love a bit of 80’s queso here.This is my country.

The hotel is cute. I have never seen a lift with a door that pulls open before you then enter it like a normal lift. Interesting. See photo of room above. I have an alcove. Facebook will have a couple more photos. After a run to the nearby convenience store for snacks for today’s tour and an expensive but delicious steak and red at an Argentinian steakhouse downstairs, I retired to crash. Not before discovering the only TV channel in English is the retro music channel playing best of Backstreet Boys and Britney.

Will update after my first day of proper adventuring today!

I can’t think of a better way to prepare for a trip celebrating your inner child than to return to Ma and Pa Hock’s for a sleepover in your old bedroom. FYI – the inside of the cupboard still features miraculously adhesive Keanu Reeves and River Phoenix stickers from an old TV Hits, circa 1990.

I grew up in Woodville South, Adelaide, SA, 5011. Mum and Dad have always lived here. The once-dubiously named Pecker’s Deli is now a yiros shop. (There was a garlic sauce joke here and I am only obliquely referring to it now …) The Kool Kat Deli on the other corner used to smell like white Freddos – now the Burek Lounge wafts the heavenly scent of rosemary and chargrilled coronary.

When it came to the travel bug and my Dad, somebody called in the exterminator. Streaky Bay is long haul. But the spirit of Scrooge lives on in 10c deposit cans in the back shed.

This is the final checkpoint on my way out. I am here to save time and an Uber to the airport tomorrow. Plus it’s Mum’s 70th birthday and there is a Western suburbs Seniors meal somewhere with her name on it. (Random thought – should Maccas start doing Seniors meals? They could be like kids’ Happy meals but with toys for boomers like a TAB ticket, orthotics or a large print instruction booklet for iPhones.)

I digress …

Everything’s packed, my OCD list of things to do has been followed, luggage pre-packed and packed, pre-weighed and re-weighed. As the old Harris Scarfe slogan went, ‘like it, charge it’, so I’m maxed out 100% on all chargeable electrical goodies. The spirit of discovery today was re-discovering the horror of the shower. Failure to follow the careful standard operating procedure will result in third degree burns or a full epidermal face peel normally reserved for those with Endota vouchers, then snap to an Arctic frost within a microsecond. Mawson may have eaten his dogs under similar conditions.

Time to call it a night. I will reserve my photography for some dodgy powdered eggs or an unholy union of gristle and fat claiming to be a breakfast sausage.