Not a great deal to report...

On Wednesday Beatriz and I went to Castillo Chapultepec, which is an old castle situated in the park,  on a hilltop so that it gives views over the city. The views were awesome but the photos never really captured how good they were. It was enjoyable to walk around but I wasn't overly captivated by the rooms etc, and because my Spanish isn't great I didn't really have the chance to learn much either. I'm glad I went though.

[Above, left]: The gardens inside the castle were pretty impressive, like something out of Alice in Wonderland. Not ideal for playing football in though.

[Above, right]: Here I am, not looking at all like a tourist, holding a stupid pose.

On Wednesday I also went to the gym. I know that is a bit of a lame thing to do when you're supposed to be on holiday, but I miss not going, and the idea of going skinny or fat whilst I'm here is not appealing. The gym was pretty awesome, if a bit run down, and only cost a couple of quid. The downside was that there was no water dispenser and I didn't have my own bottle. Oh well.

That evening, the plan was to head for a night out (up to this point, I've had a lot of fun, but haven't actually had a proper 'night out'). I met up with Beatriz, both Whitneys and Rafa (from Cuba) at a restaurant first. I had some Chicken, which was nice enough but after we left I was a little concerned that my stomach wasn't feeling great. Probably just paranoia mixed with indigestion.

We end up going to the Mojito bar which James and I had been to, albeit antisocially, last week. Beatriz and I had a go at joining in the salsa dancing, and at one point they were even teaching some steps. I thought this would be an ideal way to improve but alas, it was just too difficult. I'd be just about getting to grips with one or two steps and suddenly there would be this crazy move than I can only describe as "turning around". That, unfortunately, is not yet part of my repetoire, so I sat down and had some tequila.

We left the Mojito bar and the night started to drag. We tried another place with live music, but I was starting to feel a bit tired, and still a bit bloated from dinner. In the end we went back to the hostel, my first big night coming to a close at half-past midnight and after one solitary drink. I stayed up for a little longer but was starting to feel a bit sick, which quickly morphed into ridiculous fatigue. It was soon obvious that I wasn't well. I'll spare you the details. I went to bed hoping that I would be ok in the morning.

I wasn't. I spent pretty much all day in my room, and in bed on Thursday. My only trip out was to the Pharmacy in the evening, to load up on any kind of tablets which would speed my recovery. By Thursday night I was feeling a little better but hardly got any sleep because I was getting terrible stomach cramps all night (this may not have been helped by the fact I had my first gym workout in a month the day before).

Just after I had unsuspectingly polished off the piece of chicken which would sideline me for the rest of the week...

Friday I was still in pain, and also very tired due to the lack of sleep, so again spent most of the day hanging around the hostel. I was in a bit of a better mood though, and an afternoon nap made sure I was ok to meet up with Makocha's cousins at the Hippodrome that evening for some horse racing.

My temporary Mexican mobile has conveniently decided to switch network lines and I have no idea how to switch it back. The superb by-product of this being that I am no longer able to make calls. This is extremely annoying when you're trying to meet up with people and haven't got a clue where you're going. 

I would have arrived at the hippodrome on time, but the taxi driver was a bit of an idiot. It seems that most cab drivers don't really know where anywhere is, and I normally end up having to supply a map for the journey. My conversation on this occasion went a little like this (translated into English, although the original was in Spanish):

Before getting into the taxi (the hostel manager had already informed the driver where I wanted to go):

Me: "The Hippodrome de las Americas?"

Driver: "Yes"

Me: "On 'Conscripto Avenue', yes?"

Driver: "Yes"

30 minutes later, we are on Conscripto and have been going along it for a while. I feel like we should have arrived by now, and am now a few minutes late.

Me: "From here, how long will it be, two minutes?"

Driver: "Well this is Conscripto, but I don't where you want to go"

Me: "The Hippodrome?!"

Driver: "Ohhh, that's back there, on the other side of the roundabout!"

This, coupled with the fact that when I arrived, I didn't have a clue where to go and there were absolutely no instructions as how to reach the stand, made me extremely annoyed. However, I got there in the end.

I bet on three races, won on the second of three, and came extremely close to winning on the third as well (you could either bet on the top three, or specify the order. I decided to take a risk and predict the order of 6-2-4 and it finished 6-4-2...). Now, I'm not the sort of person who revels in victory, especially when there is cash at stake, but it was nice to have some success to go with a fun evening.

Hipodromo de las Americas

I am now back in Sayavedra. It is nice to be in the comfort of a proper house, particularly at the moment when I still don't feel 100%. Hopefully the next blog update will see me feeling better and having a few more things to report!

Twig

/

People!

Some of you have mentioned that I haven't put any pictures of people on my blog yet. As a result, I have posted a picture of some below. They are all very good friends from my time in Mexico so far.

:-)

In all seriousness though, I will be adding one or two pictures to previous posts, as well as trying to include more in future ones of actual human beings that I have interacted with on my travels!

I have also just discovered how to fully justify (i.e. "alignment", not "vindicate") the posts. Excellent, I much prefer it.

Moctezuma, Cocoyoc, Gyros y Mucho Cansado

On Thursday I visited the Templo Mayor museum with Beatriz. This is in the very centre of the city, and the site of the ruins of the Aztec city of Tenochtitlan. It's hard to believe that these temples and artefacts went undiscovered for so long, underneath the busy Metropolis we know today as Mexico City. The museum also contains the history of Moctezuma, the leader of the Aztecs when the Spanish first arrived on the shores of the Aztec Empire. There are also hundreds of artefacts in the museum and within the ruins which have retained some of their original colourings, often as tributes to the gods. My knowledge of these areas was helped by the fact that I played Hernan Cortes in an Aztec play when I was aged 10, as well as being familiar with the Aztec god Coatlicue due to collecting Monster In My Pocket.

As much as I tried, it was very hard to imagine what the city must have been like. I wish I could have a few moments seeing it in all its glory. [Left] is a picture from my visit, and below it, what Tenochtitlan looked like during the Aztec period.

One thing that I did think was strange, is that the Aztec city and civilisation feels so ancient that it almost seems unreal. It is so difficult to imagine what life was like, yet Moctezuma reigned from 1502 to 1520, which is about 400 years later than my University was established, yet for three years I wandered round the streets of Oxford not really thinking much more than "bloody tourists...".

After the museum, we were joined by Beatriz's friend Whitney, from San Diego, and we went to Zocalo, the main square in Mexico City. There is a magnificent Cathedral, both inside and outside at the edge of the square. The Cathedral inside was very tranquil, but outside there was a Death Metal band playing, which was peculiar, especially as they weren't even very good.

Later we went for a coffee at a bar which overlooked the Galleria Belles Artes, before heading back to the hostel. In the evening, Beatriz, James and I were joined by two new arrivals at the hostel, Chloe and Donna (both from England) and another of Beatriz's friends called Whitney. This Whitney was from Atlanta, but she didn't support the Falcons... I thought I might be able to piggy-back on some of Neil's Georgia Tech knowledge, but alas she didn't like them either. We ate at a bookshop; there was a restaurant upstairs and it was really cool. I wasn't sure what to get to go with my Michelada, and then I saw it... Chicken Gyros. It was a no-brainer... but I was bursting with questions -  would the wraps have chips inside, would I need to know the Spanish for 'No Tzatziki', and would I end up asking for an extra large portion only to be disappointed in my inability to finish it?

For those who aren't aware, every year when I and several other seriously cool dudes go to Greece, we always go to the same restaurant and order Gyros. Pretty much every night. On this occasion however, there were no such problems. The food was amazing, chips were served separately, and I manage to polish off the two wraps, albeit with very little to spare.

The next day I was going to Cocoyoc in the evening, a town 2-3 hours (we'll come to this later) outside Mexico City. Because I needed to meet up with Makocha and Alonso, I didn't have much time to do much, so I went to.... the Zoo again. I saw the Pandas, but they weren't doing much (probably why they're in such a crisis. Lazy). I thought the Panther was pretty cool:

I was, however, a little disappointed that it didn't look up, with this telling expression:

I set off from the Hostel at 4pm, because I needed to head back to Makocha's house to collect some things. In the end the traffic was pretty bad, so we turned back and I would just have to get by without whatever it was that I needed to get. The traffic in Mexico City is horrific though. I hate queueing (not sure if this is the correct spelling, but I like the fact it has 5 consecutive vowels), and hence I hate traffic. Like most people I expect. I know that in London it can be bad, but being here, as well as what I have witnessed in Russia and India makes me realise that I should try and be a bit more tolerable back in England, as it really isn't THAT bad. Anyway, we then had to pick up Pablo, Alonso´s friend, who lived just around the corner from my hostel. We got to him at 8pm. Very annoying, I could have spent four more hours singing 'the Bare Necessities' to the Panther if I had known. We finally arrived in Cocoyoc just after midnight. So that was about an 8 hour journey... like I said, the traffic here is infuriating to say the least.

I was feeling pretty tired by this point, and said to Makocha that even though I would have liked to have stayed up and meet her friends, I was too tired and planned to go straight to bed when I arrived. Yes, I know, I am lame. Alonso convinced me to stay up for 1 or 2 drinks, and someone decided to start a game of 'Kings'. I perked up a little, and later even managed to trick Sara and Alonso into 'riding the bus' (it's a card game, before anyone jumps to any frightful conclusions). I chatted to Azu quite a bit, mainly about music, and she told me that she wanted to go to Glastonbury next year. She didn't know Reading Festival, so I was unable to impress her with stories of being on the big screen during Andrew WK. I had a feeling it was time for bed, so checked the time... 7am. Jesus, I certainly hadn´t seen that one coming. Party Hard.

Woke up at Midday, and sat in the sun for about half an hour. We had to head back to Mexico City because Makocha was going to a family event. So a few more hours in the car ensued, and by now I really was struggling, as the roads are so bumpy, getting to sleep in the car is near impossible. I join Makocha (and Alonso) for the family event, because basically I have no choice. The main reasons why I was hesitant about going along initially were 1) it's a family thing, I'm not family, and everyone will be speaking Spanish. 2) I'm hardly dressed for the occasion, I´ve got shorts and T-Shirt on compared to everyone elses trousers & shirts, and 3) I am fucking knackered.

The family have booked a number of tables in a section of a hotel. It feels a bit like a wedding - round tables free flowing alcohol, 4 course meal, singers performing outside, with crowds of people making their way onto and off from the dancefloor with each new song. I did feel a little bit out of place at first, but Makocha´s family (all 60 of them) made me feel very welcome, and I thought how it is a shame that events like these are so uncommon back home. I quite wanted to join in the dancing at some point, but didn't want to make a fool of myself. In the end, Makocha's cousin Carolina was kind enough to teach me a little. She said I was good, but I took that more of a morale booster than fact, although in fairness, I think I managed to avoid being utterly malcoordinated. Perhaps it was the pressure of having the entire family watching us. Once again, I was pleased that I managed to overcome my tiredness, and had a really good time.

The following day (Sunday), I followed up on the football and NFL results (once again, good news, that's 4 wins out of 4 since I've been here!), and sat in the garden listening to Jack Dee's autobiography. Yes, I come to Mexico in hope of finding a 'new me' and I am listening to the story of someone who grew up in Winchester, then lived in London, and spends most of his life complaining about one thing or another. I'm not sure of the exact connection, but whilst I was listening to this, I thought about one of the oldest, most basic jokes about the chicken crossing the road, and realised that in my 26 years, I have only just 'got' it. Because no-one has ever really mentioned it before, I decided to look it up. According to Wikipedia, "this answer's obviousness and straight-forwardness becomes part of the humour". Oh. So my thoughts that "the otherside" referred to the chicken dying and going to heaven were totally fatuous... What do you think? Maybe I'm right and Wikipedia is wrong.

Anyway, sorry about that, the last thing this lengthy post needs is a digression about bloody birds. That evening Makocha and I are invited to her cousins house for some food, some tequila (which conveniently, nearly everyone else had an excuse for not drinking) and some games. These included a card game called 'Cambio', Uno-Stack and an interesting game involving a glass, a coin, kitchen roll and a cigarette. I will be bringing this idea home with me. Being both Mr Pessimist and Mr Competitive, with every turn I was convinced it would be the final straw, yet in the end managed not to lose any of them. It was a fun night, but most people have to work on Mondays, so we headed home before it got too late.

[Above, L to R]: Makocha, Nataly, Caro, JC, Martha & Octavia.

Monday was almost an exact replica of the previous Monday. I just hung about in the house relaxing and playing the piano. I bloody loved it. Today (Tuesday) I have returned to the hostel in Condesa. Beatriz is still here but the others have moved on. It's quite quiet, but at least I have had chance to hog the computer and update this.

Hasta la vista


Twig

Hostels!

Tuesday morning was my first day staying in the town centre and in a hostel. Hostel Condesa sounded good from the reviews, and in reality it was ok. However a big drawback was that no-one spoke English. Whilst I feel a bit bad for not having a good enough knowledge of Spanish to be able to chat to the people I encountered, it was quite limiting. Also, the people I met weren`t exactly friendly... I was wondering if this was to be expected... I decided to go to the Zoo during the day on my own. It took me a while to get there, because, perhaps in a typical British fashion, I hate getting a map out on the street and looking like a tourist. Instead I prefer just to sort of... `guess the way`. This can end up being a little bit stressful but I got there in the end. The Zoo was great, a bit like London Zoo although a bigger range of animals. The Orang-Utans, Rhinos and Giraffes were particular highlights, but the Jaguar was the best.

I got back to the hostel and was feeling pretty tired. I was even in a room on my own, but in the end that worked out quite well as I was able to get a good amount of sleep. In the morning I determined to walk about 20 minutes North to another Hostel I had read about called Hostel 333. Upon arrival, I was met by Veronica who was instantly more friendly than those at Hostal Condesa. After a couple of minutes of chat, James popped round the corner and introduced himself. This place also had a cool roof terrace and better sleeping accommodation. And it's cheaper.... so, bit of a no-brainer really. I marched back towards Hostal Condesa, heaved my big rucksack onto my back and set off for my new destination. This is the third trip I had to make between the two Hostels this morning, but as well as being more excited about Hostel 333, I also imagine I am an American Football player and walking with this huge bag on my back is my training for playing in pads. I'm pretty sure everyone I passed felt this vibe and thought I was incredibly cool.

When I arrive at the Hostel, James isn't in but I meet Beatriz, a Colombian girl who speaks almost perfect English. We get some lunch, but I have stupidly not brought enough money with me from Makocha's house, so I need to use the ATM. There is a service charge which I begrudgingly accept, then there is an additional charge of 5 Pesos (about 30p) which I also agree to after the initial charge. Beatriz tells me afterwards that this second charge was an optional donation. Convenient that they didn't translate this part into English for me... With this in mind, I probably won't bother with any volunteering activities later in my trip, as I feel that, albeit unsuspectingly, I have now done my bit.

Back at the hostel, I'm feeling a bit cold and a bit tired, so a nice warm shower will help sort things out. I thought Beatriz might call me, so decided to take the phone to the shower. In hindsight, this was a silly idea, since I was hardly going to answer it whilst lathering my naked body under a tap. It was especially annoying as there was nowhere convenient to put the phone. Yes, I know the simple solution would be to return the phone to my bedroom, a mere 10 metres away, but I'm stubborn. So, the phone goes onto the second shelf of the shower rack, alongside and underneath some soap and shampoo bottles. Unfortunately, neither tap seems to 'equal hot' but this hasn't stopped me plastering myself in shower gel in a bid to save some time.

Now, I am cowering in the corner of the cubicle, but there is no escaping the icy clutches of the shower water, which sprays in all directions quite unapologetically. It is quite evident there will be no warm shower today. As I struggle to control my shivering frantic body, I inexplicably manage to knock the shower rack off the nail it hangs on, and can only watch as it crashes to floor. Bottles, bars of soap, soggy boxes, random pubic hairs and miscellaneous wrappers fill the floor, and there alongside them, is my phone, lying face down in the water like the first victim of a Midsomer Murders 'Lakeside Tragedy'. And I hadn't even begun to think about how I was going to un-soap myself.

So my first bathing experience was not great, but overall the hostel is a vast improvement on the previous one. That evening I chatted to a couple of French guys and went for a few drinks with James, who it transpires also went to Oxford. He was telling me how he often lies about where he went to University because he is wary of the reaction. I said it would've been funny if we had both applied the same tactics to each other and never discovered the common link that explained why we were both snobs. We ended up at a bar where loads of people were salsa dancing. I quite liked the idea of having a go (and dancing with some hot mexican girls) but the only time I have ever attempted salsa, I was truly pathetic. So we just drank instead, cursing our poor fortune of being both uncoordinated and cowardly.

My first days in Distrito Federal

Thursday evening Makocha & I went to her friend's (Israel) house round the corner in Sayavedra. As Carlos and Israel argued back and forth about which music should be played, I was quite content drinking my Tequila amongst the throws of Incubus, Annie Lennox, Metallica and Whitesnake. Then Israel made some tacos, and Makocha told me I HAD to have salsa. So I did. Following her instructions of 'just a little bit', I sprinkled less than a spoonful of this delightful salsa over my steak tortilla. In doing so, I also got a tiny droplet on my finger, so sucked it off. This tiny droplet promptly blew my head off. Putting on a brave face, I said "yeah, this is good stuff, I'm totally fine", wondering how I was going to tackle the currently untouched burning fireball of a taco before me. I gave it a go, but in the end Carlos was good enough to insist on taking it off me in exchange for a salsa-less one. Lesson learned. I think....

I also realised that in the evenings, Mexico City gets unbelievably cold. Most of my clothing is T-Shirts and Shorts. Mum, if you're reading this, I know my response to the question "Are you sure you don't want to get one of these fleeces, it might get cold?" was "Mum, it's not going to be THAT cold, I'll be fine". Yes, well I was wrong, and I have since had to buy a hoodie at the Shopping Centre. Fortunately, they have a Zara here, so I have managed to keep up the tradition of buying all my clothes there despite being half way round the world.

The next day I visited 'Chapultepec', the biggest park in Mexico City. I spent most of my day at the Museo Antropologia. A lot of the information was in Spanish only, so I wasn't really (I tried, but reading passages of human history when each word takes about 20 seconds of processing is tiring) able to digest that much. But some of the models were pretty cool (see picture). I spent a fair bit of time just sitting in the sun. Obviously I didn't apply suncream in the morning, because that's not how I roll. Cue a red face (literally and metaphorically) in the evening. Lesson 2 (probably not) learned.

At one point I was approached by about 10 girls who asked if I was English, and then wanted a photo with me. I have no idea why, and can only assume that my pasty skin and unmexican dress sense made it obvious where I was from.  The girls seemed to be on some sort of school trip so must have been about 15. I can think of at least one friend who would be delighted at such an encounter, but unfortunately from my own perspective, I only fancied a couple of them.

In the middle of the museum there was a pond. There must have been about 50 turtles in it. At first I thought they were models because there were so many, and they were so lifeless. They're pretty cool though, so I took a picture.

That evening Makocha had a job interview so we drove there after she picked me up from the museum. The roads in Mexico City are quite stressful... I certainly won't be driving anywhere soon. The interview was next to an american style diner so I had a couple of beers at the bar and waited for Makocha. I suppose I could have tried to make conversation with people, but I wasn't really in the mood. After quite a while looking at the menu as something to pass the time, I decided to bite the bullet and.... put in my headphones so I could listen to some Karl Pilkington. Not sure if anyone noticed me grinning and occasionally chuckling into my glass, but they could not have possibly known that I was listening to "tic tacs tinging their way up the tube".

The next day, I visited the shopping centre to buy the aforementioned jumper. It was a nice shopping centre, but to be honest it could be anywhere, as the shops are pretty much identical to the ones you'd see in English 'malls'. I find that a bit of a shame, but at the same time it makes life quite easy. A bit like how most convenience stores in England are fast becoming mini Tescos or Sainsburys... more selection, cheaper prices, but somehow a bit too efficient and soulless than good old Misslebrook & Western. During my browsing of one of the sports shops, I saw a girl trying on a pink Ben Roethlisberger American Football jersey... it didn't seem right, but unfortunately I didn't possess the necessary Spanish vocabulary to explain to her why she should choose somebody else.

In the evening I went with Makocha and Alonso to Coyoacan, a small bohemian area of Mexico City, focused around a small square, with bustling stalls along the side streets. We ate in a 'Cantina', a traditional Taverna-type place, and later devoured some Churros on the way home. We stumbled upon a modern art exhibition, being held in the upstairs of an unusual shop. I got chatting to the man who ran the shop, who had lived in Islington, Guildford, Cologne, Dusseldorf, Anecy, Barcelona and the Canary Islands. Strangely, the element of England which he was a big fan of was.... the Police. He followed this up with a saying that "in Heaven, the Cooks are French, the Mechanics German, the Lovers Italian, Hoteliers Swiss and the Police are English. In Hell, the Cooks are English, the Mechanics Italian, Lovers are Swiss, Hotliers are French and the Police are German". I considered analysing this and making corrections/criticisms, but I could see what he was getting at.

On my escapades I have noticed some attractive girls passing me by. However, I have also noticed that they are nearly always holding hands with either a boyfriend, a parent or a child. None of which are ideal. Otherwise of course, I'd be straight over to have a little chat 'en espanol' about topics such as "rainfall in the UK".

And finally, today I have just been chilling out at Makocha's house. Checking the League One and the NFL results (good news all round), researching hostels because I think I'm going to be staying at some this week, and typing this mammoth blog. Hope you made it this far too!

Twig

Speaking Spanish

Every morning I've been conversing with Naty (Makocha's mum) in Spanish, although I'm not quite able to have free flowing chats. The pattern tends to be:

1) Think of what I want to say
2) Work out how to say it
3) Realise that I don't know all the verbs/vocab
4) Think of an alternative
5) 10 minutes later, once it is no longer relevant, slowly despatch the words from my mouth.

However, despite this, I think I'm doing pretty well. We've had conversations about the contrast between Mexican and English life (explaining the difference in rainfall patterns throughout the year being a particular highlight), and I've even managed a few anecdotes/jokes etc for good measure.

However, understanding people out and about when they talk to me as if I have a perfect grasp of the lingo is a different matter entirely... I tend to be like a rabbit in the headlights and just end up saying "errr.... errrmmmm.... ingles?"

I was quite pleased with myself when I went to Starbucks (it was the only place, I wasn't being a philistine) for a coffee... well, a tea in actual fact. "Un te, ingles desayuno por favor" I said, in a convincing manner. The guy at the till simply responded with "English Breakfast?"... He could at least humour me.

Flight & Arrival. Wednesday 29 September.

Now I know that anything happening in England isn't really travelling, but technically my trip began when I got into the taxi, which would then take me to the train station, where I would get a National Express connection to Heathrow. A couple of things to note on my journey:

- The National Express didn't turn up, so had to wait a while for the next one. Luckily I had built in some extra time into my plan, and a packet of Marks & Spencers' “Percy Pig & Pals” helped whittle away the time stood in the rain.

- Whoever designed the toilets on South West Trains... thank you for providing me with a stressful urinating session. Before the train pulled into Woking station, I thought I'd nip to the loo. So, pretty straightforward: Press open, walk inside, press close, press lock. Hmmm the lock button is still lit up in red, so I press again. This happens several times before I realise that there are two settings - flashing red and solid red. Except I have no idea which one means 'locked', and also have no idea how many times I have pressed this bloody button... In addition, thanks to the huge mirror plastered on the back wall, my plan of simply standing with my back to the door wasn't to work either. So I just had to hope, bracing myself for the door to slowly reveal me like some sort of game show prize. Unfortunately a small child came in, shouted for her mum, I was arrested and never made in to the airport.

Ok, I made that last line up, but it COULD have happened like that.

I arrived in Mexico City at 19:30 local time, the equivalent of 1:30am GMT. On the flight I listened to a bit of Jack Dee's autobiography, practised some Spanish, watched Shrek IV and didn`t sleep a wink. Despite this, I wasn't feeling too tired. And in passport control I noticed Andrew Flintoff on the other side of the queuing aisle. So any cricket fans wondering what he did after injury forced him out of the game, well he came to Mexico City with me. I did consider saying something to him, but I figured that he probably didn't need any more (there were already one or two) inane comments from someone who doesn`t even know much about cricket. The man is an absolute beast though, tall and built. I didn't feel very masculine stood alongside him. Maybe I should have just said something about that instead.

I was met at the airport by Makocha, her mum and her aunt, and we drove back to their lovely house in Candado de Sayavedra, a beautiful neighbourhood in the North West of Mexico City.