Gemma's Mini-Mexican Blog

As I write about Mexico I have a sour taste in my mouth and I worry that this bitterness may come across in my writing, rather like I'm sucking on a lemon, or should that be one of the many limes that are served with everything here?

It is a tale of stunning scenery, idyllic landscapes, broken promises and cunning crime. Right now, I can feel the tears forming although I know I won't let them flow, not because I'm sad to leave - quite the opposite - more from frustration. It is such a contrast from when we arrived in this beautiful country.

Mexico was the start of my part of the trip and somehow, instinctively, l knew it. The hostel in Mazatlan was my favourite so far and with a beautiful beach just 3 minutes away with beach bars selling delicious tacos and cold Corona, I was in heaven. When I found out that Mazatlan also claimed to be the shrimp capital of the world I knew that when Mother Nature was creating this place she was thinking of me. 

I was sad to leave, even though we had stayed an extra night because it was so lovely. Also, the thought of going to Mexico City daunted me, and I felt certain we were going to be robbed.

I was wrong. Mexico City was great, with beautiful parks and lots of interesting things to do. But it also spralled on for ever, with street after street looking exactly the same - a little bit unloved. Our hostel wasn't that nice though, which can really alter your perception of a place so we were glad to move on. One thing that did surprise me was how amazed people were that we had been to Mazatlan. Apparently it has a dangerous reputation as one of the biggest Cartels operate there. It is funny how I felt so at home there, but was scared of the much safer Mexico City.

From there, a short 6 hour bus ride took us to Oaxaca (pronounced wah-ha-ka, something I still can't say!) a beautiful city in a mountain valley bursting with charm and culture. Sitting in the main square sipping the local hot chocolate was a great way to soak up the atmosphere and catch up on some people watching. One thing we have noticed is how small but yet fully grown the Mexican people are. Darren nearly trod on one as she skirted around his kneecaps! 

But then it all went wrong.

I wish we had never arrived in Palenque. Quite a statement considering how stunning the Mayan ruins are as they sit so aptly in the misty jungle. Exploring them was a real treat. Sheltered by the trees, we hardly saw any other tourists and it felt like we had stumbled across them, like the first people to find them after 700 years of dormancy. It was an experience that will stay with me for a long time and I am very grateful for that.

However, the hostel was a dive, dirty, incompetent, unfriendly and there were constant efforts to extort money from us such as putting us in a cheaper room than we had paid for, charging an extra 10% service charge for food but not writing it on the bill so we would tip again and trying to sell us a tour of the ruins for 240 Pesos when the local buses charged just 10 Pesos each way and went from the end of the road.

On the first night in Palenque two locals stayed in our dorm. We thought this was a bit weird and I felt a sense of unease. They turned out to be the owners son and his friend but they arrived late, well after we had gone to sleep, had no bags and spoke no English so we didn't trust them. However, in the morning they were friendly and happily joked together before they had their showers and left.

So the following afternoon when another bagless local turned up the alarm bells didn't ring as much as they should have. He stayed the night, robbed us while we were sleeping and left early the next morning.

That meant that our last day in Mexico was spent in the Police Station rather than relaxing ahead of a taxing journey to Guatemala the next day. Initially, we were very pleased with the help we got. The police seemed very thorough, and even enlisted the help of a local translator. However, we were fed a line and paid a 400 pesos (£20) investigation tax, or corruption charge as I now like to call it. So by lunchtime we had been robbed twice, but there was more to come.

As it turned out, the translator was more help than we could have hoped for. We had made a small mistake when crossing the border into Mexico and did not have the correct visa documents. We were open and honest about this at the Police Station and said that we had planned to go to the immigration office that day and asked if that was the best thing to do. The translator assured us that we could easily sort it out on the border (he used to work for immigration) and in fact he now organises trips and could arrange transport and speak to immigration on our behalf. The only way to travel this leg of the journey was to pay around 300 Pesos for an organised trip, so knowing this, we felt a lot safer with a guide who was trusted by the police, spoke fluent English and assured is that he would come all the way to the Guatemalan border with us - something we checked and double checked before handing over the higher price of 460 pesos each, which included all costs and breakfast. (Robbery number three).

The next day we were collected from our hostel and began to make our way in a car, not the agreed bus, with no explanation of why. Already, something didn't feel right.

After an hour we stopped for breakfast which was where the translator left us, still two hours from the Mexican border, saying that he had to return to the hotel. He loaded us onto an already full minibus with other tourists (all Spanish speaking) and a Spanish speaking driver.

I am still sat on the bus, desperate to leave Mexico but worried about what lies ahead at the border - no doubt robbery number four as our white skins and lack of language skills will demand a high bribe to be let through. I can almost hear the cha-ching of dollar signs behind their eyes as they watch us approach the border. But I still haven't cried!

The happy ending

When we arrived at the border we were not surprized to be charged US$50 to cross. We moaned a bit and told everyone that we had been robbed. The men at the border patrol must have taken pity on us because when they discovered that we hadn't been stamped into the country they didn't stamp us out either and actually gave us our money back!

15 minutes later we were in a wooden canoe zooming up the river towards Guatemala. It was such a lovely way to travel with the breeze blowing through my hair and the sun beaming down through the clouds. My spirits rose as we got closer to a new country and having an open mind again, only hopefully a little bit wiser!

Palenque: Ruins & Robbery

We arrived in Palenque at 7am, and wearily made our way from the station to the hostel. We followed the instructions to the letter, but ended up about 2km too far down the road. We were hot and sticky, tired and in need of a rest, so we found a taxi instead who drove us back to the bus station to ask his colleagues for directions. We went back again, and this time turned off down a road not mention in the instructions. Frustating. 

We were checked in by a young man who didn't know what he was doing, he tried to put us in the wrong room, and didn't give us our security bracelets. But then, none of the staff knew what they were doing, as we were never challenged as to why we weren't wearing these bracelets. More on that rather crucial point later! 

When we were taken to the room the receptionist couldn't' open the door - whilst we waited a local monkey, a howler monkey I think, climbed into a tree above us and relieved himself on Gemma's bag. As soon as he finished we dived into the dangerzone to retrieve our belongings. Once we had moved them into a safer area the monkey decided to defecate on the same spot! Whilst it was lovely for the monkey to welcome us to his jungle, I did make a mental note to crap on the next monkey I see in London. In hindsight, this might have been a significant omen for what was to come, one we maybe shouldn't have ignored. 

After resting for a while, and deciding that the hostel was a dive, we walked into town. Palenque is a small town, the only large buildings are the hotels in the tourist zone, in the central area nothing is above 3 stories. There are a few shops, with a fairly limited range of stock, so shopping was never going to kill any time. There is a cathedral, but I've seen bigger confessionals to be quite honest, even in the last few weeks! 

We decided that night to head to the ruins the next day, and headed back to the hostel after a delicious and cheap dinner of tacos in a small restaurant frequented by locals. Back in our Spartan dorm two young men appeared. We did notice that they didn't have any bags, which seemed strange, but they had let themselves in so we didn't think too much of it. It turned out this was the owners son and his friend, who had decided to crash in some spare beds rather than return home, but we didn't find this out until later. 

The following day we ignored the receptionists plea to pay 280 pesos for the ruins tour, and walked out to the street. Within minutes we were inside a taxi-van, having paid 10 pesos each for the ride to the ruins. Unfortunately it decided to rain at this point, heavily, so we got out at the site museum and spent an hour admiring the art and artefacts from the Mayan ruins. 

There were a large number of reliefs, stone tablets, and hieroglyphs, and each exhibit was helpfully explained in both Spanish and English. Unlike Monte Alban, they also had pottery, jewellery, death masks and bizarre stone statues looking like a cross between a mask and a mini totem pole which were dedicated to specific Gods. The rain had proved fortuitous, and we headed out of the museum armed with some prior knowledge of the ruins we were about to see.

After passing a small guesthouse we began climbing up a flight of stone stairs into the rainforest. All around us the trees and foliage closed in, the light faded and a mist surrounded us. A few minutes later we reached a fork and took the right turn. As we reached the top of a second flight some small ruins appeared, overgrown with tree roots burying themselves into the stoneworks. We spotted another tourist scurrying off and followed him. He climbed onto another small ruin and began pointing into the bushes. We made our way up, carefully I might add as the stones were covered in moss and slippery, and arrived just in time to see a very small, black, pig-like creature darting through the undergrowth.

Now we were faced with yet another flight of stairs, much higher and steeper than the previous ones. We carefully picked a path up, and arrived short of breath, and bathed in sweat, at the foot of a large pyramid. In fact the whole site of Palenque seemed to open up before us, and it was breathtaking. Surrounded by dense jungle and mist, in incredible humidity, the ruins are just so beautiful. I did the first thing that came to mind and without considering the consequences I ran up the steps of the nearest temple. 

From here the view was even better, more buildings appearing through gaps in the trees. And hardly a single tourist in sight. One of the best features of Palenque is the presence of the temples atop the pyramids, and I was also able to peek inside one which had been briefly home to a Spanish Count when he visited 200 years ago. However, getting down was a different proposition entirely, I suddenly realised how steep and slippery the stones were, my issue with heights kicked in, and had to navigate my way down with the aid of my behind! 

We made our way around, stopping every few seconds as a new panorama opened up before us. The absence of tourists added to the sense that we were discovering the site afresh. We both climbed the palace building, and were rewarded with stone carvings and even a few examples of painted flowers which had somehow survived the years of humidity and rain. As we climbed the outskirts of the palace we noticed the rain clouds charging towards us, coming between a gap in the mountains, and took shelter in one of the palaces rooms, right at the top. Here we had our packed lunch, one of the greatest locations I have ever eaten a ham and cheese sandwich! 

We spent about 4 hours climbing up, over and into the ruins. We were quite surprised just how close you are allowed to get to everything, being allowed inside certain passageways and tunnels of the various buildings. But like all good things, we eventually decided it was time to head back, as by this point we were both in need of a rest and a good shower! We wandered down the other path from the one we had taken, past yet more smaller, later ruins, eventually coming to a beautiful waterfall. We had to cross a small bridge and eventually met the fork we had taken earlier. 

Back at the roadside, after just a few minutes we hailed another taxi-van and 10 pesos later we were back on the path near our hostel. We went to the dorm to freshen up, and met two new room-mates. A third person appeared, letting himself in and brazenly chatting to Phil, one of the Americans, and Gemma. He had a bedsheet and towel, nothing too suspicious so far, and after Gemma and I went off for dinner at the restaurant above the reception he apparently went out to get some beers. We met a couple of friends, and started chatting, not returning to the room until 11pm. 

By this time everyone was asleep, so we carefully maneuvered ourselves into our mosquito nets (necessary because the window netting here is torn). The rain made it difficult to sleep, the intense shower lasting for several hours, but we did eventually drift off. When we awoke we discovered that our wallets had been emptied of cash. The culprit had taken all the notes in Gemma's wallet, and bizarrely her shower gel. Somehow this git had come under my mosquito net to get my shorts (my wallet is attached to them by chain) and removed all my cash too. 

We were fortunate that it was only cash however, as all our bank cards were untouched. We spoke to the two americans, Phil mentioned that the mysterious guy had been sat outside the dorm when he went back that evening,followed him inside and promptly went to bed. Unfortunately he didn't know about the identity bracelet rule either, and as the guy had been in the room earlier had no suspicions. This stranger got up very early in the morning and disappeared, taking our cash with him, 

We walked into town and found the tourist information office. They took us to the police station where we were introduced to the officers. A few minutes later a translator arrived and we began to recount the story. All of this was taken down and entered into an official report (for which we had to pay a further 400 pesos but were refused a receipt, by the police for goodness sakes). But at least the officers took it seriously enough to pay a visit to the hostel later. They seemed confident they would catch the criminal, even though perhaps the evidence was largely circumstantial. Apparently the hostel has some CCTV which may give the police an image to work with. Annoyingly I now have to spend time dealing with an insurance company, and I don't know at this stage whether we will be able to recover any of the cash or the administration cost. 

The following morning we got up at the crack of dawn and waiting outside the hostel for our van to the border. Instead Fernando the guide arrived in a friend's car, and we drove around for 30 minute to find the van. It had apparently gone on ahead of us, so we moved into a different car and raced to catch up. Along the way, driving through and around the edges of the misty rainforest, we were stopped at a military checkpoint. The soldier said to Fernando that he had met Italians, Dutch, Poles and Japanese, but no English, so would we mind saying something to him in English. Putting on our best "plum" accents we gave him a chorus of "hello", "nice to meet you" and "good day old boy". He seemed impressed. 

Eventually we caught up with the van at a small restaurant, where we had a breakfast of eggs and bacon, and we crammed our belongings into the small spaces available. The driver raced to the border, unconcerned about the awful, awful camber of the roads, and banging his head to the beat of some terrible disco-pop music which he thoughtfully shared with us all, loudly. 

We arrived at the border a few hours later and began to panic. You may remember from our first Mexican blog, technically we were at this point illegal immigrants, having sailed through the border without a stamp or tourist card. Initially the guide tried to suggest that we needed to pay US$50 to leave the country. We nearly hit the roof, and loudly proclaimed that we had been robbed and now we were being robbed again. However, with hindsight this was actually the legitimate tourist tax, charged to people who stayed more than a few days. But at the time our protestations seemed to hit a nerve, and the guide agreed that as we had not been stamped in we didn't really need a stamp out, so we walked through immigration as if we had never even been to Mexico! We both felt that we deserved a little bit of luck, and although hardly recompense for the robbery it did at least save us some money. 

From here we caught a small boat down the river. It took about 30 minutes, but it was really fun. The little wooden boat seemed to tip up at the front and the occasional eddy made us wobble, but it never felt unsafe. When we reached the small town of Bethel, we were inside Guatemala. Amazingly the connecting bus was waiting for us (I've read some horror stories on the lonely planet website), and we drove to the immigration office. Here we were greeted by a cheery border official. "Welcome to Guatemala, please, enjoy your stay" he said with a beaming smile. 

After more than 2 weeks in Mexico, we were glad to be adding another stamp to our passports. The last 24 hours across the border had really dampened our enthusiasm for the country. We have had some wonderful experiences, and seen some beautiful places, and on the whole met very nice people. But as if being robbed wash't bad enough, we can't escape the feeling that people look at us and see dollar signs. And to be ripped off by the Mexican police really took the biscuit.

Oaxaca (Pronounced: The place near Monte Alban)

Oaxaca is that rarest of towns, a place which came highly recommended and managed to live up to expectations. We arrived in the late afternoon, took a quick taxi across town and entered the curiously named "El Quijote" hostel. I say curiously named because Cervantes protagonist was surely a little self delusional, but this home from home was anything but.

The owners have set up a lovely little retreat on the outskirts of central Oaxaca. The dorm room has 8 beds - which sounds bad, but there are partitions, and no bunks. The beds are large and comfortable, and the room is cleaned every day, with bed linen changed and fresh towels. Compared to some of the hostels we have stayed in, this place is a delight. The only difficult part is deciding when to leave.

After completing the checking in formalities we strolled the the central square, named the Zocalo like the square in Mexico City. At one end of the square is the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Assumption, a beautiful building with a stunning interior. Opposite, at the southern end is the former government office, now a museum. The east and west sides are full of restaurants and shops. In the centre, almost hidden by trees, there is a bandstand, which was full of musicians for our first evening in Oaxaca. We sat down for dinner and enjoyed the music, and the slight but pleasant breeze.

Oaxaca is the main stopping point for tourists wanting to visit the ruins of Monte Alban, the former Zapotec capital, just 7km away. The road curls it's way up the mountainside until you reach the car park, full of locals selling straw hats to increasingly red tourists. The site is high (1900 metres above sea level) and we had been warned thrice to cover up with sunblock, with good reason.

Our guide, Alberto, delivered an amusing spiel, his repertoire littered with the many curse words of the English language: "the Zapotec, those bastards knew about skin cancer!"; "this was a big fucking city, man!". But besides turning the air blue, his commentary was very good, he explained many interesting stories and legends of the Zapotec culture. He was at pains to sell the Zapotecs to us, conscious of their being overshadowed by their more internationally renowned neighbours, the Mayans.

As you climb the final steps of the mountain the plateau spreads out before you, the stunning temples of Monte Alban become visible and you are conscious of being at what was a very important site. There are temples at the north and south, and several more in between, alongside other buildings like a ball court and a hospital. Climbing over and amongst these relics I felt like a child in a sweet shop, and when Alberto gave us an hour of free time before we moved on, I dragged Gemma first up the steps of the South Temple, and the across the plateau and up the steps of the North.

We stopped at the top and gazed down, at the increasing mass of tourists arriving at the site, followed by the local salespeople selling their own attempts at Zapotec crafts: a little jaguar face or a man playing a ball game made of pottery; necklaces of threaded beads and stones. But a look in the other directions was more rewarding, as there are several other smaller temples located on nearby hillsides, and the sky around is filled with birds, swirling around on the currents.

One curious thing which I couldn't help but notice was the absence of any decoration, no stone carvings to adorn the temples or altars. Either the Zapotecs didn't care for art, or they weren't as developed as Alberto made out. In fact I was completely wrong, when we returned to the car park we discovered a small museum which contained several highly decorated stone tablets, alongside pottery and even some jewellery. They had obviously been removed for safe keeping, and we later discovered that there were also some exhibits from Monte Alban at the Anthropology Museum that we had missed out in Mexico City.

On the same tour we were also taken to a church which had been built by the famous conquistador Hernan Cortes for his Mexican lover. A beautiful building that has seen better days, there were still one or two of the original frescoes visible on portions of the stone, culturally valuable because they had been painted by locals who had never seen a representation of Christ, so the Angels had many of the indigenous peoples features.

By this time we were ready for lunch, so Alberto led us to a little restaurant in the middle of nowhere. The restaurant was set around a small courtyard, which was full of representations of skeletons. We had narrowly missed spending the day of the dead in Oaxaca, which was unfortunate as the guidebooks suggest it is one of the best places to be. However even after the big day the peoples efforts remained on show.

In the restaurant, an all you can eat buffet affair - slightly overpriced but with a huge range of options - we both grabbed a plate and began filling up. Of course we didn't quite know what we were trying, but that's part of the fun of travel! I did manage to locate some of the local mole (pronounced Moh-lay) a sort of thick sauce that smothered a piece of chicken like the after effects of a devastating oil spill. It tasted vaguely chocolatey, but not in a good way. Instead I filled up on mini spinach omelettes and sweetened breads.

The following day we decided to take a tour around the city's many churches. As already mentioned, the cathedral was beautiful, but in fact Oaxaca's most famous religious building was the Santo Domingo church. For a start it appears larger than the cathedral, and whereas the cathedral is surrounded by other important buildings on Oaxaca's central square, Santo Domingo is a little further away and occupies a block to itself.

The doors are huge, and the spires reach up to the heavens, but the biggest treat is inside. The cavernous interior looks resplendent, having been redecorated a few years ago at the cost of 16 million pesos, with more gold leaf than I have ever seen - 60,000 sheets of 23.5 karat leaf according to Wikipedia. But although I struggle with the concept of spending so much money on one building when millions of peasants struggle for existence, I must admit the interior is just incredible, every angle photogenic, every corner drawing a gasp.

We also took a stroll through Oaxaca's two covered markets. The first,the food market, was not as pleasant as one might imagine, the inside smelt worse than than any market I've been in before (I'm including Mombassa in that statement) and for Gemma, well, the local delicacies, if I may call them that, were a little off-putting. Fried grasshoppers in chilli. At least these were dead, but when we reached the other, less savoury market, we discovered the live grasshoppers at a pet stall, kept as food for the 20 or so lizards great were cramped inside a small tank.

Leaving Oaxaca was a hard decision to make, it's such a peaceful, relaxed place that it would be very easy to stay longer. If our hostel had had a pool we might have been swayed, but instead we booked our tickets on the night bus to Palenque. We arrived at the station in good time, long enough to enjoy an ice cream but not so long as to be boring, and at 5pm set off. The bus made a couple of stops, including a 30 minute midnight meal break for the drivers at a rundown cafe. I got off, eager to stretch my legs, and ended up drinking a cold cola whilst relaxing on a child's swing. Despite that we did eventually manage to drop off to sleep, and awoke just as we arrived in Palenque the next morning.

Mexico City: Vamos!

Mexico City, a place we had been warned about several times. Not just by people in the US, even Mexicans had warned us. Don't do this, don't do that, don't go there. The warnings didn't stop. But actually it felt far more civilised than we had expected. Perhaps that's because when someone warns you about a place you feel more inclined to give it fair chance. The opposite of when someone tells you how great a place is and it rarely lives up to expectations.

Arriving at the Northern bus station in the morning, we picked up our bags and made for the metro just outside. For 3 pesos (a few pence) we were able to get right across town. The only downside was the considerable distance between the different lines when we had to make our two changes. By the time we reached the hostel we were exhausted, our bags felt heavier than at any time in the last 2 months of travel, our legs felt like they were giving way. It wasn't until we had sat down that we remembered that Mexico City is over 2000 metres above sea level, our lungs had been deprived of oxygen!

Unfortunately the hostel had booked us into the wrong room, it wasn't the best news we could have had. But we dumped our bags and went back out to find some food. Just around the corner we found a lovely restaurant, overlooking a large fountain, so we rested our weary legs and had a good meal for the first time in 24 hours. Remembering that we had plans for the evening, we hurried back to the hostel and fell asleep.

We were awoken by one of the hostel staff, banging on the door to inform us that our taxi had arrived. I'd forgotten to change my watch overnight, so without showering we jumped out of bed, threw some clothes on and rushed downstairs. The taxi driver drove us across town to another hostel, from which we were picked up by a large minivan. We were then driven to another hostel, where we had a shot of tequila and the chance to try on some masks. Two hours after we had been woken up we finally reached the Arena Mexico, ready for the Lucha Libre wrestling.

Lucha Libre is a curious form of the sport. Clearly for entertainment purposes rather than a serious bout of wrestling, the acts veered between impressive aerial manoeuvres, comedy play acting of the sort that would make premier league players appear like Hollywood stars, and dubious social commentary. The protagonists bore names like Nitro; Electrico; and the Blue Demon. And several wore the masks for which Lucha Libre is famous. I might have liked to show you some photos, but for some reason cameras were banned in the arena.

The events usually featured two teams of three wrestlers, one team the "good guys", the others being "baddies". What I found particularly curious was that the baddies were almost universally more popular than the good guys. Indeed any acts which might have been considered "unsporting" seemed to generate the loudest cheers of all. The crowds were ecstatic when a ruffian delivered a supposedly illegal kick to Electrico's family jewels. Hardly surprising that after such a blow Electrico more closely resembled a low energy bulb.

Only one of the good guys seemed to have anything approaching a fan club to rival the baddies. I forget his name, but his act was essentially a gay man. Clad from head to toe in pink (they weren't holding back on the cliches), every time he got his opponent into a hold he would attempt either a kiss or a rub of the opponents, well, erm... , you don't need it spelling out. The crowd went wild with every stroke. Gemma and I looked at each other, absolutely stunned. There really isn't much more I can add to that, clearly gay rights have a long way to go in Mexico.

The following day we decided to go for a walk in chapultepec (grasshopper) park, 686 hectares of open space and forest in the middle of the city. There are several museums inside the boundary, most popular of which is the anthropology museum. We were heading in it's general direction when Gemma remembered that there was a free zoo, and it was a lot closer, so we popped inside.

When I hear the words "free" and "zoo"together my immediate reaction is to fear for the wellbeing of the animals, but this zoo clearly had some wealthy benefactors. It was both well stocked, and in the main the animals were obviously healthy and well cared for. We wandered through the cat section, stopping to admire the tigers, ocelot and panther. The monkey section was quite nice too, and I braved the snake house to see a huge anaconda, whilst Gemma waited outside for me.

Outside the zoo we wandered down several miles of small stalls, where you could pick up anything from a cold drink to a Manchester united shirt. Somehow I managed to resist any rash novelty purchases - quite the rarity for me, although I couldn't stop Gemma from making a new acquaintance, appropriately named Chapultepec the monkey. We also discovered a small sightseeing train, which for 15 pesos (80p) took us around the outskirts of the park, although with Spanish commentary we're still not quite sure what we saw!

We're both slowly growing more confident to try out the Spanish we have picked up. Even the briefest conversation feels like a huge victory. However the next day was a huge test, one which we were definitely not prepared for. Our mission was to post a box of excess clothes and random items back to England, and to buy two mosquito nets in preparation for Guatemala.

Thanks to the touchpad I managed to locate a post office, but it was over 3km away. Even with the address written down we couldn't find a taxi driver who knew where we wanted to go, so we ended up walking to it. Once inside our problems really began, we hadn't brought a passport, we couldn't read the disclaimer form, we didn't even have a box to put everything inside. Temperatures began to rise, whilst our mood began to fall. Somehow, after 30 minutes of faffing we managed to work everything out, thanks to the patience of the post office staff - not a sentence I ever thought I would write.

Outside, wandering past a rather beautiful monument to the republic, we flagged down a taxi. And what stopped in front of us? A Volkswagen Beetle, painted in the dull red and gold colours of the taxi service. I was delighted, and despite being cramped up in the back seat for 15 minutes fearing for my life as the old rust bucket raced through the traffic I was glad we had been inside one of these evocative vehicles. The ride cost us under £2, so I tipped the driver a few pesos and rushed outside to snatch a photo. Rodriguez the driver clearly found this most amusing.

At the Zocalo we had a wander about, the square was filled with bizarre paper mache models of various peculiar monsters called "Alebrijes". Not quite sure what these represented, it didn't stop us from enjoying them, and we took turns posing with the models. There was also a sculpture by the Mexican artist Rivelino which has been travelling around the world for 2 years. Apparently the Zocalo has become something of a mecca for various artworks in recent years, which we both thought was quite nice. Too often these huge squares lack any vitality, but that was one thing Mexico City was not missing.

We also managed to locate a couple of mosquito nets in a camping shop. We couldn't help but notice that the shops on each block have a theme, so one block might have musical instruments, the next religious icons. When we reached the sporting goods block things began to look up. We found some outdoors shops, but our attempts to mime a mosquito net were initially met with confusion, to be fair we looked like an interpretive dance troupe failing at an X Factor audition. One man did eventually manage to suggest, through stifled laughter, that six shops down they would have what we wanted. Kindly he told us the Spanish name, saving our blushes for our next attempt. And sure enough we got them.

We got up early the next morning a caught a taxi to the bus station in the east of the city. The station was called TAPO, but the driver couldn't understand us, so Gemma had to write it on her hand in biro! For the first time we hadn't booked online, so we wandered inside the terminal and approached the ADO service desk. With relative ease we managed to ask for two tickets to Oaxaca on the primera class service which was leaving in just one hours time. Inside the terminal I also managed to pick up a travel pillow, not so necessary for this 6 hour drive but something I should have brought for the overnight journeys.

The bus ride was smooth enough, although we were delayed by the traffic leaving Mexico City. It is such a sprawling city, we didn't see many high rise buildings, instead the houses and offices seem to stretch for miles in every direction. Once out of the city centre the place feels less colourful, so many of the buildings have been left their natural concrete gray that even the few open spaces seem to share this one dimensional palette.

We had to stop on route to pick up some passengers from another bus which had suffered a broken windscreen, but despite that the bus was less than half full, so once again we reclined our seats to the maximum and nodded off. I awoke some hours later when my head bounced off the window, not the most pleasant of alarm clocks. We had entered the mountains, the road twisting and turning through the most stunning scenery. Before long the town of Oaxaca spread out in the valley ahead of us, our shortest journey in Mexico at it's end.

Northern Mexico: Arriba!

Crossing the border between America and Mexico was a farce, but not in the way I had expected. Supposedly the busiest border in the world, but we didn't see a single American official. Instead our Greyhound bus just drove straight through to the Mexican officials, who waved us through. Normally I'd be relieved, crossing land borders around the world can be a real pain, and waste valuable time. But on this occasion we needed to hand in our entry forms to someone in US uniform (we'd been explicitly warned we'd have trouble getting back in to the country if we didn't hand them over). So we gave a Mexican baggage handler $10 to take our forms back to the Americans, and just have to hope he is as good as his word.

We arrived in Tijuana just a few minutes after crossing into Mexico. Having been there once before, I convinced Gemma we didn't want to spend any time in Tijuana, and recent news reports of illegal activity simply confirmed my thinking, so we stayed on the bus to it's final stop, Tijuana Central Bus Terminal (which is actually about 6km out of town). We didn't have long to wait for our connection, just enough time to enjoy a salad and spend a penny (or more accurately, 4 pesos). We were asked a number of questions as we bought our tickets, questions we couldn't answer because we didn't understand, which confirmed the need for us to pick up some working Spanish very quickly.

Nevertheless, through a combination of hand signals, grunts and much pointing we established the time and number of our bus, and at 3.20pm we boarded the TAP Comfort Service to Mazatlan. And I have to say, the bus was pretty impressive, considering we spent 26 hours onboard. The toilets were clean, the seats were large and comfortable, and the passengers friendly. And we were both given a goody bag containing a sandwich, cola, water, tea and coffee, chocolate and crisps. The bus stopped several times so we were able to get off to stretch our legs when we fancied it.

During the day several screens showed movies, obviously in badly dubbed Spanish, ranging from animations like Madagascar through to some horrors. The noise of which was quite disturbing as the evening got darker. However we amused ourselves by trying to spot holes or suitable places to climb over the border fence which separates American from Mexico, and snakes through the mountains like a miniature version of the great wall of China.

During the night we also hit one of many police checkpoints which seem to litter the route. Usually they target traffic heading north (presumably for the drugs trade) but for forms sake we were made to disembark at midnight, and carry our luggage through a brightly lit room. Every person had to press a button, those who generated a green light didn't get searched, but woe betide anyone with a red light! Fortunately we both got the green light, but we had to wait outside as one of our fellow passengers had their entire luggage thoroughly searched. By the time we got back on we were exhausted and fell asleep pretty soon afterwards, helped by the fact that the driver finally turned the movies off.

The following day continued much as the previous afternoon, we didn't get to see a huge amount of scenery from the road although there were a stunning amount of birds of prey to be seen circling overhead. Twice during the day the bus stopped, we were asked to get off, and then the bus was taken away for cleaning. Going from an air conditioned coach into the stifling Mexican heat was quite an experience, the temperature reaching over 30 degrees during the day.

In the late afternoon we finally reached Mazatlan, so we jumped into a taxi and made our way to our new hostel. The owner greeted us with the news that he was going away for a few days so he would be leaving his mum in charge, which worked out well for us. The hostel itself was absolutely lovely, not really a hostel in the true sense, we had a suite to ourselves, with air conditioning and ceiling fan, a well equipped kitchen including a fridge, and a seating area with TV. All for about $25 a night. There was also a large shaded atrium, and a computer/reading room. And it was just 3 blocks from the beach.

We asked the owner for a restaurant recommendation as we were starving and he suggested a seafood cafe on the waterfront 5 minutes away, so we dropped our heavy bags down and without even stopping for a shower we walked out into the night to find our dinner. The recommendation was a good one, and for about $10 we had shrimp tacos, nachos with salsa, and beer. Not without reason does Mazatlan claim to be the shrimp capital of the Mexico.

The following day we visited the local aquarium, a curious mix of local fish and more exotic exhibits. Whilst the tanks and museum (containing several complete skeletons of wales, seals and marlin) were interesting, we more curious about some of the displays in the aquariums gardens. One giant sea lion seemed intent on making a break for freedom, and had clambered on top of a flight of stairs used by the staff. They didn't seem too concerned, so we wandered in the opposite direction.

Gemma attempted to feed a sting ray, but may have been put off by my screaming "look out he's coming for you" and dropped the food. In fairness one of them did for Steve Irwin, proving that they have no respect for reputations, so I congratulated myself on saving my girlfriends life through my heroic early warning. I am still awaiting my commendation and invitation to meet Prince Charles, but I suspect it shouldn't be far away.

Elsewhere the gardens contained a couple of crocodile enclosures, an aviary and a disturbingly small cage with two of the most forlorn, depressed looking racoons I have ever seen, which rather took the edge of our enjoyment. Up until then we had been reasonably impressed with the state of the care these creatures had been kept in. The aviary wasn't much better, although we did see a large parrot manage to open a hole in the wire cage with his beak so he could fit through. But not for him a break for freedom, he was trying to get back inside. Maybe he'd been out on day release.

The following day we ventured to the old town. Catching a bus from our hostel, we paid a few pence to be driven at breakneck speed through the traffic towards our destination. Unfortunately there was no indication of where we wanted to go (to the cathedral) and my rudimentary attempts to ask directions failed to yield results. Given how close the word cathedral is in English and Spanish, and that my later attempts to say where is such and such (donde es) worked fine, I'm still a little aggrieved at not getting anywhere. So instead we found a nice little square and sat down in the shade as the midday sun tried to burn us to a crisp.

However, we did discover a baseball game being played in town. We both felt disappointed at not being able to catch one in the US, so we decided to make up for that. We walked across town as darkness fell, the humidity sapping our strength somewhat, but eventually found the stadium. We paid a little over £4 to get into the best section in the house and sat down with a cold drink to enjoy our first ever baseball game, Mexican style.

Mazatlan is apparently an indigenous word meaning "place of the deer", so the local side were named appropriately the Mazatlan Venados. But these guys weren't the meek little bambi variety, they were vicious stags, and they trampled all over their opponents, the Los Mochis Parrots. After the first innings (there were 9 in all) the score was 5-1 to the Venados, and despite a small fightback in the middle of the game the home side ran away with the game, finishing 13-5.

During the game we tried to work out some of the rules. The basics were fairly simple, but we didn't quite manage to figure out some of the finer points. But despite that we both had an enjoyable evening, watching a new sport, sampling some local cuisine (a strange chorizo that is diced up and smothered in lime juice and three different sauces, that all fight for your attention by stripping your tastebuds) and I even ended up with a new t-shirt adorned with the Venados logo. So despite sending several items of clothing home from California I've ended up refilling my bag.

The following day we returned to the coach station for overnight journey to Mexico City. Our hostel owners mother, furious that the taxi driver had charged us £3 to get to hostel, kindly drove us there instead. We said our farewells and hastily went to check in, desperate to get inside the air conditioned terminal. Unfortunately we found that our bus was delayed by 3 hours, so we made ourselves comfortable and picked up our books. At 8pm we went outside to check on the progress, but there was no sign of the bus. It finally turned up at 9pm, 4 hours late.

The journey was fairly uneventful, there were few stops and as the bus was more empty than full we spread out, reclined our seats back and fell asleep. Until the horror movie came on. Minutes passed in silence (the film was mercifully short of dialogue), suddenly punctuated by horrific blood curdling screams. I muttered a curse in the general direction of Hollywood, stuck my headphones in and fell asleep to the rather more pleasant sounds of Rodrigo y Gabriella, a pair of Mexican acoustic guitarists.

In the morning we made an unscheduled stop in the middle of the countryside so the driver could grab a coffee. There were a number of shabby children hanging around the stop, their parents selling used old clothing or bags of nuts. Gemma followed the other passengers lead, making a gift of some spare biscuits we had. We reboarded and eventually arrived in Mexico City only 3 hours behind schedule, so credit to the driver for making up a whole hour.