A quick blog on Oaxaxa... I forgot to do one when I was there, and actually nothing much happened, but it's so lovely I thought I would mention it. Beautiful and interesting little town. We went to the nearby ruins at Monte Albán which may have been a Spiritual Moment for me. I did feel quite hysterical and euphoric, but I may have been winded from the climb. They were really spectacular (the ruins, not my palpitations), though you sadly can't climb inside of them for a rake. Angela was convinced that the carvings on the sides of the temples were about ten years old, and I have to say I was inclined to agree: they did look suspiciously new and appeared to be on rocks of a completely different shade to those of the rest of the temples. Still, it was really beautiful. We only arrived an hour before closing, which meant it was nearly empty, cool and quiet. The time restriction also meant we didn't have to pretend to be so intellectual that we enjoyed staring at old rocks for more than 45 minutes.
Afterwards we walked back into town, where we did the usual beer in a plaza, followed by dinner, followed by period drama and then sleep. We have been pretty skint of late, but I had fallen into some birthday money, so we went to a fancy place. It was AMAZING. We had sparkling wine, non bean based food, and there was not a taco in sight. It was genuinely lovely to be somewhere with flowers, table service and loads of posh crockery. I know that sounds gross in a third world country, but it was nice for a treat. Some people-who shall remain nameless- seem to think that I spend all my time swanning about Michelin restaurants, but I don't. When we do (occasionally) go out for "nice" food, we tend to get it horribly wrong, so this was a jolly turn up. Sadly we had made a spontaneous decision to mingle with the rich and famous, so were clad in our usual macintoshes, dirty torn breeks and general air of 1997. The table adjacent to us was full of "execs", and we looked genuinely out of place. I also fell down a flight of stairs (before the Asti Spumeti) but it was fine- only three really handsome men saw. That fall was NOTHING in comparison to the one I had suffered the day before. We went to see Hierve el Agua, which is this waterfall made of limestone, overlooked by some natural springs. We drove up with these two guys we met at the station, one who was Brazilian, and who we kindly nicknamed The Anomaly because he was 6 ft 4 and had ginger hair, and another we called Che, because he was handsome, Latino and we have no imaginations. Anyway, the petrified waterfall was pretty boring. The drive up was stunning, but we had chosen to sit in the back of the pickup... It was incredibly bumpy and windy and unfortunately I was facing Che... As Angela kindly pointed out to me - only a fool fixes their hair in the wind. I'm quite sure she would have fallen into the pitfall too, had she not been trying to stop her spinal column from collapsing due to the fact we were going over a dirt track at 158 miles an hour (approximation). Anyway, when we arrived, Che went off to do something manly, The Anomaly went to (in his own words) "watch the kids in the pool", and me and Angela gave it a cursory look (meh) before throwing ourselves down by the pools. When we first arrived it was mainly empty, except for some sad sacks who were taking pictures of themselves in "hilarious" poses. It didn't take long however, before a bus load of cool and attractive Europeans arrived. They donned bikinis, and threw themselves into the pools with gay abandon. I was sitting on a rock complaining about the freezing conditions, clad, as usual in my thermals. I began to ponder to Angela why it was that these physically similar individuals, of a similar age and geographical origin, should manage to travel in a style so infinitely more stylish to that of our own. It was then that Angela noted that actually, if you didn't know me, you might think I was quite cool as well- I had the trousers which were actually pyjamas, the birdsnest hair, the nose ring. Yes, I pondered to myself. Perhaps you're right and I am as cool as these bronzed individuals, frolicking in the water with their rolly ups. That's when I happened to drop my water bottle. It began a slow descent, down the rocks and into the water. Foreseeing a terrible Having To Ask For Help In Spanish moment unless I caught it, I leapt to my feet, scampered down the steep side of the rocks and predictable slipped. Not in an quiet, unnoticeable way, but in a baby elephant, body slamming her backside into the hard stone, and landing half in the water way. All the while in a red, small boys macintosh. The crowd fell silent, and nobody laughed which made it 6284% worse. I snickered and shuffled up the slope, the arse completely torn out of my breeks and feeling like if been in a car crash, emotionally at least. Angela was the colour of a ripe tomato, and looked like she was going to cry. I don't even want to think what colour I was. We didn't stay long- but luckily it turned out the cool Europeans were staying at the same hostel as us. So that was comforting.
We bought a lot of nice crafts in Oaxaxa as well. The town is where all the famous metal hearts come from- the red ones with squiggly silver metal around them- so we got loads of those. My mam had asked for a traditional mexican skirt. They are made of velvet, and hand-embroidered with roses and leaves, with delicate silver and gold threading round the border. Really beautiful, though I'm not sure where one would wear it in the real world. I didn't get her one anyway, as they cost £150. This means they actually probably cost £20 but my bargaining skills are so abysmal that I can't seem to bring things down by more than a few pesos.
We also tried mole, which I've heard loads about. It's chocolate and chilli, and they make it with chicken usually. It was ok, but nothing I've not had before. Dave and Debs once made me a chocolate lamb shank, which was the best thing ever, and I think it was the same sort of thing. Lamb will always trump chicken.
Anyway, that was Oaxaxa. At the moment we are supposed to be at the beach in Tulum sipping cocktails and reading books. The reality is different. Of course. It's pouring with rain, we are damp and cross, and the hostel is actually quite far from the beach. Lonely Planet described it as a lovely little town and its not really, appearing remarkably like a sad wee tourist trap at low season (which is what it is). Angela's mam and aunties are here, and it's such a shame they have had such awful weather. Plus, they are in their late fifties, and maybe not really appreciating the hostel life. We had a walk on the beach this morning- its very bonny, with white sand and sea the colour of a blue ice pop; it looks utterly synthetic. It was muggy but dry for the hour or so we were on it, and I imagine its stunning in the sun. The benefit to the crap weather is we had it largely to ourselves. We also did have three wonderful days on Isla Mujeres. Again, the weather was a wee bit rubbish, but not as bad, so we were able to swim and lie on the (albeit gloomy) beach. We took lots of tasty food, and the beach house we rented was idyllic. A really beautiful old hacienda, with spacious rooms and lots of nice soft furnishings to fling yourself into when the deck chairs got uncomfortable. I wish we had stayed there, but never mind. Home to DF tomorrow, and I'm actually looking forward to getting back. Back to our own flat and then back to work monday. Ah well.
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