We are in Guanajuato, a small town in the state of...Guanajuato. It's really quite incredibly beautiful, people are lovely and friendly, it's sunny... And I've got such bad toothache I want to stab myself. It's a five hour bus journey and Angela asked me repeatedly if I wanted to go to the dentist before we left; but no, no. I didn't want to delay the FUN.
I've taken extremely strong pain killers, ibuprofen and paracetamol, so I feel a bit weird (is this real life?), but also still like the side of my face is being gnawed by dogs. I think it's an infection, but I'm not sure because a) being a hypochondriac doesn't actually make you a medical expert, and b) its all sort of blended into one general blanket of pain, rather than me being able to specify the rogue tooth/teeth. I am angry with myself, angry with my dentist, and angry with Angela- for wandering around looking happy, without a care in the world. I vaguely remember what it was like not to hate life, but the fact she's living the dream right now, is hard for me.
We got in last night and had a wander round the town. It's very European and full of tourists. It's really pretty and clean; that's probably why. Lots of plazas (sigh) with cafes and bars, and a massive palatial theatre in the centre, which all the teenagers hang out in. There are millions of sweetie shops (cruel at this time), and its built on lots of tunnels, so there are different levels to the town which makes it feel unusual and quaint, though at the same time it reminds me of somewhere Hannibal Lector would lurk- being suave whilst painting Rembrandt copies and eating kids tongues. The town is surrounded by hills filled with a riot of brightly coloured houses. Not for the first time, I note that Latin American rainbow-hued, raggle taggle houses, are much more aesthetically pleasing than the driech grey ones we have at home.
I've taken extremely strong pain killers, ibuprofen and paracetamol, so I feel a bit weird (is this real life?), but also still like the side of my face is being gnawed by dogs. I think it's an infection, but I'm not sure because a) being a hypochondriac doesn't actually make you a medical expert, and b) its all sort of blended into one general blanket of pain, rather than me being able to specify the rogue tooth/teeth. I am angry with myself, angry with my dentist, and angry with Angela- for wandering around looking happy, without a care in the world. I vaguely remember what it was like not to hate life, but the fact she's living the dream right now, is hard for me.
We got in last night and had a wander round the town. It's very European and full of tourists. It's really pretty and clean; that's probably why. Lots of plazas (sigh) with cafes and bars, and a massive palatial theatre in the centre, which all the teenagers hang out in. There are millions of sweetie shops (cruel at this time), and its built on lots of tunnels, so there are different levels to the town which makes it feel unusual and quaint, though at the same time it reminds me of somewhere Hannibal Lector would lurk- being suave whilst painting Rembrandt copies and eating kids tongues. The town is surrounded by hills filled with a riot of brightly coloured houses. Not for the first time, I note that Latin American rainbow-hued, raggle taggle houses, are much more aesthetically pleasing than the driech grey ones we have at home.
We sat outside for ages in the evening, which you can't do in DF because of the torrential rain. It was (almost) blissful; I tried to numb my pain with the classic combo of ibuprofen and alcohol. Namely Micheladas, which are a mixture of clam juice, tomatoes, chile, salt and lime, into which you pour a beer. Kind of like a spicy, alcoholic soup, and I LOVE it. It did work a bit, so we were able to walk about more- without my constant complaining tipping Angela over the edge. We came back to the hostel at about ten, whereupon I crawled into bed and proceeded to watch the entire series of BBC North and South, in a pharmaceutical haze. I forgot how much I love Richard Armitage. Maybe even more than Mr Darcy.
Today was odd. We ate our way round the block in the am, and then went to look for the 'Museum of Mummies' which is quite famous (infamous?) It's a museum of corpses that they dug up decades ago to make space in the overcrowded graveyard. When they had dug them up, they discovered that the bodies were mummified, so decided to make them into an exhibition. As you do. It's really creepy and macabre. There is an entire room for corpse babies, and around 50 or 60 adults just hanging about in glass capsules. They didn't even look that Mummyish- more skeletony with a hint of flesh if you ask me. It felt pretty wrong to be there, but not so wrong that we didn't poke our way through the whole place, occasionally sniggering at the inappropriate positions of the corpses, or of an occasional funny faced one. I did have a sort of sick feeling though, which might have been guilt. I certainly wouldn't want somebody taking a photo for their Facebook profile using my dead loved ones as a backdrop. How long does someone have to be dead for before its ok to take a photo of their decomposed body? Really weird. But, yes, we went- so I will try not to moralise about it too much. It was also about 86% more interesting than the anthropology museum of last month. Morally I can't really recommend it, but....
This entry came to an abrupt end, as the pain got so bad we had to take a bus back to DF. I found some tramadol (which is my new best friend) and booked an appointment. What followed was beyond awful. ROOT CANAL WORK. I'm sorry if I flame the neurosis of anyone scared of the dentist, but it is agony. I was crying even more than when I saw Brokeback Mountain in the middle of my finals. She injected me with TWELVE ANAESTHETICS, which she reassuringly told me weren't working because I was "bleeding too much". I have never thought of myself as stoic and now I know I'm not. I had half of it done, and for the sake of both our nerves she decided to save the other half for Saturday*. That's tomorrow. I'm trying not to get myself into some kind of web of despair but the idea of going back into that chair is possibly the last thing on earth I would want to do. If some would offer to do an Oor Wullie style extraction, using a brick, some twine and maybe a few stiff brandies, I would be totally up for it. As it is I am comforting myself with the idea of how to celebrate the ascension of non pain on Sunday. It mainly involves food: we are going away for two weeks, so having a cupboard party, which involves making dinner using all the weird leftovers in our cupboards. I sense a bean theme, with some kind of herbal tea coulis. And garlic. Oh so much garlic. And tequila that cost £2. I like things like that, and I hope we can think of some interesting things.
*As a sub note to this entry (which has been languishing in my drafts box for weeks) let me just tell you it was NOT the second of two sessions, it was the second of six. Our travel plans were subsequently cancelled or delayed, and I spent a grand total of 20 hours having that nasty tooth seen to, as well as the other fillings. The dentist - or my pal Esme as I know her now- had tears in her eyes as I bid her farewell, and I realised today that she is probably my closest Mexican friend. Every cloud...I was also pleased to discover that once the initial infection went down, the aesthetic kicked in, and it was not like medieval torture. The day she accidentally drilled through the bone was a treat, but otherwise it was a relative joy after that initial session. I hope any dentaphobes (or whatever the word is) are comforted by this. Remember- antibiotics are your friends. This is a photo of Angela- we celebrated my dental success with a bottle of sugary and carbonated alcohol. Hmmm.
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