Flash Forward.

I am home. It's 5 degrees and sunny this morning, far from the mid-20s I left in Mexico City (where I found it chilly, at the time), and instead of this update coming from the regular internet cafe, it's instead coming straight from my kitchen table. Such is life, I suppose. Back to reality. So in order to minimize the pain of recalling my last few weeks of travel, I've decided to give only a general overview with highlights of my remaining time away from home.

Guadalajara

After Oaxaca, I headed to Guadalajara, where my good friend Francisco put me in touch with his buddy Hector. As it turned out, this would lead to four wild nights on the town, with Hector's hospitality allowing me to stay at his place free of charge and spend my money on alcohol instead of accomodations. There are too many stories to highlight, but to get the gist of it, one night we stayed at the bar drinking amber Coronas until 3am, and then got into a car with two of his friends to race across town on a search for one of the guys' ex-girlfriends. We ended up sucessfully finding her, albeit at 5am, after which I fell asleep on the couch at Hector's girlfriend's place. In the morning, upon witnessing a strange white guy sleeping on her couch, she kindly greeted me and asked me if I wanted breakfast. I love Guadalajara.

Guanajuato

What a beautiful town. Unfortunately I was there during the Cervantino Festival, so all of the hostels had jacked up their prices. I spent five days exploring the city, taking pictures of mariachi men, and checking out the Bicentennario Expo. Big win.

Mexico City

Everything I had heard about Mexico City made me a little nervous about arriving there. At the same time, I had passed through on my way to Guadalajara form Oaxaca, and even having only transferred through the bus station, I felt this raw energy that immediately made me want to spend time there. Sure enough, Mexico City is so vibrant and chaotic that it drags you into its grip and doesn't let go. Which is all good, because there is so much to do there that you explore it for a month and still not see everything.

The biggest highlight of my first few days was lucha libres, even though we weren't allowed pictures, where I saw a midget dressed up as a mummy get kicked in the head by a full-grown man wearing a mask and spandex speedo. Win.

I also saw a futbol game at the largest stadium in Mexico, climbed the third-largest pyramid in the world (in flip flops), and saw the houses where Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera lived, but the best part of Mexico City was what I had been waiting for to see for over 6 months: Day of the Dead.

Without getting into too many details, as I am not the most knowledgeable person on the subject, Day of the Dead is when the people of Mexico celebrate the lives of those who they have lost. The night of the 1st of November commemorates the departed souls of children, while the 2nd is for those of adults. Instead of a sad day, these are both happy ones, with people handing out food and decorating graves with elaborate ofrendas. Needless to say, it was pretty incredible.

And so ends my adventures in Mexico. It's hard to be home and have people act so horrified when you tell them you were in Mexico. "But it's so violent there right now!", they exclaim, as if to be experts on the matter of whether it is safe or not to travel there. There's a lot of bad things happening in Mexico these days, for sure. But the media has blown the dangers for common tourists way out of proportion. Everyone I met in Mexico was warm and hospitable, and for the most part went out of their way to prove to me that their country isn't what it is being depicted on the news everyday. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't recommend a vacation to Ciudad Juarez to anyone (although I bet you could get a really cheap deal...), but I was lucky enough to experience what I feel is the real Mexico. Where people look out for you when they realize you're a white kid with no idea where you are going, and where the sketchiest looking bus drivers will tell you when you need to get off to go to a certain place if you simply ask them nicely. So go to Mexico, quit your worrying. If you're not affiliated to a cartel, looking to mule drugs, or have so much money that someone would decide it was worth it to kidnap you, you probably won't get into any trouble. Viva la vida.

Probably one more entry as a general overview of my trip, stay tuned!

Seasons of My Heart, Stories of My Stomach.

Oaxaca is a beautiful place. It only took me about an hour to figure that out upon arriving here and setting off to explore the markets and town square. From the Zocalo, full of people and energy at all hours, to the Benito Juarez market serving up everything from mezcal to pig's feet, and the delicious $2 dishes of the comedores at the 20th de Noviembre market, it is currently on the brink of rivalling San Cristobal as my favorite place in Mexico. I have spent four days here, and if I had the time I would stay another month, as it seems as if there are endless possibilities of things to do and see, and I have only scratched the surface. I haven't eaten a single meal in a restaurant here, but have rather tried a different street vendor on every occasion, and had some of the best food on my trip doing so. From tlayudas, huge crispy tortillas covered in spicy bean paste and topped with tomato, avocado, fresh cheese and sausage, to the local speciality of mole, a dark sauce composed of a number of spices and a dash of chocolate smeared over a plate of chicken and rice, the food is exquisite. For that reason, I have spent a large amount of my time this week eating, whether it be full meals, or simply snacking on chapulines between them, dried grasshoppers seasoned with lime and chili pepper, sold by the basketfull by old ladies on the street. So although I have spent time searching for black pottery in San Bartolo de Coyotepec, and bright hand carved alebrijes in Arrazola, I have decided to dedicate my only Oaxaca post (as the whole blogging thing takes time out of the whole eating thing) to the cooking class that I took yesterday.

When I was in Belize, I saw a show on the Food Network where some professional chef was in Oaxaca preparing a chapuline-covered tlayuda with a woman named Susana Trilling, who owns a cooking school in the heart of the Oaxacan valley. I immediately scribbled down the name of the school, although quickly realized that it was one of the recommended activities in my guidebook. I soon forgot about it, but almost two months later I would be in Oaxaca and flip past the dog-eared page in my Lonely Planet. Sure enough, two days later I was standing with a group of nine other people, being the only guy not accompanying a significant-other and the only one under the age of 40+ish, waiting to be picked up.

We set off to the Etla market, just outside of Oaxaca City, where a wonderful woman named Yolanda showed us around and explained all of the things being sold there, from the dozens of types of chilies (each used for a specific type of dish), to the limestone wash used to rinse out the pottery used to bake tortillas.

We got demonstrations at every stall that we stopped at, had full permission to take as many pictures as we wanted at them (not an easy task for anyone that has visited a local indigenous market just about anywhere in Central America or Mexico), and, best of all, indulged in more free samples than you get on a weekly trip to Costco. The market was impeccably clean compared to almost every other one I have seen on my trip, the people were all smiles, and nobody got pickpocketed, which is always an added bonus to a market trip.

After several hours touring the market, we were brought to the comedor where we would have lunch, served with the Oaxacan specialty of 'chocolate con agua'. When I ordered 'agua de chocolate', Yolanda told me that I needed to watch my inversed wording, or at other comedores I might end up with a cup of brown dish water. Oops.

After some time spent browsing the market on our own, we headed off to the cooking school itself, where we would be led through a five-course meal under the supervision of Susana and her team at Seasons of my Heart. The school is a beautiful building pretty much in the middle of nowhere, and even with the address I doubt anyone could have found it without a local guide. However, it is indeed a tucked-away gem, wonderfully decorated and full of everything you could possibly need to make a traditional Mexican dish. After introductions and enough freshly-squeezed juice to go around, we sat down and were briefed on the dishes we would be making, their backgrounds, and the composition of their ingredients. We were then divided up into teams of two, each working on one of the five courses. I ended up on the appetizer, whose name I don't remember, but essentially consisted of a bean-mixture-filled freshly made tortilla, covered in a spicy chili salsa, all made from scratch. Win.

We were quickly thrown into the mix, and it turned out to be less of a class and more of a 'here are your ingredients, here is your recipe, here is the kitchen, let us know if you need any help' kind of deal. This threw me off at first, but before long I was throwing stuff around and whiping up my dish like the goofy-looking kid in Ratatouille before the rat starts showing him what to do.

Labor of love.

After a couple hours and a couple beers, everyone had finished their dishes, and the table was set. During the class, I talked to a few of the other people taking the class, who were all curious as to why I was there. 'Do you do a lot of cooking at home?' No. 'Do you have Susana's cookbook at home?' No. 'Are you training to be a chef?' No. It was a simple answer, I told them in the end, I just like to eat. And eat we did.

Buen Provecho.

White Sand & Whiter Skin.

After a wonderful few days of missed connections and layovers in surprisingly not-so-seedy border towns, I finally arrived to the coast of Oaxaca. The first stop was Zipolite, where I arrived in the back of a pickup truck early in the afternoon, and quickly found my way to the zen hostel of Shambhala. Sitting on a hill on the western edge of the bay, my guide stated that there was no alcohol allowed, which was a bit of a deterrent at first, but also had me figuring that it would be a very relaxed setting. Sure enough, I was greeted by a wonderful Italian woman at the reception, and was soon taking in the following view from my dorm room.


I wasn't too sure about Zipolite at first, because there really wasn't anything to do there. But I quickly realized that I was still on a three-day bus-filled rush, and that nothing to do was exactly what I needed to be doing. I spent the afternoon and next day walking the beautiful beach and reading in a hammock, overlooking the swell crashing over the rocks.

Quite chill, Zipolite is really a place to soak up the sun and kick back your heels. It's also quite well known as a nude beach, especially in the western cove where my hostel was situated. However, this memo seems to have missed the supermodel crowd and been caught by the old-wrinkly-white-men crowd. This was no Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition setting, let me tell you. Every so often you would be innocently be walking down the beach, and suddenly get hit by a flash of blinding white skin burning your retina. Like a solar eclipse, you know it's damaging, but there is a strange urge to catch a glimpse, even if you regret when you do.

K6A Crew gets up in Zipolite. 514 to ... whatever area code Zipolite is.

I spent my second day swimming, walking around, and exploring the rocky coves that are scattered around the outskirt of the western end of the beach. After a few Cuba Libres, a pizza, and an hour sitting on the beach gazing up at shooting stars while listening to reggae float through the air, I called it a night.

The next morning, I took off to Mazunte, where I ended up only staying one night before heading off to Puerto Escondido. There, I met up with a friend from San Cristobal who was on her way out. Although we only had a few minutes to catch up, I was unfortunately brought back to the realities of travelling when she told me how another friend we had met in San Cristobal ws held at knifepoint in a taxi while his bank account was drained of 4000 euros in Managua. After four months of travelling without any serious incidents, it was a stark reminder about how these things happen...

I made my way to Puerto Escondido, home of the 'Mexican Pipeline', the most famous surf beach in the country. When it gets big, this place can be firing at 20+ feet, which is intensified by the fact that the waves break really close to shore. Apparently people walk out of the water with broken boards on a daily basis, and, on rare occasion, unfortunately some don't get to walk out of the water at all, as reminded by the shrine that sits halfway up the beach.

Although it's currently low-season, it seemed like all of the decent places were full, and those that still had room were too expensive for my budget. After two hours of walking around, I finally made a deal with a guy about a hotel I thought I had seen, and that he told me he worked at. He gave me a card with the price we had agreed on, told me to give it to the girl at the reception, and assured me that it was the 'yellow one up on the hill', which I had been to and was beautiful. Of course, it turned out to be the white one around the corner from the yellow one, and it was a dump. Luckily enough, I finally found a place on my walk back to town, owned by a lovely couple from Mexico City, and spent the next four days lounging in the sun, watching the surfers getting barrelled (or thrown over the falls), and exploring the main drag.

I had seen posters for a surf contest run by a local shop, and was excitingly expecting grand-stands, lots of music, product tosses, and awesome surfing all day long. Apparently my expectations were a little high, as I couldn't even find the contest on the first day that it was apparently running, although there were a couple of kids running around town with contest t-shirts on. Apparently it wasn't quite at the same level as the tow-in contests held on Zicatela when it gets big.

Giving up on watching big wave surfing, I decided to go fishing to make up for the fact that I would be missing Thanksgiving turkey and stuffing back home. My reasoning was that I could do this by catching a huge mahi-mahi or sailfish, which I could then turn into a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner of my own.

After chartering a captain to bring me out, we loaded up the boat at were off before 7am, trolling the waters as we puttered towards the deep blue. Four hours later, we hadn't even gotten so much as a bite, and I returned to shore feeling rejected, although slightly amused as my Dad's old saying rang in my head, 'That's why they call it fishing, and not catching'.

The only upside to my failed fishing trip is that we saw a ton of turtles hanging out at the surface, some of which were HUGE. Even better, we had a pod of dolphins swim with the boat for about 5 minutes, of which I got a great video that I will eventually upload.

Rubbing salt in the wound - I saw this on the beach when we returned without catching anything.

Still a little dissapointed with the results of my fishing expedition, I decided that it was a sign to move on to my next travel destination of Oaxaca, so I booked a ticket that afternoon and got my stuff together. Still Thanksgiving, I decided to treat myself to a nice dinner and a few beers on my last night in town, so I headed to a restaurant and ordered a Corona to start with. Little did I know, because the local elections were taking place that weekend, the town had to be dry by law. Definitely time to move on...