Some curious facts about the north of Mexico

A few days ago, my sister, a friend and l embarked on a journey to the north of the country, a region famed for narcos, cowboys and ... well narcos. Bucking the advice of all of the paranoid friends who watch fox news and even from the paranoid Mexicans who all advised us not to go, we strapped on our backpacks, booked cheap flights and were on our way. Along the way, in our 5 nights and 6 days spent in awe at all the north has to offer (both culturally and naturally) and learning a number of lessons along the way.

Burritos really do exist in Mexico

Growing up in Australia, it was always believed that the most quintessentially Mexican food in the world was burritos. In Puebla however, it seems that it is near impossible to find a burrito anywhere but the most touristy of restaurants. Having heard that margaritas (another 'Mexican drink') actually came from the states and not from Mexico, and hearing from other exchange students in Mexico that burritos were a gringo creation, I began to worry that burritos were a figment of my imaginary Mexico. But as soon as I arrived in the north of Mexico, lo and behold, there were burritos! Big ones, small ones, burritos in all different flavours, prices and qualities, it seems that Burritos are truly as Mexican as mole, panzas and Chicharito, but they are a regional specialty and a big drawcard for Chihuahua.

Stereotypes exist for a reason

When I was in Mexico City (and Oaxaca for that matter) I had the displeasure of meeting a revolting, pretentious hippy who, having done the Mexican gringo trail, considered himself quite the authority on Mexican culture and life. As he was waxing on about the false stereotype of cowboys, sombreros, bigotes and ponchos, I gently reminded him that in fact all of these DO exist, just further north than his 'pretentious, idiot, gringo guide to Mexico' told him. Walking through certain towns, every second shop it appeared seemed to be selling cowboy boots, sombreros or tacos. Men had moustaches, worked as rancheros and I think I even saw a pair of spurs (though I couldn't quite be certain). Mexican cinema from the 40s is certainly not a holistic and comprehensive indication of Mexican culture today, although stereotypes have all come from somewhere and it seems that in certain parts of the country the cowboy spirit is alive and well.

The Drug situation in Mexico is screwing some people hard

While the copper canyon route through Chihuahua is not exactly off the beaten trail, while we were there, we barely saw any other travellers where we were. Was it because we were the dumbasses who went during the cold season? Perhaps. But most likely, and as was confirmed by many locals, since the north got dangerous 6 years ago, tourism has declined dramatically, and the once burgeoning tourism industry was reduced to little more than a trickle. Hotel owners dropped their prices to a level where they surely can't have been turning much of a profit from us and a lot of tourism infrastructure lay empty as it waited for some people to come. Tumbleweed would have been blowing down the street were it not frozen solid and although we were blessed with views unobstructed by some obnoxious tourist with a revolting southern drawl, it was sad to see how the economy of this beautiful area had been ruined thanks to bad politics.


Some people are just never impressed

Despite being on one of the world's most beautiful railway journeys, we were seated on the train opposite some truly horrid looking people who seemed to prefer to stick their beaks in a book rather than admire the scenery that presumably they had paid so much to come and see. Although it was a daytime train journey and the nature was interesting and stimulating for the majority of the trip, these people were more interested in reading to even look up and out the window. Were they just not impressed by the scenery? Bored? Or were their books really just that good. Whatever their reasoning was, it's amazing how blase some people can be.

Camping is evil

While this sounds like quite a general statement, I can only suggest that camping in the north is NOT the best idea. Both times we had the displeasure of being so cold and uncomfortable that we counted down the minutes to the sunrise, just waiting for the opportunity to get out of the tent and to do something other than camping. Freezing temperatures, too many people in a small tent and hard horrible ground, as well as food stealing creatures and a lack of spooning coordination made us wish for a real bed and some creature comforts. Yes we saved money, but for the longest 2 nights in the world, I don't think we can say that it were worth it, not even in hindsight.

Basically the north of Mexico (where we visited) is a stunning,diverse and interesting place where people are incredibly warm and nice, where you won't see revolting hippy boy types and where the steak is amazing. Not once did we feel in anyway in danger (except from dying of the cold) and the drug situation is barely visible to most regular tourists. I would recommend to anyone a visit to this lovely part of Mexico and to enjoy it before a non-shit government fixes the country, the drug war ends, tourism increases to the area and prices skyrocket once again. Just don't bring a tent!

PS. I swear the Mexican tourism industry has NOT paid me to say any of this

Anatomy of a protest

About a month ago somebody sent me an invite to a protest in Mexico City called the Acto Psicomagico. It was to be a march, where all of the participants would dress up as skeletons to represent the 50 000 Mexicans who couldn't march (because they were dead... because of the drug wars over the past 6 years). The aim to attract 50 000 protesters was probably a bit ambitious, made even more difficult by the fact that the day of the march it was overcast and freezing, but it was underway anyway. Not only was it intended as a march/protest (that we were reminded was not political, rather it was 'poetic') but a display of art, an alternative medium for speaking out about the injustices and violence that was taking place in Mexico. And as you can imagine, even a few hundred people gathered in costume, anything from a simple painted face to elaborate Catarina costumes, was freaking impressive. Not only gathered outside Bellas Artes and in the Plaza de Mariachis, but walking the streets as a collective, stopping traffic and raising a few eyebrows, as a group we were unified as one giant work of art, speaking out against what was going on.

However, despite being a creative, interesting and unique form of protest, apart from the idle curiosity that was aroused in locals and tourists alike, how effective (if at all) was our march in fighting the drug wars that have brought an entire county to it's knees for so many years. Unlike most peaceful protests, which usually involve at least some placards and some anti- government/corporation/corruption/Monsanto chanting and blocking of traffic. During this protest, there was singing, holding hands, Viva Mexico yelling and very little interruption of people's day to day lives. It didn't seem to be aimed at provoking or forcing a message on anyone, in fact it almost seemed like it was an event by the protesters for the protesters. What's more, it seemed almost like a lot of the people turned out in support of the artist/organiser Alejandro Jodorowsky, with many fans holding up books and art produced by this guy, and running after him like screaming fans at a Justin Bieber concert (I almost lost my thong as the crowds pushed and shoved to catch a glimpse of old mate).

Farce and follies aside, it was a creative and beautiful march which symbolised something very important and brought together like minded and socially conscious people (the ones that made it out of bed and braved the cold). And of course with one in four people there almost being photographers with their professional SLR gear snapping photos of anyone and everyone (the three white girls seemed to be quite a novelty), there are no doubt many gigabytes of photographic evidence floating around the world wide web (people's 'personal collections') to document such an event. Do the war on drugs and the complete desmadre that grips Mexico continue? Of course it does!

But what makes an effective protest? For those hoping to effect change in Mexico that gloomy Sunday afternoon, was it a day well spent? Or a nice opportunity to take photos and march for a couple of hours? Peaceful protesting is the name of the game these days, since violence is a vicious cycle that seems to manifest itself while in reality solving nothing. However, for all of the peaceful demonstrations outside of government palaces and big corporations and on Wall Streets worldwide, how many have brought about serious change? Perhaps the corporate bigwigs are so accustomed to placards and chanting in the street that they simply pull down the blinds and continue working on how to sell dodgy crap of questionable utility to the ignorant and poor. While complacency is the biggest evil in the world, whether or not spending hours gathering in the street shouting is an effective method of putting an end to injustice and exploitation in the world is questionable. While it does raise awareness of many issues that are going on, as well as let the companies/governments know that there are people out there that are against their current practices, a saturation of protesters and shouters is only likely to numb the senses and reduce the impact of any action, which would in fact be counterproductive to what they are trying to achieve.

So what is the alternative? Violence is a strong tactic which sends a serious message that there are people vehemently opposed to what is going on in the world, but it also reduces the legitimacy of any message that a group is trying to promote, especially when the term 'terrorist' gets tagged to any act of political force that is not strictly peaceful. Another method is the SHAC protest model, which was a creative and unique form of non violent (okay... borderline violent) protesting that hit the sore points of an animal testing corporation and proved (at least in the beginning) to be quite effective. Of course the government came in and closed the legal loopholes that allowed such a form of protesting to exist, allowing animal testing to continue in a gross display of the government once again bending over for the corporations that keep any such party in power. But does the world change then? Obviously it requires an active response from passionate people, but the method? Creativity and intelligence in the way that people go about their activism... that hopefully doesn't involves the killing of trees in order to shove yet another fucking flyer in my face! Viva Mexico?

The 2 extremes

Thursday night for students and anyone who is anyone is always something of a big night. Thursday night in Cholula on the other hand is THE night of all nights which usually lasts until inappropriately early hours in the morning and involves a write off of the following day. Having recently paid my yoga membership, I was determined that Friday morning was to be a yoga morning (the first in a longg time thanks to Lazy Lilly being a distraction). But of course, being my sister's first night out in Mexico, Thursday was to be a big night full of cocktails, drinking on the street, the usual and predictable Voodoo Mama/Barfly pub crawl combination and a night on drunkening. And of course it happened, without fail. A few too many mixed drinks were consumed and a combination of a rowdy night and a fun bunch of people ensured that all were drunk as skunks. The night raged on until 3am when the urchin in my foot decided to release its poison, paralysing my leg and forcing me to call it quits and catch a taxi home (did I mention I live a mere 6 blocks from the club? ... walking was off the cards at that stage).

The following morning I rose at the bright and early hour of 10:30am, just in time to get myself ready and off to my 11am yoga class. And what a class it was! There were push ups and fast poses and sweat dripping from every pore of my body, sticking my fringe to my head and making me look like a demented paedophile as I forced my hips to the sky in downward dog pose. And the class continued, for almost 2 hours! Meanwhile, all of this holding in my beer gut and maintaining my core tight swelled up the alcohol that was still in my stomach like a ferocious ocean. Gradually the class got more and more painful until I was forced to lie down while the saggy grandmother next to me stood on her head and stuck her legs out at angles unnatural to man. By the end of the class I was in so much pain I regretted both my decision to drink the night before as well as my decision to go to yoga immensely.

Having been told by many yoga-types that being healthy, going to yoga and being square could not be sustained whilst pursuing a life of partying, drinking and dancing all night I scoffed in disbelief, maintaining that I could do it. Turns out they were right and I was wrong, it seems that yoga and partying are just completely incompatible with one another and headstands (even at 12pm the next day) are horribly unpleasant with a belly full of night old alcohol, a greasy taco and less than a full 8 hours of sleep.

And so the question is raised, which do I choose? While nothing beats sharing a cold beer/cocktail/glass of wine/$10 peso bottle of licor de agave with friends (and acquaintances) and dancing the night away, the nice clean, invincible feeling of doing yoga and drinking a juice afterwards is pretty fucking spectactular. I don't want to give up on either but it seems I will have to share my time between these two foes. Could I go one week on- one week off on the drinking/yoga front? Or perhaps on full moons, or when venus is in taurus, or when the sun casts certain shadows on my window I could detox and do yoga briefly before falling back into my decadent and sinful university, traveller, young person lifestyle. Maybe I'll have to have 2 sets of clothes for when I am enormous thanks to litres of beer and greasy tacos and one for when I am normal sized and yoga-esque (ha!) but it seems the only real way to balance the two.

But being the end of the semester, I feel as it is time to hang up my yoga mat (at least for a week or 2) and indulge myself in despedidas, fiestas and enjoying my final days... except for all of those yoga classes I've already paid for... Although maybe true zen is emptying the undigested content of ones stomach after an intense headstand... hmmm.

The hippy beach town that was

From the age of 3 until I was 17, the beach has been something easily accessible, where I spent a lot of time and didn't think all that much of. 20 minutes from my house and 5 from my school, I was easily able to dip my toes in the water and frolic in the (50cm high) waves whenever I pleased as I grew up. Moving away from home though, where the beach is no longer an afternoon adventure, I find myself missing finding sand in every crack and crevice and mad chafing that comes only from a trip to the beach. And although Brisbane is only an hour away from a (real) beach (sorry southbank), the ocean in itself has become somewhat of a novelty. Brisbane isn't the furthest from the beach I have ever lived however, living in the central mountains of Mexico where the air is thin and the climate is definitely not even remotely beachy and tropical, a trip to the Pacific is a BIG novelty.

And it wasn't without its sacrifices, after almost 12 hours of bus travel (fresa-ing it up and taking the nice direct bus) I arrived with my very last minute travel buddy to an EXPENSIVE but delicious gringo breakfast favourite. And with the stress, annoyance and cold melted away the money too, with costs being substantially higher than I imagined. 15 years ago Sayulita was a small fishing village with a population of surfing hippies who camped on the beach and did hippie things when they weren't out in the ocean. Fast forward to now and the secret is out, English speaking drug dealers, bagels and insane prices roam the beach and the streets and just a simple camp site is equal to a dorm room in any other part of Mexico. A combination of opportunistic locals and entrepreneurial foreigners looking for a sea change have turned this into a slice of Mexico costlier than Cabo, Cancun or even its close neighbour: Puerto Vallarta.

Before anyone denounces this for being a bitch blog or a long winded whinge, hear me out. Despite its touristiness, not all week long, gringo vacationers are bad. Sayulita, despite a burgeoning tourist trade, is not a location with its own airport, package tours or revolting high rise buildings. It is not flogged mercilessly by American tourism conglomerates, nor is it flashy trashy or over the top. Hippie surfers, old rich fogies and Mexicans alike ride the public transport for $1 to arrive and thatched rooves adorn the houses. Yeah prices are higher than they should be but at least for the most part it hasn't sold it's soul to crass developers or retirees.

In fact, despite having only a week in the country, not giving a shit about the culture nor speaking a word of the local language, for the most part the tourists there were incredibly cool. There were burners, travelling artisans and writers with generally just a wonderful feeling of karma floating around. Even amongst the surfer crowd there was substantially less localism as one would find in other surf spots and people seemed happy to talk to one another like it was one big hostel. Oh, and how many squares do you know who would bring their own Northern California weed on holiday with them?

All in all, despite having an urchin stuck in my foot, mild sunburn and substantially less money in my wallet, a weekend on the coast was just what I needed to revitalise, relax and inspire me. 2 days in Sayulita felt like a week and my skin is now happy and glowing because of it. Apparently I arrived 2 or 3 years too late for the low key, chilled out, hippie surf camp on the beach that I was promised, but by all means I walked away satisfied, happy and yearning for some more beach time. Next weekend anyone?

Job? Work? What ARE these strange ideas you speak of?

Ok, so before I commence what may sound like somewhat of a whingey rant, let me just note that this is not an emo out, I am currently very content and at ease with with stuff and I am not sad in the slightest, rather just pensive. Only in the past day did 3 wonderful friends of mine get accepted for amazing internships/jobs in which they will be doing exactly what they want to do with their lives and making a serious difference. On top of that, watching friends go off to work to earn money (even if it does seem like for fuck all recompensation) while I sit on my ass whilst being a vagrant in the homes of various friends and waiting for the latest season of Glee to stream on Cuevana sometimes makes me feel like a bit of a... bum. There was once a time where I was a hard working, money earning, productive person who had more trouble finding free time than anything. Thanks to Centrelink, a low cost of living in Mexico and contentness to live the lifestyle of a poor person, I am not scraping to survive in any way at all and the money just does not matter to me at this point in time.

However, it is not just a shit kicker, money spinning, survival job that I necessarily find myself desirous of. With another 2 and a half years of university goodness (hell?), I find my head buried in the sand with respect to any lifelong ambition or career plan, or even something that I am passionate about. While I do have a general vague idea about the direction I would somewhat like to go in, the specifics are very fuzzy and there is nothing REALLY there. What's more, as a result of not having any direction, I don't find myself really working towards a non existent goal. Of course with 2.5 years remaining, I am not in a super hurry, although I am aware that if I leave things too long, nobody will want to hire a derelict with no experience since she was 19, mediocre grades and knowledge of firespinning and Cuevana. Volunteer work, internships and maybe even a job somewhere in the direction of what I want to be doing would be ideal, but of course then all of the above require some form of commitment, which is the opposite (in my mind) of freedom, and at this point in time freedom the concept of giving up my freedom is something terrifying. However, freedom at the expense of any form of career, direction or of my doing anything with my life is even more worrying and I hope to god/jesus/satan/ganesh that I don't end up doing what I'm doing now my entire life.

It seems to me that there are several roadblocks in my way to doing something productive with my life (right now): the fact that I don't know what I want to be doing makes it hard to motivate myself to give up my freedom in order to work towards what I want to to. While I am absolutely aware that if there is no perfect job for me then I just have to make it, what I lack is the passion to even know if that is the case.

While I have one month left in Mexico of school and then 2 months of travelling before having something of stability in my life with which to work hard, establish something and make my resume (and transcript?) not look like crap, maybe I just have to push these feelings of laziness and unmotivation to the side for the time being. While I may not be in any position to commit myself to anything in the short term (pretty sure this is a bullshit excuse now), all I can do is enjoy and experience all that I can in my final days of what has been a year long adventure, and maybe something will inspire me along the way, after all, I'm only 21! Do I really need to know everything already?

A couple of megabytes, 2 months, 20 photos, many a story and a life time of memories

As some people may well be aware, my past couple of blog posts have been markedly pictureless, with big chunks of text and nothing but a paragraph break or sub heading to break up my long rants. As it turns out, it seems the majority (like a LOT) of blog views are coming from weirdos or pervs who are directed to this lovely site for some less than savoury internet browsing. And of course because Google images (just like Google Map directions in Mexico) is CRAP, it seems that select words are picked up from my rants and serve as image seach keywords. Although there is nothing (ok... very little) to do with mullets, porn, sex, cholula narcos or mullet porn it turns out that the sickos searching for all of that find themselves here. In the past month, the top google image search keywords linking to this blog were:

• Filthy mullets
• www.super sex.com
• Aussie porn
• Bacteria

And so as a result, I have been hesitant to post photos for risk of dirty old men (ok, there are probably a few cat wielding middle aged women too) being linked here and having a bat over any old photo of friends, people and places. But now, I promise to post the highlights from the past 2 (ish) months in photographic goodness. All these photos were taken with disposable cameras and tell the stories of many an adventure, great people and la vida increible in Mexico. So sit back, enjoy and dirty old perves: please hit up redtube for your pornographic needs, mullet porn is hot but bogans do it so much better.

The people:

 

The places

Experiencias Mexicanas

And a crafty fox...

The sobriety experiment

Saturday night the 29th of October 2011 was a momentous, historical and substantial night in the life of yours truly. Since the age of 16, I have moved back and forth along the scale of moderate drinker to raging alcoholic and something of a complete and utter trash bag. Anyone who has had the pleasure (if you could call it that) of meeting me whilst completely drunk or even on any other occasion will know that I am somewhat of an idiot with a fondness (okay... all out love) for the drink. So to even consider that I could take a break from drinking (that wasn't ordered by the doctor) would be almost inconceivable. However, one morning during a particularly deep and moving session of yoga my stomach began to rumble. I realised as I felt the acid rising from my stomach that the culprit was the alcohol consumed the previous night (alcohol, unlike tacos, e-coli and candy has a distinct taste as any drunken vomitter will attest) and I felt TERRIBLE!! Functioning the day after a big drinking session is hard, let alone pulling off some insane acrobatic acts of flexibility. Finally, when my body was shaken up to the max, when I was pale as a ghost (more so than usual) and when the shavasana pose FINALLY came around, the idea struck... Why not go for a fixed amount of time sans drink to see how it feels, be able to do a headstand without tasting last night's sin and purely for shits and giggles.

At the time, a complete and permanent moratorium on drinking was out of the question, but to give it a good shot I figured I should dedicate at least a month to sobriety, and since my favourite drinking buddy in Cholula was going to be away for 5 weeks I figured what better time to resume my alcoholic tendencies. So for 5 weeks I partied like a rock star, stayed out until the morning, danced like a maniac, met (and remembered) many many cool people and had a great time. And just because I wasn't downing the devil's drink like it were going out of fashion as I normally would, I didn't deprive myself of anything: music festivals, clubbing, a soft drink in a bar or even a raucous casa roja party. Far short of sitting in the corner being antisocial, not drinking made me overcompensate in outgoingness and cheerfulness, so as I result I had probably even more fun than I would have stumbling around like a clown, sexually harassing anyone and everyone and just plain being a pest. My non drinking campaign, however, was anything but a health kick, in fact I found that I replaced one bad vice with 2 others and I still found myself swimming in greasy tacos several times a day and smoking weed like it was a cigarette.

And so came that fateful night, it was a Saturday, my drinking companions were out and roaring and a bottle of tequila sat next to the blender just WAITING to be consumed. And so we did! There were poi, beyonce dance offs, sing alongs, good company and the like. It was a great night, fantastic pre drinking and a lovely party, however after not drinking for a few hours, dragging our feet and trying to find a bar to go that wasn't shit, the alcohol and good energy wore off and I felt drunk, tired, bored and irritable. Nothing like the fun of a sober night of dancing like crazy at all! So we trudged home early and slept like babies, a pleasant sleep, but more of a heavy pass out than a gentle float into the land of nod. Although it was far from a hangover, the feeling the next morning was akin to a night without sleep and a boring as hell class, not cringe worthily painful, but unpleasant and definitely not as nice as waking up like a spring daisy after a sober night.

So the past 5 weeks have been somewhat of a learning curve and the night of all nights that was to be my first drunkening was somewhat of a flop (not bad... just not remarkable). My attitude to drinking has drastically changed and I find myself at a substantial point in my life. Gone are the days of hangovers, Gabby the drunken idiot (it's just Gabby the idiot now) and always drinking because everyone else is or because the social situation calls for it. I don't intend to be as restrictive as I was during my experiment, but I will be drinking substantially less, wondering if I REALLY do want a drink and waking up feeling great. Drinking is slightly overrated as I have realised over the past month and a half, but it is still a lot of fun! So if dinner and drinks turns into several bottles of wine/caguamas of beer, table top dancing and stumbling home barefoot at 8am then so be it! Life is to enjoy and alcohol is just there for the ride.

How to break (almost) all the rental hire rules

After sitting in the car for an excessively long period of time and wondering how driving time estimates could be oh so wrong, it is wonderful to be back in Cholula, with my real bed, Internet, tea and freshly cleaned house (a special surprise from my wonderful roomies this weekend). For 3 days, I have been sleeping in a tent/on the beach/in a car on a random road trip that ended up almost everywhere except where we had planned to go (we did make it... eventually!). It was also the first time in Mexico I have rented a car, which was an interesting experience. Of course I have been on a road trip or 2 before (albeit much more carefully organised ones) here in Mexico, but there is that on the edge of your seat nervousness when its someone Else's car and your credit card is sitting in their office waiting for the safe return of the vehicle, completely unscathed. Also, the list of rules is enough to make anyone break out into a nervous sweat... especially when we didn't buy insurance.

Rule #1: Thy shalt not drive off road or on uneven road surfaces

This one is the biggest porqueria of the lot! Although Mexico does boast some nice roads which are up to first world standards (and cost a shit load!), shabby and unkempt roads are to be expected, even on national highways. Not only is it not uncommon to see a few pot holes and crumbly edges, some national highways (main national highways even!) have half the road missing. Yes, sometimes for one reason or another half the road just goes tumbling down the hill, leaving trucks, buses and humble little Renault Clio to queue past one another and teeter precariously past the narrow stretch of road overlooking a 300m sheer cliff. Of course, for every shitty main road, there were also some off roading adventures that were our fault, such as the drive out to the "ideal camping spot" following our rough mud map (that didn't mention the rough 4WD appropriate terrain) and an even muddier road that left our car looking suspiciously dirty. Our small little car (that laboured to speed up to 100km/h) handled the roads like a boss, however unless the rental car people are as stupid as 76% of Mexican motorists, they will surely figure out what has happened but hopefully not be too pissed off.

Rule #2: Thou shalt return the vehicle to the rental office by the specified hour.

It seems pretty simple right? Try to be on time. However, due to an ambitious schedule and an over reliance on Google Maps, it turns out that we have a full extra day to play around with the car. Unfortunately, Google Maps is a load of shit and fails to take into account the amount of topes, retarded people and winding mountain roads en route. It also fails to acknowledge that not all cars (Renault Clio) are able to reach and maintain fast speeds, on which the estimated travel time is based. Bear in mind also, that women are terrible navigators, there is very poor signage on Mexican roads, confusing intersections and that national maps (and lonely planet pictures) are all but useless and you have a navigational disaster. Our 5 hour 6 minute trip back to Puebla ended up lasting near on 10 hours and left us swearing never to trust google maps ever again! Getting lost however, on the first day did turn out to be a blessing in disguise, with a detour to Tajin and the Costa Esmeralda being two of the highlights of our trip.

Rule #3: Thou shalt not break any road rules in the rental vehicle

While they technically exist on the books, in Mexico, road rules serve little more than as a means for corrupt police to earn some extra cash on the side by picking and choosing who is doing the right and wrong thing. Although we were lucky that the police  never showed up on our road trip (nor military roadblocks or anything of the like), speeding, running red lights and crazy overtaking were rampant in the hours we spent on the road. Road rules do for the most part, play an important role in regulating society and ensuring that all motorists are safe, however, when for no reason, a sign mandates that the maximum speed limit is 40km/h (on a highway) one has to question the credibility of the clown making such rules. While flagrant disregard for such laws is rampant, such implementations as topes every 20m and the fear of other idiot drivers is enough to keep law and order to some extent. After all, all it takes is a few head bruises before speeding over speed bumps is just not worth it.


Rule #4: Thou shalt not damage the vehicle

And so for 2 days, through rough and nice terrain the car maintained its (relatively) perfect form, all it took was 2 annoying parking 'assistants' (read: the blackmailers who help you park and agree not to touch your car for money), a pissed off driver, a poor reverse park (executed WAYY too quickly and violently) and the scraped side of the car on a barbed wire fence. Nothing boils the blood like 2 annoying twits pestering one for money, so much so that an impassioned park just went wrong and left the car with some scratches that may take some explaining (eyelash batting, crying, lying etc) in order to avoid a hefty charge on that credit card. Of course the rental company won't fix it, just add it to the list and pass the car onto the next sucker. Unless we suck the suckers and get away Scot free, it all depends on negotiation.

Rule #5: Thou shalt not transport explosives, fire crackers or any other illegal items in the rental vehicle

Lol.

Aches and pains and getting old

As I approach my half birthday, I feel it necessary to acknowledge some recently discovered truths that I cannot avoid as this milestone comes speeding towards me. Now, at risk of offending some of my older readers (hey mum) who on a calender are slightly (some substantially) older but feel like a million bucks and don't wish to hear a 21 and almost a half year old ranting off about old age, unfortunately this crisis is more related to the failing state of my body rather than a paper age and a sense of paranoia. So let me begin by saying:

It seems that after years of moderate - heavy (student/backpacker) paced drinking, the ole cuerpo seems to be having a much harder time in the morning after. Not only that, the entire day after, that night and several days afterwards seem to be very slow moving after a big night out. Not only that, it seems that once I hit a certain alcohol threshold, rather than partying on, doing silly things and talking shit all night, I just go home. Whether that happens at 3am, 1am or even midnight, that young person stamina just isn't there anymore. It is not uncommon for me in my old age now to fall asleep IN THE MIDDLE of a party, be it in a chair, on a couch, on the floor or right next to the speaker, it seems my body has gotten the better of me. For that reason, I decided to test out the ole non drinking routine to see if it might just the the dirty Mexican licor de agave, however, the only difference these days is that I can stay out dancing for longer and I generally manage to WALK home rather than passing out wherever I am. The next day still feels like I have been hit by a truck and the getting out of bed process is still slow, painful and often resigned to a long sleep in at the best of times. But will this stop me partying? Hell no! I am still young enough to want to party! My body just isn't anymore.

But it's not only the partying stamina that has dropped, but the fitness as well. So even in spite of doing yoga a few times a week, it seems all I feel like doing afterwards is eating a big fuck off steak and some chocolate and lying down for a few hours, rather than running a marathon, going for a bike ride or doing anything active. Also, certain poses leave me feeling achy and slow for a day or 2 afterwards, after a STRETCHING WORKOUT!! As for real exercise, well after a bit of rock climbing the other day I was in pain for 2 days afterwards when I tried to lift my arms above my head! And as for climbing a mountain, one leg is STILL hurting 4 days later (how I walk so that only one leg hurts is any one's question). I think that is a pretty big body fitness fail if I ever did see one. But I keep persisting, because many chronologically old people tell me that exercise is the key to eternal youth (or a younger man, or surgery and drugs) and I want to be one of those creepily active and healthy grannies when the time rolls around (not too long now).

But all old people will tell you that it is not only the body that begins to fail in old age, but the mind as well. Granted I have never really had a particularly strong or in shape body, so I have always just relied on the fact that I have a relatively sharp mind to make me feel good about myself. But now as I approach old age, NO SUCH LUCK BUDDY! Although the days of memorisation is schools is all but gone, a first year subject this year that FORCES memorisation as the primary learning activity has thrown into sharp realisation that my ticker isn't as quick as it used to be. Turns out simple memorisation tasks leave me feeling dumb as a doorknob and that the ease with which my intellect once worked is all but a thing of the past.

So now with my brain and body gone, I have two options, shall I grow old gracefully and accept that I am no longer 18 anymore? Or shall I buy every cream on the market, drugs, supplements, younger man, healthy lifestyle, never drink again and fight this motherfucker and restore my vitality to its previous self. At least now being old means that I am wise and have experience and many stories to tell, not to mention a load of knowledge bombs to drop on the young and impressionable youth of today who ARE still able to drink until 5am and do an exam that same day. Growing old is a part of life, so what if I am a 21 year old granny, I can still fight it until I am the weird old lady who still parties hard with kids, why not!

As for the wrinkles... DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED!!!

Fiesta fiesta fiesta!! Phew...

Amongst many, there are two universal generalities that must be acknowledged. One is that University exchange students party a lot (a shitload even?)! Another is that all Mexicans, be them old, young, short, tall, hot or ugly also enjoy a party... a big party in fact... at least once a year. And if you consider an exchange student in Mexico, you have a sure fire recipe for a pissed off liver, not enough sleep and barely mediocre grades. Let me elaborate:

In Mexico, social life is extremely important and it seems there is nothing people like more than getting together with lots of food, alcohol and family friends to be jolly and merry. Another very important aspect is religion, which explains why most communities, cities, pueblos and localities have a giant church and a patron saint. Patron saints (although they mean eff all to atheists such as myself) are highly revered by the pueblo they represent and deserve a day of worship (or provide an excuse for a big party if you may). Over the past 2 weekends, I have been lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time to take part in 2 holy days/fiestas in 2 different places, and boy can these Mexicans party. Dancing in the streets, indigenous groups from surrounding areas showcasing their dancing prowess and amazing costumes, food stalls and more elotes and cotton candy than you can poke a stick at, masses partying in the streets, beer left right and centre and so much more... nothing says "OH PRAISE THEE HOLY SAINT!" like a party. It is inspiring to see an entire community (and in the case of San Miguel de Allende... almost an entire state!) come together to share in a joie de vivre that Mexicans just exude unlike anyone else. And unlike belligerent, drunken idiot Australians who would most likely be covered in vomit, beating eachother in the street and behaving like animals in the presence of free flowing alcohol in the streets, Mexicans just seem to be able to enjoy themselves with only a few drunken sleazy louts to annoy and molest (granted we don't see what happens when they get home).

Another fabulous feature of Mexican fiestas to worship patron saints is the fireworks spectacular. After seeing the man burn at Burning Man, I thought all fireworks from that point on would be a huge disappointment. As usual, I was wrong. Even in the smallest of pueblos, the fireworks towers that are created are mindblowing and astonishing. While the safety standards of such shows are dubious (non existent), the sheer size and creativity of such shows just blow ones mind. Clear goggles and a safe distance (although not guaranteed) are a few simple rules of the fireworks show and avoid polyester, flamable clothing because you WILL get showered in embers and ash.

BUT it's not only the Mexicans who like to get their drink on and have a good time de vez en cuando, but also University exchange students. Although most students in general are big partiers no matter where they are, it seems being on exchange, having easy classes (well at least in Mexico) and not having to worry about grades just adds fuel to the already young, invincible, hormone fueled students who roam the streets. It seems that no matter what night of the week (maybe not Monday) there is some kind of party, bar hop, drinking promotion or just plain catch up going on that one rarely needs to spend a night at home if they don't wish. Last week alone I think I was only in for 1 or 2 nights, which inevitably results in sore, tired bodies and heads the following day. Add to that, the fact that September and October seem to be birthday season and that drinks are incredibly cheap in Mexico (1L of licor de agave goes for about $2.50 AUD), Mexico for exchange students is a party and a half.

Which of course is why I had to give up drinking (and of course the personal challenge/loss of my favourite drinking buddy/not be an alcoholic) for a few weeks. Seems now I can dance all night like a lunatic, not humiliate myself, remember most of the people I meet the following day and act all smug when I wake up the next morning fresh as a spring daisy. Although anyone who knows me (myself included) knows that this is definitely not forever... in fact the date October 28th is looming in my mind as we speak... Licor de agave anyone?

A new hobby for Gabby

So that time of the semester has come around again, the part where the homework barometer has dropped and I find myself with too much free time. Last time this happened a blog was born and my narcissism and keeness for blogging expanded (yes, I realise it's been a while... but I'm baaack!), however now I find myself needing another challenge (that's not TOO challenging) that can fill my day and add to my long (very short) list of skills and abilities. Also, I only have a few more weeks in Mexico, and since things are substantially cheaper in Mexico, meaning that the price barrier seldom exists as it does in Australia, so why not do the things I always wanted to do! So I brainstormed a list of possible hobbies to try and tried to decide which one (or many) I could contemplate taking up.

Photography:
While point and shoot seems to be so last week and semi professional photography (read: an SLR camera) is in, maybe it is time for me to jump on the bandwagon. Although the initial investment would be quite substantial, it would have no ongoing costs and I could look super cool and hipster with my camera hanging around my neck. Of course, an SLR is a very expensive fashion statement, I would then have to actually take some photos to put on my flickr site or on Facey. Blades of grass, the light streaming from behind a tree, an insect, dust covered antique record players and children and old people seem to be the main subjects of such artistry, and a bit of a youtube tutorial on exposure, ISO and zooming would make me an official photographer. Unfortunately however, my track record with cameras is so attrocious that I don't think I could afford to keep replacing $1000 cameras regularly and I do my cute little point and shoot models. Also, I'm just not hip enough. So it seems that photography (beyond my disposable non artistic shots) is not for me.


Yoga.
So this is something I did for the first time a few months ago and I really liked it. So I kept trying a few times, and I REALLY enjoyed it. Although the prospect of waking up early/with a hangover and dragging my ass down for a few salutes to the sun is enough to make me want to cuddle up with my pillow, the fact is that during and afterwards I NEVER regret it. Also, there are a wide enough variety of classes often enough that there is no fixed, hard schedule with it, so if I've only had 3 hours of sleep I can hit that snooze button and just go to the afternoon class instead. So I have my mat, my membership and it looks like yoga is a hobby that I have already embraced.


Cooking.
As most people who have known me for a week or more know, I rarely cook. The entire process irritates and irks me, from the cutting, the cooking and ESPECIALLY the washing up, if I am hungry or hankering for some food, I just do not have the patience to cook. And with food being so cheap in Mexico (or a packet of chips/skittles an arms reach away), economically it is not essential that I cook. While some food preparation is necessary within my own home, such as making tea, making vegemite and butter toast and throwing a few things into the blender, there is a taco stand 3 blocks away or a corner store selling chips right next door. Despite my laziness however, I can actually cook, in fact I can cook reasonably well if I put my mind to it and have any such desire to do so. But the big clincher is that we have no microwave or gas in our apartment, so cooking is out of the question regardless.


Making jewellery.
After finding myself with an excess of macrame thread after doing hair wraps, a quick youtube tutorial showed me the way and taught me to make bracelets. And let me say now this is an addictive and potentially dangerous hobby. Sitting at the table, threading and knotting away to create such bracelets, I find myself shunning food, friends and any normal social behaviour, all whilst telling myself 'JUST ONE MORE ROW!!' While I already feel like I have thrown myself into this hobby headfirst, I feel as if it may just be a passing phase as it is not a hobby that is healthily sustainable for normal people. For my sanity, it is probably best that I don't pursue this one too enthusiastically, it should just peter out shortly... just one more row for now!


Being a clown.
After coming to Mexico, my previously blase attitute towards clowns became a great love for them and inspired me to become a clown myself. Of course being a clown is no easy step, clowns are in fact performers, and very well rounded performers at that. Not only would I need to practice and work on the theatrical aspects of clowning and creating the entire clown personality, but I would need to build up my technical skills such as balloon shape making, juggling and numerous other things. Then of course is the costume and make up which is a creative challenge in itself. Although it is a hard job, it is a rewarding and well rounded hobby encompassing so many elements that it would always keep me on my toes. Also, being a clown is my dream, so I have to work towards that however I can.

Playing the guitar.
This has been an on and off (more off than on) hobby since I was 14 and first wanted to play the guitar. Of course impatience, a lack of willpower and a slightly (very) ADD personality has ensured that I can barely play the basic chords. I am now, however having a resurgence of motivation and as soon as I get my (not mine) guitar back from Veracruz I would love to start playing it again. How long it will last? I have no idea (a month!), but even though I keep quitting and picking it back up there is always something that sticks, and so hopefully if I continue at it (on and off) for the next 40 years, I may come close to playing a song. Also, it's really therapeutic (just like bracelet making).

More holiday fun and goodness

So if the first half of my journey just didn't sound like one giant spiritual experience and a half one can certainly not omit the second half of my strange and ill planned tax payer funded holiday in the Caribbean and United States. This was also the part of my journey where my previous fear of alcohol, creepy boys and partying subsided and I made up substantially for lost time. So after Haiti and the beauty that was we move to:

La Republica Dominicana (2 weeks)

• Very little can be achieved in a week
• So despite the most well intended plans to hike to the highest point in the Caribbean, visit small villages, see the non touristy side of the island and be a true little Dora-esque explorer my inner laziness flung itself out of the dark closet and came out to play. Despite being in one of the best windsurfing locations in the Caribbean, a place with wonderful waves and abandoned Atlantic beaches just a stones throw away, it was in fact hours of missed 16 and Pregnant, Jersey Shore and Big Bang Theory episodes on the big flat screen TV that had me hooked. And the handful of fun tourists in the hostel, and the fact that doing nothing in a home like setting that occupied my week. Not once did I go surfing nor windsurfing nor even stand up paddle boarding. I did manage to vomit all over the spare bed though...
• Sex tourism and the Dominican Republic
• So of course all these raging hormones and young people and tropical white sand beaches make people a little crazy. And add to the fact that people are on holidays as well, and what do you get? Young (not even that hot) Dominicans out to work the tourist market and score a free dinner or 2 in exchange for some nice brown ass. Of course the image of an old creepy (maybe German?) man with a young-enough-to-be-his-daughter local girl on his arm is nothing new, but for the first time I noticed a lot of older (not even cougar like) women with smoking hot 19 year olds by their side. It seems that revolting old women DO get away from their cats and need some disgustingly younger loving as well. Unfortunately one 50 year old wanna be cougar and her son (errr... boyfriend) overheard my friend's and my bitching about the sagginess of her face and as fate would have it we kept running into her on the beach EVERY SINGLE DAY! Doh!
• Another form of the tourism-local sex trade was evident in the capital, where rather than money or a free drink, our persistent tour guide/hustler was out for a green card. And to make it even better Mum was the pimp! Oh Gregorio and Ramona just seemed like a friendly mother and son combination when they first offered to help us and show us the way to the palace. Of course after an hour long walk around several blocks, some subtle references to their desire to move to the United States (sorry mate!) and their persistence in ensuring that they secured every mode of contact we had (phone number, facebook, email, twitter, home address etc) made us just a little bit suspicious. And of course when both Mum and (it seemed almost begrudging) son facebook added us both that night, it was obvious they were hoping for a new addition to the family... No gracias!

Puerto Rico (1 week)

• The Evil of Apathy
• During my time in Puerto Rico I had the great pleasure of staying right in the University District, a vibrant and exuberant part of town covered in murals, anti US propaganda and educated liberals. I also had the joy of staying with a fantastic couch surfer who is a part of the huelgista movement and who is friends with, and drinks with many of Puerto Rico's activist community. And so in my communications/boozing sessions with such fine people my passion for activism, for fighting for what is right and for protesting was reignited. The realisation that no one person can completely save the world and focus over time made me a status quo loving apathetic moron who thought that protesters were just whinging hippies picking an issue to rave on about to feel good about themselves. I now realise again that although there may be no right or wrong in the world, all there is really is our personal sense of what is on and what is just off. And it is up to us to get off our fat, beer inflated, celulitey asses and stand up for what we believe in. Those who believe one thing and act another way have no integrity, and without integrity a person is just a pathetic, failure of a miserable human being. So I decided to restore mine and start giving a shit again. Apathy is ignorance and the world (especially Australia) already has enough ass sitting ignoramuses to add to with my own.

The West Coast - USA (1 month)

• Meeting new friends is great, but catching up with old friends is even BETTER!
• Obviously, having travelled a lot, a lot of my friends do not come from Australia. And through meeting other travellers, having wonderful people stay at my house in Brisbane and just through random experiences there are people all over the world who I want to visit. So on this journey for the first time ever, I had the chance to re-meet after several weeks, months and even several years a bunch of awesome friends. Of course there is always the risk that seeing an old friend after a lot of time and out of their holiday context that they may have changed/turned into douches or just not be on the same wavelength anymore. However, some of my best experiences were being shown around and enjoying the company and reliving great experiences and realising again why we had always been such good friends. There is just something special about reunions and from now on I am definitely going to try harder to include trips to visit old friends on my future travels.
• Yoga is not just for type A, 30 something year old, fitness obsessed females
• Having tried yoga for the first time in Puerto Rico (and having liked it) I was intrigued by a poster I saw in a window of a shop in the Mission District in San Francisco for a yoga/music festival in Tahoe that weekend. Obviously, being a poor mother fucker there would be no way I could afford to go, so I showed initiative and sent and email to the festival organiser asking if I could volunteer at the last minute (last minute as in, I sent the email on Wednesday afternoon and arrived Thursday evening to start work). So off I went, mainly to enjoy the festival vibe, look at a pretty lake and listen to Michael Franti and other awesome bands, but also for some yoga and meditation. Being around such a chilled out wonderful bunch of people and doing lots of yoga and enjoying free yoga massages made me realise that my earlier skepticism of the multi million dollar yoga industry was not just a bunch of mumbo jumbo created to make depressed sad, lonely old women with cats feel good about themselves (just like a trip to the Dominican Republic), but it is genuinely a spiritual and mental exercise for well being and helping to rid the mind of BS. So now when I'm not hungover and it doesn't cost a week of centrelink to join in I do yoga where possible! And with my free mat I got at the festival too! WIN!

Inevitably I did learn a shit load more on my holiday. Sociological, legal, political, historical, economic facts about places I really didn't know a lot about, the ins and outs of travelling, the stories and unique eccentricities of wonderful people I met along the way, a new sense of tolerance, how to be myself and a bunch of other hoo hah. Some will (or already has) seeped from my brain thanks to copious amounts of alcohol and weed and other lessons will stick with me for a long time, or until I learn something more meaningful along the way. It was definitely a summer to remember (my first summer in JULY!) and I have a good 10kg, scarred liver and about 50% of my photos to show for it.

Life lessons learned in Paradise (part 1)

Nothing about the life, the spirit nor the mind are ever stagnant. Every day things are changing, and over the course of 3 months a substantial amount can change. Add in some catalytic event such as travelling, and in particular travelling to some very diverse and different places and you have a very different person spat out at the end. Many lessons were learned along the way, some as a result of very BAD experiences and others that were amazingly positive.

Cuba (3.5 weeks)

• Don't leave your drink sitting on its own
• So this should be a big fat giant DUHH lesson, and considering that it has been indoctrinated into us from a young age (ps. Queensland Education Department, maybe not necessary to teach 12 year olds the danger of drink spiking quite so soon) and considering that a number of friends have fallen victim I should have been more cluey. But in Mexico it has really not been a concern, and when you're dancing, having fun and being merry sometimes one does not realise that the girl's bathroom sink is a dangerous place to leave one's drink. But after a horrid next day and a total blackout of that night I now cradle my drink carefully whenever I am drinking.
• The fake boyfriend excuse doesn't work
• In Cuba they love whiteys/any foreigner who can get them out of the country. And always by the second question they are asking: Do you have a boyfriend? And of course when you see their greasy complexion, that evil glint in their eyes that screams 'I want to fuck you,' the most logical answer is YES, I do. Which leads to more questioning such as, 'where is he? do you have a CUBAN boyfriend though? are you actually in a serious and committed relationship?' And as the elaborate web of lies grows and grows one comes to realise that nothing will deter these lecherous beasts. So the best solution: "No I don't have a boyfriend," and just as their eyes light and and pop out of their head: "but I do NOT want you!" BAM! All it takes is the truth.
• You have no right to hate on a place if you've been a cynical little bitch the entire time
• So after a few negative experiences in the first 2 days in Havana, and the feeling of loneliness and the revoltingly persistent Cuban boys, I was guarded and closed from the word go. Short of glaring and scowling at people in the street (Brisbane CBD 8:30am style), I was definitely not the open and friendly girl who approaches people, laughs, smiles and waves as I normally am (especially not towards any Cubans) and I no doubt threw away a lot of opportunities and potentially wonderful friendships as a result. Even though it was hard with the shit that went down in the first week, it is REALLY important to remain open minded, because you can't change the universe nor the people around you, but you can control your own attitude which is 99% of the battle.
• You don't need to be a raging polyglot to communicate with people
• So this lesson came from a sweet Swiss guy who I met at a bar whilst I was with 2 spanish friends. This guy was 19; fresh, young and wide eyed (dare I say it, myself 3 years ago?). While his English was barely functional, his spanish was attrocious! He was able to knock maybe 5 words together and was not conversant in it at all. But every time I saw him around he had his dictionary with him. He smiled, laughed and made big hand gestures to get his point across, and his positive attitude simply radiated and rubbed off onto everyone. And doors opened for him! Despite his lack of control over the language he was always invited to parties, fun events and festivities, just because he was so nice to be around. So after feeling stupid, retarded and inadequate around polyglot friends when I barely speak 1.5 languages well, it was a burst of fresh air to realise that its not the 7 languages that you speak that helps you to relate to people but the attitude.

Haiti (2 weeks)

• Many NGOs seem to be doing a great deal of shit all
• Okay, so I will begin this by saying that I am generalising hard here. For every dodgy NGO there are many good, small grassroots ones with specialised aims and actual professionals working there which do a great deal of good in the world. But of course there are a few (lot) that tend to let down the team and those tend to be the big ones, the ones that everyone has heard of and the ones with the greatest amount of donations. And of course they are the most general in their aims! Of course an organisation that claims to end poverty, develop under developed nations and save the world sounds better than one that fixes sewers or distributes torches to people, but they're also the least directed (so what is the daily schedule of a person saving the world?). Add on top of that the expenses! Why does an NGO need to live in a beautiful mansion, with a guard, eating food that is imported in from [insert country here]; with staff who aren't allowed into the streets at night nor befriend local people? And are the big brick walls and barbed wire fences to keep the staff from mixing with the others or to keep the poor people out? And just to top it off: which Director for operations in Haiti of which charity earns $15 000 a month on top of his no expenses? BOOM! Be very careful about where your donations are going, that's all.
• Poverty is completely relative
• So coming from a lovely warm home, with my own room, hot showers for as long as our ghetto hot water tank would last and the knowledge that unless there was a cyclone the streetlights would always be on, it was a shock coming to Haiti. And even though I was staying in a rich neighbourhood (with the top 10% of Haiti's wealthy) it was definitely a shock to the system. Electricity that was only on for 12 hours a day (at sporadic times), no running water for 3 days in a row and sponge baths each day, rubbish lining the streets and half built houses all around. Did I mention that this was the rich area? Yet people are content and they don't complain. This is their life and the fact that they have a house with any electricity at all is fortunate. It just makes one realise how lucky they really are.

Republica Dominicana (2 weeks)

TO BE CONTINUED...

Love in the time of Cholula

Hi there fans, followers and all of my charming and lovely fanatics (Hi Mom!). It has been a while, and although the soul searching, self discovery and tripping the world has been fun I am in desperate need of a public creative outlet to indulge my narcissism, which brings me back to my old friend, my blog. After a 3 month hiatus from any form of responsibility, burden and boredom I am back in Cholula ready and rearing to go for another semester full of fun, excitement and a bit of study somewhere on the side. Of course, being back and no longer being the new bright eyed kid on the block definitely has its pros and cons, but of course with the gift of hindsight I begin semester 2 on the front foot. Although the past semester was amazing, beautiful friendships were formed and I have no regrets (except for lost cameras and horrid hangovers) there are a few lessons that I have learned over the past semester that I will take with me.

This is pretty much how I started out, with no idea about anything Mexican (believe it or not 2 years working at Cactus Jacks does little to prepare one for the full on culture explosion that is Mexico). But with the wisdom and experience under my belt and a comprehensive (read: very very basic) understanding of the inner workings of Mexican life, culture and civilisation (and drinking habits) there are certain things I will do diferently this FAWWLLLL semester.

1) Travel smarter

Last semester I really seized life and the exchange opportunity by the balls (okay... tried to) by travelling far and wide with almost every weekend I had. Although I had some amazing trips, met fantastic people and was lucky enough to see a lot of Mexico, there were obviously some limiting factors. Of course going away for a few days over the weekend means that one either has to a) travel locally to within a few hours by bus or b) spend big money and long hours on buses to see further. Having experienced the both, and having realised that attendance matters a lot less than the professors like to harp on, this leaves me with one logical option: travel for longer! So rather than taking off for a few days over the weekend why not travel for an entire week? 7 days is more than enough time to justify a 15 hour bus journey and it ensures that more time is spent travelling than waiting around in transit. Also, it allows for more weekends in Cholula which are super fun!

2) Study Less

I am still trying to see the logic in my attitude to study last semester which really just proved to be inefficient and un fun. While my schooling efforts are slack at best, they are still grossly excessive compared to what I really need to be doing. Taking into consideration the fact that a) as long as I pass my grades don't matter a bit, b) UDLA is very easy at the best of times, and are even more chilled out with exchange students and c) exchange is not SUPPOSED to be about studying hard, it seems like less is more. So forget doing the readings, non essential homework or going to class every single week! All nighters, minimal effort and a slap up job of all assignments is the name of the game. Anything more than a C- is just a waste, and wastefulness is inefficient and unintelligent, so smart studying is no studying!


3) Shove your piropo up your mother's concha

Sexual harassment in the streets. It's a fact of life for any white girl in Mexico and it can be as simple as a whistle or as creepy as a guy calling you 'Mamecita' whilst following you for 3 blocks. The most natural reaction for most girls who are used to the cold, compliment-less white boys is fear. "ZOMG they are going to rape me or tie me to a tree and touch me in inappropriate places," is a common fear. Of course, once one realises that doesn't actually happen, those feelings just turn to resentment, frustration, anger and a new found appreciation for Australian boys. But it doesn't have to be that way! Of course if some men just want to exert their manliness, be douchey or perhaps get laid they deserve to have it served back at them. So this semester instead of lowering my gaze and walking quickly past them, why not start strutting? Or serve them back an equally obnoxious comment to shut them down? It's not like they'll whip out the handgun for being called out on their rudeness. And if someone asks the dreaded boyfriend question why not just say outright "Nope!" It's not like they have a chance anyway (not the creepy dad types who are normally responsible for such piropos). If they want to give it then why don't we just torture them back? THAT is feminism.

4) Drink Less

Lol! Not going to happen. NEXT!

5) Be open to ALL experiences and people

So one problem I had at the beginning of last semester was my attitude towards other foreigners and in particular the other foreign students. While it is so important to embrace the local culture and befriend actual Mexican people in Mexico, it doesn't necessarily mean being a pretentious douche about it either. Even though I met some wonderful amazing Mexican friends, it wasn't until the later part of the semester that I began to realise just how interesting and unique some of the other exchange students were and finally get to know them. It is by no means a matter of clinging to one's own, or being too afraid or insecure to make local friends, but of just accepting and appreciating people for who they are, no matter where they're from. This semester I know I will no doubt meet a tonne of new friends, both Mexican and foreign, but those friends will be made based on who they are and not based on where they're from.

6) Just Chill the hell out!

Some things in Mexico (like anywhere) just don't work. Or they don't run on time or are late. And some people just don't get queue-ing etiquette. But worrying about it, being stressy and bitching don't make them any better! Deep breaths, relaxation and the realisation that you can't control the world around you are some of the hardest things to grasp and to really put into practice, but they definitely maketh a happy person. So if Don Julio gets the last ticket on the bus, who cares? Pull up, read a book and catch the next one! Mexico is one of the best places to test patience and will, and also one of the hardest

The end of semester Blues

Now most people approaching the end of the semester would most likely be thinking "yeahhh summer!" (or winter depending on where they are... it still baffles me) but for a lot, the end of the semester is something a little sadder than not having to do another exam/essay or sit through another boring class again. The end of my first semester in Mexico means a lot of things, but most sadly, the departure of many wonderful lovelies who I won't see for a long time/may never see again. Which brings me to the point of this blog (if that's to say that any of my rants ever really have a point) the things that I will miss about Cholula/the things that I loved the most.

The small town vibe

In a town with approximately 12 000 people (I'm just pulling numbers out of my ass here people) it is not hard to see a few faces around. And after a few (many) big nights out, parties, making new friends and meeting friends of friends it doesn't take long before you have a big circle of friends/acquaintances. So it seems these days whenever I may be strolling down Camino Real either in search of a party or just to buy an orange juice there will always be SOMEBODY that waves, says hello, has a chat and catches up on daily life etc. The phrase: "Heyyy I remember you from the party in the red/white/orange/green/polka dotted house" is one that is all too frequently repeated and its always a pleasure to see a familiar face when you're in a strange and scary country. I would say that I have made more friends here in a semester than I have from living in Brisbane for 2 entire years and I will miss my favourite taco stand where they remember my name every time I come in (this may be a bad thing considering the frequency of my visits!)

My Wolf Pack

Obviously I have made a tonne of amazing friends here in Cholula, both Mexicans and the foreigners, and as much as I love and cherish every one of them (ugh... where is this mush coming from!) there are two friends in particular that have always been there no matter what. A wolf pack? You may be thinking? Well the name came from a spontaneous trip to Queretaro and a comment that I reminded them of Allan, the strange guy from the Hangover (really? NEVER! how could that be!?) And so I of course said that if I were Allan, then they must be my wolf pack. And so it stuck. But over the semester there have been many trips away, vegemite breakfasts (we found the one non Australian in the world who actually likes vegemite), many gossip sessions, big plans, sharing secrets and enough dirt for us to write a book about. While there are a million friends that I share everything with, its something special to have a group that is always there for eachother, has heaps of fun and are just all round top blokes (err... gals?). I will miss Vadgey and Wizard Sleeve sooo much and I doubt I will ever replace that amazing wolf pack dynamic that we shared all semester. (and did I mention that even though we are all fluent english speakers we ALWAYS spoke spanish together!!)

Always discovering something new

Sometimes it feels that after a while of being in the same place, eating in the same restaurants and drinking in the same bars things become stale and one begins to feel as if they know the place back to front. But all it takes is a flash of inspiration, and idea to turn left rather than right or a spontaneous little adventure and one begins to discover what is lying in their own backyard. Until a few weeks ago I never knew that there was a Zocalo in San Andres, millions of little second hand stores all over the place, an amazing restaurant which makes killer pizza, a church where the clergy leaves the giant bells unattended (so TEMPTING!), a fun thing to climb on in puebla, a store that sells REALLY weird looking dolls and many other things. I always thought that to find something new and different that I would have to take a bus to another city/place several hours from here (which is also very cool) but I realise now after a few weekends staying put in Cholula that adventure is all around.

The "newness" of it all

Although familiarity and friendship is amazing and can make a place feel like home, there is nothing like experiencing something for the first time. The excitement and anticipation of arriving in a new place, seeing your new place, meeting your new roomie (who turned out to be AWESOME!), first day of classes (which got less and less exciting as I kept going) and of course finding your way around a new place (and getting lost, and rocking up to class late, and being the only whitey in the class) is very exciting. And nobody can every forget their first taco (Mexican taco that is... cactus jacks or homecooked 'mexican night' really don't count), torta, mole, elote, sunset from the top of the pyramid etc as well as the newness of the culture, getting used to ignoring the people wolf whisting from their pick up trucks, haggling over prices are all very exciting things. What was once made me think 'what theee!?".. is now normal everyday stuff that I would hardly notice. And even though having been in other latin american countries may have lessened the shock slightly, its still something very cool and unforgettable.

And even the shitty antro music!!!

David Guetta, Black Eyed Peas, Katy Perry, Lady Gaga etc etc. It really doesn't sound very Mexican and it REALLY isn't. However it seems that every night this music pumps from almost every club and bar on Camino Real and it seems that in the 4 months of being here that it hasn't really changed. But as much as we tolerate, despise and whinge like a little bitch about the music (more those with more refined taste in music... some people genuinely enjoy this shit), it seems that it gets stuck. The catchy beats and poppy lyrics just seem to implant themselves in our minds so that whenever we may be slightly intoxicated (ok... rat arse drunk) with a cocktail (or beer) in hand, it can become hard not to bop along, sing and have a bit of a dance. And so even though I despise the songs, they will forever form the soundtrack of my semester (1) in Mexico and represent all of the fun times that were spent dancing until 4am.


And sadly, the song that has stuck the hardest in my head and really seems to sum up the semester in a nutshell (and it makes me cringe to even say it!) - Time of my life. And not even the original Dirty Dancing version that I used to like but the crude and hideous hip hop remix by Black Eyed Peas. Because even though realistically we will all have amazing nights out, meet new people, visit Cholula/exotic new and exciting places, see our spanish mejorar and have probably even better times the semester has been pretty bloody good.

But hey! At least I still have another semester of awesome wonderful people, beautiful Mexican people who are just lovely and a million more fun times, it is sad to think that half of my time here is up and that some really cool people that I have met along the way have to leave. But until then, I have 3 months of holiday to enjoy!!! So FuK sKooL!! Hello freedom!

Its a bird, its a plane its a ... narco?

During my time I have spent many many days, weeks, months possibly even on the road and travelling from place to place. And while the majority of those have been more or less uneventful, mundane and painful, there have been a few interesting ones. And as one may imagine, many of those exciting and story worthy events are taken by hitch hiking. But there is now possibly a new "most interesting" to add to my list. So this story starts in Maruata, a beautiful hippie beach on the coast of Michoacan (a state in Mexico). Of course in true luck my bowels decided to be a pendejo and give me grief, so I headed back early for Puebla to a (relatively) clean toilet with a seat!

So I was sitting on the side of the road waiting for a bus to pass to take me to the next big city where I could catch and overnight bus back to Puebla. Now let me note here that prior to heading to the roadside to wait for the bus (like several hours I'm talking about) I decided to share a magically delicious brownie with my tent neighbour. So after an incredible journey I was still feeling somewhat funny as I sat at the bus stop. With my judgement impaired and my patience growing more and more thin as I waited for the bus, when a pickup truck pulled up my brain wasn't really working so well. "You want lift?" Asked the man in broken English. "Lazaro Cardenas." 'Now wait just a second there mister,' I was thinking. 'Pickup trucks are faster than buses and its here right now.' Forget all the warnings my Mexican friends had given me about narcos, Michoacan, pick up trucks, dodgy looking people etc, I threw my backpack in the back and jumped in.

Miguel was our friendly driver and Jose the other passenger/hitch hiker in the truck. At first they seemed lovely, chatty, interesting, having a joke and not at one moment sleazy or weird. I will admit though I was slightly weirded out at first by the opened 6 pack of beer that Miguel was knocking back as he drove along. As well, I noticed that Miguel's pick up truck was 1 in a convoy of about 3 or 4. Another warning given to me by my Mexican friends was that convoys of pick up trucks are almost ALWAYS narcos. So I asked him, "why the convoy?" He reassured me that it was just his cousins and that they all liked to travel together. I decided to leave it at that, there are some things I just did not care to know. And of course I was a complete state cadet at that point, just staring out the windows at the twisting, winding, curving hills and obligingly laughing at Miguel's jokes.

Of course on more than one occasion on the 3.5 hour drive I asked myself was this SUCH a good idea. After all I was travelling with 2 strange men, stoned out of my mind, a drunk driver, in a convoy, in a pick up truck and in one of Mexicos most dangerous states. But the WHAT THE FUCK moment came later... Well, it came a few times. On a few occasions Miguel pulled over the truck to 'talk to his friends' in the small villages that we passed which I observed to mean

• Flash some money around and redistribute it around the other men there
• Buy some more beer
• Offer to buy me dinner
• Insist that I eat something because I looked too skinny (HA!!! But thanks anyway)
• Talk to his friends

It was always a little freaky though because all of these men had moustaches, pick up trucks and lots of money which had me seriously wondering whether or not they were in fact narcos. The freakiest part of course came when we were in the middle of the forest with nothing around except for a big gate that looked like it led into the rainforest. Warning number #764638 from my Mexican friends... NEVER ever go into something that looks like a farm or a ranch because they will probably kill you. So when we pulled over here I was almost ready to run when Miguel told me "just need to take a leak, brb." Whether it was me being paranoid or whether it appeared to be an objectively dodgy situation I will never be completely sure.

 So at the end of the day maybe they were narcos or maybe they weren't. But I ended up safely where I needed to be (at the bus terminal) and without being kidnapped, raped nor hit on. We chatted, joked and had a great trip (those moments that I wasn't crippled by paranoia) and he even fattened me up with candy and softdrink. And although I was willing to pay him for the lift and for all the food, he asked me out of the blue, "which hand do you write with?" I said "err... my right." "Show me," he asked and I waved my hand at him. In an instant he shoved a $100 peso note and closed my hand, insisting that I keep the money and look after myself.

• So although it could have been a terrible horrible situation and a headline reading "Stoned Australian Hitch Hiker Killed in Mexico by Narcos," everything turned out for the best. Would I do it again? I seriously doubt it... but it was an adventure and I DID save myself a bit of coin (and time!).