Learning to be Mexican ...

I’m writing this just having completed my proudest moment in Spanish thus far. Some old American bloke seemed distressed. It’s hard to be distressed in this lovely hostel with a balcony looking over a very Mexican square. When he told me what was wrong – that he’s been studying Spanish for months, and still isn’t able to order what he wants from the juice bar, I thought I might be able to help him out. And I could. So perhaps all those lessons weren’t such a waste after all.

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Mexico has been a feast of the senses. Sound, taste, sight – everything. It’s a bit of an overload, and I hate the fact I can’t delve deeper into this huge country, but there’s always another time.

If I could somehow record and distribute the soundtrack to this past week, I reckon I’d make a fortune. Rocking up in Merida yesterday, we stumbled upon a huge brass band playing salsa music for hours. It seemed that most of the town had turned out to dance the streets from morning till night. Some people are just born with rhythm, and no matter that they’re 80 years old, and struggling to walk, they can still dance. I wish I was born in Mexico …

Reckon I’d be a better cook too if I was from Mexico. They just seem to grill a bit of chicken, cut up a few tomatoes and avocados, whack it in a tortilla, and two minutes later you’ve got a bloody tasty meal.

I don’t think I’ll be taking up the country’s challenge for busking on the bus however. I’ve taken a few long bus rides in Mexico, and there always seems to be entertainment in some form or another. Yesterday was a particular highlight. The bus pulled up in the middle of nowhere … just a huge field about 30km from the nearest town. People got on and off, as they tend to do in random places in central America. One of the new passengers on the bus stood up the front and started going on a rant about something. I thought he was trying to sell something (a bus is the best place to buy street food with the amount of people getting on and selling stuff), but no – he was performing magic tricks. First of all the egg and the hanky … made it disappear, reappear, that sort of thing. Then he pulled a chicken from his armpit. A live chook. Seemed to appear from nowhere, and then it was allowed to roam the bus while he finished his show. After asking for a few pesos for his troubles, the man got off (with his chicken), into another field, waiting for the next bus to pop along.

It hasn’t all been ‘genuine’ Mexico however. The fake tourism in the Yucatan (well, basically around Cancun) makes the Gold Coast look like some hidden holiday treasure, waiting to be discovered. You can buy the most ridiculous crap. And of course, people do. Staying on an island half an hour from Cancun, I thought we’d be safe from the huge commercialism. But it’s spread everywhere in that part of Mexico, so we took advantage of the free food on offer from the giant hotels, swam at the beautiful beaches with the beautiful people, then buggered off out of there after a couple of days. I’m really not above that type of travel, and there’s not much I like more than a pool bar, but sometimes when you travel this far, you want to see something different. So we left.

I have to go back tonight – purely because my flight to Vancouver leaves from Cancun, and I’m leaving Mexico in about 30 hours. But until then, I am enjoying the last ‘real’ Mexico on offer, and I plan to salsa step all the way to the bus stop.