Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Taxing Addition
I forgot the best part of my crazy taxi story (this is why I don`t tell jokes). As I got in I tried to point on the map where I wanted to go, and he said "can`t read, don`t have glasses". Yes, this really happened. A wiser soul than me would`ve reconsidered then.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Morelia and Taxco
I took a day trip to Taxco, a cute town on a hill with steep circular streets. It is some sort of VW nirvana, the little beetles swarmed everywhere across the narrow streets.
Lest the crazy taxi give a false impression, it is probably appropriate to discuss Mexican driving. Roads are clogged with cars, the only indicator is the horn, and generally there is total chaos without any discernible rules for right-of-way etc. However it mostly works because drivers are mostly patient and generous, as well as foolhardy (if that makes sense). I´ve seen many near-incidents which back home would´ve ended with someone jumping out of their car waving a wheel-jack, but they pass without a murmur here. For all the madness, maybe our over-aggressive kiwi driving could learn something.
Jaywalking has been elevated to an artform too. Many s the time I´ve been left stranded for minutes as children and old women calmly (and safely) stroll across six lanes. I thought I was no beginner at this from my Wellington experience, but I felt kinda embarrassed for my inability, sorta like I was shooting hoops next to Michael Jordan.
Taxco is a former Silver time, so I did the natural thing and totally failed to purchase a single item of silver - or even enter a silver merchant. It is a quaint town, nice Cathedral on the hill filled with enough gold gilt to....make a big pile of gilt (my metaphor well is dry; though I guess that is itself a metaphor; damn).
I stayed a couple of nights in Morelia, and can report the centre of town is a wonderfully-preserved old spanishy town, with countless historic buildings, churchs etc, and a sturdy aqueduct. I lucked into arriving on a Sunday which seemed to be partytime in the square, performers everywhere. There were several performers (excluding the bog-standard buskers), including:
·A couple of talented music groups one featuring a stunning violinist.
·A cool family masked broken-sandal-tapdancing group backed by a trio, talented enough players that the kids on guitar and bass swapped half way through.
·A Hare Krishna group, who stood out because not a one had shaved their hair. Come to think of it, Mexican guys all seem to be well-coiffured and presented at all times. Maybe the stares I get aren`t so much for the gringo a head taller than everyone, as for the guy in shorts and old t-shirt with the untroubled hairstyle. I did consider cutting my hair on the fan in my room that night (all it would need is me standing on tiptoe), but elected against it.
·Some sort of modern dance school exhibition, some of whom I thought extremely brave to be showing their stuff in public. (There was an odd moment when someone walked in the middle of the dance, stared and turned slowly around as dancers flew past for a couple of minutes, and then walked out. I`m still debating whether it was performance art or a bystander who wanted to get amongst it).
·A screen running a collection of "horrors of Morelia" short films, at least a couple of which appeared to combine homemade footage with bits of old b&w horrors - I saw one of those old english actors, Peter Cushing or someone like him, if I`m not mistaked. Full marks for ingenuity.
Morelia was cool , and proved a good choice for the only trip outside Mex City I`ll make. It is named for Morelos, a revolutinary hero from the early 19th century, who seems to be the only significant person in Mexico's whole bloody history who has an untarnished reputation. He pushed for suffrage and land reform etc, so naturally he met the standard fate of all idealist populists - executed in 1815.
Lest the crazy taxi give a false impression, it is probably appropriate to discuss Mexican driving. Roads are clogged with cars, the only indicator is the horn, and generally there is total chaos without any discernible rules for right-of-way etc. However it mostly works because drivers are mostly patient and generous, as well as foolhardy (if that makes sense). I´ve seen many near-incidents which back home would´ve ended with someone jumping out of their car waving a wheel-jack, but they pass without a murmur here. For all the madness, maybe our over-aggressive kiwi driving could learn something.
Jaywalking has been elevated to an artform too. Many s the time I´ve been left stranded for minutes as children and old women calmly (and safely) stroll across six lanes. I thought I was no beginner at this from my Wellington experience, but I felt kinda embarrassed for my inability, sorta like I was shooting hoops next to Michael Jordan.
Taxco is a former Silver time, so I did the natural thing and totally failed to purchase a single item of silver - or even enter a silver merchant. It is a quaint town, nice Cathedral on the hill filled with enough gold gilt to....make a big pile of gilt (my metaphor well is dry; though I guess that is itself a metaphor; damn).
I stayed a couple of nights in Morelia, and can report the centre of town is a wonderfully-preserved old spanishy town, with countless historic buildings, churchs etc, and a sturdy aqueduct. I lucked into arriving on a Sunday which seemed to be partytime in the square, performers everywhere. There were several performers (excluding the bog-standard buskers), including:
·A couple of talented music groups one featuring a stunning violinist.
·A cool family masked broken-sandal-tapdancing group backed by a trio, talented enough players that the kids on guitar and bass swapped half way through.
·A Hare Krishna group, who stood out because not a one had shaved their hair. Come to think of it, Mexican guys all seem to be well-coiffured and presented at all times. Maybe the stares I get aren`t so much for the gringo a head taller than everyone, as for the guy in shorts and old t-shirt with the untroubled hairstyle. I did consider cutting my hair on the fan in my room that night (all it would need is me standing on tiptoe), but elected against it.
·Some sort of modern dance school exhibition, some of whom I thought extremely brave to be showing their stuff in public. (There was an odd moment when someone walked in the middle of the dance, stared and turned slowly around as dancers flew past for a couple of minutes, and then walked out. I`m still debating whether it was performance art or a bystander who wanted to get amongst it).
·A screen running a collection of "horrors of Morelia" short films, at least a couple of which appeared to combine homemade footage with bits of old b&w horrors - I saw one of those old english actors, Peter Cushing or someone like him, if I`m not mistaked. Full marks for ingenuity.
Morelia was cool , and proved a good choice for the only trip outside Mex City I`ll make. It is named for Morelos, a revolutinary hero from the early 19th century, who seems to be the only significant person in Mexico's whole bloody history who has an untarnished reputation. He pushed for suffrage and land reform etc, so naturally he met the standard fate of all idealist populists - executed in 1815.
Turning Up To The Mex
Hola from Mexico all.
I aim to use this as a travelogue for my few weeks travel, rather than bothering people with emails - and bonus is I´ll be able to go back and edit my mistakes. (Or at least I will when I work this thing out, set this up without really looking into how to operate it - so sorry for any gross errors).
Travelling from downunder involved the requisite 6 hour stopover in the 7th hell of LAX. To be fair the first two hours were fine as I lucked into a bar showing the Champs League Man U - Barca. Things did return to the expected horror as I ordered a totally inedible "Japanese" meal, made from a chicken who must´ve been quite poorly when he was killed, and which likely would´ve got someone imprisoned if actually served in Japan.
Due to delays at Mexico City airport, it was 1am when I got there. My first experience was definitely the scariest ever taxi ride. I´ve been on some contenders before, but this was the Sistine Chapel of terrifying trips - racing at up to 130kph through red lights, swerving across mostly deserted lanes, and screeching to a halt at the last minute as another intruding vehicle screamed past. Natch no seatbelts either. Luckily I hit my head on the roof when he got airborne early on, so watched the ride through a sleepy and semi-concussed haze.
(Every experience since has been great, so I haven´t taken this as an ill omen.)
Over the next couple days I hit some of the key sights of the city. Some were quite stunning, but I won´t go into detail if I´ve got nothing more than "wow" to say. I did enjoy Temple Mayo, a central set of ruins (I do love me a good ruin) where you could see succeeding layers of an Aztec temple built over each other.
Another highlight was a series of Diego Rivera murals in the Palacio National, effectively depicting the country´s entire history. The jaw-dropping immense centrepiece featured every significant Mexican ever, sort of like the cover to Sgt Peppers, only with a theme. The mural was completed when Mexico was going communist, so that came through strongly - it seemed they were using the same square-jawed overall-clad honest worker that I saw depicted in Russia, so I think he must have travelled down to pose. Luckily he remembered to bring his sickle.
I´ve also learnt much about Mexican culture. I can report that the Mexican Weakest Link has a carbon copy ruthless bitch from the UK original, and the only cd store I visited proudly displayed "Tiffanys Greatest Hits" under the exclusive import section. I also heard Spanish versions of "Everything I do" and Coldplays "Yellow". Yellow was definitely a Mexican artist, as they didn´t sound half as suicidal as Chris Martin does, but the Bryan Adams song was a scarily close version, right down to droning the entire chorus on the same note. Either a Spanish speaker has managed to emulate perfectly the sound of Canada´s second-worst export, or Bryan has been practising his Español. I guess the latter, as surely the world's too small for two people to make it with that voice.
More to come when I can.
I aim to use this as a travelogue for my few weeks travel, rather than bothering people with emails - and bonus is I´ll be able to go back and edit my mistakes. (Or at least I will when I work this thing out, set this up without really looking into how to operate it - so sorry for any gross errors).
Travelling from downunder involved the requisite 6 hour stopover in the 7th hell of LAX. To be fair the first two hours were fine as I lucked into a bar showing the Champs League Man U - Barca. Things did return to the expected horror as I ordered a totally inedible "Japanese" meal, made from a chicken who must´ve been quite poorly when he was killed, and which likely would´ve got someone imprisoned if actually served in Japan.
Due to delays at Mexico City airport, it was 1am when I got there. My first experience was definitely the scariest ever taxi ride. I´ve been on some contenders before, but this was the Sistine Chapel of terrifying trips - racing at up to 130kph through red lights, swerving across mostly deserted lanes, and screeching to a halt at the last minute as another intruding vehicle screamed past. Natch no seatbelts either. Luckily I hit my head on the roof when he got airborne early on, so watched the ride through a sleepy and semi-concussed haze.
(Every experience since has been great, so I haven´t taken this as an ill omen.)
Over the next couple days I hit some of the key sights of the city. Some were quite stunning, but I won´t go into detail if I´ve got nothing more than "wow" to say. I did enjoy Temple Mayo, a central set of ruins (I do love me a good ruin) where you could see succeeding layers of an Aztec temple built over each other.
Another highlight was a series of Diego Rivera murals in the Palacio National, effectively depicting the country´s entire history. The jaw-dropping immense centrepiece featured every significant Mexican ever, sort of like the cover to Sgt Peppers, only with a theme. The mural was completed when Mexico was going communist, so that came through strongly - it seemed they were using the same square-jawed overall-clad honest worker that I saw depicted in Russia, so I think he must have travelled down to pose. Luckily he remembered to bring his sickle.
I´ve also learnt much about Mexican culture. I can report that the Mexican Weakest Link has a carbon copy ruthless bitch from the UK original, and the only cd store I visited proudly displayed "Tiffanys Greatest Hits" under the exclusive import section. I also heard Spanish versions of "Everything I do" and Coldplays "Yellow". Yellow was definitely a Mexican artist, as they didn´t sound half as suicidal as Chris Martin does, but the Bryan Adams song was a scarily close version, right down to droning the entire chorus on the same note. Either a Spanish speaker has managed to emulate perfectly the sound of Canada´s second-worst export, or Bryan has been practising his Español. I guess the latter, as surely the world's too small for two people to make it with that voice.
More to come when I can.
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