No Mexico City Blues

The thought of riding into a city of 22 million people exhausted me but I couldn’t miss the chance to experience Mexico City and was now nearby and decided to book a hostel in the centre of town and ride in from Morelia. I often have the choice of which roads to take in Mexico – the toll roads which are a series of modern highways built in the past decade or the earlier roads which connect large towns and cities. The toll roads are obviously smoother roads, they’re quicker but the downside is I miss all the interesting stuff in between, the gas stations are inconsistently spaced and I run the risk of running out of petrol again and they’re very expensive relatively speaking. A day on the toll roads can cost as much as a night’s accommodation and two or three meals. The other option, the provincial roads often have confusing and unreliable directional road signs, but can often take me through beautiful countryside or through mountain ranges or charming villages. The down side to these are often the extended distance and more than anything, the painful and irritating topes, the Mexican speed bump. The speedbumps creep up often and at random places with little or no warning and are often far steeper than they need to be to mitigate speed on the road. If I approach them too fast they often scrap the bottom of my centre stand and probably do damage to my suspension. Riding in to Mexico City I decide on the toll roads so I get in at a reasonably hour, check in at the hostel and find a dodgy but safe place to rest Sixto for a few days. For all its size, abundance of people on the street and the congested underground I have a great time in the city. I join a fun group of travelers on walks through the city by day and nights on the beer and mezcal (similar to tequila, made from agave).

One of the highlights was visiting a museum which housed a famous mural from Diego Rivera and a public building where he was commissioned to paint themed murals over six years last century. Rivera is remembered for his murals of revolutionary ideas and the indigenous heritage of Mexico. He twice married Frida Khalo another famous Mexican artist of the 30’s and 40’s. I visited her house, La Casa Azul which is now a museum displaying some of her art and eccentric life stories.

We get a big crew together and head to the Luche Libre mexicanwrestling one night for a laugh, the chants and name calling fitted well with poor athleticism. There was an ex-gladiator from home fighting, way past his used by date.

I leave the city on a sour note. I picked up my bike early the morning I planned to leave and parked it on the footpath in front of the hostel before having breakfast. When I returned to pack my bags, a policeman, Gomez, was by the bike taking down my rego. details. He told me I was parked illegally and would have to following him to the police station to pay a fine. I kicked up a fuss, saying there was no where else to temporary park to pack my bags but all I got back was ´Hey amigo this is Mexico, this is not my eproblem.´ I tried to draw it out as long as I could, took a while to secure my bags then told him I had no money on me so he made me follow him to a bank, a guy working at the hostel said it would be about 1000-1200 pesos as did the cop later on. I hinted a couple of times that ít would be easier´ if I just paid him and he could deal with the ´paperwork´ later on as I was in a hurry to leave. He didn´t seem like a corrupt cop but finally he came around as we got closer to the police station and asked how much I was willing to give him. I offered him 300pesos ($25) which we settled on without much argument from his side until I handed him a 500 note and he whinged about having to give me change. I got my change and rode out of town.  

To San Miguel de Allende

I ride across the mountains from Guanajuato and spend an afternoon in Dolores Hidalgo then move on to San Miguel de Allende, a town I read referred to as the Florence of Mexico and where many wealthy Americans choose to retire. It’s a beautiful place, all streets lead to the central jardin which is always full of people and atmosphere. There’s often music and salsa dancing and always shoe shiners.

The church is well restored and probably the most beautiful exterior I’ve seen outside of Europe.

I meet Eric at the hostel, a Californian who knows the town well, this time here to continue writing a story about a guy living here and to chase a girl who works at a nearby café. We have a couple of fun nights out. Eric takes me on a tour of the cantinas (bars) in town, some vintage venues, full of character with old jukeboxes and famous for appearances over the years including the Beat Generation on their trips into Mexico. The first night starts with a bottle of tequila at the rooftop of his friends place and finishes huddled around the late night taco stand in the pouring rain. The following includes a karaoke bar, at first we’re celebrated as foreigners choosing classics then after a few songs the enthusiasm is lost and we’re encouraged to call it a night. I take the opportunity to ride 2-up and we spend a day at the hot springs out of town. I drag myself away from San Miguel after a few days and head for Morelia, a relaxed regional capital further south. Another hostel to myself for a couple nights, the women who runs the place it quite friendly and offers me a free ticket to the theatre to see the regional symphony orchestra play Beethoven one evening which was an interesting outing. I spend a day riding to some of the regions ‘pueblos magicos’, a heritage listing of villages throughout Mexico that are restored and protected for their beauty and cultural significance.           

A week in Guanajuato

I enter Central Mexico and my riding distances have slowed down a lot compared to the outset. I spend a few days in Aguascalientes relaxing in the gardens and spending time at the hostel run by Felipe, a crazy Spaniard and his Mexican wife which doubles as a bar/cafe full of students and young drinkers. I have a huge dorm room to myself and hang out with the guys running the kitchen, the tradesman fixing up the place and drink many calimochos, the local way of mixing wine and coke & micheladas, adding tomato juice to beer with spices. On the Sunday I leave for Guanjuato where I booked some spanish classes at a school for a week.

The city sits beautifully within a valley and amongst the surrounding hills. It's colourful and alive with great squares, gardens and many tunnels running through the mountains.   

  

I decided on three hours of classes every morning, a private vocab. class with Esme, a group class with expat John on the preterite and a conversational hour with Silvia. It was fun and worth it to build up my vocab. and gave me direction with verb tenses and use. I make friends with Silvia who invites me over for dinner one evening for sopes, a kind of open, flat taco with more ingredients and listen to her friends play guitars through the night. The Guanajuato central market was great for lunch and the alleyways were great to wander during the day and get lost in. The city pays homage to Cervantes who spent a lot of time here including a iconographic museum and many statues and murals in public spaces of Don Quixote, arguably the best fictional book ever written.

The town is also known for its history of preserving the dead. The renown museum showcases mummies that were preserved in the soils beneath the mountains, often when relatives couldn’t pay the tax for a cemetery burial during a 19th century cholera outbreak.

I stayed at Buzz and Maria's place, they were very hospitable and had a beautiful house in the hills above the city which was relaxing to chill in the evenings. I was able to cook a few times for the first time in months and shared a great meal of chillies rillenos, traditional to the region with Buzz, Maria and a few of there friends on my final night. There´s a road which winds around the top of the valley near the house called La Panoramica, I cruise around it every night at dusk taking in a different view of the valley and city below.  

In 1810, Guanajuato was the first city captured during the War of Independence from Spanish reign, a timely place to discover an intriguing history on Mexico which involves advanced ancient civilisations, many conflicts, invasions and revolts – perhaps what keeps the people politically active and as some say, still skeptical of foreigners.

For 3000 years Indian civilisations ruled and thrived in Mexico – from the Olmecs who first cultivated corn, beans, chillies and cotton, the Teotihucan’s, then the Mayans who excelled at pottery, writing, calendar making (remember the world was coming to an end last year) and mathematics. The Toltecs followed with the most powerful armies the Americas had seen then the Aztecs who founded a settlement at modern day Mexico City and became highly developed politically, artistically, religiously and commercially and finely worked ceramics, gold, silver, copper, jade and turquoise.

The Spanish first arrived in 1517, confronted by fierce natives, returning a couple of years later searching for a route to Asia and its riches of spices and other resources. They founded Veracruz on the Gulf of Mexico and were then welcomed on marching to the heart of the Aztec empire because their light skin resembled the Aztec God Quetzalcoatl. Four years from their first arrival, the Spanish found Mexico City and built a city on the ruins of the Aztec capital which became the centre of the European New World.

For nearly 300 years, the Spanish reigned, instilling Catholicism and Western culture on the Native Indians. As Napoleon occupies Spain and installs his brother as Head of State, momentum grows for a Mexican War of Independence as the colonial government weakens. In 1810, Hildalgo, a priest from Dolores calls for independence, setting off revolutionary action by both natives and the mixed Indian & Spanish race. Guanajuato is first captured and Independence is granted officially in 1821 with divided rights for Spanish or mixed Spanish and the natives.

Texas shortly after declares independence and the U.S. takes the opportunity to invade during an unstable period, capturing California and New Mexico, Mexico finally concede to losing nearly half their territory. The remainder of the 19^th century involves a torn society with guerilla warfare, unpopular reforms, new constitutions, leaders forced into exile, civil war and suspension of foreign debt payments which leads to Napoleon III installing the Archduke of Austria on the throne of the Mexican Empire for four years.  After the French withdrawal, supposedly from U.S. pressure, social tensions and inequality leads to the revolution of 1910, 100 years on from the Independence movement.

The recent century has included mass migration to the U.S. by those searching for work, economic growth, nationalization of oil companies, a widening gap of the rich and poor, large foreign debt, earthquakes, a banking crisis and now the drugs war and according to most Mexicans I speak to, increasing corruption. Everything seems to have happened or is happening here, its history seems to say a lot about the livelihood, the volatility and the contradictions I see here every day.

The lonely road to Zacatecas

I'm forced to Leave Real' after having issues getting cash from the one ATM in town, so I head through the access tunnel and down the long cobblestone road back to the highway. I had bought a visor in San Antonio a week earlier for my open face helmet to attach when it rains because it’s no fun travelling 60 miles an hour with rain piercing your forehead and your lower face. When I rode down the 20 mile bumpy road from Real de Catorce I jumped off to check my bags were secure and realize my camping bag was loose at the drawstring and my visor had fallen out. Great. I wasn't expecting much rain until I hit the tropical zone further south but spent the next hour tracing my steps back up the mountain searching for the visor. I got as far as the hotel I stayed the previous night without any luck, asked around but couldn't find anything so turned around back towards the highway and was on my way to Zacatecas.

I rode for a good hour before my low petrol light came on and noticed that I hadn't seen a gas station for a while so one must be imminent. Hank had warned me days earlier that this stretch was particularly isolated and didn't have many gas stations. The furthest I'd travelled with the light on was 45 miles so I had a bit of distance before worrying about it. I rode and rode and nothing appeared, no highway towns, few cars and warm sun. The signs with hotel and petrol symbols assured me one was coming but eventually my engine began to choke and I was forced to switch the bike off and come to a stop on the side of an isolated highway. I opened the tank and could hear a little petrol swirling around when I gave it a shake. I remember reading somewhere that petrol can get trapped deep on the edge of the tank and pushing the bike side to side may direct the petrol closer to the pump and you may get a few more miles out of it. I gave it a shot and sure enough I rode a further 3 or 4 miles until the engine began to choke again. Still no gas station. I tried to wave down the cars and trucks that occasionally passed hoping someone would stop to help. No one was interested. I walked the bike but got sick of that after a hundred metres when I approached a hill. I continued waving down cars and after about 20 minutes I got the attention of a pick up truck travelling in the other direction who pulled over. I ran across and greeted the man in the photo.     

Hernando was on his way to his ranch and thankfully he had a drum in his tray with a little petrol in it. I managed to convince him to give me a couple litres which he siphoned into the coke bottles in his hand and he gave me some vague directions of a nearby ranch off the highway that I could get more petrol from. I gave him some cash and followed his advice until a gas station appeared, of course it was permanently closed but a little old lady nearby selling drinks directed me up a dirt road to a general store where I was able to get five more litres. Later on I found a gas station as was able to fill to tank up and from then on they appeared every 10 miles or so. Once I had the petrol issue solved and about an hour from where I had planned to stop for the night, the rain came pouring down, just enough to piss me off and remind me of losing my visor earlier in the day.      

I finish the day in Zacatecas, an important trade route outpost during Spanish times with beautiful colonial buildings and stay a few days to wander around my first Mexican city.

A stranger in Mexico

Crossing the Rio Grande at Laredo into Mexico happened in the blink of an eye and without the headaches and contrast I was anticipating. I read ‘The Old Patagonian Express’ recently and recall Paul Theroux describing this border crossing and how everything changed in the matter of moments, how the Mexican side was much more alive, edgy and filled with music. This was in the 70’s though, now the two towns are pretty much blended into one, the American side with brighter lights, smoother roads and the Mexican with more officials standing around doing very little. I rode around in circles for a while looking for the office to get my temporary vehicle importation permit. I was getting directed one way, then another and then back to where I started which seems to be a trend from my first days in Mexico. I've quickly learnt that latin custom is to avoid saying no even if unsure of what I'm asking for, a vague something is more polite than nothing. I ride through the town and any tension I had built up was released quickly. As I get on the open highway and through the first vehicle checkpoint the land became barren and dusty. The first couple of days on the road took me into the Sierra Madre Oriental mountain range which runs along the east of the country, through Monterrey then smaller towns and villages. 

 

 

 

By now I’m a world away from the industrialized U.S. and transported to the Mediterranean villages of an earlier time. As expected, time moves slower here. There’s an abundance of children and they’re free to roam, giggle and shout. Teenagers kick soccer balls well into the evening under dim streetlights. Young couples sit alone in their corner of the squares. All ages gather at the fountains, eating gelati or whatever the street vendors offer. Upcoming local election propaganda is everywhere. Music fills the streets, groups of men with guitars and piano harmonicas offer entertainment. Church bells ring on the hour. Shepherds gather their flock by the highways. Donkeys appear. The smell of grilled meats on the roadside reminds me of riding through South East Asia. At dusk, pick-up trucks approach the villages filled with workers from the fields. Things seem chaotic but have their way of working out. I feel welcome here. People show their tender side. A greeting, a simple conversation and a smile goes a long way - the old man with the cane, the women who runs her food outlet, her young daughter the waitress, the excitable painter at the hostel. I've never enjoyed small talk so much. I’m enjoying throwing my Spanish around and delighted when I can get a conversation going. I began teaching myself from downloaded iPod lessons in the car on my way to and from work back in Melbourne for a few months which has paid off but can only get me so far at the moment.

 

 

Taco truck is king: A perfect stop in the mountains

I love riding through mountains like these, approaching scenes like this with the sun shining in from the side, a few light clouds hovering at the top of the peaks, no cars in sight and then flowing through the twists and turns in the road. I can only patiently wait to experience what the Andes has in stall.

 

I ride up to Real de Catorce, a secluded mountain village which boomed during the silver mining era but now a laid back pilgrimage town for indigenous, catholics and peyote seekers.

 

 

Southern Utah - video

 

 

 

 

Probably my favourite day riding in the U.S.