GO TO MEXICO
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Durango (14/9)
The mountains gave way to rolling hills as we continued south east reaching the central alti-plano where the ridges retreated a few kilometers as the road took the easy route of squeezing between them. This is the ultimate cowboy country. By that I don't mean we were at risk of being herded down by rednecks in pickups and exterminated in some bizarre re-enactment of sleazy rider. This is where some of the most revered directors of classic westerns have found their backdrops. Frustratingly these harsh lonely vistas proved difficult to capture with a 35mm lens. The big screen really is the only answer. The Mexican extras are cheap as well. Several movie sets are still standing within 50 km of the town but from what we have read the locals have created a bit of a tourist ghetto fencing the place off and charging admission as well as converting many of the set buildings into dwellings.
Somewhat fatigued from the day's ride we didn't explore the town to any great detail. Settling in at a student bar to sip Cerveza Bohemia (highly recommended) I was astounded to hear the Beasts of Bourbon along with a host of other eclectic rock songs on the CD player. We had just ordered our third beer when the Mexican version of Hey Hey it's Saturday came on the TV. Moments later the local Darryl Sommers clone was babbling away at max volume over the music. To the Latin Americans too much noise is never enough and Mexicanos are no exception. We retreated to the hotel.
Zacatecas (15/9 - 17/9)
When I visited Paris in the early 1980 as an early twenty something the experience left me with a lasting impression. From growing up in Brisbane, then spending 2 years working in Perth, on a first trip overseas, the French capital was a revelation. My eyes were suddenly opened to the potential of the urban environment can have for enriching the human experience. A city with a unique sense of identity molded by it's history and an innate sense of style and direction. The most lasting impression was of the grace of the architecture, how the ugly urges of high rise commercial development (Rob McClelland take note) had been subdued, allowing the city to retain a sense of unity with the new complementing the old.
I know your going to find this hard to believe but Zacatecas, a Spanish colonial mining town, 2,450 m altitude, 600 km north west of Mexico City, is in it's own somewhat different way is as impressive. The sense of style may be lacking and the "attitude" almost absent but, no city since Paris has captured my soul the way Zacatecas did in the three days we spent there. To walk the narrow steep cobblestoned streets crammed in a narrow valley between two steep hills, pausing for gasps of thin air on the stairways, is to be transported back in time over a century to the wealth and excess of the colonial silver boom. Not only is the architecture, in particular the public buildings, ornate and grandiose, the city centre is so well preserved that if your ignore the (never congestive) traffic the only give away to the twentieth century are the occasional water pipe or electricity meter. This is not some trite piece of perfectionism bestowed by some highbrow hysterical society. No, the stonework radiates the ache with the years, stairs are deeply dished by the imprint of uncountable footprints, iron knobs on heavy wooden doors are worn smooth by century of palm work. There have been coats of paint applied for sure in the last 10 years but the city remains functional, far from some museum piece protected by a humidified glass cabinet. Zacatecas is old, you can read it's history from the lines on it's streetscapes. Transfixed, I spent hours each day simple wandering the lanes and stairways, drinking in the atmosphere. Around every corner was a new discovery, at the top of every staircase an enticing new spectacle. When footsore wine by the glass and expresso coffee quenched our thirst and provided relief from the drought of gastronomy since leaving Mal Born. Is this the really still considered part of the "developing world"?
We arrived fittingly, on Mexican independence day. Here the sense of the achievement, of the grasping of control of one's own destiny is as acute as anywhere in the country. No meso-american indigenous community has suffered more than the generations born to and those that followed the Spanish conquest of the central heartland. While this area produced over a third of the world's silver for more than two centuries, amassing colossal fortunes for Spain, the Indian population declined from twenty five to just one million. The eminence of this victory rings out from the unmarked mass graves of indigenous Indians and imported African slaves who were worked to death in the appalling conditions of the mines.
Balconies were a riot of ribbons and banners of red, white and green. Below the streets were clogged with rummaging bodies waving tricolore flags, faces painted, sombreros striped. Dodging aerosol foam spray sold to pranksters by street vendors we made our way through the crowds, pausing at a bar here. Towards midnight one of the overseeing hilltops exploded with fireworks as the patriots partied on into the night. If this is what Australia could look forward to at least once a year then it is a convincing argument for a republic.
On the last night a visit to the "Ladies Bar" wrapped things up. Such tags exist due primarily to the reputation of the old frontier Mexican Cantina, sustained by the reluctance of Latin machismo to succumb to the modern ideals of equal opportunity. As no cantina will allow a woman on the premises you will occasionally see an establishment trading as "Ladies Bar". On a late Friday night quest for bottled water we found ourselves drawn there by some compelling force, possibly beknown only to our livers. Inside we were alone while the bar women concerned themselves with looking up a book on how to prepare out two margaritas! Moments later a thirty something longhair in a dress overcoat, clutching a white manicured poodle joined us. Through the confusion of what I assumed to be a heavy intoxicant interaction he eventually managed to communicate his wish of a beer. Then the rush appeared someone almost sober who ignored everyone and pretended to drink a Corona a and his mate, a bespectacled middle age gent . The latter immediately stuck up a form of communication with the poodle owner followed by a genial drunkard who tried to practice his English on us between revelations of who he could remember was Australian. The hit list included Mel Gibson, the Bee Gees and Errol Flynn. The miss list is too long and bizarre to mention. So there we were four local blokes Mary Ann and myself in the Ladies Bar. We fretted about the severity of the challenge then as the tequila started to kick in ordered two genebras y tonicas (G & Ts, pronounced "hi-NEE-brah" as in "inebriation" - perhaps "mothers ruin" is not just a British phenomenon?). After calling a last minute time out as the vodka bottle teetered above the glasses some M\'e9xican gin was eventually found on a high dusty shelf. The quandary was then what to mix it with? I suggested straight lime juice as these citrus, slightly sweeter and juicier than the Oz variety, are as common as a salt shaker on every M\'e9xican table. As you may well imagine our "helpful" drinking companions were forthright with their suggestions for solving our drinks dilemma. Add the confusion of interpretation of local dialects, gringo pronunciation, the lateness of the hour. We got out alive after the G & Ts with firm handshakes all round promises of bringing kangaroos back with us on our next visit. Cultural collision, what a circus!
San Luis Potosi (18/9 - 19/9)
It is perhaps unfortunate for SLP to fit into the itinerary between the two colonial jewels of Zacatecas and Guanajuato (see later). None the less I can report that it is a agreeable town sited on a sensible flat piece of ground in the centre of a agricultural and increasingly more important industrial region two hundred kilometers south east of Zacatecas at a more respiratory altitude of 1850 metros. There are signs of the past mining glory days in many preserved splendid public buildings. The streets here are however definitely busier. Come the evening "paseo" it's wall to wall flesh. T accommodate this swarm many narrow inner streets have been permanently pedestrianised. This nightly surge and the almost constant activity around the plazas, gardens and squares gives the city a real sense of life. Why can't Swantson walk be like this? Where free time often means tucked away in the corner of bar or cafe in Zacatecas, in Potosi it is more likely to entail window shopping.
The frustrations from yet more failures to connect with our "global" internet support service are exaggerated by the hotels insistence in adding $US5 for calls that didn't get through!
Guanajuato (20/9 - 22/9)
Struth, another absolute jewel of preserved Spanish colonial architecture, again for one's enjoyment at a mere fraction of the price of the European experience. The location is geographically like Zacatecas only even more unlikely. Both are crammed into narrow valleys but in Gwannaz the sides are too steep to drive on! They have diverted the river and built sub-terranian roads in the bed to allow traffic circulation. This is also another university town so students abound. Action centers around the beautiful Jardin de la Union where outdoor tables spill from restaurants, wandering Minstrels proffer their services or if unoccupied for too long strike up a tune or song spontaneously. The milder weather here at only slightly lower altitude (2000 m) certainly aids sitting outdoors with cold ale in hand.
Whilst dramatic setting, keen sense of history, mild climate, beautiful architecture, affordable prices, friendly Mexican hospitality, etc give an impression of having stumbled on nirvana, there are perhaps a few cracks just starting to show. Gwannaz is a much more popular tourist destination than Zacatecas, particularly for domestic market being only a couple of hours drive from Mexico City. When 25+ million people get a long weekend look out! This small blemish materialises in several forms consistent with those of other destinations that have become or are in the process of becoming corrupted by the economy and mentality of the town becoming too focussed on the tourist dollar at the expense of their own local identity. Waiters get very grumpy if the tip is less than $US5 - tips are unheard of in the North West where we've been travelling. Instead of focussing exclusively on the excellent local leatherwork the high street shops have deemed it necessary to display and promote imported Milanese products. Additionally to demonstrate the international "hippness" of things Italian we stumbled across a cafe restaurant attached to one of the moderate to posh inner city hotels that was decorated in a motorcycling theme. Cafe Veloce had a dustbin faired Ducati 450 single mounted prominently mid floor between the tables, a MV two stroke road bike (looked about 250cc) wall mounted along with various pieces of aging British iron. While enchanted enough by the beautifully restored desmo single to get the camera out, such sights aren't the reason we have come to Mexico. I would have drawn a hard line after expresso coffee when it comes to cultural importation.
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