'And so the week passed on with frightening intranscendence. Monday I said my goodbye to the family, the last ones I'll see on this trip. Now I'll be moving around in more southern areas, where I think I will feel more at home. We'll see.'
This last sentence of my last blogpost dates from January 26, more than five month ago. During that time I wrote absolutely nothing, as you can tell from the blog. What happened? Fuck, I don't know. Well, a lot of things. I myself find it hard to believe that I reduced my literary activity to zero. There's several reasons. For instance, I didn't always have a computer with internet at my disposal, and if I did have one I didn't always find the time to write comfortably, i.e. with seas of time. But most important of all, I think I was roaming deep down inside life's abdomen. Living at 300 km/h. Ceasing the day until there is no more left to cease. Too busy enjoying life. Too busy enjoying life? Fucking hell, when has that ever occurred to me? This has to be further explained, don't you think? On many occasions I truly wished to post an anecdote or two, but I got to the point where I felt that I would miss something - anything - if I would dedicate some time to this self-imposed obligation. It sounds slightly exaggerated, but that's more or less the reason why I have published no reports on my travel activities. Anyway, for those who have been waiting for a sign of life and for those who haven't - and I honestly don't care if you wouldn't - here's an update of what I've been doing the moment I left my family in Leon. Unfortunately, in reduced version. Too many details would make up a text with more words than the bible. Maybe one day I'll exhibit it in its entirety in an autobiography (ahum...). But for now, here's what happened:
Enchantment in Veracruz, Olmec turf
After I finished my last family stop in Leon I hopped on a bus to Xalapa, the capital of the state Veracruz. Geographically, the state lies in both central and southern Mexico which explains a change of climate and vegetation in comparison with the northern states. Lush green valleys, lakes and ponds, humidity allover,... Personally, I enjoyed this change of ambient after months of intense traveling in northern and central Mexico, where predominantly arid land colored the view from the many bus-trips I undertook. The desert and the culture linked to it was starting to wear a bit out on me. If I were to choose between cowboys and indians, I'd surely go for the red-skinned hunter/food-gatherers. But that beside the point. As I was telling, I first visited Xalapa, which for a capital feels like a very cozy city to walk through. Hilly narrow streets, colonial architecture, a surprisingly considerable presence of 'green',... All this covered with a layer of chipi chipi, a local term to describe drizzle. Rainfall is not my climatological atmosphere of choice, but in this city it gave it an enchanting air.
As accommodation I relied on my favorite website couchsurfing.org. My host was Sergio, a 26-year old student with an impeccable English accent and a dubious sense of humour. All in all I have to admit my experience with him had been rather neutral. When he was around he wouldn't be very much communicative and for some reason he felt the need to emphasize the age difference between us (Something quite a lot of people tend to do on this continent. 21 years seems to be at the same level as 12. Strange.). Notwithstanding, I got along quite well with his friends and family. And as you do or may no know, the key to be accepted into a household is the mother. If you manage to gain her almost son like sympathy, you're in. However, this may sound like a competition. But honestly I simply enjoy getting along with my friends' mothers.
As with most large cities in Mexico, its surrounding villages and countryside are often very charming. In vox populi there is a verb called pueblear which roughly means 'village-hopping'. City slickers accustom going to the country to escape the madness from their urban environment, mainly during weekends. That way, their mind is temporarily revitalized so to endure the multilevel pollution of their cemented habitat. For me, I just enjoy hopping from one habitat to another. I visited a couple of said locations around Xalapa such as Coatepec, where allegedly the state's best coffee is grown and produced. During the short amount of time I was there, I managed to drink the worse coffee I'd had in a long while. Choosing arbitrarily does not always result successful, I learned. Afterwards I did another town with an impressive collection of cascades called Texolo. When I arrived there it was already getting dark and absolutely no people where around. The tourist facilities around the waterfalls where completely deserted. On top of that a dense cloud of fog covered the whole area, giving it a haunting 'Silent Hill'-esque feel. It felt like walking around the movie-set of a thriller. This ambient made the sighting of the cascades very worthwhile.
Next stop was Veracruz, the state's homonymous city. Known as 'Mexico's gateway to the world', today it's still the country's most important port. Also historically, Veracruz enjoys a reputation thanks to a series of successful military actions. No less than four times did the harbour city receive and defeat foreign invaders. First the last of Spanish troops, than the French and twice the U.S. army. This piece of extraordinary self-defense granted the city with the decorative title 'Cuatro Veces Heroica Veracruz' (Four Times Heroic Veracruz). What I like most about it however, is its Caribbean, almost Cuban feel. The light-coloured garment, the music genres, the people's accent,... It's, again, a different Mexico. For a while I was freed from the gunslinging, American cowboy infested norteño culture from the north. Here you'll find darker-skinned, slow-paced, charmfully dancing coastfolk.
My Couchsurf host this time was Josué, a visual artist from Guatemala. An incredibly wise man, stoical at all times, with a subtle sense of pleasant humour. A true indigenous descendant. He was intrigued by my goofy attempt to explain Belgian politics and our, so far one-year exceeding, absence of government. In parenthesis, that's something many people have found hard to believe.
I was lucky to be in town during the weekend. From Friday till Sunday the historic center converts into a a small nocturnal festival with live music all over. In fact, there's at least one band playing every night somewhere in town. Locals and foreigners come together in huge numbers on plazas and squares to dance salsa, danzon, Cuban son and marimba. At nightfall those genres echo through the streets announcing it's time to find a dance partner and burn away a few calories through some very contagious footwork. The most pleasant part of all is to observe the wide range of ages participating in the Terpsichore: from young turtledoves to near fourth-aged couples. If the band's playing salsa or any other upbeat rhythm you'll see couples swaying elegantly, swinging their limbs vigorously with incredible compatibility, forging the male-female into a harmonious unison. Same with slower paces, but instead you'll see predominantly older couples whirl adagio, as if they were competing for the slowest. Nonetheless, it's a heartbreaking sight to watch two veteran lovers express their affection through the turtle dance. What a much better way to spend quality time together than sitting in front of the tube, don't you think?
Josué's partner Céline, from Bretagne (France), recommended me to go visit Lake Catemaco, in the same state a bit further south. I was first planning on going straight to Oaxaca, but Céline's description of the lake totally convinced me and so from one day to another I changed my itinerary. Apparently, there was some sort of an eco village - 'Bahía Escondida' - run by a Swiss guy in a minuscule village right near the lake. Getting there was quite an adventure, as it always is when visiting untouristy villages. Once I arrived to Catemaco, the 'big' city near the lake, I had to take a collective pirate taxi to the that village where the eco hostel was. Those colectivos come in usually in two models: the standard family car and a type of van (I'm sorry, I'm lousy if comes to cars). Since the fare is often incredibly cheap, for instance 10 pesos (= 0.60 EUR), they collect as many people that can possibly fit into the colectivo. In Catemaco there were these vans that connect all communities around the lake with Catemaco. For the locals that's their only way of getting around. It was my first experience with said type of public transport and I have to admit it's quite enjoyable. Since the passengers are packed together almost like cattle it creates a brief moment of trivial sociability, depending on the people of course. Topics such as work, family and weather are commonly brought up.
The eco hostel was... mind-blowing, astounding, simply beautiful. More exact, the place where the Swiss guy had built his place. To get there you had to either take a little boat or walk for ten minutes over a narrow muddy path along the shore. So with my human-size backpack and bulky guitar case I took the dry way. Upon arriving I was met with picturesque bamboo huts neatly covered underneath tropical vegetation topped with a postcard view of the peaceful lake facing the hostel. This is also called the 'wow-effect'.
One day I went out hiking by myself. I didn't figure out exactly where I wanted to walk to, I'd just see what would cross my path. In one of the communities I passed I hooked up a conversation with a group of locals who were seated on the ground having e few beers. Actually, they asked me where I was heading to. I said there was this one village I was recommended by the hostel's owner. All four men started explaining the same directions differently in choir. That habit of a bunch of people talking through each other upon asking them for directions was something I'd encountered more often. Quite funny, that's for sure. After the guys were done explaining they invited me to have a glass of beer. I was totally surprised by their spontaneous kindness to a foreigner like me. I hadn't experienced such openness from local people on this trip, especially from yokels. Well, one beer became two, then three, then four,... I can't remember the exact figure of alcoholic beverages we had, but two of the guys had reached their limit. One of them stumbled home jabbering incoherences, the other fell asleep in a sitting position. I only reached a state of slight tipsiness. Walking back to the hostel to prepare dinner I realized what an interesting experience I'd just had as a result of accepting a beer from four guys sitting on the main road of their community. Oh right, one of them was sort of the domestic 'police officer' in charge of the town's security, and also someone occupied the position of major. That seems like a town I'd like to live in! Before leaving the guys offered to show me around for free, even on horseback. I agreed on coming but eventually I couldn't make it because I had to be in Oaxaca to meet my Couchsurf host. A true pity, I walked away from yet another unique experience now that I look back on it. Oh well, everything happens for a reason.
I'll halt here for now. There's still much to tell, which I'll expose shortly afterwards. I hope this recollection of anecdotes was of your delight.
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