(Not) smelling of roses

What with it being Valentine’s day, this is an even more appropriate time to be writing about this theme. I don’t often come out smelling of roses here in Mexico. The fact of the matter is, that if there is something to be said, a dozen Mexicans will say it. If you have a spot, you’ll be told about it. If you’re looking ill, you’ll be informed about it before you even get a chance to look in the mirror. There is no room for the weak here. It means that I have come across a greater level of self-confidence here, and people are less bothered about having a bit of fat on them, as long as their hair is brushed and they’ve got a pair of heels on. Which is why I get quizzical looks when I leave the house with unbrushed hair and my unwavering flipflops. I’ve been promised a lot of combs for next Christmas. And I’ve received many gifts of shoes as a hint. Physical priorities are very different across the globe. Nails and hair are paramount in Mexico, as are high heels whatever the time of day or occasion, and skin is either coffee-coloured and flawless, or acne-riddled. My undecided skin, which can’t quite make its mind up between being nice mature grown-up skin or teenage and troublesome, has no place here. Luckily it’s not too serious an offence to be kicked out of the country.

OAXACA. finally

This month’s travels took me to the neighbouring state of Oaxaca, on the Ecobus, which saves on money, legroom and comfort, but certainly not on time or back pain. I was flying solo for the first day, which gave me ample time for strolling the picturesque streets of the state capital, dipping into museums, stopping for mescal flavoured ice creams and lapping up the sunshine. Mezcal, which makes me feel slightly drunk/sick just writing the name, is an agave-based liquor, which is the family name for tequila, and has its roots in Oaxaca. To prevent me from feeling lonely in the big city Enrique called up a couple of his old friends and instructed them to take care of me and show me a good time. This involved lots of mescal and a fair bit of dancing. Incredibly, I dance better with a few shots of the potent stuff in me. Although no one has ever told me so much.

When Guy arrived I carried on calling the shots, armed with a guidebook and lots of ideas. We crammed as much into 4 days as is possible, ruins, exotic foods (grasshoppers and tlayudas for example), museums, parks, more mescal, lots of markets and far too much spending. We developed a hard-to-kick habit of spending ridiculous amounts of money on useless tosh. But I’m sure the black pottery tequila glasses and miniature wooden table and chairs will come in very handy, as will the carved toothpicks and milk stirrer.

Oaxaca is very much aware of its status as national cultural centre and gastronomical hub, but it still maintains a relaxed pace of life, and the further you venture from the sanitised centre you see the more gritty, real-life bustle of the city in the outskirts. I definitely intend to go back and see more of the mountain villages, for which I got a taste when we visited Teotitlan, the weaving village where three-storey brick houses and shiny cars of the hardworking residents contrast with the arid, empty mountain setting.