Liberation of the Turtles

Whilst strolling down main street Pto. Escondido I saw a sign in the tourist office saying "Liberacion de Tortugas, 17.20". I had some wild visions of wearing my Che Guevara t-shirt, donning a PLO scarf and breaking into a turtle sweatshop and freeing some repressed turtles. It turned out to be slightly less dramatic, but all the more impressive.

A group of volunteers camp out on the beaches north of Pto. Escondido and every night when the turtles come ashore and deposit their eggs, the guys dig up the eggs and take them to a safe enclosed part of the beach. When the eggs hatch they put the ickle baby turtles together and release them all at the same time.

I got a truck down to the beach at sunset and found the camp. There were only a few other people present and there was literally a bucket of baby turtles on the sand. So we all picked up two handfuls of turtles and brought them down to within about 3 meters of the water's edge. It was like the grand national gone wrong as the little feckers used their not-suitable-for-the purpose flippers to tug themselves towards the water. When you are 3cm long, 3 meters is a long bloody way. Every so often a wave would come in and wash them back to where they had started. Sisyphus eat your heart out. A couple of the silly buggers even started frugging their way in the wrong direction, but luckily the hand of God (well I like to think that the turtles believe that) came down from above and pointed them in the right direction.

After about 20 minutes the first sprinters made it to the water's edge and started to disappear into the sunset. All very touching, until that is, one of the volunteers told us that only 5% survive...

Photos of puerto escondido and the turtles here

Lagunas de Chacahua

I left the Mayflower hotel (highly recommended) at 9am wearing my standard uniform - flip flops, t-shirt and board shorts. In my shoulder bag I had the equivalent of 20 dollars in pesos, sunscreen and a camera. I was heading off to the Chacahua lagoon which was famed for a nice beach, crocodiles and lots of [feathered] birds. I got a bit distracted on the internet after breakfast so started off a little late, but the lagoon was only about 90km away.

I found the bus stop for the Rio Grande bus, paid my extortionate 2 dollar fare and settled down for the trip. The landscape rolled by, I was lost in thought and after about 2 hours the driver says "Terminal". I say "Rio Grande" and in Spanish he says the equivalent of "Ha ha, that is about 70km back down the road mate" (my translation). Slightly down, but not out I cross the road and get a bus back telling the driver to kick me out at Rio Grande. We duly arrive and I jump on a "collectivo" (pick-up truck where the driver starts as soon as he has enough people to make a profit on the trip) to take me down to the lagoon. The trip is short and the we are dropped off beside the boats which take you out to the nice part in the lagoon. Unfortunately it is only me and a local lady who need a boat ride, so we sit down amongst the Boat Drivers of Chacahua. Our driver tells me it will be about 20mins and he offers me a Corona (shocker). 3 Coronas (both of us) and an hour later he decides it is time. So myself, the woman and a freshly arrived couple from Mexico city board the noticeably porous boat (the slightly tipsy "captain" bails out a couple of litres before we start). The woman is carrying an infant and a bag of melons so she looks at me for a second or two before asking me if I could hold her melons (honestly, no metaphors here). Obviously I was not trustworthy enough to be given the snotty child. The captain forgoes a safety drill and doesn't mention where the life jackets are and off we jet into the lagoon.

On the other side I start to realise that this lagoon is an epic adventure as to get to the final destination we STILL need another pick-up truck to the other side of the peninsula. So we bump, grind and rock & roll (all the while with melons on my lap) along the worst "road" I have seen since Cambodia. An hour later we arrive in downtown Chacahua and I ask the lady with the melons (stop giggling at the back) when the last boat back is. She calmly informs me that I had been on it. Seeing the mild discomfort in my eyes she asks would I like a cabaña for the night. I accept gladly and am shown my palatial, sand floored, holes the size of parrots in the walls, mosquito netted, 5 dollar beach bungalow.

I laugh at the dice life throws at us and jump in for a swim. The water is blissful and the waves huge, in fact there are a fair amount of surfers coasting around offshore. I explore the town, which takes all of 20 minutes and settle down at the nearest beach shack for a beer and some food (whole red snapper a la diabla). As soon as the sun starts to set the "waiter" (old dude with a cowboy hat on) hands me the bill and says they are closing. It is 6.30pm. Sunset watched, I walk down the beach looking for signs of life. Nada. So with that I manage to persuade a Japanese & Corsican dude who were speaking Spanish on the beach (very surreal) to part with two beers and head back to my shack. I never thought I could sleep, but by about 8pm I was snoring soundly in paradise.

The next morning I awoke at 6am to a cacophony of birds. The island has no running water, so it was into the sea for a quick scrub and a few minutes later I was sitting peacefully on the beach, drying off and watching the spectacular sunrise.

The place is truly Paradise.

Photos of Chacahua here

ps. from now on I will always have my toothbrush with me when I leave the house.
pps. the journey back took about 2 hours...

Normality, Puerto Escondido

Puerto Escondido is a lovely place with 4 beaches to choose from - one for surfing, one for swimming and two for snorkelling. Fresh seafood and an endless supply of Corona make it an easy place to stay. The days took on a familiar pace, awake early, breakfast (with some combination of eggs, tortillas and chilli), beach and swim, lunch (some combination of meat, tortillas and chilli), read, siesta, swim, beer, mosey about, beer, dinner (some combination of fish, tortillas and chilli), bed.

In fact the most challenging part of Puerto Escondido was on the first day trying to equip myself with the necessary beach ensemble of flip flops and board shorts. Size 11 is not that common here, neither is extra large. So after 2 hours of stressful shopping I was sorted. Well at least that was until I went for my first swim, which saw my shorts being skilfully whipped off me by a rogue wave. Trying to put shorts back on in less than a meter of water whilst waves are hitting you left right and centre is an art I have still to master. When I finally managed to stagger out of the sea I was astounded to see that my 3 dollar supermarket shorts had sustained serious collateral damage and in fact there was now a fairly large hole in the crotch and scuff marks everywhere. But now they have character.

My hostel even has a TV in the room and one guilty afternoon instead of snoozing I decided to watch some "Caja Tonta" ("idiot box" in Spanish). Two episodes of "Love Boat" and one of "Dynasty" later I was laughing my head off and heading to the beach. You have to love the 80s...

The Road to Puerto Escondido

Time to leave Oaxaca and head down to the Pacific. Puerto Escondido was the destination of choice as I had googled "Beach near Oaxaca", feck guidebooks. I had also read that the journey was to take 7 hours, so always one to learn quickly I arrived at the bus station at 9am with bags of crisps, chocolate bars, cake and even a red bull for good measure. I shared the bus station with a whole flock of Jehovah's Witnesses, which must have been on an annual retreat as they arrived en masse with guitars, banjos, 7 wives (sorry wrong sect) and irons (you gotta keep those short sleeved shirts neat and tidy). I joked fleetingly to no one in particular that knowing my luck I would end up sitting beside one. But they seemed all to be heading back to Mexico City.

Bus arrived punctually at 9.30 (the days of mañana, mañana are gone in modern Mexico) and I jumped on and got my seat. A couple of minutes later a lone Jehovah (complete with guitar) makes his way to the bus, says goodbye to his elder brethren and gets on. He checks his ticket and in a millisecond I realised my fate had been sealed. Yes, he grinned, walked up to me, shook my hand and sat down beside me. I was going to feign deafness, a sudden onset of Tourettes, or pretend only to speak Laotian but God (or Jehovah or Satan or whatever they worship) shone down on me and as the bus was quite empty he asked was it OK if he sat somewhere else. You have never heard such a relieved "Be my guest" in all your life.

The scenery en route was amazing as we wound our way down to the coast, more cacti than you can shake a stick at and lofty peaks reaching out as far as the eye could see. I kept myself nourished at regular intervals and was nicely stuffed when suddenly the driver pulls off the road and into this little roadside oasis of tranquillity. He then proudly announces that we have 40 minutes to eat. Sickened by this illogical twist of fate I sat down and helped myself to some ice cold Corona Mexican water. This proved to be misguided as 2 hours later when I could hold my well trained bladder no longer I had to go to the loo in the bus. The toilets themselves were fine, but imagine (well at least the men folk out there) trying to piss a litre of beer whilst a kamikaze Mexican bus driver is hurtling the bus left to right down a windy mountain road. I felt like a sock in a tumble dryer. It was not a pretty sight.

The 7 hours went by quickly and I expected to see idyllic seaside retreat at any minute. 8 hours went by and I put it down to starting late and our long lunch break. I can't remember the reason I made up for the 9th hour going by, but at this stage I was engrossed in "Sister Act" on the bus DVD player. 10 hours and I was guessing the driver had taken a wrong turn, so after 11 hours and 10 minutes (to be precise) when the bus pulled into Puerto Escondido I was passed any strong emotions and fell off the bus into a taxi and arrived at my lodgings soon after.

The world beer review, Part #4

Corona: You have had this. Say no more.
Modelo Lager: Corona in a different bottle
Victoria: Corona with less alcohol
Sol: Corona with a sun on it
Indio: Corona with a pissed off looking indian on it.
Dos Equis: Aah, finally something different. Very tasty and the choice of the discerning Mexican.

Oaxaca and beyond

The hostel of choice in Oaxaca was La Villada Inn, which just puts all other hostels to shame. Run by two extremely friendly brothers and their entire family (Dad was the maintenance man, mom was the chef de cuisine and cousins were the cleaners and cooks), it was spotless, had a large swimming pool, views to die for and my cabana was massive with a double bed and a hammock outside. All this for 15 dollars.

Oaxaca itself is beautiful, a shady Zocalo (town square) is surrounded by small streets and markets selling everything from whole chickens (alive or dead), the latest fashions (stonewashed denim), gold, silver, various unidentified fish, bags of grasshoppers or just a taco or two (grasshoppers optional).

On the second day I took a tour out to see some of the surrounding landscape, which has at least 57 different types of cactus, the tree (El Tule) with the widest trunk in the world (fact!), a petrified waterfall - Hierve el Agua (Actually I don´t know what it was scared of) with hot springs, some Mayan ruins at Mitla and a tour of a Mescal factory. For the second day in a row I was being deliberately starved and when we eventually stopped for lunch at 4pm I would have gladly had some more tripe tacos.

The Mescal (which is similar to Tequila but is made from a different Agave plant, but of course you knew this already) factory was of course the high point of the trip, as indeed there were lots of samples, which my 3 Australian cohorts and myself took liberal helpings of (a German couple were abstaining and a Swiss couple took 1 sip, say no more). I can highly recommend the "Mezcal nautral viagra", which is distilled with 14 types of herbs. I certainly woke up the next morning with a slight hangover and a smile on my face.

Some photos of Oaxaca here

Welcome to Oaxaca

The bus ride from Mexico City to Oaxaca was a measly 6 hours, which is truly local in the whole scheme of international bus travel. Seats reclined, air conditioning works. A veritable paradise. The only thing I didn´t figure on was that bus didn´t actually stop for lunch like most other long distance busses I have travelled on. So 4 hours in, the chap beside me was watching rather bemusedly as I stuck 4 pieces of chewing gum in my mouth at once, hoping to suck any kind of nutrional content out of them to stop me from fainting onto his shoulder. This torture by famine was not helped by the fact that the driver had stuck on a DVD called "The Orphanage", which for 2pm and on a bus packed with kids was rather a disasterous choice. Well actually the kids were all fine but I was curled up in a ball peeking out from behind my fingers.

I survived the "Starvation Bus" as I fondly call it and reeled downtown and into the nearest Taco stand where I proceeded to wolf down 10 of the old ladies finest tacos. I didn´t understand the word she used for the content (well she didn´t say pollo or carne) but it was something beginning with T. On my way to the hostel I was running through all possibilities and came to the slightly stomach bending conclusion, that yes indeed, I had just had some yummy Tripe Tacos...

Day 1: Mexico City

About to land in Mexico city, the on board map/information display goes 3000m, 2500m, 2200m and then bang, we land. Bit of a shock really when you are used to landing somewhere close to the 0m mark... Composure regained and fingers pried from the armrest I removed my rucksack from it´s resting place, slung it over my shoulder and wandered out to face Mexico.

I can´t deny I like Mexico City, sure it´s dirty, probably dangerous, vastly overpopulated (22 million and couting, actually I´m not sure if anyone is counting as the city sprawls that much), but you can´t deny the streets are alive with cooking, dancing, shouting and absolute liveliness. Music blares from all corners, the general kind of happy happy Mexican music which must obviate the need for Prozac here. I can imagine The Smiths and The Cure are not popular here.

During a stroll through the leafy Chapultepec Park, the small differences to "normality" start to appear.
* Big fat hairy blokes loafing about wearing t-shirts with "Bimbo" written on them: Bimbo makes bread and sponsors a local football team, but I prefer the dumb broad reference.
* Wrestling masks on sale everwhere: If you have seen Nacho Libre you´ll understand. I thought at first that Powerrangers were massive over here, but no, it is in fact one of Mexico´s national passions - Wrestling.
* An army band practising in the shade: Unfortunately for the orchestra, every time someone hit a bum note the culprit was called forward and whacked on the back by the conductor with a massive cane. Just would not happen in the oh-so-PC world we know.

Other than that the Mexican way of life is great. Corona is 70 cents, called "Mexican Water" (incidentally I discovered that Cockroaches are imaginatively called "Mexican Water Beetles") and is consumed liberally throughout the day. Food wise, it is paradise - as a chili fan the fact that every meal comes served with a bowl of green and red chili sauces is great. Even breakfast. Oh yes, scrambled eggs with tortillas and chili - the breakfast of champions.

Here we go again

Well 6 and a half years since I started this thing with the auspicious title of "A journey into sound" (which was actually more a nod to the seminal Marrs tune "Pump up the volume" (which incidentally was a sample from Eric B. and Rakim, but I digress)) it was time once again to pop in the iPod and pop off the career ladder and travel.

Long story short, company was bought, Ap made some money, economy shite, needed a new challenge, itchy feet etc. etc. So it came to pass that after a long and boozy White Christmas (in two ways) near Munich with my cousins (which included the traditional "White Christmas Day Cold Swim" in a Bavarian mountain lake), a detox first two weeks of Jan and two weeks at the new HQ in Princeton, I was sitting in the British Airways lounge in Philadelphia, champagne in hand emailing my letter of resignation. 4 weeks later I was a free man and all that was missing was a plan. Various trips to Cracow, Berlin and Frankfurt impeeded me from actually booking anything. So in a state of mild anxiety on Paddy´s night I bought some travel insurance and a one way ticket to Mexico city...