Down and Out In Mexico
by Paul Taylor
What a trip, I've been back 2 months now, and I still haven't told one person all that happened to me! At times I was pretty miserable, at times I was elated, and at other times I was downright scared! But now when I look back I just feel exilerated by it, which is what its all about right? Memories are made of this!
I start off slow but bear with me till the end, where the point is.
I had planned a trip which would take me from San Fransisco to Buenos Aries, a pretty tall order, and as it would turn out too tall an order. The trip started well enough, camping out in Yosemite national park was the definite highlight of the first week. The second week took me on through Vegas and then in turn to Phoenix, Arizona, and that's where things went wrong. On my first day there, I (naively) took my shoulder bag, with ALL my English money in, and headed for a bank, to change my cash into travellers cheques...something I should have done back home in England. Unaware to me it was a Bank Holiday - Martin Luther King day, so I couldn't. I ended up in a park where much celebrations were going on, and left for the hostel just as it was going dark and yes you guessed it, the dumb assed tourist got mugged by some guy brandishing a knife. People have asked me why I let him get away with it, but let me tell you that when it happened, the last thought in my head was how much money I was carrying. The guy never ran away, he told me to get lost, as I turned away, I remember thinking, 'He's going to do it now, He's going to stab me' but when I turned back, he'd gone. Anyhow, he'd unwittingly left me with $225, but the major headache was this, I'd left my emergency money back home with my parents, who had left for a two week vacation SOMEWHERE in the U.S. earlier that day. Sue the lady who runs the Youth Hostel in Phoenix was brilliant, she let me stay for 3 nights for free enough time to get a further 250 quid sent from my insurers. But I still had 12 days to last, and it wasn't cheap in Phoenix. My best bet I thought was to get into Mexico, and live as cheaply as possible. I caught the overnight Greyhound bus to Chihuaha and then tried to work out what to do. I realized that I needed to get to a city with an International Airport, and to do that I would at one point have to hitch-hike and after hearing of all the horror stories of Mexico City, didn't fancy hitch-hiking into there, plus one of the places I wanted to see was the Copper Canyon (A series of 5 canyons running into each, making it bigger than the Grand Canyon), which was about 6hrs west of Chihuaha and would eventually take me onto the West Coast of Mexico, where I figured it would be pretty easy to hitch-hike down to Puero Vallarta, a popular British holiday resort, although I had been warned by the Phoenix police to be careful of the Mexican police on the west coast as they could be pretty corrupt. After running around in a Taxi for an hour, I not only found somewhere to change my dollars into Peso's, but also found that my Spanish was not as good as I thought it was..and I had thought it was pretty basic. The feeling of Chihuaha is pretty much as Mexican as you can get. It's a busy City, although it has a really small feel to it, and was a complete contrast to where I'd just come from, and I had the feeling of complete isolation, a stranger in a foreign town, with no other Tourists. The Locals would look at you, knowing you were not one of them, what were they checking? Your clothes, your reaction to them looking at you, for a sign of weakness in what could obviously be an intimidating experience? I remembered to look confident, to look people in the eye when talking to them, to remain friendly and it works. People not only start to trust you, but you start to feel comfortable, and then you can begin to immerse yourself in their culture. I caught the last bus to Creel. I still hadn't settled myself, I was still in awe of the fact that I was in a different culture, still very nervous, and as the bus neared creel, it had become dark, and we arrived in a little village with no street lighting whatsover, which in my paranoid state of mind looked as sinister as Camp David in the Friday 13th films. To my relief it wasn't Creel, that was the next stop, but when I got there I rushed into the Youth Hostel, which was a stones throw away, from the bus stop and booked myself in for the night. The landscape changed dramatically as the barren desert landscape surrounding Chihuaha became more hillier and alot greener the higher we got. The next morning, having had a wicked nights sleep, I felt more confident and was ready to start exploring. How can you describe Creel to somebody. Its a town that is straight from the Wild West, expect the Cowboys are Mexicans. I'd been to Wild West sets before when I was young, but they were always managed events, this was REAL. Taramahara Indian women sat in the small square talking to each other, Mexican Children cycled down the small main street not paying much attention to me, as Creel is well visited by tourists (I shouldn't say tourists, travellers is more precise), the odd pickup truck laden with timber would drive through, one of the areas main source of revenue. I took lunch at a cafe by the train station, a low lit rundown but cleanish family run affair. The women sat knitting by the fire as I entered and the daughter, came over and took my order which I gave in broken spanish, but the smile she gave for was my reward for trying and I was made to feel more welcome than in any place I'd been to. The next day, I caught the train to Divisadero, a stop where you can take in the full majesty of the Copper Canyon - stunning. I asked how to get to into the canyon, and was directed a mile out of the village to where I would find a wooden ladder that descends down into the canyon to where I would find a trail. It took me probably about 4.5 hours to get down to the bottom, where I set up a little fire, unrolled my sleeping bag, and slept under a full moon and every star in the universe to the sound of either dogs or wolves howling in the background, cursing the fact that my camera had been stolen aswell. It was a liberating experience and definitely warmer than Yosemite. The ascent of the canyon 2 days later took about 8hours! That is a killer, anyone who wants to try it should be warned, especially with a full rucksack! From there I went by second class train to Los Mochis, (they have armed guards in an attempt to disaudes the bandits who until recently last robbed one), and booked into a really cheap hotel (DUMP), but that was my money spent.....Penniless. An american couple I'd met on the train had left a camper van in Los Mochis and the next morning they arrived at my hotel to give me a lift an hour down the road. They were with their 2 daughters aged roughly 4 and 8 and both had blonde hair and blue eyes. As we walked through Los Mochis, looking to get some breakfast, all eyes were on the 2 little girls, who obviously looked so different to the typical Mexican. The girls were either completely unphased or oblivious to the attention they were receiving. I couldn't help feeling how lucky they were, that their parents had brought them here, instead of taking them off to some holiday resort, which is where most people take their kids. They were getting the chance to see Mexico as it is, thats what I would want for my kids, should I have any. Another guy I'd met in Creel, had sold his house and bought a small yacht, and was travelling the world with his wife and child. He explained to me that he teaches his daughter Maths and English, with help from the internet (he gets exercises and tests sent through), but the rest of the childs education is a practical, they live through it. How can a classroom teach you about other countries, society and language better than that? I have complete admiration for people like that. Anyhow the american couple dropped me off, with a bag of oranges and bread, and I started to walk down the highway towards Mazatlan/ Puera Vallarta. I hadn't hitch-hiked before and was pretty scared and for 4 hours, I never got a lift. I was called over twice by locals. One guy who was working at the side of the road, called me over and we had a chat, and he gave me a couple of tomato's, the second at a toll station. Where a group of youths were doing their best to sell bags of dried bread to the passing motorists in much the same way as people in London try to insist on cleaning your car windscreens. I stopped a while and chatted to them, they gave me a bag of breads, and then a local policeman came over with his automatic machine gun gleaming, to get the lowdown on me. He then started to ask motorists if they were going my way and if they could give me a lift. This dispelled all the myths from my mind, these people were friendly they were helping me even the so called corrupt police! The reason I hadn't caught a lift was that I didn't really want to get picked up. You'll never get a lift, with just your thumb stuck out facing the other way. But after 4 hours walking though and with the sun starting to make a rapid descent, your attitude tends to change, and you start facing the cars and making eye contact with the drivers, and I got a lift! The driver was a local business man who was driving to his office in Guamachil, a quiet small town, an hour down the road but when we arrived, he got me a lift with a colleague,Miguel who lived in Culiachan. Conversation was difficult, as Miguel didn't speak any English, but during the course of the journey, he taught me some Spanish pronunciation, he told me that there was as much cannabis and cocaine produced in the state of Sinoloa as there was in Columbia and that there was a massive crime incentive to stop it. Certainly there had been alot of talk of drugs whilst I had been in Mexico, and I had spoke to travellers in Creel that had happened across not just cannabis plants, but cannabis plantations. We arrived in Culiachan, and he dropped me off in the city centre where he assured me it would be safe. Culiachan has a very colonial Spanish feel to it. A modern bustling town centre surrounding the beautifully lit cathedral, which lies in a pretty town square. I had learnt from Miguel that it developed as an important city because it had 3 rivers running through it and it was certainly the most developed, westenised place I had visited. Sinoloa, suprisingly to me is not that interested in football, baseball rules, and where I was dropped off near the cathedral there was a huge crowd of teenagers. Miguel explained that the local Baseball team had just made a public appearance and the crowd were autograph hunters. As soon as I emerged from the car with my rucksack, and dressed in a tracksuit top, a group of 5 girls rushed over and asked for my autograph. I humbly told them, that I wasn't anybody important but they insisted. Then I had to give them all a kiss, which at first I declined, but they looked so dissapointed that I sheepishly gave each a peck on the cheek. I felt a little embarrased being surrounded by 14yr old schoolgirls, but I had that feeling....I WAS A STAR!..my five minutes of fame had arrived. Well it was more like 30 seconds but still. I spent a sleepless night on a bench in the plaza, where all the young latino loverboys entertain their girlfriends, every bench had a couple kissing and pronouncing their undying love for each other. I felt a little bit obtrusive tucked up with my sleeping bag, but eventually as the evening wore on the crowds diminished. There was one guy that was still hanging about. He was early 40's, smartly dressed with a trenchcoat, and he kept patrolling the plaza, eyeing me every time he walked passed. At first I thought he was an undercover policeman, then he came over sat down and started speaking to me in broken English. He asked me why I was there, and I explained what had happened and that I had no money, he asked me if I was cold, (I was shivering), 'but you have all these clothes on' he said, pulling at my top, and my combat pants. I felt distinctively uncomfortable about him and had reached the conclusion that the guy was after a little company back at his place. After 2 minutes or so of one word answers, the guy left. It was then I realised he'd just pickpocketed my passport and my wallet (which was empty bar for a few email addresses of travellers I'd met). He was good. But I'd been stupid.....Again. The next morning I went to the local police station to report what had happened, a group of 4 police were sitting on a wall, outside the station and whistled me over. I went over and explained the disapearance of my passport, but they told me not to worry and were more interested in where I was from. One went off bought me a cola, and a newspaper and pointed out interesting stories, such as the number of drug related murders in Sinaloa, after 30 minutes their interest in me had subsided and they were changing shifts, so they told me to go to report my loss at the Palacio de Gobierno, foreign office. I walked over to there and was then redirected to an official at the local airport. He then said he wasn't interested and there was nothing he could do unless I had a flight out of the country booked, and even then he wasn't sure what he could do. This had taken all day and I was now tired, smelly, hungry, thirsty and my feet were starting to hurt really bad. The airport which didn't cover european flights (had it have done, I'd have stayed in the lobby for the 3 remaining days until my parents returned), but it was miles out of town, but not far from the highway. I made the decision to walk straight to the highway and walk for as long as I could. By the time I had reached the outskirts of town, (The rough looking areas) it was dark. I felt ok about the situation, but as I reached the highway I came across a huge dusty layby that at first I thought was another toll station but then it seemed to be some sort of dingy lorry drivers stop, although I couldn't see any cafe's or any public amenities, it was hard to describe what it was, but it was poorly lit. Anyway there was a lorry turning some 100 yards ahead of me, it turned to face the road behind me, and was actually coming straight for me, and then it started to accelerate, but it became more obvious that the truck was not going to swerve around me and I had to jump out of the way. It'd be easy for me to take the wrong impression from the incident, I was tired and my state of mind was very negative at the time, but I was convinced that the driver had tried to run me over, I just couldn't believe that the guy couldn't have seen me and I still believe that. That incident shocked me. I'd just had a dog barking and trying to bite my legs some 15 minutes earlier and had become worried that it may have had rabies, and everything that had happened had began to take its toll, I could hear gunshots of farmers in the fields, and had started to imagine them as groups of drugged up youths taking pot-shots at anything that moved. The upshot was that at this point I was scared. I walked another 1/2 mile and then dived into the nearest field, which was actually a just off a sliproad to some farmers house and found a spot, with long grass and had another night of broken sleep. The next morning I started out towards Mazatlan. I had nothing left to eat or drink again. I caught 2 lifts. The first was for about 10 minutes. The second for about 30 minutes with a farmer and his wife in the back of their pickup. It was now midday and hot, and when the wife opened the window to the back of the truck and passed me out a coke with one of those Mexican smiles, I could have cried. By now my feet were a mess, and I mean a real mess, I couldn't take my socks off without them sticking to the bleeding scabs of my feet and I thought that I'd need some serious chiropody when I got back home. The countryside changed dramatically at one point, from barren scrub land, it out of nowhere it became green, almost tropical, I walked along side an oasis, where a little river fed the countryside and vultures sat in the trees and flew overhead, waiting for the next cow to keel over. I think by this point I was roughly east of El Dorado, but I may have been further south. My final lift came after another 2hours walking, this was a guy who was making a return trip to Accapulco, going straight past Mazatlan...Nice one mate. The scenery again changed, dense, dense forest either side of the road, not tropical, scrubwood, with 30ft tall cacti, protruding from its midst. I arrived in Mazatlan at about 5 O'clock desprate for a room for the night, somewhere to shower, something to eat, something else to drink, I tried a cheap hotel, offering my rucksack as collateral, until I could get some cash on the following monday, (it was now Saturday), but got no joy. I decided shamedely to try to beg some cash, I got into the old town where most of the mexicans go on vacation and met a Canadian couple. I told them my story and gave me enough cash to get myself a room for the night, something to eat, something to drink, and a telephone card to phone my parents on their return. My only regret of the trip - I was too excited by the prospect of food, was that I thanked them and rushed off without thinking to ask them their name and address so I could return them the money. The next day, I spent exploring Mazatlan. Very much a resort, the old town still retains a Mexican feel to it, mainly because it's full of mexicans but it feels like a old time resort, comparable to Rhyl with sunshine, New Mazatlan is full of large Hotels, guesting rich Americans, who want all the comforts of home. I normally don't like resortsl, even less so the attitude of the american tourists which I'll come to later, but it was a welcome change hearing people speak english. The next day I tried to tap some more money, but without success, nobody had any!?! Hmm, but I couldn't blame them for that. I was bumming and I felt if I were in their shoes maybe I wouldn't have helped a stranger with such a tall story. Later that evening I was sat on a wall on the outskirts of New Mazatlan, when I young mexican runs over to where I was sitting, and pulls something out from underneath a plant, looks at me quizically, and then starts to walk into town. I twigged immediately and decided it wasn't a good place to be sat. I got up and walked away remarking to the young Mexican, 'cannabis stash', he grinned and asked me what I wanted. I declined but managed to bum a cigarette from him in exchange for my lighter. I slept on the beach that night and at about 2 in the morning I felt a light kick on my back, I rolled over and looked groggily up to see a young mexican, leaning over me. He appeared to pull something from his back pocket, then lunged at my chest with a stabbing motion. I was half asleep before he made the lunging movement, but that jolted my upright instantly. The young mexican laughed at seeing his action cause the fear it had intended, pulled another cigarette from his packet and tossed it to me,wished me a good night and walked off down the deserted beach. Even the drug dealers in Mexico are generous, if not a little scary! The next day my folks got back from their holiday. I phoned them and told my sorry tale, and could they get me some of my money over to survive on and get onto the net to get a flight. Problem. They could wire me money over via a bank but as I'd had my I.D. stolen I couldn't withdraw it. So I had to find somebody my father could send the money to. Not a problem, I was in a major American resort. All I had to do was find somebody who had a passport that would help me. Not so simple. It was 7am and the tourists (not travellers) had started to emerge from their grand hotels. I asked approx 30-40 people, if they could help me. I started by saying 'sir, I really need some help', The second thing was I explained that I was not looking for any money and then I explained my plight, always politely. Not one person would help me, some wouldn't even stop walking to listen to me. I may start to go a little bit bitter here, sorry. But these are supposed to be god-loving citizens that are allied to our country, no more than that, fellow human beings, that couldn't stop to listen to what somebody was saying. It was obvious I wasn't a bum - What was I doing in Mexico if I was? Think about it. But I was looking smelly, tired and scruffy, but I would be by now, wouldn't I? Anyway that's the lecture over with. I was quizzed by the last American I spoke to. He asked why firstly I didn't try the American Embassy and then he asked how I was supposed to draw the money on a bank holiday monday. This hit me. I walked down to the beach. I sat down on my own, listening to the waves, then it started to rain. Thats when I started to cry. An amazing experience. I spent the rest of the day with a Mexican beggar. I walked past this lad, who I happened to look down at and he asked me 'how do you spell Hello'. Its a trick that a couple of beggars had used on me. The first time was in San Fransisco, I walked past one guy, and he asked me how to spell 'sincerely'. I asked him why, and he told me it was for a song. He had a book with him full of lyrics he had written because he wanted to write songs. The truth was he was writing songs, and there was he proof. He asked people that walked past how to spell different words...He was learning, he was trying to better himself. So I stopped paid some interest and at the end when he asked me if I had any change, I gave him some. When this young lad, looked up at me, I could sense what was coming, but I sat down and started talking. He was name was Manuel and was between 21-29. I don't think I ever asked him his age. He had lost his right leg, in a motorbike accident. He had a wife at home and a child and was trying his best to support them so had decided to learn English to help him ask people to give him money, so I sat down and tried to teach him a bit. He wrote down phrases, not in English but in spanish, so if I said "'Please can you help me"" he would insist on writing '''plaís con úiho help mai'' because thats how he could read it. But give the lad credit ,between his broken english and my broken spanish we held a 4hr conversation together. I explained what had happened to me and he told me he'd heard of Man Utd and stuff like that. He was really cool. All the time, everytime somebody walked past he held his hand out and politely asked if anybody had any spare change, but during the 4-5 hours I was with him only one Canadian girl, with her mother stopped and gave him a 5 peso piece. She stopped for a chat with him aswell, she didn't just hurl her money and walk away, her concienous eased. she stopped and asked him how he was and it also became evident that she had spoken to him before. I also managed to bum a cigarette from some guy. Just out of interest I asked him if he was Canadian. He was. In the end I decided that I needed to phone my dad to let him know what had happened and to rearrange some cash. As I was leaving Manuel asked me if I wanted to borrow some money to get something to eat.
Thats the thing I'll take out of the trip more than anything. People. I never went to go on holiday, I went for an experience. What an experience. I've never lived so real before in my life.
The following day, my money came. The American Consulates assistant took 1 hour out of the office to come to the local Banco Bitál, to go and get my money - not as straightforward as you might think believe me, so now I could live, and I never went back to buy that lad something to eat...I didn't think to. I caught an overnight bus to Mexico City, which broke down 5 miles outside the city outskirts but was thankfully repaired.
Mexico City, the biggest city in the world, with some fearful reputations. I met a lad called Tim in Phoenix, he was from Bristol who had just been working with street kids in Mexico for 6 months..He'd had some cool stories, and gave me a whole load of information about Hostels which some weren't in the Lonely Planet, and they were all spot on. He said felt reasonably safe in Mexico City although he'd been working in a pretty rough neighborhood, but he said aslong as you keep your wits about you, you're pretty safe. Well that to me sounds like as long as you don't go into the vipers nest, and you won't get bit. He then went onto tell me how he got stabbed in some little village on New years Eve by some locals who wanted a fight. But the American Consulate had told me that I would have to go to the British Embassy in Mexico City, to get my passport renewed, something I feared was inevitable. After finding my bearings I get to the British Embassy at 14:00 the next day, and meet Nick a lad from London who had just had his passport pickpocketed on the metro. We went throught the rigmarol at the passport agency and then had to go and get our photo's taken, and return the following morning, when they opened...Hopefully they'd have an answer back from British Passport agency then. Nick takes me back to the hostel, he was staying at, which was the same one that Tim had recommended, just 30 seconds walk off the Zocalo, the main City square, that house's the Govenment Palace, and the Cathedral. The main square in the daytime, is a bustling meeting place. People lay out handmade necklaces, Tapestries, food, Zapotista tee-shirts on the square, whilst down the side street where our Hostel was, is like a typical market scene. On the four sides of the Zocalo, are main roads, and a constant stream of traffic, pours through its well sychronised traffic system.
The quickest way to get about is by the metro, a ticket to anywhere on the system costs about 2 pesos which is 20p quick and easy to use. Turning right out of the Zocalo and then a ten minute walk is the Plaza Garibaldi, where all the Mariachi play their certain pleasant style of music, not quite my cup of tea, but I can certainly see where they're coming from and definitely worth a visit.
The Museum of anthropology is a must see place. Set in a Ximichilco, a lovely part of the City (reminded me of Hyde park for no apparent reason) the Mexican museum is the largest and arguably the best of its kind in the world. I'm not the greatest museum fan but there is some quite amazing stuff in there, Mayan and Aztec artifacts galore, and although most of the exhibit notes are in Spanish, you can gleam information of how these people lived. Unbelievable stuff.
Straight ahead out of the Zocala past the impressive Bella Artes opera house, then right along the main road, past all the chess players in the park, takes you to the Zona Rosa, the modern part of the city, full of chic bars, and cafe shops.
The highlight was Teotichauxan. Unbelievable. 3rd and 5th tallest pyramids in the world. The tallest outside of Eygpt. Perfectly aligned to the sun and the moon.
and then to top of the visit, a match at the Azteca stadium, home of the 1970 & 1986 world cups finals. How did I do all this, because on the Friday the British Embassy made me come back on the Monday and then the Tuesday, which made me get to the airport just 1.5 hours before my flight time. But I'm glad I stayed. On my final night me and 5 other hostelers found ourselves in an amazing restaurant/bar, and I mean amazing, at the back of a bookshop. You had to walk through a bookshop/luggage/second hand shop to get there, but once there what a lovely place. And we got drunk. The first alcohol since I'd left England. Can't wait to go back.
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