Field of Daize’s

Well, it certainly has been a while since I´ve been lucky/unlucky to be infront of a computer. There is so much that I´ve wanted to write, and I wonder now if I´ll be able to remember everything. So a warning, that this may be a long winded entry, full of loads of whiny observations, and general zaniness that is my trip.

When last I wrote, I was in Merida, and things there were great. The little hotel that we were staying in was cosy, and the city center was one of those little towns you just don´t see anymore; pictiouresque, easygoing and full of color. It would have to be, however, to compensate for the hellish heat that we found ourselves in. Standing still outside of shade for more than a minute was condeming onself to certain doom, and even I-of-the-not-white-skin managed to get sunburnt. Such joys.

The trip from Merida to the town of Valladolid was a curious little meander. We thought we´d go to a place called “Valle de los Lagartos” first… as it was right on the ocean, and promised to be a good touristy thing to do. After following 2 hours of shitty road, where the only people we saw where the few locals on bicycles looking at us strangely, we arrived at this little place. From the beggining, a guard looking guy stopped us at the begging of the city, gently but persistantly informing us that he was a guide, and that he could take us to see the flamingos… or something. We decided to tell him to buzz off, and kept going our merry way.

That lasted for about five minutes, since we clearly were utterly lost, and had no way of getting anywhere. We stopped at a restaurant, and asked for directions to were we wanted to go. They told us that the road was kinda dangerous, in the sense that if the tides came up, the sand would become boggy. We thought… “what the hell” and kept going. Offcourse, we then asked for directions, and things really got funky.

Three guys working on a broken down car where on the only people on the road (the rest we can only assume where intelligent enough to keep themselves inside out of the heat). When we asked them, they first said that the road was prabably too dangerous to go in our car. Then they happened to see the big AVIS sticker on the back, and they then said “oh, it is probably ok to go… and really worth it”. That was exactly the point when I noticed that one of them had a gun on their belt.

Now, it is may just be that we come from a dangerous city, or that we are paranoid… but I hazzard a guess that these guys may just have had a bit of an agenda to get us to go down a place that might get muggy. Enough was enough…. and thus we unabashedly fled the place as fast as we could. Getting lost on the way back, and battling three hours of shitty dirt roads bearly big enough for one car.

So, the trip from Merida to Valladolid, which should have taken about 40 minutes, ended up taking about 5.5 hours, in which time we did nothig more than bake in our little rented car. The upside is that we got to go past some towns that one would normally never get to see… very humble villages where people have been living pretty much the way they allways have. The south of mexico is Mayan country, and the people there still keep their dialect, so much that many still don´t speak spanish. It was certainly interesting.

After a well earned rest in Valladolid, we went back to Cancun. After our rather crappy experience in the hotel there, we changed to one that is closer to the city center of Cancun. That redeemed our position, but not the city.

Cancun is a big tourist town, that has only come to blossom in the last ten years or so. Everything there is in English… the adds, the signs, the prices. The Americans have managed to take over the city in a spectacular fashion. Next to the beach is the hotel strip, which has a direct line to the airport, making it so that one can go straight from their airport to the beach without having the inconvinience of having to actually SEE any mexicans.

What is very sad for me is to see the appropriation of the spot. The beaches are “public”, but the access to them is blocked off by the hotels, making it virtually impossible to enter. Along the 24 kilometer strip of beach, there is exactly 2 public entrances. The rest of the access has to be midated from the hotels, who categorically do not let in anyone that looks mexican or poor (which are synonymus, here in this area). Me and my mum felt like a walk, and thus came in through one fo the public access areas, and rounded the beach for about 5 kms. All along the beach are the lounge chairs and the pagodas that are the exclusive property of the hotels, and are off limits to anyone but their guests. To make sure, there are hotel personel with earpieces on the beach making sure they patrol the area.

We are lucky, I suppose. After a long walk, we walked in through a hotel. I guess I must have passed the “has money” test, because no one said a word. In fact, I even exchanged money at their counter… so I must have done something right. There in the lobby of the hotel, there was a “market”, where you could by folk art without leaving the hotel, as well as some bars and a restaurant. All inside the hotel.

The experience that this seems to promote is that you can go to Mexico, and yet stay completely within the area designated by your hotel. They organise beach, drink and food for you. I am sicked to my stomach to see that the beauty of this area of Mexico is being taken away by the “spring break” crowd, who´s only concern is to get a tan, get drunk, and get laid (not in that order). If I had more brain cells than I do, I´d compare the whole thing to terrorism, but I´ll refrain from that line of argument.

From the smoldering heat of Cancun, to the immensity that is Mexico City. After a pretty uneventful flight, I was greeted by my relatives, had some lunch, and then whisked off to my grandparents house. Only to get ready for the reason for the season, the wedding.

The wedding

The wedding was not nearly half as bad as I thought it would be. I really did think it would be a most tacky affair, specialy because I don´t trust catholics as far as I can throw them. Yet it ended up being spectacular in more ways than one.

Getting ready - I had thought of going in a pretty nice suit that I have, with a shirt and tie. However, my uncle from LA decided that the event hearalded more than that, and brought me a wing-tipped french cuffed shirt, a cumberbun and a vest (and before I get anyone as pedantic as me…. yes, I realise that you shouldn´t wear both… but I decided not to give a fuck). I was contemplating leaving my hair long and messy, and wearing my silver labret. But in the end, I got a little shy, and decided to get a haircut and go completely spikey instead. I also managed to loose ALL my labrets, so I was left with only my clear white one. It worked though.. since I did get strange looks…. WELL DONE ME!

But I regress. I knew my sister was going to be the maid of honour, but I had no idea that I would play any substancial role in the event. As it turned out, I was given the honour of coming in with the “official group”, or something like that, and me and my sister walked down the aisle together into the church (don´t take THAT the wrong way!). Furthermore, I was asked to witness the civil marriage, so I am now - at least ceramonially - part of the whole thing. The family really did us quite the honours, often mentioning in speeches the fact that we´d come all teh way from wiley Australia to come to the thing. So that was quite touching.

The church event was hurried and… well…. catholic. There were a whole bunch of things that were said, none of which really interest me at all, so I shall refrain from writing them. My aunt/cousin looked stunning in her dress, however, and they were both clearly happy to be getting hitched. I´m geniounly happy for them.

The reception was something out of this world, however. Never have I been to a wedding with such pomp, such grandieur. There were 470 guests invited, and as we walked into the reception hall, there was a red carpet with bouquets breeming with roses greeting us.

Inside, the hall was set up beautifully, with round tables bordering a dancefloor that boasted a live band. Each table came with candles and rose bouquets, and menus made entirely out of chocolate. The first band - for there were three - where a string quintet, that played during dinner. Then a 12 piece dance band came on, that played everythign from jazz to salsa, to pop stuff. It was awsome! In the meantime, there were the traditional first waltz, etc… plus some added features. The brother of the bride had made a couple of montage video sequences of the two weddlings. Oh, and when the first waltz was going on…out of nowhere fireworks spring from out of the dancefloor, encasing the two dancers in a spectacular ballet of sparks.

Not to understate the occassion, there were photographers from the main newspaper in Mexico City there, to take photos for the social pages. So you can imagine, this was all a big deal.

On a personal level, I had a lot of fun. Most of my family from my dad´s side was there, and it was as good a way of getting to see them all as any. Furthermore, I did make some new friends (or so I think!) in a couple of canadians that my aunt invited to the occasion. Three cheeky kanuks, who made the whole occasion rather cheerie, and who were kind enough to hear me crap on about…. well…. the usual stuff I crap on about.

And there was dancing invovled… I will not lie about that. The great thing about dancing in mexico is that it isn´t just the young people that get up on the floor, it is everyone. And people do NOT generally get drunk. That means… people dance and have a good time… it doesn´t become sleezy. Then there is the salsa. Unlike the sleezy salsa feel that exists in Australia, salsa here in mexico is just fun. I can ask someone out to dance, and they will not assume that I´m trying to get into their pants. Furthermore, people here dance for FUN. I cannot stress the word FUN enough. There is not the same bullshit that you find in… say…. VIVAZ RESTAURANT, where people spend long ardous hours trying to learn “steps” for the dance… and basicaly showing off. The dick wads that I constantly have to serve glasses of water for in the club would look stupid in this context. Furthermore, the people dance REALLY well, in the sense that they have rhythym. They don´t have to learn it… they just do it, and the dance is all the better for it.

At about 3:30 in the morning, the Mariachis came in and played for about an hour, after which people started to call it quits. My uncle had rented a hotel for us near by, and there we slept for a couple of hours… completely partied out. It was fun.

Hmmm, well, I´m in a dingy internet cafe… and I want to write so much more. Sorry to all those to whom I owed some emails… I will try and get to them in about three days or so.

I´m off to the north of Mexico right now… see you all soon.