México, México

El DF... what comes to mind when you hear its name? Smog? Over population? Quesadillas that don't necessarily have queso? Protests? Rubbish? Congestion? All of those answers would be valid. Mexico City is one of the largest and most populous cities in the world, but unlike Tokyo or New York (I imagine, never having been to either), the capital lacks a sleek, streamlined feel. Like in most large cities, people always seem to be in a rush, often not even looking when they cross the road in the city centre, just wandering across.

However, at night Mexico City takes on a different vibe in the build up to Christmas.  The streets become packed with those more interested in dilly-dallying as they take the kids to see the Christmas displays and events in the zócalo, the central plaza. Fake snow falls in this main andador, pictured above, floating out of the buildings above. The crowd slows to a standstill, taking photos of themselves in the "winter wonderland" that surrounds them. Although it is winter, the snowy ideal of Christmas has to be manufactured here. People can't just feel snow fall; fake snow is spewed from buildings onto the footpath. Snowmen can't just be built here; a snowmen building area is put up with man-made snow and moulds provided.  Kids can't just go sledding here; an iced slide is constructed.  Mexico, so keen to live up to the Christmas expectations of kids and adults alike out does itself in trying to appease them. Consumerism, extravagance and exuberance; Mexico at it again.

El Cumpleaños de Lupe...

The anniversary of the sighting of the Virgin of Guadalupe, almost five hundred years ago.  Perhaps the most incongruous and colourful event in Mexico, Lupe's birthday is a huge deal for many Mexican's, particularly those who undertake pilgrimages to sites such as this basilica in Mexico City.  I have talked about the Virgin Guadalupe before, here and there, but before this recent birthday of hers I had never seen her worship to such a scale.

Many people came to the Basilica dressed in a shirt or dress bearing the image of the Virgin while others have her portrait strapped to their back, or carry her image as a statue all day; any tangible way to prove the strength of their devotion to la reina de México.  My favourite were the kids with the Virgin capes and the Virgin stamps on their faces.

Prior to this, I had been unfamiliar with the idea of Christianity wrapped so thoroughly in feathers and shrouded in incense.  A paved expanse surrounding the main, circular church which is somewhat reminiscent of a circus tent, was filled with scenes like this one: feathered, colourful people dancing their praise to the Virgin in a haze of incense.

The contrast between the sombreness of the church and the brightly coloured, feathered people dancing is striking.  It reminds me of how the Lupe was used to legitimise the Catholic church in Mexico, to strengthen Spain's hold over the newly found land, but seems to show rebellion as well.  It shows Mexicans accepting her, and thus the Spanish religion, on their own terms.  With all the colour, flourish and jazz that they can squeeze into their devotion, Mexico has truly made Lupe, and this pedacito of Catholicism their own.

Los Conflictos De Los Toros

Los toros... An event at once horrifying, grotesque and an intricate game between man and beast.  A violent dance that is not even close to being fair, with the odds stacked against the bull.  Trotting in, the bull appears somewhat confused by the open arena and the eager crowd.  He's slowly weakened, poked and prodded, tired from charging around the arena.  Only after this does the real dance begin.  It is a shame: the best bit only happens after the bull has been worn down and injured.  Having said that, with a skilled toreador, the dance can be truly breath-taking.  A furious bull, charging, turning in tight circles, following the cloth, or turning firstly in one direction and then doubling back on himself, going where the cloth leads him: it is genuinely astonishing.  And even more so, when after this tight dance between enemies the toreador turns his back on the bull and walks away, arms upraised to the praise of the crowd.  How can he trust his opponent that he has been tormenting not to run him down?  I don't know, but for some reason the bull doesn't.  Maybe the bull doesn't understand it is a fight to the death.

It is really an emotionally confusing event.  The setting itself buzzes with excitement, the stabbing and the deaths of the bulls seems tragic - and even more so when the crowd celebrates it.  I often found myself on the side of the bull, cheering against the crowd, cheering on the underdog who didn't even necessarily know what he was fighting for nor the rules of the game.  But the archaic attire, the bold colours, the food vendors - all build an enthusiasm which sometimes left me sickened - enthusiasm for violence and death?  Like the gladiators of ancient Rome: in the end it is a spectacle.  Shocking, unsettling, exciting and above all else: dramatic.  I am glad we saw the two startling and conflicting faces of the event, but I have no need to go again.  And although once was enough for me, it wasn't enough to  understand the event, something I'm not sure I could ever achieve.  Despite all the associations with los toros - masculinity, sexuality, risk... I can't get past the violence at its core.

Patria o Muerte

Defending Socialism

I have been thinking lately, about what it is that makes Cuba seem so jarring.  It is a very mysterious place, with a lot of seemingly inherent social contradictions.  You see some things that really make you stop and think: that is what I was waiting for!  Like when you see a 1950s car. And then other things that just seem really out of place or contradictory.

I think previously I had always focussed on the things themselves.  Like the prevalence of smoking in a country that is meant to have one of the best medical systems in the world.  But I think the main one, or what it all boils down to is politics - or social structure.  The image that I had in my mind before going to Cuba was playing chess or dominoes in the street, 1950s cars, street music, cigars, rum, mojitos on the beach and Che, obviously.  And Cuba is all those things, undoubtedly.  There life runs to a different beat to in the West, an unhurried one.  It is almost like an exotic, time-warped version of reality.  Education, music and sports seem to take more prominence, especially the latter two, than in Western cultures.  But bearing down over this more relaxed lifestyle, is the ominous presence of socialism.

We want you all to be like Che - Fidel.

Travelling around some of the most common and, for me, the most shocking hints at its presence were signs painted here and there bearing messages such as: patria o muerte (father-land or death), or socialismo o muerte (socialism or death).  What I found the most confronting about these were that they were so common place, so everyday, and passed by locals without even a blink.  So it seems that the idealised relaxed Cuban lifestyle is peppered with social and political propaganda.  I don't intend to debate the benefits of socialism versus capitalism, but rather to note the oppressive political vibes that are constantly being sent out.  Maybe that is rather an indication of the perceived threat of other ways of life encroaching on their established system.

La Calle Por La Noche

Oaxaca, in the days leading up to Día de los Muertos.  Maybe it was just my imagination, my own excitement for Día de los Muertos, but there was an energy, an electricity in the air, and particularly at night, when people would come out dressed up, or in a parade.  I remember thinking shortly after arriving in Mexico, that while it is pretty during the day, it is stunning at night.  Maybe it is because everything seems to take on a kind of mystic quality, like the borders between the real and the unreal, reality and dreams seem to blur.  There is more potential at night; greater possibilities, choices and events that would never occur during daylight hours.  This is, of course, exaggerated to a completely different scale around Día de los Muertos, when the divide between the living and the dead realms is meant to be at its weakest.  Everyone seemed to be buzzing.  Although it may have just been that my vision was distorted by my own buzzing, shaking everything, I don't really believe that.  Sitting at this food stall I could feel the excitement tugging at me, drawing me back to see what was happening around the zócalo.

What I wouldn't give to be back there now, instead of working on an essay for Uni.  Even take away the excitement of Día de los Muertos, what could be more enticing than the carelessness of walking down a deserted street late at night, drawn by the scent of frying meats and tortillas?  Like a moth to the flame, not just drawn in by the smell, but by the well-lit stall against the dark night.  The carefree days of late night tacos.

Buddha Goes to the Beach

Along the malecón of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, lie a range of sand sculptures, onsite lighting making them even the more striking at night.  I find this sculpture itself out of place in Puerto Vallarta, a highly commercialised, tourist town, hinted at in the lit up buildings in the background.  The malecón is not designed to be a peaceful walk at night alongside the incredibly detailed sculptures and statues.  Even more so than in less touristic places it springs to life at night, with a seemingly endless trail of food venders, toy and trinket sellers, and performers.

There is too much peace in the sculpture to fit.  It's also not very Mexican.  But I think the sculpture, standing taller than I, deserves my forgiveness this time.  I wish I could  keep so composed facing the constant threat of being washed away.  Maybe if I stretch my ears and grow some bonsai trees it will help.  I think I'll do that.

El Esqueleto De Bob Marley Está En La Calle

I never exactly understood why I like this photo... It probably has to do with the tackiness of the Bob Marley hat, casually thrown on the dummy, like it was really hip...  the elaborately decorated skull in true Mexican fashion... But mostly with how out of place it seems in the quaint beauty of this street in Guanajuato.  Maybe its out of place-ness speaks to me, because I've always felt that way myself; a stranger in a familiar place.  Maybe because it hints at standing out, but remaining in hidden; unknown and disguised, bringing the magic of a masquerade ball to the street.  Maybe it is because it shows the ever present and radical contrasts in Mexican society - from the cholos to the fresas; two extremes together as one.  But who knows, maybe after all it is just a funny hat?

Serpentine Streets

The scales of the sleeping snake that is the street below, form from the glittering of paving; wet from earlier showers.  A passing taxi bringing life to the serpent, forming a head maybe, as he shuttles along, kicking up water from the snake's back, letting it fall in his wake.

Perched up on the ledge of the building beside the serpentine street, while the echoes of the fireworks reverberated, maybe not through the damp air that seemed to hang over the evening, watching, but through the people for whom the burst of light were also bursts of hope for the coming year.  I watched the lying serpent wake and sleep with passing cars over and over, as my boyfriend held me, not trusting me so close to the edge.  New Year's Eve 2012...

I hadn't realised that in Mexico, New Year's Eve is more of a family affair, despite the warnings of my boyfriend.  The idea just seemed so foreign to me, that subconsciously I'd instantly rejected it.  The quietness of the streets was eerie, and the intermittent rain and the heavy clouds above, waiting impatiently to dump their heavy loads on whoever happened to pass below, ominous.  But the distant fireworks seemed to be trying desperately, yet weakly, to offer promises for the new year.  It's yet to be seen if those far-off sparks of hope will last out 2013.

Monstruos Andan Por La Calle

Waking up, groggily, vision still slightly blurry, to an alien invasion... is what I think of when I see this photo.  What isn't really shown is that the being in the corner, while having a human face, has the body of a turtle and the legs of an octopus.

We were walking back to my place, my boyfriend and I, late at night, after having been to a Radaid performance in el centro.  They're always surprising: how many of them will be there (it's a regular gig and there are eight of them), how they will play their instruments... I won't lie, there were even a couple of instruments there that I'd never seen before.  Still on a bit of a high from that (they'd been pretty amazing, intense), I stopped to take some photos, before we started climbing over the monsters.  My boyfriend was proudly seated on one, riding it like a horse,  my camera strap the reins, when a small, dirty man came and asked for money for his diabetes medication.  Jumping down from his mount, we kept on wandering home, despite the man's call to me of, "no te conviene".

I don't know why, but desperation, rudeness and manipulation... I always find them haunting, like their acts echo throughout me, eventually fading down to a whisper, but starting out as a loud call bouncing from one part of me to another.  In their wake they leave a certain hollowness inside until they wane to a vague memory.  I'm hoping that eventually his call will be completely over-written by the image of my boyfriend sitting majestically on his monster in front of the church.

Campanas, Torres y Vistas

I've always had a thing for towers, and especially bell towers.  There's just something so cool and kind of creepy about them; romantic ideas about princesses, Quasimodo and haunted castles.

This one I came across in Trinidad, Cuba.  Once a church, the lower stories now serving as a museum; bearing trucks, flags, guns and maps detailing the revolution.  If you pass upstairs, you can get into the tower, which was all I had really been interested in in going there. 

At the bottom of the tower sat a lady, knitting.  She let me pass and I climbed up to the first level, which lead out onto the red terrace.  Continuing up the creaky, wooden, spiral staircase I came upon these large, circular holes that were cut into the towers walls, giving a snapshot view of two opposing sides.  Turning to continue up the stairs, the steps giving slightly underfoot, I saw a chair deliberately lain across the stairs.  I knew what that meant, I think there was a sign too, written in red capitals, making it more imposing: No se puede pasar.  But to me, the sign, the chair... what they seemed to be saying was something more like: Only the faint of heart shall turn back.  It seemed more like an invitation to adventure ; a challenge.  I couldn't stop before getting to the bells, even if I couldn't make it to the top.  I knew that the chubby lady was still knitting at the bottom, and she couldn't see up there.  So I climbed over the chair and continued, thinking that I could always say that I hadn't understood the sign. 

Around a couple more corners I came across the bells, what I'd been waiting for.  Like the circular holes, there were two bells, facing opposite sides.  Apparently once you had been allowed to climb up to the bells and maybe beyond, as there was a retro-looking sign asking you not to sound the bells. 

Finishing looking out and taking photos, I looked around the next corner.  This time there were two folding chairs laid across the stairs along with a couple of planks, which seemed to be saying something more like:  No seriously, dude, you should stop now.  I don't really know why you couldn't keep climbing, it didn't seem that rickety.  Turning on my heel, I started heading down the stairs, when I heard the lady from the bottom calling up to me: No se puede.  Guiltily I hurried back, she was leaning passed the - No se puede pasar - sign, watching me return, embarrassed yet so pleased with myself.  She muttered disapprovingly under her breath as I threw her a quick - Lo siento - and rushed down the stairs and then out of the building.

Still Waters

La Huasteca Potosina... a small area of sprouting jungle in central Mexico; a mixture of natural and man-made wonders...

I had made it there with a bus load of exchange students from school one long weekend.  It was the first (and last) trip that I went on with the school, for good reason.  There was a looooot of time on the bus - it was pretty far away from Guadalajara, and all the sites seemed to be a good distance apart.  There was also the music choices on the bus which, unfortunately, did include a video of an entire Shakira concert.  But the thing that I disliked the most was that by the end I didn't feel like I had ''gotten to know'' la Huasteca - we were shipped around in the bus, I never knew where we were or where we were going.  Having said all that, it was a good trip, and we did see some amazing things, I'm just not really into large group trips or tours.

This one was taken at one of the first stops on the trip: waterfalls and calm pools of turquoise waters nestled into the jungle.  Whilst all of our group headed down to the otherside of the pool, in their bikinis/swimmers and their brightly coloured life jackets, where the water was more still, these two local boys were jumping off the rock face into the water gushing down at them.  There was a notable contrast between their carefree reckless diversion compared to the overly cautious tourists - and I know who looked like they were having more fun.

The Mother's Visit

I was just finishing my semester abroad, and my undergraduate degrees, when my mum threw together a last minute trip over to visit me.  I actually hadn't even finished my exams before she arrived in Mexico.  So she spent a few days in Mexico City before coming over to see me in Guadalajara.

In the last few days that she was over I took her to Guanajuato.  I hadn't spent so much time with her in years, and by the time we arrived in Guanajuato I was beginning to tire of some of her tricks.  She doesn't speak Spanish, and wouldn't even attempt to buy anything for herself if I was there with her.  She was scared to try food when she didn't know what it was.  She would always walk behind me in the street.  She would never suggest a place to eat, but would just say, ''Wherever you want,''... which, given that I myself am terrible at making up my mind, isn't much of a help.  She was, at least, suitably impressed by the quaint beauty of Guanajuato.  We had been up these stairs of the university during the day, and up to the lookout, but I had wanted to see it at night.  So we wandered around and around, with me leading and getting us slightly lost, through the winding, narrow streets, passing the underground tunnels, until we stumbled across it again.

I always hold that while Mexico is pretty during the day, it is stunning at night.  I think it is partly the quality of the light, its yellowness, as well as how the streets seem to come to life.  Guanajuato was no exception.  I particularly like this one for the ring of light which seems to give it a surreal quality, like the photo, or reality, has been twisted slightly.

Border Business

A few days ago I was in Belize, the sole purpose of the trip being a border run as my tourist visa was about to expire in Mexico.  I had caught a local bus, paying for the Corozal-Chetumal trip.  The bus was old school: brown vinyl seats, air conditioning that looked like someone had installed an old system designed for a house...  And most of the other custom (all, apart from me, as far as I could tell) was local, people visiting friends, but mostly Mexicans that had gone shopping the the Corozal Free Zone - a compound just over the border that only contains stores that are duty free).

I was a bit edgy about going through immigration, particulary on the Mexican side, as I would be getting my third visa in under a year.  I passed through the Belize immigration with the man at the desk barely glancing at me, as he continued with his conversation in what I guessed was Kriol.  Although I was a little disorientated leaving the hall, I found the carpark where a cream bus was parked.  I was cursing myself for having forgotten the colour of the bus (as buses that ran this trip all looked the same apart from their colour), but it turned out to be the only one there.  Crossing over the river, we quickly arrived at the Mexican immigration.  This was a lot busier.  This time there were queues and forms to fill out (as you would expect at immigration).  I passed through with only a couple of questions... however, it seemed that I had taken much longer than everyone else on the bus.  A couple of times I asked where the buses would be, and quickly found the street where they were parked.   As I walked down the street I kept asking myself - what colour was it again?  But I couldn't see any buses that even looked a similar style - they all looked like tour buses.  I wandered back up and down, fixing my attention on the buses, before I let myself believe the inevitable truth - the bus had left me at the border.

Swearing under my breath I headed slowly back to the corner, where the "street of buses" started, trying to work out what I was going to do.  All of the other buses looked like tour buses, a few taxis were lined up closer to the corner... but I wasn't keen on the extra cost of taking one...  Looking across the street I saw this clunky looking, small bus with green windows that was painted in the same way as the taxis: white with a yellow stripe.

It was on that bus that I took this photo.  The woman in the corner was with some friends who had crossed for some duty free shopping, and were merrily gossiping.  I think it is the blandness and the contrast with the green windows that makes this photo interesting, while the woman adds a human element to the rigidity and starkness of the immigration formalities.

Graveyard Tunes

We were heading out of the cemetery in Oaxaca a couple of days before Día de Muertos, after having spent a couple of hours surrounded by innumerable candles and listening to choirs and a small orchestra perform.  As we were leaving, we heard the unmistakeable call of a mariachi band.  Following the notes we stumbled across them, and a small gathering clustered around a couple of graves.  We had only been there for a minute before a man came up to us offering mezcal.  My boyfriend, the non-drinker, pretending to be tough, accepted although it was fairly horrid.  He was then taken aside to talk to an old man while I watched the mariachi.  Later he told me that the old man had hired the mariachi to play at the graves of his dead family.

What I liked about this was that we had spent so long listening to the polished musicans hired by the city to perform, but on slipping away we encountered this; something that was felt much more real, more important, more personal and much more Mexican.

Lupe

 

Guadalupe, Mexico's own Virgin, has a habit of turning up in the most unexpected places: caps, shirts, necklaces, tiles, notebooks, bowls, lighters, fake fingernails.  This one was a recent spotting in Oaxaca.  I like this one because of its sneaky appearance and because it looks kind of like she is bringing light to the darkness.

Through Someone Else's Eyes

We were in Oaxaca recently, my boyfriend and I.  We were sitting in a cemetery, waiting for a choir to begin their performance for the Día de Muertos celebrations.  Niches lined the outer walls of the pantheon, graves, empty and occupied a like, all 2,400 of them bearing a candle.  As we waited for the performance to begin, my boyfriend trying to nap on my shoulder, I looked around, out across the grave yard, back over the niches.  I was doing this until I realised that I could see the niches through  the glasses of this man seated in front of me.  I like this photo because it is like seeing the world through someone else's eyes: a slightly contorted version of what you see as your own reality.

Casa De Los Lagartos

I was staying in the rural town of Remedios, Cuba, on my way to los cayos - the small islands with paradise-like beaches.  In Remedios it really did feel like maybe you had just stepped back in time... the place has a dusty feel to it.  There was no internet in the town, it was only accessible by taxi, colectivo or the local overfull 'buses', which were more commonly old trucks, and people just seemed to hang around or go casually about their business.

In Cuba there are no hostels: there are hotels and then there are casas particulares - family homes in which (normally one or two) rooms are rented.  They are cheaper, and much cooler than hotels, and you never know exactly what you are going to find in one.  This one in Remedios was probably my favourite, having little distinction between the inside and the outside.

The lounge room/dining room, while completely enclosed at the front and sides, at the back opened to a courtyard (filled with a garden, palm trees and a fountain) that lead down to the owners rooms, the kitchen and the guest rooms.  This photo was taken through my bedroom's window - no glass, just bars, the lizard climbing in.  In the background, on the back wall you can see the brightly coloured male.  The courtyard had a number of these fellas wandering around, but they were normally too quick to catch.

Cactus View

Earlier in the year I was visiting the sleepy and colourful city of Guanajuato with a group of fellow exchange students.  I had never travelled with a group before, I mean, I had done a couple of roadtrips with friends, but that doesn't really count.  So, I learnt the hard (the only) way: group travel is not for me.  Two of the girls (Dutch and identical twins) were always rushing everyone along when we paused to look at something, but would then stop in every shoe store we came across... a bit frustrating, along with any attempt at making group decisions...  The worst one had to be when we had just stepped out onto the street after getting our accomodation and everyone started taking pictures of this same view, without realising that a funeral procession was passing in front of them...

Having said that, Guanajuato was a really pretty city: the brightly coloured, old buildings, the underground network of tunnels that disorientates when you see sunlight coming through a hole in the roof, where the stairs lead down to the tunnels, and of course the mummies were the obvious attraction.  The whole centre gives of a calm vibe.

The photo itself was taken on the walk up to a look-out.  To me it summarises the Mexican landscape (and the sterotypes) quite neatly: a cactus in front of a town filled with brightly coloured buildings while dusty hills stand in the background, under the blanket of a bright blue, cloudless sky.

Doors To Trinidad

Recently I was travelling through Cuba and had heard many recommendations for the small city of Trinidad.  Trinidad is a historic city that has recently been given a new life after becoming a UNESCO site.  It has the old, huge doors and buildings with high roofs like the rest of Cuba, although here they are all brightly, cheerily coloured.

Despite the prettiness of the city, it did not meet my tastes as the jinteros there are tireless, constantly offering some service.  This is because of the levels of tourism it receives.  When I arrived I was followed for several hundred metres by a woman offering me accomodation, who completely ignored me when I was telling her that I would like to look around by myself and that I wasn't interested.  After doing a lap of the town I accidently ran into her again, and she again began to tell me about how cheap her place was and how good a value it was.  Only after I told her flatly and emphatically, stopping in the street, that I wasn't interested did she leave me alone.  The jintero nature really contradicted the quietness that the small city's old buildings seemed to exude.

I loved the tall doors and how you could open segments of them, rarely the whole door.  I particularly like this picture not just because of the doors, but for the woman, barefoot and dressed with the typical head scarf, writing in the doorway.  It hints at how, sometimes in Cuba, it feels like maybe you have gone back a few decades, with horses and carts, 1950s cars and the trusting and casual attitude that the people foster. As one old man told me - Aquí, nadie se mete con nadie.

Sneaky Squirrel

This was taken on a recent trip to the zoo.  One of the reasons that I like this photo is for the irony: we had gone to the zoo to see some (exotic) animals.  But this turned out to be one of the best photos of the day: a wild squirrel with free-rein on the zoo, perched in a tree nibbling on his acorn.