Seduction in Mexico

I recently entered a competition to win a 2 week trip through Turkey learning to be a travel writer. Sweet prize!! Here is my entry:

The car rolled slowly through one of those neighbourhoods the guide books warn you not to visit. My eyes were sweeping along the crowded roadside devouring the intriguing outfits emblazoned with silver studs, dazzling under the beam of the headlights. The options were plentiful, overwhelming. They stared through the car’s windows with pleading eyes, ‘Please pick me, I’ve had no work tonight’. A few stumbled alongside the car offering their services, “500 pesos por hora o 2000 todo el noche” was the going rate. They hung in relaxed groups of eight or ten, sipping on tequila while a lonely harmonica played a sad melody. We continued down the road and after considering the multitude of options, returned to our favourite.

All eight were dressed in finely pressed black suits, their jackets tightened across heavy bellies and strong arms. Polished boots, wide sombreros and orange neck ties completed the elegant outfit. They smelt of cheap aftershave and booze, an intoxicating combination. I handed over our address and returned to the car. We drove back to the party to await the night’s entertainment.

They arrived in a sleek Scooby-doo van, piling out, one ruggedly handsome man after another. Then the instruments: violins, cellos, guitars of various sizes, trumpets, an accordion and the lonely harmonica. Our mariachi band is here.

In Mexico, mariachi bands are as common a 4am taco stand. From tiny pueblos to the metropolis of Mexico City, you will find them loitering on the roadside waiting to be bought or serenading lovers in plazas that once bore the name of a Revolutionary hero but eventually became known as Plaza Mariachi.

Our party is celebrating 200 years of Mexican independence. Ironically, it was the arrival of Spanish instruments that led to the development of mariachi music, the heart and soul of Mexico. The band takes over the lounge room while couples danced effortlessly around the room, courting each other with music and dance. The musicians have dark passionate eyes, worn faces and a deep, intoxicating harmony. They are merrily drunk, the tequila bottle almost empty. A request is played and the room erupts in rowdy chorus. For Mexican’s these songs are childhood lullabies. For me, they represent an enchanting culture, a culture that seduces me more with each song.

The lyrics are drenched in emotion; the theme is always the same: love.

I saw you, so beautiful, so sensual
I imagined you with others, it made me mad
Aaay aaay love, aaay aaay the pain
Too late I realised
With you I had everything and now it’s lost

The mariachi tradition runs through the blood of Mexico. For centuries mariachi bands have been serenading young lovers, entertaining newlyweds and fifteenth birthdays, even fulfilling last wishes at funerals. Their pride and strength, emotion and beauty encapsulate this vivid country. I leave the party, my heart beating heavily to the rhythm of Mexico. 

Wish me luck!

Colombia and Mexico lumped in the same dangerous basket.

I feel like I have some sort of magnet towards drug-ridden developing countries in Latin America. Ok, well maybe only two, but two that have been severely affected by the drug wars and the ensuing violence, corruption and bad image in the media.


Before I left for Mexico I listened to hundreds of warnings about how dangerous the country was, how many people take/sell/abuse drugs and how crazy I was for wanting to go to such a dangerous country. Of course these reliable sources had never been to Mexico, most likely never ever set foot in Latin America.  
Those few that had been to Mexico raved about the vibrant culture, amazing food and amazing parties. These were the people I listened to.


Then, while I was still in Mexico, I told my family and friends back home I was going to live in Colombia, no less Medellin, no less work as a journalist, for two months. Again, the warnings came thick and fast, only now they were slightly easier to ignore by dumping them straight in my virtual trash can. 


Now I'm not blaming my informants for what they were saying, they were simply regurgitating the most violent and shocking AP stories that filter into Australian news broadcasts. I'm not even blaming those Australian news broadcasts, they know that blood sells.


But something needs to be done. I'm writing for an English-language news site www.colombiareports.com about Colombia. The editor said that every evening he looks over the days stories and asks himself, "Is this the Colombia I know? Is this the real Colombia?
If the answer is yes, we've done our job. Of course there are almost daily murders, corruption cases against everyone from the High Court Judge to the President but there are also concerts, sporting events, great travel destinations, government initiatives, natural disasters, development and growth. 


I grew to love Mexico, to understand it's darker side but to to desensitize myself from it and to semi-understand it. Now I have half the time to do the same in Colombia.


On a side note, I found two great articles recently. The first talks about the idea that Colombia's battle against drug cartels should not be copied in Mexico.
http://www.alternet.org/news/150274/colombia_is_no_model_for_mexico's_drug_war

The second is a great piece by an Australian guy in Colombia that sums up my feelings on desensitisation perfectly.
http://newmatilda.com/2011/03/10/everyday-violence

I can't wait to return to Australia and set the record straight about two of the most misrepresented, dangerous countries in the world.

Bienvenidos a Medellin

Loud, interested, high, aggressive, brutal, friendly, resilient.

My first impressions of Medellin, Colombia's most over-looked city. Medellin's infamous son Pablo Escobar ensured that it would be years before the city could escape from it's violent and tough past. But it seems like those years are now.

Recent redevelopment has improved livability, likability and security of the city, with honest money replacing drug money as the catalyst for change.
Libraries, metro cable cars and education programs have taken the barrios to violent, depressing human waste lands to thriving and vibrant suburbs where education is available for all. Children can once again play in the parks, women can walk the streets and locals can shop, study and play within their own environment.

But it's not all rosy and merry. Drug gangs still fight hard for their territories, with Medellin being a transit city for drug and arms shipment across the country and in and out of the Caribbean. Cocaine is still a huge trade, but for the locals, it is mostly left untouched, sent onwards and upwards. Marijuana is however widely used and abused.

The unemployment rate is sending proud men to the streets and to crime. The saying goes, no dar la papaya and nothing bad will happen. In toher words, if you get robbed it's your fault for owning something worth robbing, not the fault of the robber for seizing the opportunity.

But paisas (those from Medellin) have a reputation for resilience and resourcefulness. They've survived the war years and now they can begin to see changes, changes worth sicking around for.

The worlds most beautiful border crossing

The well-trodden backpackers route from Guatemala border hopping through Central America and looping around South America is usually travelled entirely overland by bus, train or car. However the notorious border between Panama and Colombia known as the Darien Gap is one exception. Deemed too dangerous due to Colombian narco-trafickers using it as their playground, it is a no-go zone. Rare stories of brave idiots making it out the other side alive circulate hostel common rooms and severe warnings fill guide book pages to sufficiently scare most off.


So travellers continuing on from Central to South America have been forced off land and onto the sea. A strong market has been established by private sailboat owners who offer to charter travellers for about $400-$450 with food and immigration charges included. Many do it for the extra cash, however others simply want to share their love of sailing with those willing to learn. The passage takes about five days, from Portobelo in panama to Cartagena, Colombia. While it seems quite expensiveand for most people, works out to be better deal than the $300 flight from Panama City to Cartagena.

The types of boats, their size, captains and liveability all vary, but one thing doesn’t, they all pass through the tranquil San Blas archipelago. With enough islands to visit a new one each day of the year, the San Blas islands are a sailors paradise. The majority of the islands are only inhabited by dancing palm trees, fallen coconuts and sandy shores, however some are densely populated by the indigenous Kuna people. The Kuna are an autonomous group who successfully govern themselves with minimum interference from the national government. They are proud and passionate about their traditions, believing ‘the people who lose their culture lose their soul’. The Kuna women wear traditional woven skirts and embroided blouses and a mulititude of beaded bands around their arms and legs to guard off bad spirits. They are picturesque and naturally shy, begging to be captured however those that accept photos will then ask for one dollar compensation.

Most boats leave from the quiet fisherman’s village Portobelo, a three hour bus trip from Panama City, and five days later pull into the colonial town of Cartagena, Colombia. The first three days are spent exploring San Blas islands, where you can snorkel, swim and explore. The last two days are spent crossing the open sea, with a great record for turning sun-baked backpackers into bored and barfing sailors.

Just for the record, our boat made it five days without any vomitting incidents. Our captain was proud.

The captain takes your passport in Panama and returns it in Colombia, turning this border crossing into the slowest but most beautiful you will ever experience. You could sail on a million dollar catamaran or a five-person charming sailboat, your captain could be a nomadic German sailor or a family homeschooling around the world for years.

The easiest way to get details about boats leaving is from hostels in Panama City, but be aware of a $25 commission. A new site has just started http://sanblascartagena.com/ that promises to have all the details in one easy place with a no-commission for the traveller deal. However it's not quite up and running yet. Many boats also do the return journey, but the demand is a lot less. Summer is meant to be a smoother sail, but in winter you can get lucky with the weather. Just remember to stock up on seasickness tablets before you leave.

The Panama Canal

I left Costa Rica via Ticabus, an overnight bus trip for about $50. Highly unsatisfied with the service, we left at 11pm, arrived at the frontera at 4:45. But the problem was that the immigration office didn't open until 6 theoretically, but 6:15am in reality.
We then spent over 4 hours at the border, waiting in line, waiting in more lines, and waiting for officials to do whatever they do. To cross the border you have to show evidence of a return ticket, which you can buy from the Tica agent for $35, but he promises you can get a refund at the office. Of course you can't, they just want your money! Many people I was travelling with managed to talk their way out of buying a ticket, maybe I was just the naive one..

Eventually we got to Panama City at almost 5pm, hot, sweaty and tired.

Panama City is a hidden gem of a city within the rest of a decaying, underdeveloped line of Central America capitals. The hype over Panama carnaval was slighty over-the-top in my eyes, sure there were parades, and there was music concerts and gospel music, but there was none of that Rio pazzazz, the boobs, bums and sequins you expect.

The more people I talk to about Panama, the more dissapointment I hear. 'Panamaniens are not lively, they give no love, they are hostile almost'. Not a great rep. And when I think about it myself, I can say that all the people I've met in Panama have not been Panamaniens. The Panamaniens aren't super friendly like their Central American counterparts, nor are they wild like their South American neighbours. Who knows why, possible due to their privedged past gaining continuous wealth from the Canal, or their recent American connection, but whatever the reason, Panama is lacking something.

The Canal was definitely the highlight. An incredible and mindblowing feat of human engineering, it is truly impressive. I was lucky to witness a giant freighter pass through when I was there, a surreal sight. The boat is lifted and dropped up to 26m above sea level by gravity, water and amazing engineering skills. These boats pay about $300,000 to pass through, and smaller yahcts around $1000. The least ever paid was 36c by Richard Haliburton in 1936 when he swam through the canal. And the best part- they have tp pay in cash 48 hours before. Bankrobbers, here's your treasure chest!

The canal will celebrate it's 100th birthday in 2014, when the new extension is set to be completed. It will be a huge celebration, bigger than Carnaval I imagine. Maybe then we'll see some real Panamenian wildness!

I'm now in Portobelo, a little fishing village near Colon on the Caribeean side. I've got a sailboat lined up to take me 5 days across the ocean to Cartagena, Colombia. Due to the fact that the overland passage between the two countries, Darien Gap, is said to be one of the most dangerous in the world, sailboat captains have tapped into this money making scheme to offer backpackers a trip of a lifetime throught the magestic San Blas Islands. The cost is about $400-$450, for 5 days sailing including food and immigration charges.

I am excited!

Pura Vida

Some countries get it right. Oh so right. Latest example is Costa Rica.

The daily mantra is PURA VIDA. -PURE LIFE.

But it's not just some gimmicky tourism board catch phrase to appeal to mid-life-crisis tourists, it is how Tico's live their life.

They love the sun, the sea, nature and animals. They appreciate the little bit of paradise they happen to call home and want to approvechar.

Any Costa Rican town has only 4 essentials: a school, a soccer pitch, a church, and a bar. ANythiing else is a bonus.

The wealth of beauty here impels you to be happy, to go out there and see it, feel it, breathe it, live it. Tico's want to talk to you, want to make you feel welcome here. Not in a sleazy 'hey sexy girl' Cuban style, but in their 'Hola chica, pura vida' kinda way. It's infectious. After one week here, I'm hooked. I feel the warmth of the sand and the sea run through my sunkissed skin and into my personality.

In one short week we've been woken by monkeys playing in the hotel, saw a toucan fly across a volcanic landscape, rafted class IV- V rapids, loosened our muscles in natural hot springs, surfed, hiked, swam, ate, drank, and loved every minute.

Life is pure, live it purely!