Mexico 5-0

A man and his beer.

Did I mention that my last hotel was a 16th century haicienda in the heart of colonial Mexico? The hotel, the Haicienda Jurica is west of Queretaro. On Thursday night they had a Hawaiian themed party for some tourists. The night before, they rehearsed this outside my hotel room for hours. The show seemed to combine anything vaguely polynesian with anything vaguely sea-related. Well, as far as the Polynesian side of things goes, it could have poly, micro or melan - it was hard to tell. I'm not sure what the Limbo dancing had to do with it all. As the evening wore on, I contemplated getting up and doing the haka, although a bespectacled skinny white man who was clearly under the influence may not have been welcome at a party to which he wasn't invited. My personal highlight was the Hawaii 5-0 accompanied dance. Now, I like the theme tune to Hawaii 5-0. I could (and, on Wednesday night, indeed did) listen to it over and over again. But the dancing girls (or were they ostriches? With all the feathers and a Indio flavoured haze it was hard to tell) were just scary. I've often observed to myself that 'I'm not drunk enough to appreciate this'. I think on Thursday night the level of drunkenness required to appreciate it would have involved me passed out on the floor.

The piece de resistance to the dance was the background video. This was comprised of a mangy seagull walking on an equally mangy beach. As the tune faded out, a deflated Nokia theme tune rang out over the pool.

The week began in Dallas. Now while I don't like a lot of American Foreign Policy, I love being in America. There's so much to look at and the people are so damn sincere. There's something about the absurd enthusiasm of the guy Grant and I discussed beers of the world with in a suburban supermarket. Contrary to the myth of American ignorance, the guy was highly informed about said foreign beers. From there to the a speedway themed theme park where Grant and I pretended to be drag racers before being pushed aside by small and large Texans in equal measure in the slicks. This was useful preparation for the following morning where at Trietsch Memorial United Methodist Church, the theme was (I think), managing change in this fast ol' world of ours. This theme was explored using a metaphor of the wall crew at NASCAR, complete with videos and a bloody great stockcar on the altar. Brilliant. Of all the sermons I've heard recently it's probably the one I can recall most of.

And no, the church did not fulfil the 'get me the hell out of here close minded prosperity doctrine and aint President Bush just great' expectations I had been led to believe I would get from a Texan church.

Beyond Texas and Monterrey lies Mexican Route 57. It's fairly dull, there are only three towns of significance in the 750-800 km of road that stretches between Monterrey and Queretaro; Saltillo, Matehuala and St Luis Potosi. Between Matehuala and STP is some very flat road flanked by cacti forests. Oh, and the road is straight. Because I was bored, and because Adrians English was thin and my Spanish limited to Pendejo, Buenos Noches and pero, I started taking note of the straight line distances. The straight that went for 20km was surprising. The one that went for 55km was just plain ridiculous.

Outside Jurica, to the West, are San Miguel Allende and Delores. SMA and Dolores Hidalgo are where the Mexicans realised that indeed they could and started to throw out the Spanish. Miguel Hidalgo, reader of banned French literature and the priest with the temerity to start it all, raised an army. It cost him head. This head, along with those of three others were posted in nearby Guanajuato. It started something in the city. Aside from the colonial architecture and the stunning walls of painted houses, the big attraction in the city is Las Momias Museum, or the Mummy Museum. Now, I've seen some freaky shit in my time, but this museum takes the tortilla. About a hundred disinterred bodies are displayed, each in their own in glass case. The ones that are lying down are given silk pillows. Whether lying down or standing up, all the adults have the same expression. The adult of whom it is theorized was alive when she woke up from her paralysis but in a coffin has a very loud form of that expression. In the middle of the museum is the a room that contains the bodies of the little people. Freaky, freaky shit.

The macabre exhibitionism aside, Guanajuato is my favourite Mexican city (I've been to seven of them, ok, five cities and 2 villages). In such a small amount of space there is a hell of a lot of colour. It's like an cubic Jackson Pollock. It's also the dead centre (oops) of Mexico.

Tonight in French class I learnt how to say my car is knackered. I should have learnt this in Spanish. At the Matehuala end of the giant straight, and at 10.30pm, the car broke down.

Ok, this is getting a little boring. Here's some pictures.