Monthly Archives: December 2015

Diarrhoea and the Cuban doctor

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Diarrhoea is the worst thing in the world. With the flu, you feel bad but at least you can still do stuff. With diarrhoea you feel bad AND you can’t go anywhere or do anything. You just spend all your time on the toilet.  

The weekend started off promisingly. I went to a club called Cafe Cantante. Amongst other things, they had two Miami based Cuban musical acts performing, Arlenis and Jaymaly. The Latin American film festival is on at the moment so on account of that, there are more events than usual on in the city. There were hoards and hoards of people and a huge long line waiting to get into the club. Someone told me if a did the “golden handshake” with the bouncer I could skip the queue, which of course I did. I slipped him a fiver and I was in! When I got inside though, there was virtually no-one in there. I’m sure they intentionally make people wait for a long time to try and extort as many bribes as possible from wannabe queue jumpers. Anyway, eventually everyone came in and it was packed and seemed like it was going to be a good night. And then it happened… The dreaded diarrhoea struck!

I could feel the pangs in my stomach so I went to the toilet. Cuban night club toilets are on par with Mexican toilets… except that at least these ones flushed! Thank God for small mercies. Nevertheless, there was no seat, no toilet paper and the door wouldn’t close. You can imagine the scene but let’s just say me in that toilet was NOT a pretty sight. The show was amazing though and worth the discomfort and embarrassment of the diarrhoea. I stuck it out in the club till about 3 a.m. and then went home. From there on, things got steadily worse.

Once at home, it really kicked in big time. It was the worst diarrhoea that I’ve had since I was in Bukhara (I’ll pause for a minute so you can Wikipedia that)… the type where you literally spend every minute on the toilet and you dehydrate so rapidly that no matter how hard you try, it’s impossible to replace the fluids fast enough. Within a couple of hours my legs were all cramped, I had heart palpitations and I could barely get up out of the bed. I’ve been in that situation before so I knew I needed a doctor and medication. I called Alejandro and Karmin but they were reluctant to take me to a doctor because they didn’t want me to have to spend any money. I called another acquaintance I’ve befriended here, he came round and Lisi also came around with a big tray of meat stew, beans and rice.  

It seems a universal thing in this situation, that suddenly everyone is an expert on the topic and they know better than you or better than any doctor. They were arguing over whose home remedy was the best. Roberto was convinced that it was only the heat and that I would feel better if I only ate Lisi’s meat, beans and rice. Lisi was convinced that if I drank apple juice, my diarrhoea would go away. And they were becoming increasing annoyed that I didn’t have faith in their remedies and kept insisting that I needed medication. It’s frustrating in that situation when people are acting like egotistical dickheads…. If you become annoyed or frustrated then you are immediately the bad one. “Why are you so stubborn????” demanded Lisi. “Foreigners are so fragile!!!” exclaimed Roberto sarcastically with a big eye roll. So I caved in and went off to the shop to buy some pasteurised, processed, reconstituted from 50% apple pulp, sugar and preservative added, Cuban apple juice secure in the knowledge that now I would be cured. Lisi left and came back an hour later to check on her apple juice remedy.

I was becoming so desperate that I contemplated hiring the services of a prostitute just so they could take me to a doctor. On the next block down from my place, on the corner of Calle Infanta and Avenida 23, is “Hustler Central”. I always stop and have a chat to some of them. While some look obviously dodgy, a lot of them are decent people just trying to get by and support their families.

Fortunately, it didn’t come to that though. Long story short, I got rid of Roberto because he was no help at all and finally managed to convince Lisi that I really DID need a doctor. In ten minutes Ronaldo, Lisi’s husband, had the 1950’s classic American car ready and we were off to the emergency department of the local hospital. My last and only experience with a socialist hospital was visiting Martin Greste’s mother in hospital in Riga in the late eighties and that was pretty confronting to say the least. So I didn’t hold much hope.

Once we arrived though, I was pleasantly surprised. The reception, the consultation rooms and pharmacy were all pretty nice and it could have been any doctor’s office anywhere in the world. There were a few people there ahead of me so we had to wait. While we were still waiting, Lisi turns to me and asks, “Martin, how do you feel now?” … The thing is, I was sitting in a comfortable chair in an air conditioned room… I was feeling calm because I was in the doctor’s office and knew I was going to get help soon… I was sick but I wasn’t terminally ill or had been run over by a bus… I wasn’t going to sit there and continually complain about my situation so I replied, “I feel OK”. She quickly yells out, “I told you the apple juice would work and we’re just wasting our time here.” Anyway, after about an hour’s wait and a lot of eye rolling and “O Dios” from Lisi, I got to see the doctor.

In Cuba doctors are paid very low, about 40 CUC a month which is what a lot of people in the developed world get paid for an hour or two’s work. Anyone working in the tourist industry makes easily about 20, 30 or 40 times more than a doctor and this guy’s attitude reflected this situation. Although to be fair, I’ve encountered doctors in Australia who are paid a lot of money and have been total a-holes. He did a quick examination and then sent me off to do a test for cholera. There’s no cholera in Cuba, nor have I been to any country that has cholera so for sure I needed to do a cholera test in case I had picked it up in one of the countries I had been to that doesn’t have cholera. I think it was just so they could charge me for another service and they probably didn’t record it either so they could just pocket the money. But before I could do my “stool” sample, I had to drink some water. Why? I have absolutely no idea. I had severe diarrhoea. Doing a poo was the least my worries and it was probably water that got me into this situation anyway. I think it’s just a form of socialist sport. “You can buy some bottled water at the cafeteria” said the doctor knowing full well that the cafeteria is closed. Off I went to buy some bottled water and sure enough the cafeteria was closed. I had been remarkably calm and hadn’t had any meltdowns but it was at this point I almost lost it. I already had the scenario running through my head, the one where I stand in the middle of the reception area and point to every staff member one by one and scream at the top of my lungs, “You…. You…. You…. You… And YOU are all a disgrace to the medical profession!!!!” Luckily I managed to hold it together till I got outside.

We went outside and got back into Rolando’s car and started driving around Havana looking for water. We drove around for about thirty minutes with me shouting all the while, “this is f***ing insane and that guy is a f***ing @$$hole”… “Tranquilo mi amor” says Lisi. Of course, we couldn’t find any water… Beer and rum galore but no water. Eventually we gave up and went back to the doctor and asked him if I could do my sample without drinking water first. He agreed and off I went with container in hand. Usually in Sydney when you do a urine or stool sample, the nurse gives you a brown paper bag to put it in and they’re a bit discreet about it. Not here in Cuba… I took my sample back to reception without any paper bag and the nurse promptly promenaded it around before she proudly put it on the counter on display for all to see.  

Eventually my sample came back from analysis and no, I hadn’t picked up cholera from one of the many countries I had been to that doesn’t have cholera. The doctor agreed to write me a script for some antibiotics. I got them from the pharmacy without any problem. The cost wasn’t too bad. The consultation and cholera test was 50 CUC, the medicine was about 20 CUC and I gave Lisi and Ronaldo 40 CUC for their trouble. With all commissions and exchanges etc, 1 CUC works out to be equal to about equal to 1 Euro.

I still feel terrible and haven’t been able to get out of bed except to go get some water and go to the toilet of course. Be careful what you wish for. I wanted to lose weight in Cuba and I got what I wished for!!

  

Day 4 in Vedado, Havana

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I’m ashamed to admit that the past three days in Havana have been spent in a bit of a rum induced haze. Now that I’ve got the hang of my hood and know where to get everything (including large bottles of water) I haven”t needed to go outside of about a 200 metre radius from my place. The days have just been spent lazing around and the nights have been spent in the bars and clubs around here. One of my locals is The Cabaret Las Vegas.  It’s much better on the inside than the outside!!
  
I met another one the neighbours today, the lovely Lissi from apartment 406. She has a little business cooking breakfasts, lunches and dinners and doing laundry. I aksed her to prepare me some food and five minutes later (I’m not exaggerating) she was back with this feast: Three pork steaks, a kind of fried rice with lentils and what I think was pork belly, a plate of tomato and two little plantains!

  
Today, down on the Malecon was a free outdoor concert for a Puerto Rican singer, Olga Tanon. And that’s where I’ve been hanging today.

   
  
   

Getting to know Vedado

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Vedado is not the main tourist area in Havana. It’s the modern city, mainly for local people and isn’t as pretty as Havana Vieja. I intentionally chose it though over Centro or Vieja because I wanted a more local experience away from the tourists. It’s also where the good nightlife is located and I figure it’s easier to walk to Centro or Vieja in the day than it is to take a cab to and from Vedado in the night. Taxi drivers are notorious the world over for gouging tourists and Habana taxi drivers are a hard-assed bunch. It would be easier to talk down a hired assassin than to negotiate a reasonable price with one of them. The only downside of staying outside of the tourist zone is that choices for food are much more limited and harder to access. All I could find in my hood yesterday was this hole in the wall selling burgers, so that’s what I had for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
  
Since then I’ve discovered a few other places with a bit more choice including this place which is open 24 hours.  

  
Anyway, Havana Vieja is only a thirty minute walk away so it’s no big deal.

The other thing that’s difficult to buy around here is large bottles of water. There’s beer and rum coming out of your ears, but no water. The other night I had to hot foot it over to the Centro and lug back three large 2 litre bottles. The plastic bag they were in broke on the way back… and one of the bottles fell into a drain. I managed to retrieve it but it meant that I had to carry three dirty two litre bottles in my arms while power walking home. It felt like one of those challenges they do on The Biggest Loser.

One thing that is really refreshing is that because there’s limited access to the internet, there’s also limited access to Facebook and Instagram. Some people have smartphones but still there isn’t the “smartphone culture” … You know, people with the screen of their smartphone permanently attached to their face. It’s by default rather than design and I’m sure most Cubans are frustrated by the lack of progress and don’t get the same kick out of it that I do. But it’s cool… People actually talk to each other and live real lives.  

  
Finding out which clubs to go to the other night involved hanging out down by the Malecon and talking to the locals to get the information. It reminded me of what life used to be like before the world of internet and social media.

Getting to Havana

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I checked out of the lovely Calle Havre in Colonia Juarez at 8 a.m. and taxied off to the airport for the trip to La Habana.
  
Overall, the whole day went smoothly without any major hiccups. I got to the airport, checked in and the flight was on time. Although, oops, Interjet did it again!! … At check in, they told me it was Gate 26 when in fact it was different gate. And oops, I did it again too… I sat at Gate 26 daydreaming for ages and wondering why there were so few people going to Havana. Eventually I realised I was at the wrong gate and had to do a mad dash round the airport looking for the right departure gate. I got there in plenty of time and everything was OK.

Arriving in Havana was fine too, although there was that “You’re not in Kansas now, Dorothy” moment.

I used to have a slightly smaller than average, bright red suitcase which was very easy to recognise as soon as it came up on the baggage carousel. There were very few suitcases that looked similar. But that suitcase broke so I replaced it with an average sized, black Samsonite suitcase with a combination lock. I realised yesterday that about 80% of all air travel passengers have exactly the same suitcase. I had tied a woven Latvian ribbon to the handle on the long side of the suitcase for easy recognition. Another thing I realised yesterday was that this is the handle that baggage handlers pick up the suitcase with. They then yank up the case and flip the base up, so the handle side ends up against the outside wall of the carousel and therefore the ribbon can’t be seen. And more often than not, they lay the suitcases face down so only the suitcase base is visible.

Picture it: Havana airport, two small baggage carousels, five international flights just arrived, baggage being randomly divided between the two carousels … and a sea of black suitcase bases!! It was three deep at the carousel and people were just grabbing at every black suitcase thinking it was theirs. After realising it wasn’t, instead of putting it back on the carousel, they just tossed it anywhere in the baggage claim area. Eventually everyone had left, every black suitcase appeared to have gone… Except for me! I had a mini freak out thinking that of all the places to loose my luggage for the first time, it had to be Cuba! Anyway, I scouted around the baggage claim area with one of the officials and eventually found it abandoned in some corner.

I changed my money and trotted off and got a cab with a guy who I think is the last surviving member of the original Buena Vista Social Club.

  
I told him the address: Infanta 51 – 53, on the block (and it’s a small block) between Humboldt and Espada and on the first floor is an office of Cubana Airlines with a big sign out the front that says, “Cubana”. In terms of easy addresses to find, on a scale of 1 to 10 where 1 is very difficult and 10 is very easy, this must rank at about a 9.5. He looked completely dazed and confused but anyway, off we headed to Vedado

Soon enough we arrived at Infanta 51 – 53 and we see the big Cubana sign. “Aaah, Cubana!!” he exclaims… 

  
“Great, we’re here!” I thought. He gets out of the car and goes walkabout, returns 30 minutes later and asks me, “What number is your building?” “It’s 51 – 53 and I’m guessing that it could well be this building that we parked outside of that has the big Cubana sign and 51 – 53 written on it.” He goes off and checks and sure enough we were in the right place.

  
I went up to apartment 504 and rang the bell. Sure enough neither Alejandro nor his wife Karmin were there. Before arriving, I had gone through all the worst case scenarios and had come to terms with the fact that I might have spend at least the first night sleeping on the street. I figured the weather is warm, the rum is cheap, there are a lot of police on the streets and what’s more violent crime is virtually non-existent. I was OK with it so I didn’t panic too much that they weren’t there.

I went back downstairs and luckily enough I bumped into this lady, the incredibly gorgeous Silvia.

  
Silvia takes it upon herself to “man” the entrance to the building from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. everyday. No-one knows exactly why she does this but it was lucky for me because she knows everyone in the building, which apartment they live in and their phone number! As soon as I told her I was planning to stay in 504, she exclaimed, “Aaaah… La casa de Alejandro y Karmin!!” Straight away she was on the phone to Karmin and got her to come down. She lives very close by so she was there within about 10 minutes.

In true melodramatic Latin woman style, Karmin arrived crying and gushing, “Disculpa, disculpa, disculpa… I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived and you had to wait”. It wasn’t a problem at all but I was grateful for the show of tears. This has happened before so I know how it goes… I had corresponded with her husband Alejandro via e-mail and had outlined three times in great detail my arrival procedure and timing. I gave every detail of the process of getting to their apartment and how long it would take and what my ETA would be. Plus I did the same trip last year and I arrived in downtown Havana about 5 p.m. And that was the time I arrived. Karmin cries, “Alejandro is sick so I had no idea what time you were going to get here”. Presumably Alejandro’s illness is an illness of the hands and mouth and prevents him from communicating anything in any way with his wife.

  

  
She showed me around the apartment. I’ve been to Havana before so I knew what to expect. The apartment is very cheap, only about AUD45 per night for the whole place but it’s quite a come down after the Sacristy.

Anyway, I wasn’t worried at all. Karmin was lovely and I was happy to be King, safe in my own little castle with a rocking chair on the balcony and a view of the ocean.

Craft beer and grasshopper tacos

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I was pretty chuffed by the spicy cow’s head soup I had last night… But is just keeps getting better and better!!

OK kids, so take your notepads and pencils out and make a note of this. That you means you, Beverly. This is the place…

  
It’s called Escollo at Queretaro 182 in Colonia Roma Norte in Mexico DF. And you need to ask for “tacos de chapulin, por favor”. And just take a look at these little puppies…

   
 They put so much white cheese, guacamole, chilli sauces and other things on that you really can’t tell what you’re eating. But anyway, they were good!! Actually only the first one is grasshopper. The second is pork and the third is fish.

Backtracking just a little bit… Last night was my last night at the Sacristy and Ander (the Catalan assistant) got me a free ticket to the Lucha Libre. That’s wrestling Mexican style! Essentially the only difference between this and other countries’ wrestling is that here the wrestlers dress up like the Village People … As in, “It’s fun to stay at the Y – M – C – A”. The atmosphere is pretty electric and the Mexicans REALLY get into it. There’s Latin music playing, an endless stream of food and drink sellers and people cheering and booing… But at the end of the day, however you dress it up, wrestling is wrestling is wrestling. You’re either into it or you’re not. Unfortunately I’m not. I was as a kid. I thought it was awesome. Now when I watch it though it looks so blatantly choreographed and rehearsed. There’s about a dozen moves so after you’ve watched about five minutes, you’ve seen everything. It went on for hours but I left after about 1 hour.

This morning I checked out of the Sacristy at about 9 a.m. All the gang were there to see me off. Even Paula, the daughter, came to say farewell. Everyone gave me a REALLY big hug and wished me well. Lourdes was the last to hug me and when she did, I completely lost it and burst into tears! I felt so sad to leave… These people are simply the most genuinely kind, warm, hospitable and friendly people you’ve ever met in your life. Anyway, it was off to the bus station and onto a bus bound for Mexico DF.

I like Mexico CIty but after mellowing out in Guadalajara and Puebla, it seems awfully frantic and impersonal. It’s only for one night though and then it’s off to Havana. It’s funny me going back to Havana. I spent a week there last year and at the end of the week breathed a huge sigh of relief when I finally boarded the plane. I hate to feel defeated and I figure that Havana is one of those places that’s better the second time around once you know they lay of the land and how to dance the Cuban Hustle. That’s what I’m hoping anyway. I’m diving in head first this time. I’ve rented … Or at least am hoping to rent, because I’m not sure if the guy will show up… an independent apartment just for myself in Vedado by the Malecon, outside of the main tourist area of Havana Vieja. Fingers crossed, but I’ve got a good vibe.  

So… Giddy up!!

After party

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So I finally had the chance to realise one of my dreams: going to a Mexican after-party. And all I can say, is that it didn’t disappoint… It was everything I hoped it would be plus a WHOLE LOT MORE. Unlike in Guadalajara where clubs organise their own after-parties, the tradition here is that after the club closes for the night, everyone moves to someone’s house to have the party.

The night started off at a techno club a short taxi ride away from the Sacristy. I’m not really a huge fan of clubbing by myself these days, but in Mexico it’s absolutely not an issue. Mexican people are so genuinely warm, welcoming, friendly and hospitable (at least towards foreigners anyway) and everywhere I’ve gone people have seen that I’m by myself and asked me to join their group. So even though I knew no-one in this club, within about 20 minutes of arriving, it was like I was out with a bunch of old friends.

The club was really cool with three different DJs playing… The main annoyance were the drinks waiters who were on a mission to rip-off everyone as much as they could. I’m sure they make a killing every night this way. They automatically took their own tip, as much as they felt they should or could. At the beginning of the night the tips were small but by the end of the night the tips got bigger and bigger. Nor would they return change unless you chased after them and made a special point of asking for your change back. The price of a beer was 40 pesos and a bottle of water was 20. At the beginning of the night the waiter wanted 50 and 30 respectively but by the end of the night the price for a beer and bottle of water was 150! The general feeling I got was just pay the money, keep them happy and avoid risking any trouble. So despite being in Mexico, it worked out to be quite an expensive night.

The only other issue in the club was a plumbing issue. Nothing flushed in the men’s bathroom so you can imagine what state it was in by 6 a.m.

After the club closed at 6 a.m. about 40 people shuffled off to someone’s house for the after-party. Anyone who wanted could go and there was quite a collection of characters. I’m the first to admit I’m a bit of a pig when it comes to household tidiness and cleanliness but even I was a bit shocked at how quickly and how badly trashed this guy’s house became. Just about every drink was spilt on the floor and nothing was mopped up and pretty much everything else ended up on the floor aswell. On top of that, in Mexico it seems that the floor is used as the ashtray… and Mexican people like to ash and put out their cigarettes with such passion and gusto. So after a few hours, everyone was slipping and sliding around in a sea black debris strewn murkiness. The owner didn’t seem to mind and for me it was truly the cultural experience to end all cultural experiences.

I arrived back at the Sacristy at about 1 p.m. on Sunday afternoon looking a little rough round the edges. The only bummer about the Sacristy on days like this is that it’s maximum security. First there’s a big wooden bolted door and then another padlocked iron gate, so there’s no way of just discreetly sneaking in with no-one seeing you. You have to buzz for someone to let you in.  

I went up to my room and and at that time the housekeeper had had arrived to clean my room. I must have looked like a fright because she took one look at me, jumped, dropped her keys and cried, “OK, I’m leaving” and rushed off. I was glad she left but I was a bit embarrassed by the whole situation.

Last night was a very lazy night just hanging at the Zocalo and eating tacos and today it was hanging on the rooftop of the Museum Amparo taking in the sun.

   
    
    
 

A day at the markets

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Day 1 mezcal and beer + Day 2 deep fried street food = Day 3 feeling disgusting and wallowing in regret. Why do I do it? It’s time to take the bull by the horns, after tonight of course. No more deep fried goodies that’s for sure… except that I did manage to sneak in an empanada today that some guy was selling out the back of his car.   
Thank God I’m going to Cuba… As they say, “What are the three failings of the revolution?” … Breakfast, lunch and dinner! Hopefully, this will work in my favour and I’ll be able to reign the diet back in.

I spent most of the day just slothing around on the terrace watching the housekeeper over the fence prepare the room next to mine… Another guest today!!

Eventually I dragged myself out of the Sacristy of Solitude and went and checked out the markets. Puebla’s a popular weekend getaway for Mexicans… Lots of people come from the capital, so the weekends here are really pumping! People galore in the streets! There’s a definite tourist vibe here today, with all the good and bad that brings. The good part is that pretty much the whole Centro Historico turns into a big market! The specialty here seems to be antiques and all things retro and rustic. It was really fun browsing around the flee markets.  And who remembers the spirograph?   That thing that allows you to draw creative circle patterns… It’s alive and well in Puebla!!

Here are just some random snaps from the day at the markets…


  
  
  
  
  

Molotes and pelonas

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When the first drinks of a night are three shots of mezcal in a row followed by a beer, you know petty much how that night’s going to turn out…

And it did turn out exactly like that!! I spent the night in Cholula at “Container Town”… It’s a whole bunch of shops, bars and cafes made out of shipping containers. The nights are really cold here, but Mexicans still seem to like sitting outside. All the containers are open to the elements. Anyway, at least the mezcal helped to warm things up!

That made today the perfect day to just relax and eat some deep fried street goodness. There’s a lot of street food here… and a lot of deep fried street food at that. I managed to get through only two today.

The first was a “molote”.


It’s made by rolling out a corn and potato dough really thinly and then filling it with pretty much anything… I had mine with beef and some chillies and herbs… flipping it over, deep frying it and then smothering it in salsa and cream. The basic premise with sauce (as it is with food in general) is that too much is never enough.


The next was a “pelona”. How can we make a sandwich even better? … Let’s deep fry it!

The pelona is a bread roll that’s been deep fried and then layered with lettuce, beans, cream, salsa and another filling of your choice. I had mine with shredded white cheese. Again, the basic premise with the sauce seems to be that unless the bread roll is disintegrating, you haven’t put on enough sauce!

The deep fried deliciousness tour will continue over the weekend. Stay tuned.

Hangin’ in Puebla

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I shaved today. It was the first time in about a week. With the combination of travelling, late nights and not shaving, I was starting to look less like a well-worn traveller and more like a vagabond that had just climbed out of a dumpster. I felt it was the right time. That’s another one of the cruelties of getting older. If you’re young and you don’t shave, you’re a hipster. If you’re Latin American and you don’t shave, well… you just look Latin American. But if you’re middle aged and don’t shave, you just look homeless.

I went down for breakfast and had a chat with Andres. He proudly announced that as of Monday, the Sacristy of Solitude will be a full house!! Woohoo… THREE GUESTS!! Rock the house!! Anyway, I just ended up having a coffee and no food. I usually lose weight when I go away overseas… But it ain’t happenin’ in Mexico! I thought I’d better ease up on the enchiladas and chilaquiles and just have some fruit when I go out.
As it happens the word “papaya” (as in the fruit) is also slang for “vagina” here in Mexico. I headed down to the Zocalo and you can imagine my delight when I came across this guy…
  

Suddenly… The only fruit I wanted to eat was papaya and all I wanted to do was practice every Spanish sentence I knew using the word “papaya”…
“I want papaya… 

Please, give me papaya… 

Lots of papaya…

I want a very big papaya…

I love eating papaya…

Papaya is delicious”

It’s the small things in life.

I spent most of the day just hanging around the hood. There are a lot of school kids in Mexico learning English. It seems the standard English lesson is to get the kids to write a whole bunch of questions and then send them out on the streets to go and find gringos, interview them and video the interviews. It’s an easy lesson for the teacher and judging by the amount of grammatical mistakes, they don’t even check their work. I noticed them in DF when I was there last year, but here in Puebla there are swarms of them. I was happy to help but I ended up answering A LOT of questions. One of my interviews was with these star students…

  

  
They had prepared a very extensive list of about 17 000 interview questions including an in-depth sub-section of “What’s your favourite..(insert anything and everything imaginable) ?” They’re destined to become talk show hosts I think. I gave it my best shot but towards the end of it my favourite things just became “what”, “God” and “fuck”.

What’s your favourite shoe? … What?

What’s your favourite decoration? … Oh, God!

Whats your favourite bean? … Oh fuck!

But don’t worry… I don’t think they actually understood any of my answers.

These guys had written a conversation about organising a party and wanted me to help them with pronunciation. Another easy lesson for the teacher… “Teacher please help me with pronunciation.” “What?  Go get a gringo to do it.”

   

After that I went to Puebla Cathedral and had a look around. It’s certainly a stunning piece of architecture. The exterior is not that amazing but the interior is. Apparently it was the first Baroque Cathedral built in the Americas. It’s the second largest in Mexico but the bell towers are the tallest.
   
   
Still not feeling Catholic enough after my stint in the Cathedral, I thought I’d better have a look at the exhibition of the 500th anniversary of the birth of the Saint,Teresa of Avila.  

  
They had volunteer guides in there and a very knowledgeable gentleman took me around. I lot of the talk involved the names and numbers of bishops, popes, cardinals and saints and so largely went in through one ear and out the other. I thought it was odd though when we were looking at paintings and sculptures of Teresa, that about three times he said, “Look she has no pimples.” Like… Is that a criteria for being canonised? 

There was one sculpture … well, actually, just a photo of the sculpture, the original is in Florence… which depicts the moment that Teresa was stabbed with a flaming arrow. The guide’s English was very good but I thought it was funny when he described this moment. He said that “Teresa had felt so much pain and so gay.” … Huh? What? Of course he meant pain and happiness but I got a giggle out of it for about a second.

  
Next it was off to another first, The Biblioteca Palafoxiana, the first library in Latin America. It’s right behind the Cathedral. You couldn’t look at any books, obviously, but the interior was stunning.

  
A bit of street food next… I couldn’t quite catch the name of this one but it was corn kernels and chicharron cooked in a bit of a light broth with chilli and lime. It was sensational!!

  
The rest of the time was just spent wandering around taking some happy snaps and soaking up the atmosphere of this beautiful city… and then back to the Sacristy of Solitude getting ready, preparing myself to take on Puebla’s nightlife!