FRIDAY
9.30AM: There are very few other travellers in Mexico at the moment. And yet have been kept up all night by snorer from Mexico City. Said snorer not only snores in his sleep but also when awake - rare, I think. Also has a habit of sitting on his bed while I'm in the room and watching me do whatever. Needless to say, I get dressed in the bathroom.
10AM: Meet Jorge for a goodbye breakfast. Met randomly in a restaurant 4 days previous and have had a fabulous time with his gang, being taken on tours of the city, out to dinner every night, and getting a major update of my Spanish vocab ("You have to know las groserias," Jorge told me, and promptly taught me to say fuck your mum.). Wolf down eggs and watch a Japanese girl drink a Corona for breakfast. Respect. Pervy old man underneath the bridge we're dining on takes photos of us/the bridge for several too-long minutes. Chat to the bitchy queen waiter who was previously so rude to me about possible closures of restaurants along with bars, schools, universities, and museums. Hope not - things are already pretty dire.
11.45AM: Jorge drives me to the bus station. As we wait, the driver disembarks, sticks his cigarette in between the plastic of the front right-hand light and opens the bag rack. Ash drops onto the footpath.
5.20PM: Bus from Gunajuato via León finally arrives in Zacatecas, my destination for the weekend. ("You're gonna love Zacas," Carlos told me.) Listened to Swedish electropop courtesy of Jorge and counted facemasks on the bus (24 out of 42). I'm sick of wearing mine. It's hot and makes me feel claustrophobic... though I guess it's better than an ignoble swine flu death.
5.30PM: Emerge into the hot sun and head for the taxi rank. The guy in the first cab is asleep. Approach the second but he mimes to take the first. Mime sleeping back to him. He responds with a loud PAAAAAAAAAARP! of his horn and the first driver leaps up as if electrocuted. The drivers behind him explode into laughter - they've clearly been waiting here a while. "Hola," I smile brightly.
5.32PM: Is obvious that driver is still half asleep as we drive. His nod when I gave him the address was the opposite of encouraging and, sure enough, when we stop at a red light he leans over to the car next to us. "Hey," he says, "which street is Primero de Mayo?"
5.50PM: We arrive in the centre and pull over. The driver gets out to ask a parked car where Primero de Mayo is. This is the point at which am grateful that he lacks a meter and that the cost of the ride was prearranged. Incidentally, today is Primero de Mayo, the day of work, and everything is shut.
6.15PM: Finally arrive at hostel. Have a small 4 bed dorm to myself with a balcony crowded with flowerpots and a view of the cathedral's dome. Sweet. Have a long over-indulgent shower. Justify water wastage by killing any potential pig flu germs that might have hitched a ride. Explore the hostel and admire the view from the roof terrace. There is a Japanese guy sleeping on a bench and wakes when I appear. He looks embarrassed. "Hola," I smile brightly. Not day of work so much as day of rest, apparently.
7.30PM: Go out to look for a restaurant. Any business not closed due to pig panic is closed due to the holiday.
7.40PM: Go to an OXXO (7/11) and buy two instant soups and two Coronas. Dinner.
7.45PM: There is a building site in the next street with a huge pile of dirt in front of it. Two small boys are leaping ecstatically into it and sliding down as though it is a sand dune. The actual ocean is about 800 kilometres away. Look up and see Japanese guy in my room, on my balcony, taking photos. Feel that it is unacceptable to enter someone's room when they are absent, even if it's a dorm. It's MY dorm. And I closed the door behind me when I went out.
8.15PM: Spend twenty minutes trying to microwave hot water for my soup in the world's weakest microwave. No, there is no kettle. Finally just eat, the noodles lukewarm and a bit crunchy. Am reading an amazing book set in Mexico and Texas, and read the same passage three times:
"They rode on and the sun in the east flushed pale streaks of light and then a deeper run of colour like blood seeping up in sudden reaches flaring planewise and where the earth drained up into the sky at the edge of creation the top of the sun rose out of nothing like the head of a great red phallus until it cleared the unseen rim and sat squat and pulsing and malevolent behind them. The shadows of the smallest stones lay like pencil lines across the sand and the shapes of the men and their mounts advanced elongate before them like strands of the night from which they'd ridden, like tentacles to bind them to the darkness yet to come. They rode with their heads down, faceless under their hats, like an army asleep on the march. By midmorning another man had died and they lifted him from the wagon where he'd stained the sacks he'd lain among and buried him also and rode on."
- Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian
Apocalyptic poet genius. Makes my noodles taste better.
8.30PM: Internet. Tragic highlight of day. According to the guy at the desk, I made the computer crash by plugging my headphones in. Am sceptical. Second computer painfully slow; FB boring. Still manage to waste two hours.
10.30PM: Hostel manager flamboyantly greets me and unnecessarily gives me the hostel drill a second time. Listen politely. He pours me a shot of something anonymous to toast my arrival. I am a good guest, so I drink. Bleeeach it's tequila. Should have known; was unprepared. An older American couple enter and are offered a shot, which they decline. Clever.
11.30PM: Bed.
SATURDAY
10AM: Blearily wake up to blinding sunlight. Something has bitten me ferociously in the night and have huge welts on one hip. This is something of a pattern for me these days so ignore it.
11.30AM: Finally get it together to leave the hostel in search of breakfast, and head to the main square. It is huge and grand. It is also completely empty. There are only two - grossly overpriced - cafes. No bakeries. Am not that hungry so decide to check out the two museums that my Lones made sound interesting. Am not usually into museums so this is a big deal. Takes me half an hour to get to the first one and when I arrive a notice on the door greets me, saying that due to pig flu it is closed until May 5. Great. It is getting hot as I walk across town to the other museum. The streets are almost deserted. I sneeze and the one other woman in the street crosses to avoid me.
11.35AM: Zacatecas is a former silver-mining town and the streets are long and wide, the houses only two stories. They're painted various shades of neutral with an occasional pale pink or green amongst them. Except for small balconies on the second floor, the facades are flat, business names painted above the doorways in no-nonsense black. The supermarket's sign reads, bewilderingly, "Farmacia". It sells no pharmaceutical items. I arrive across town at the second museum and - surprise! - It is closed until May 5. Am leaving on May 3.
12.30PM: There is literally nothing left to do in this pretty but boring city. Head over to the shittier but infintely more interesting poor part of town, which is bustling. Buy a cheese tart from a boy on the side of the road. It is eggy and custardy and completely delicious and I go back to buy two more.
12.40PM: The rest of my day is taken up by a search for a strawberry vendor I saw earlier. Want to eat sugar-dusted strawberries on the roof terrace overlooking the city. Do not find him. However, do learn that Zacatecans are big fans of skateboard sticker shops, pharmacies, and glittery tacky clothes (much like the rest of Mexico). The shops all blare an operatic Spanish cover of Toni Braxton's Unbreak My Heart: "Regresamiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
12.50PM: See a woman wearing a shirt that says "Dr Condom - Have sex with the best". Wonder if she knows what it means. Realise that I am not entirely sure what it means.
1:30PM: I buy a fruit cup from a street vendor. He asks if I want something extra. Wasn't really listening so say yes, which is my Latin America policy. He seasons my fruit with chili powder, salt, and lime juice. Actually tastes pretty great. Mexicans are obsessed with lime - lucky I like it too. Drop the largest and most succulent piece of chili mango on my white cardi, and then on the ground. Several Mexicans look at me scornfully. "Gringa estupida", they are thinking. Want to point out that am not actually a gringa. Can not argue with the estupida.
2:30PM: Walk back to my hostel wondering how to occupy myself for the rest of the day. There is only one other thing to do - cablecar up the mountain - but am saving that as my one Sunday activity. Why oh why did I pay for three nights in advance?
3:30PM: Watch four hours of mind-numbing television, beginning with WALL-E and culminating in a blinding channel-hop between Fashion TV, Miss Congeniality, Law and Order, and a Woody Allen movie.
7.30PM: Head hurts.
7.40PM: Go out to look for food. Sit at one of the two overpriced cafes, not having found anything else open all day. Starving. Order Dorados, which turn out to be delicious potato- and meat-filled pastries. Am eating when a group of young guys takes up a perch next to me, talking shit in that funny way that is particular to Mexicans. Am not really paying attention and after a while realise they are talking about me. They have courteously switched to English in case I don't understand.
"I am a girl and I am eating alone, at the most expensive restaurant. People are going to think I have money," one boy lectures his friends. "And if they think you have money, you're in trouble." Start to smile when realise they are talking to me and turn to look at them. None of them are smiling and not one is making eye contact. Typical cowardly Mexican male behaviour. What is it that you have a problem with? I want to ask. My eating alone or my eating here? Turn to ask but they are still studiously ignoring me. They go back to talking shit in Spanish.
8.00PM: Walk back to my hostel. Another cowardly Mexican male waits in a doorway until I have passed him before he leers at me. "Hola, preciosa..." Keep walking. He follows me up the street. "Where's your mask, preciosa? Don't you know about the influenza porcina?" "What influenza?" I reply, and keep walking.
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