San Gil - part 2

After our success at white-water rafting we were pumped for our next 'extreme' adventure. What would it be? Paragliding over a canyon, spelunking through caves, rappelling down waterfalls? With new courage coursing through our vains we opted for the only logical choice: a visit to a local historic village where there is absolutely nothing to do other than drink beer with the locals in the town square and soak up the beauty of 16th-century buildings frozen in time. White-washed walls, brightly painted doors, terra cotta brick churches and western-orientated food. The most dangerous element of this town being a large mango tree outside our room that bombed fruit, narrowly missing our heads every 5 minutes.We were being totes CRAZY!

Go team Barrichara!

Ben tackles the town's bulls...

Yes, this is a chihuahua in a dress.

Sarcasm aside, Barrachara is a stunning village, its place rightly deserved on the gringo tourist trail. Apart from soaking up the historic atmosphere and wandering through cobbled streets, our main aim for coming was to undertake a two-hour trek along the Camino Real through beautiful countryside to the tiny hamlet of Guane - a place which was essentially the same as Barrachara, just smaller and more remote. It was the trek however that made the journey so worthwhile, as the views and scenery were stunning (sorry, I realise I do keep banging on at how amazeballs the Colombian countryside is, but it really has blown our minds). My ability to keep injuring myself was in full swing as usual, with me gaining two huge broken blisters on both feet, and a whole on the underside of my right foot due to a small stone that had inconveniently wedged itself into the bottom of my shoe. Of course most sensible people would have stopped and removed said stone, but hey, I've never been the sharpest tool in the box. I may have to buy new footwear for our upcoming Inca trail.

Camino Real

See, I'm not lying about the scenery, check out the gorgeous wildlife...

At the end of our walk we rewarded ourselves with a traditional Colombian meal - my fish with plantain was delicious; the potato and pasta soup with suspect-looking cuts of meat less so. This was made all the worse by the waitress refusing to remove it from the table until we paid the bill, in a bid to guilt me into eating it. Sorry lady, cow entrails just aren't going to be the delicious 'carne' that makes me break my vegetarian (I mean pescatarian) - ism. We caught the bus back to San Gil in time for sunset and beers. It was meant to be party night in the town square, but sadly none of us had the energy, although I'm pretty sure Ais would have pushed on through.

A fishy on my dishy

We spent our last day in San Gil visiting the local 'cascadas', a spectacular 100-meter waterfall with a freezing cold plunge pool at the bottom. We braved the icy temperatures and swam in crystal clear water, followed by a picnic of avocado, tomato and crisp sandwiches... Colombian gastronomy at its finest.

Ursula Andress eat your heart out...

We would have been very sad to leave San Gil if it hadn't been for one thing. On returning to our dorm to settle down for the night we opened the door and were greeted with a smell that would make a festival toilet on day three, stuffed with rotting fish and a side of durian seem like the finest Chanel money can buy. Dead animal can not do this aroma justice and is too kind a description for the beast that lay within. The culprit was a man of unidentified age and name who had such bad personal hygiene it made Ais and I gag on entering the room. This, of course, caused much hilarity to anyone not sleeping in our room (thanks Ben and Alex), although understandably I would have happily laughed at any other poor soul in the same situation, as evil as I am. The main offence were a pair of shoes that looked liked they'd been welded on to said individual's feet for about 25 years, and he'd chosen this night to prize them off with a slice of Stilton. There was no choice, the shoes had to go. We threw them down the hallway and vowed to leave before 'shoes no more' could find out. With pegs on our noses, windows open and earplugs to drown out the additional strange grunts in the night that also emitted from Mr gorilla, we grabbed a few hours kip before packing our bags and leaving in haste the next day. We never did find out what he looked like as he was still asleep when we left, but hasten to say if I ever see a pair of rotting denim boat shoes again, I will be running for the hills faster than you can say pass me the Brie.

Goodbye San Gil, hello fresh air....

San Gil part 1 - Colombia on the inside

We've departed Colombia's wonderful and humid Caribbean coast and headed inland towards mountains, forests and extreme sporting activities. After taking an overnight bus to Baccaramanga, we emerged from our bus ride at 5am,  sleepy-eyed and keen to get to our next destination. By 5.30 am we were on another bus and headed for San Gil, an historic Colombian town famed for its tranquillity and extreme sports - quite the juxtaposition.

After hooking up with a gorgeous young lady from Santa Barbara called Rain, the three of us boarded a bus That took us from sea level to over 1500-meter elevation, all in what seemed like less than 30 minutes. The road twisted and turned around hair-pin bends climbing at a rate that would make a mountain stage in the Tour de France look like a gentle cycle through the French countryside. Oil tankers, lorries, coaches and motorbikes all vied for overtaking space on roads that had no barriers and several hundred metre drops on either side. Our bus driver being clearly so adept at the route that he was quite comfortable texting and chatting on the phone while navigating our ascent at 80 km an hour past all manor of vehicles. There was nothing to do except sit back, hold on and enjoy the view. And what a view it was; I'm just sad my tired little brain didn't have the sense to film or photograph our journey.

We safely arrived in San Gil two hours later with body and luggage still intact. We made our way to our hostel and consumed copious amounts of coffee in order to properly wake ourselves up.

San Gil is not what we expected. Set in a high valley with steep cobbled streets that would give San Francisco a run for its money, it felt a little like a European provincial town caught in a bygone era. The town is set around a pretty square filled with locals chatting, drinking, watching the world go by, buying and selling empanadas and arepas, and just generally relaxing in the beauty of their surroundings. As soon as we arrived we realised that San Gil is one of those special places that draws you in and instantly makes you feel at home. We discovered it was going to be very hard to leave.

We began our first day at the local market with a breakfast that looked straight out of the original Freaky Friday film - fresh fruit topped with granola, coconut, grated cheese and a bonus scoop of tutti-frutti-flavoured ice cream. Revolting, it should have been, delicious it certainly was, and I happily chomped my way through the entire bowl. At $1.25 a pop it tasted all the sweeter. 

Lucy and Rain contemplate breakfast, San Gil style

Forks at the ready 

Armed with full stomachs and a sugar rush that would surely last until lunchtime we took a recommendation from our hostel and boarded a local bus to a nearby village where you could swim in a freshwater river and hire tubes to sail down gentle rapids. We were dropped off at the edge of the village and told to walk 45 minutes through the Colombian countryside until we could hear the sound of running water. The surrounding scenery could not have been more beautiful. Here, jungle flora meets high-altitude plants and trees - green hills were covered in vineyards, evergreens scaled the heights of hilltops, while palm trees fanned out from the valley below. It was quite magical and would not have looked out of place in a Tolkien novel. Ambling along we were beckoned over by a local couple who seemed concerned at our lack of supplies. They called us to their gate and asked us wait while they filled a bag with fresh mangoes that had recently fallen from their trees. They washed them for us, wished us well and sent us on our way with big grins on our faces. Who would have thought - eight mangoes given to us for free, just for walking past their house. We are constantly surprised at how friendly Colombian people are, and their willingness to share in the beauty of their country.

We arrived at the fresh-water stream with mango juice dripping down our chins and enough fibrous tissue stuck between our teeth to horrify any dentist, and went about the afternoon navigating our way down-river sat on huge inflatable rings, much to the amusement of the locals. I, of course, got stuck, fell out, slipped, stubbed my toes numerous times (yes, my uncoordination is in full swing at the moment - just stick me near some wet rocks, sit back and enjoy the fun), but it was a fantastic way to spend our first afternoon in San Gil, and made our introduction to Colombia's heartland totally unforgettable. With the sun setting behind us, we returned our tubes, wandered back up the hill, and returned to San Gil just in time for dinner.

Tubing in nature

San Gil CBD

Chilling out at the hostel

So enchanted were we with this little town that we signed up for a two-day intensive Spanish course. It has been our one regret since embarking on our journey that we didn't undertake a language course before arriving here. English is only rarely spoken in Mexico and Colombia, and it was ignorant of us to expect that everyone would be able to communicate in the Queens English. Hand gestures will only get you so far, and you receive a much warmer welcome if you can converse in just a little Spanish. The course has certainly proved useful, although we still have the ability to forget everything we've learnt as soon as we're in a situation requiring us to speak Spanish. Practise, practise, practise is the key - just as well we've still got Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Spain to go.

On our third night we were investigating a new hostel in San Gil, just for a change of scenery, where we bumped into the wonderful Ben and Alex (who doesn't like cheese!), a fabulous couple from London who we had met in Taganga. Reunited with our new friends we immediately moved into our new digs and signed up for our original reason for coming to San Gil - white-water rafting. 

We set off early the next day with trepidation and croissants in our tummies (there are bakeries on every street corner in San Gil, and they bake twice a day - the smells of which waft through the streets enticing you in. It's so sad, but I'd completely forgotten the aroma of freshly made bread and doughnuts, accustomed as we are to everything coming pre packaged from a shitty supermarket. My favourite treat has turned out to be a jam and cheese croissant. Sounds disgusting, but don't knock it until you've tried it), and boarded a small bus with two giant rafts on the back filled with life jackets and helmets. We arrived at our destination at an extremely fast-flowing river, and given the most comprehensive and scary safety briefing I've ever experienced. Fair enough though, we were about to embark on class 4 and 5 rapids with no previous experience. Only Alex (who doesn't like cheese) had been rafting before and even he looked a little petrified about the level of detail our guide was going into.

Before we knew it, we were wedged into a raft with three people on each side and a rather handsome cox (not sure if that's what you call the person at the back when your hurtling down the river at 50 miles per hour, but I'll stick with it for now), paddle at the ready and gripping on for dear life. Alex (who doesn't like cheese), was immediately told to jump in the water so we could practise saving him. Turns out people are rather heavy when trying to drag them into a raft and it took both Ais and I to haul him back to safety. Not completely convinced that we could do this while navigating class 5 rapids, we dubiously set off down 'the river wild' determined not to fall in. The first rapid was only stage 3 and I (being stuck at the front) was immediately thrown from my seat and sent flying (thankfully) into the interior of the boat. I quickly recovered and vowed to hold on even tighter. Sod everyone else, I was not going down with this ship!

It turned out to be tremendous fun, similar to being on a two-hour roller coaster ride that sent you crashing through waves, launching from rocks and getting thoroughly soaked, much to the amusement of our guide, who we swear was purposefully directing us into the most dangerous part of each rapid. In between the fun there were periods of gentle stream where we could sit back and take in the breathtaking countryside. We even jumped into the water and let our life jackets carry us downstream for a while before struggling to get back on the raft before the next rapids commenced. We finished the trip thoroughly exhausted, over-excited and vowing to do it all again as soon as the next opportunity arose. It really was the best fun.

Yikes!

Victory! Although it looks like I've obtained a moustache along the way...

The winning team, complete with grumpy Scotsman photo bombing us in the background.

We returned to our hostel with dripping wet clothes, smelly trainers and big smiles. We collapsed in our hostel's swimming pool (sorry, over-sized bucket), drank cervezas and contemplated our next challenge in San Gil.

    

Celebrations around the pool!

Taganga, Tayrona, come on pretty Mama...

We've taken a local bus, or chiva, to a small town up the Caribbean coast called Taganga. Loved by locals and gringoes alike, it is a pretty fishing town that wouldn't look out of place on a Greek island. There isn't much to do, which is quite lovely after the sweltering temperatures of Cartagena. Although its still ridiculously hot, you just don't end up bathing in your own sweat every hour.

Backed by forested mountains Taganga is fairly small with a rustic charm and quite possibly the worst roads we've ever seen. I'm sorry, I take that back, piles of rubble do not constitute roads; they're not even tracks, just boulder after boulder with cars, motorbikes, dogs, chickens and the occasional donkey struggling to navigate them. Yes, the donkey, or mule, is still used as a mode of transportation in this part of Colombia. It's just not something you expect to see wandering past the entrance of your hostel, while chowing down on your morning granola and fruit.

Our accommodation for this leg of our Colombian tour was the wonderful hostel Divanga. Perched on a hill overlooking the town, Divanga is an extremely welcoming place complete with a small pool, killer cocktails and Rolling Stones videos. They also serve amazing ceviche - hurrah! The food fest continues... In fact Taganga is all about fish, with fresh hauls brought onto shore every morning and delivered to local cafes and restaurants ensuring only the freshest fish is ever available. I've probably eaten more of the stuff than I do in a month in Australia. When in Colombia...

Pool with a view

We chilled out at Divanga for a couple of days before embarking on an overnight trip and hike to Tayrona, Colombia's Caribbean national park with pretty beaches often rated in the top 10 of the world. After being dropped off at the park entrance we donned our backpacks and began our trek through beautiful tropical forests that hugged the coastline, giving way to spectacular coastal views, armies of leaf cutter ants and centipedes the size of horses. Our destination was a campsite two hours through the jungle; the reward being a stunning coved bay to swim in and hammocks for sleeping. 

About 20 minutes into our trip we realised that our perspirations in Cartagena were a mere drop in the proverbial sweaty ocean compared to the humidity of Tayrona. We arrived at the campsite sodden from head to toe. I won't over share the unpleasant details as I am wont to do, but lets just say my bra was still damp by the time we left 24 hours later. Thank god for sea and bikinis. After locating our hammock for the night we did the only thing anyone should do at a beautiful hidden beach: lie on it, work on the tan, swim in the sea, and read copious amounts of literature. 

 

5-star accommodation...

Paradise...?

Sadly the campsite 'restaurant' didn't quite live up to expectations (no ceviche here. What!?!). I settled for a 'mushroom pasta' that consisted of a bowl of spaghetti with Campbell's mushroom soup poured on top. I really really don't recommend it.

With lights out at 9pm we climbed into our beds for the night, listening to the ocean and letting our hammocks sway us to sleep. We felt like true gringoes!

Waking early, we snatched a few more hours beach time before commencing our trek back to Taganga. We spent our last night hanging out with the staff at Divanga and ended up at the local hippie club where our host played reggaton while we tried hopelessly to keep in time. 

Jenny from the Taganga block makes killer cocktails with dance moves to match...

Just as we were starting to feel part of the furniture it was time to pack our bags and move on. It's the one problem of travelling on a strict timeframe (first-world problems I know), but just as soon as we settle in somewhere and get to know people it's time to say ciau. Its all good though. We're leaving the coast and heading into Colombia's mountainous interior. Who knows what awaits us in the forests of Colombia! Hopefully not FARC... (Joke, Mum).

Laterz x  

This is colombia!

Cartagena

Apologies, I have neglected the blog. Not purposely, you understand, but maybe not accidentally either. Colombia is, well... Colombia. A juggernaut of a country, we have arrived in South America with a bang. The history, culture, people, scenery, all come at you a million miles an hour. An absolute feast for the eyes, ears and stomach...

We landed late at night in Cartagena. Did I mention it was hot? It was hot. After wandering around aimlessly looking for an ATM (they are seemingly thin on the ground in Colombia), we eventually procured some cash and went to crash out at our hostel. Arriving at midnight we walked into a lovely leafy courtyard with a pool, open-air kitchen and two levels of colonial-style rooms, probably built in the 17th century, a rooftop terrace, a bar... and a large crowd of people who look like they'd walked straight off a kontiki tour and onto an 18-30 holiday. Apparently things don't really get going in cartagena until 1 am, so they were hanging around for cheap beers before hitting de clubs. "Come with us", they cried. "Oh, maybe tomorrow, we're very tired". "What, you old or something?" "Us, old? No, just exhausted". And so it went on... We got to our room overlooking the courtyard only to realize not only do none of the rooms have locks, they also don't really have doors, it being deemed too hot to need them. Security - so overrated... Once in, we apologized to our room mates for the commotion, climbed our seven-foot bunks and slept on top of our valuables for the whole night. Oh, and it was bloody hot... Welcome to Cartagena!

Pretty hostel

Shame about the animals in the pool...

After catching a few hours sleep and getting over our fear that everyone is either trying to rob or murder us (they're not), we ventured out for some much-deserved shopping. This is because our backpacks are filled to the brim with thermals, sleeping bags, mourinho tops, all in anticipation of our time in the Andes, as we are so petrified of the cold. Who needs clothes by the beach, right? Wrong! When you're sweating several liters of water every day, it seems you really do need several changes of clothes. Bad packing on our parts. What were we thinking? Laden with shopping bags (not really a very Colombian experience), and very thankful for two hours of air-con, we returned to our delightful hostel to drink beers and mingle/get drunk with our fellow beautiful travellers. What else were we to do?

Day 2 and we wandered to the old town, the best preserved colonial city in South America. Cobbled streets, cathedrals, ornamental park squares with locals selling everything from fruit to arepas, beautiful buildings, all housed inside the biggest walled fortifications I have ever seen. Built to keep pirates out it is a dominant feature of Cartagenian architecture. Our first port of call was La Cervicheria, Cartagena's finest ceviche restaurant, and recommended by Anthony Bourdain in his show, No Reservations. This, surely, is a good enough reason to drop $30 at lunch, right? (Yep, it pains me to admit it but the budget is not going well. See musings on money soon to be posted (sounds thrilling, I know..)). I think I would have happily paid $50 for the ceviche we had - white fish marinated in coconut lime juice, prawns in chilli lime juice, and crab claws in oil and lime, all washed down with a couple of micheladas (thankfully without ice). I can not even begin to describe how delicious it was. Ceviche is certainly shaping up to be the dish of the trip, thus far.

Pretty buildings, and....

Ceviche!

Anyone for dessert? The fruit, not the lady.

In the evening we went out for a 'cheap bite', and found ourselves in a local church square with a wedding going on at 9pm on a Friday. As the bride and groom skipped out of the church the square erupted into a party with locals and guests alike taking a partner and dancing to salsa blaring from a nearby street sub-woofer system. (Colombians LOVE to party and every day and night you can hear music pouring out of windows and doorways as people gather to sing and dance. They don't need an excuse, it's just what you do in Colombia.)

Party time!

We left the revellers to their salsa and stepped into a local tapas bar. Armed with only one tapas item each (we were trying to be good), we nibbled on prawns (Lucy) and lamb (ais) and nurtured are forever warming beers - you have on average about 5 minutes to drink a beer in Colombia before it turns into a warm, flavourless beverage, masquerading terribly as an alcoholic drink. It makes having 'just the one' extremely tricky indeed. Thankfully some Colombians from Bogota who were holidaying in Cartagena came to our rescue and invited us to drink with them. Colombia's finest rum was on the menu along with polpo ceviche (the only time I have ever liked octopus) and Dominican Republic cigars. How could we refuse? They were absolutely lovely to us, and we ended up at a salsa club trying to learn (again badly) simple salsa moves. I have always thought I had a bit if coordination when it comes to dancing, but clearly I have the biggest two left feet in the world. Two guys gave up on me while the old men seated around the edge of the club looked on totally bemused... I think I'll stick to Louis' doughnut moves for now.

We spent our last day in Cartagena being thoroughly lazy (it was the heat, I swear!), lazing around our not-so clean pool and visiting the old city again at dusk for photo opps. We also stumbled across cafe del mar - Cartagena's version of Ibiza's most famous bar. Probably the only bar ever built on a 16th century barricade, we watched the sun set to chilled out music and delicious micheladas (the photos do not do it justice). 

Late-night snack for Ais.

We thought this was a pretty perfect way to end our time in Cartagena, but the city had not finished with us yet. On returning to our hostel we were accosted by the only decent crew we had met there and were persuaded to 'hit the clubs' at just after midnight. Cartagenian clubs could not be more different to the ones we are used to back home. Involving a live salsa/hip-hop band (don't ask me how this worked, it just did), about 200 people squished into a space the size of a Mini Cooper and enough sweat to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool, we shook our ever-growing booty's until the wee hours. Four hours later we were up, hungover and on a bus headed for Taganga, Colombia's gringo hippy town.

Ciao Cartagena - you did not beat us!

We're going in!

Heading into the Colombian beach wilderness for a couple of days with just a small backpack and a hammock. Wish us luck...

Day 17 lessons learned

If you think you've been the hottest you've ever been (I'm thinking 47 degree black Saturday back in 2009), you haven't felt nothin' until you visit Cartagena. We will never be dry again...

When picking a hostel, avoid ones advertised by lonely planet, as 'young vibe with a party atmosphere'. You will feel old, the bathrooms will be dirty and you won't sleep. Ah, to be 21 again!

Colombian women are quite possibly the most beautiful women you will ever meet. We are not worthy. Statistic.

Oaxaca...

Oaxaca...

We came, we saw, we stuffed our faces, and I became an expert in Oaxacan banos...

Our last three days in Mexico were spent in this beautiful colonial town - a place so well preserved and rich in heritage it still looks the same as it did 300 years ago. Complete with 16th century cathedral and a lively town square that seems to hold a party each night of the week, whether it be for politics, food, or public displays of affection, Oaxaca is a colourful jewel in Mexico's poorest state. Each building celebrates the colours for which Mexico is so famous for - hues of blue, green, turquoise, red and yellow, making the whole town resemble an architectural patchwork quilt.

After checking into our hostel and realising that our fellow dorm-mates were really boring (seriously, who sleeps in a dorm in a thong, but also travels with an umbrella?), we charged ourselves with coffee and set out to explore the town and soak up the Oaxacan atmosphere. Beautiful it certainly is, and I'm sure the below pictures don't do the place justice. The town is rich enough in culture to keep any history buff content, but after wandering around in the Mexican heat for a couple of hours we commenced our main objective for visiting this place - the search for Oaxacan cuisine. Famous throughout Mexico and further afield (the English restaurant chain, Wahaca - phonetically spelt to help dum westerners - should be ashamed at lending its name to this region's cuisine), Oaxacan food is both quintessentially Mexican and completely unique in its own right. 

Everyone drives a beetle in Oaxaca.

Cathedral santo Domingo

Mexico has the best bunting!

Ais started off our culinary experience with a pork taco from a hawker stall that was quote/unquote the best. fucking. taco. ever. So much so, she went back for a second (and why wouldn't you at 60 cents a pop?), while I hungrily looked on, dutifully photographing the taco of wonder in all its spec(taco)ular (sorry, couldn't resist) glory. 

Sadly Oaxacan street tacos don't lend themselves to vegetarians, so I had to wait until dinner. And what a dinner it was... Housed in an open-air courtyard we sipped cervesas and devoured:

Tortilla horns stuffed with hibiscus flowers and chipotle

Ceviche

Four cheese soup with crisp-fried tortillas

Zucchini flowers stuffed with queso fresco

Jealous? You should be.

Bear in mind these were just entrees and we literally had to be rolled out the door... With our bellies full we stumbled into our beds, ready for the next day's gluttony.

Unfortunately the rich food and ice (of the non-crystal meth variety) had clearly taken their toll, and I woke up with the gut from hell. Now, I don't mean to over share (and you all know how much I love talking about poo - Therese where are you when I need you!), but this was explosive on epic proportions. The kind that would have matched the recent rumblings of Mexico's only live volcano. Definitely not the day to be going on an 8-hour bus tour of Oaxaca's surrounding countryside. Which is exactly what we did. We saw a large tree (whoopty-doo), a women's village where they make rugs in the age-old Aztec tradition - fine, but where was the bathroom? 

Does my bum look big with this tree? Probably shouldn't mention bum....

Rug up.

Trying to be arty.... Indulge me.

Visited a petrified waterfall - yes, pretty, but where were the bathrooms?, were taken to a terrible place for lunch - the kind where bus-loads of Chinese tourists are dropped off for an overpriced bain-marie buffet - shit food, but great bathrooms! And indulged in some impressive archaeology, again, no bano in sight. As you can probably tell I was somewhat distracted from the day's activities and was hugely relieved when we arrived back at our hostel.

Petrified!

 I probably should have starved myself for the rest of the day, but I couldn't resist this huge piece of corn that was an exact replica of the kind you get at Fonda's... Except this cost me 50 cents as opposed to $3.50.

Perfect friday lunch anyone?

Armed with a delicate stomach, lots of bottled water and emergency immodium we spent our final day in Oaxaca at a local cooking class courtesy of casa crespa, a beautiful restaurant run by probably 'the only gay in the village'. (Paul, from what I could make out Paul Wilson also took a cooking class here a few months earlier, so the influences for the recipes in new latin food should be good!). We were taken to the local market and shown everything from avocado leaves (which taste like aniceed), at least one hundred varieties of dried chilli, herbs that I cannot begin to pronounce, and bags upon bags of zucchini flowers that cost $1 a kilo...

Chillies!

Laden with groceries we headed back to the restaurant where we donned chefs' whites and began cooking. In no particular order, we made:

3 types of salsa - simple tomato, with cumin, and with avocado leaves

Ceviche with lime, capers, onion and olives

Spicy tomato sopa with fried tortillas

Peanut mole with cheese/chicken

Tortillas filled with queso fresco and zucchini flowers, or with grasshoppers. Which we did try... They basically taste of salt.

Quesadillas stuffed with zucchini flowers

Caramel flan

Cucumber and chilli juice 

Phew!

Hand on my hip to make it look like I've done this a million times before...

Mole, mole, mole, mole....

Sopa con crispy tortillas y cucumber and chilli juice (we're practically fluent these days...)

Not only did we get to cook this delicious feast but also consume it at the end. Maybe not the best thing to put in a delicate stomach, I hear you cry. And yes, you'd be absolutely right. But it was completely worth it, even if their toilet didn't flush (wish I'd worked that out at the start) and I practically had to run through the streets of Oaxaca back to the hostel... Certainly a memorable, if not slightly uncomfortable last day in Oaxaca.

We toasted Mexico with our final cervesa Sols, celebrated the retrieval of ais' sleeping bag (I'll let her tell that story in the next edition of coughlan's corner), lamented over the fact that we could easily spend our whole 6 months travelling this country, as it's such an amazing place, and departed early the next day for the next leg of our adventure.

Adios Mexico. Buenes tardes Colombia!