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I lived in a two hundred year old house turned hostel in the city of Zacatecas. I lived there for over a week. And I fell in love. Walking through the streets I experienced the best of Mexico and it’s people. The city has a wonderful energy. It rejuvenated my spirits.
The atmosphere of the hostel was also warm and friendly. I felt like I was visiting family. Capable of housing 200 hundred people, the building is so large I was always discovering something new. It also had the most incredible rooftop deck with a front row view of the cathedral. The overall view was just as special. Continue reading
Two days ago, I climbed on the back of a motorcycle and set off with Julian to Real de Catorce to eat a hallucinogenic cactus called peyote. Julian is French and I met him in a hostel in Zacatecas. Conversation around the dining room table became an invitation, “You go with me to Real de Catorce? We eat peyote.” “Uh, yea sure.” I replied not knowing, or bothering to ask, what peyote is. The next morning we loaded his bike, one silver metal pannier each, and we set off for the village. Continue reading
Life on the road has a habit of changing moods in an instant. Goods moods go bad and bad moods go good. The last week has really exposed the fickle nature of human moods and how quickly they can change. A simple sign over the road gives hope to my ride. I feel elated. The answer to a question long delayed breaks my heart. I feel agony.
Copper Canyon had a profound effect on my psyche. It is only now I am understanding its aftermath. Riding through the Canyon was impossibly difficult. It was a challenge that destroyed former limits forcing confidence to new levels. It made me feel alive. Then, when my tires found pavement and lung-bursting climbs turned gradual, I experienced a feeling of loss. Almost like PTSD. Suddenly my mind was no longer engaged in the task at hand. It wondered away questioning my motivations and it formed new plans. I also realized how close to the border I was. Maybe I should turn north and ride home. I can always resume the ride at some future date. But it’s winter. I can ride till it gets too cold then hitch-hike the rest of the way. I can take a bus. Suddenly, my challenge was no longer physical but a mental struggle to maintain focus. Continue reading
The sun long set; the sky is dark, but buildings are aglow. I wander away from the hostel down the streets of Durango. I pass wondrous cathedrals towering overhead and row after row of storefront filled with holiday cheer. I can’t believe it is almost Christmas.
A bicycle on a building catches my attention. It’s a restaurant. I enter and sit down. From the menu, I choose three tacos at random: asada, arrechera, and Lengua. I have no idea what I am about to eat.
Tortilla chips and a cuatro of condiments in ceramic bowls are placed before me. The tacos arrive shortly after. Three miniature tortillas the size of a baseballs each topped with meat. I believe all to be beef. Lengua may be liver.
To these plain tacos I add the contents of the ceramic bowls. Diced onion with cilantro. Rojos with onion (pickled jalapeno and carrot). And salsa. Lots of salsa in many varieties. From experiments with chips, I found verde to be too spicy. Rojo and tomate are just right.
Now, totally overloaded and resembling an odd pizza more than the folded taco it should, I lift one to my mouth. Juices run down my hand then my face as I devour this taco that is unlike any I’ve had in the US. The one I believe to be liver is my favorite. The meat is tender and blends in my mouth with the tastes of toppings. I love Mexican food.
Tales of Wandering 