And then there were two
No Sergey, no Gombergs, only us dos to face the road and - with it – Mexican traffic. We would have set out of Mexico City a day earlier, right after visiting the ruins of Xachicalco with Nadia, but it turned out to be a hoy no circulo day for our GreenGo. In effort to reduce smog and traffic in the city, each day of the week cars with license plates ending in a particular number cannot drive. And our final number 3 meant no go for GreenGo.




When we finally tried to leave, the GreenGo just wouldn't start. It happened a few times before but would sort of go away by itself or was once fixed with the help of helpful cab driver who climbed under the car armed with a screwdriver and shorted something to make it start. Shurik managed to repeat that stunt, but we decided to fix it properly before leaving. Unfortunately, the quick and dirty fix of replacing the ignition lock didn't seem to help (though looking for this part on Mexico City's gritty streets was lots of fun) so we had to go to a mecanico. The problem turn out to be a loose solenoid, the two bolts that are supposed to hold it in its place have magically disappeared. Wonder how that happened…

When GreenGo was back to life again, and we attempted a run for it, it was the middle of a rush hour when everyone drives wherever they need to during their siesta. As it so happens, the Mexican lunch hour is more like lunch hours, during which, we were told, many go not only to eat, but also drive home for a nap. I do suspect that many have already realized that this time is just as well spent sleeping in their car – parked on the highway.

There, on the road, everything we've heard about the Mexican driver came through. In the beginning it all make sense – a wide, four lane road, with traffic of course, but then we would not have expected any less from a multi million capital. The cars stream on, in an orderly fashion, onto the main highway and then all sanity goes straight our the car window (by what force of nature, I have no idea as we are going not faster than a slug), and the motorists begin performing an Ozone-thinning version of Swan Lake - puffing fumes that follow them like a gray ribbon while they crisscross from lane to lane, as if attempting at some grand ''Mexican braid" art piece.

Totally baffled by the absence of accidents or even fender-benders, I sat on the passenger seat by Shurik with my knees pulled up to my chin, seatbelt securely fastened, looking at my husband's superb maneuvering through my fingers, and only when the road cleared and it felt like we can take a lungful of air again, have I relaxed. It has all been a big blur, but one image from the outskirts of the City stuck in my mind: a little girl, she couldn't have been older than six, in a red apron, standing in the opposite to ours lane, waiting for the next herd of fast moving cars and trucks, all three lanes of them, to consider buying the little baggies of fruit she was holding.

We were moving slow, the traffic has taken a good chunk of time devoted for the road and our morning dash to the mechanic has taken a few more hours from the schedule, so tired and not at all satisfied with today's progress we stopped for the night in Amecameca.





The Castle


And its Guard


I always knew that Mexico was quite a religious country, and that - to me, was not that great of an attraction. However, Mexico's churches are a sight worth seeing on its own. Grand and elaborately painted they can make a rather colorful picture book the pages of which will go on and on. Here a church is on top another church, best seen when approaching from atop a hill, and crucifix mounted road-shrines adorn the carretera. On our little four day road trip to the coast, we've kept stopping to snap a shot of those architectural marvels, but also got tired of doing so very quickly. There are just too many…

We have decided to take the more scenic route and drive in between Popo (Popocatepetl) and Izta (Iztaccihuatl) volcanoes. As the story goes, Izta, the daughter of an emperor, was in love with the warrior Popo. The emperor sent Popo away into a battle and Izta has died of grief waiting for him. Upon his return, Popo has taken Izta's lifeless body and put it on one side of the pass, and sat on the other. Both are still there turned into mountains, Popo puffing smoke once in a while.



We were driving through thick pine forest, up to the pass, when I gasped in such a way Shurik later told me his life flashed before his eyes. On our left an amazing view opened up - a big, white, fluffy cloud has taken a big bite of a towering mountain. I tried to snap a picture, but we were curving up the road so sharply it was useless. Watching the dangerous road I couldn't help it but wish we had a chance and enjoy the cloud better, when within seconds I got my wish and we drove straight into it. Shurik reduced the speed and we were now feeling our way through the fog with GreenGo's snout. Forget about seeing the upcoming curve, anything more then three feet away was stark white. If I didn't hear the road beneath our wheels, I wouldn't have believed it was there. Like cat eyes the headlights of other cars would appear out of nowhere and crawl by back into the white and out of sight.

After the pass came Cholula, home of the largest by volume pyramid in the world. However, it is unexcavated and covered by ground. That and surrounding stands heavily loaded with crafts and fruit ripening right before your eyes make it look rather underwhelming. We did our touristy duty by walking through the tunnels dug by the archeologists straight through the pyramid and also climbing to the top where there was, you've guessed it, yet another church. We were only too happy to get back to the car where, though there is no air conditioning, there was the sweet anticipation of the open road and the breeze that came with it. This stop wasn't much to talk about, but here we did get something we were craving for since the last time we were in Mexico - Chapulines! - little fried grasshoppers.




Bellies full of grasshoppers we went on further South. Hopping from town to town we didn't even bother stopping if we didn't see a good enough reason for it. Passing Izucar de Matamoros and just before reaching Acatlan on yet another mountain road the greenery around us began changing. Here and there, peculiar, rather equally spaced, green poles were shooting straight up from behind bushes and trees. It took us a minute or two to realize that those were actually cacti. Single sprouts were sticking out now everywhere, as if somebody just threw around a bunch of giant green toothpicks and they stuck in the ground. Marveling at those from the road we barely had a chance to pick a spot to stop when the scenery changed again and now the cacti were organized in groups. Bunches seemed to have been gathered on the side of the road as well as any given distance from us in the mountains. Stopping, we realized they were trees.




Crafts stands on the outskirts of Acatlan were we spent the night.


Next morning we kept moving fast. We weren't rushing, this is just the pace we were in and we were enjoying it. Stopped in Tamazulpan, another town, another church, and an incredibly horrific bowl of soup I choked down out of respect to the very nice woman who made it and was gracious enough to sell it to us during a siesta at the market.
Now on to Oaxaca. We've been here already on vacation, and even though this was different sort of travel, it was nice to stand at the same plaza or even walk down a familiar street.

Getting a hostel here turned out to be tough. Oaxaca's narrow streets wouldn't allow us to park GreenGo there for the night, and paid parking lots were so overpriced our only refuge was in a hotel with it's own parking, and a price to match. One such night was enough to put a dent in our daily budget. I refused to leave Oaxaca just like that and vow to come back and find that elusive budget Hostel with a parking in the back and free breakfast in mid afternoon which will allow us to be lazy and stroll the cobalt streets until… I digress. The future can wait and the present is in the now, and now we packed ourselves up once again and headed to the little village of Tlacolula where Tepache (Pineapple root-beer, Kvas) floats free, and the local women are best shot [with a camera] from the back.





Excellent quality rug with a Jaguar design - $50


We left Talacolula, and as the day was ending, so was this little road trip portion of our trip. One more, the curviest of all, mountain road ahead and we would be basking in the sun of one of many beach towns of Mexico's South coast. It was all hanging on GreenGo's ability to pull through now, and as we swung from side to side on the curves, stopping at roadside craft stands with elaborate painted wood sculptures, I turned on the radio full blast - singing along helps me from throwing up.




"CURVA PELIGROSA" (dangerous curve) said a sign every few meters or so. "Curva indeed!" Shurik would mutter under his nose, as he was trying with all his might to keep us in the right gear and not end up turning into yet another flower adorned roadside shrine. It was like driving on an M.C. Escher's never ending figure eight.

It was getting dark, and we were almost there when GreenGo gave a sneeze, a cough, and we knew what was coming next - it stopped. Pushing it to a safe place and arguing a little about what should we do, the general consensus was to go get more gas, and we hiked down to the village we just passed to do that. Walking on the road there were plenty of locals coming back, or going to, whatever, who looked at us with outmost curiosity not daring to ask. We would then question them on where would it be possible to purchase gasolina which would satisfy their curiosity, and they would point us in the right direction. We didn't remember seeing a gas station, so we were not surprised when we didn't find one. Instead, the gas was found in the living room of a house adjoining a minimarket. There were children on the couch, watching something dubbed from English, an assortment of house and farm animals running around, and a few stinky jugs, bottles, and jars of gasoline.

We came back to GreenGo, gave him his life-juice, and managed to go up two or three curves before it started coughing and stopped dead again, this time in the middle of the road with no safe place to pull into. "Did I not say we should clean the fuel filter?!" said Shurik with a voice full of resentment. What could I say? He did… Pitch dark, we climbed out of the van and I ran to the last curve and set up the reflective triangle. Half an hour later, a useless bystander/advice giver (you are bound to get one at any time of day in any country with this sort of car), and we made it the rest of the way with no further interruptions.

Both of us knew we got to the coast, but that night neither knew exactly what town we stopped in. It was dark and we made poor GreenGo shove through some side road, as close to the beach as we could, and popped up our tent. It didn't matter to us we parked on a slope, nor that the guy who owned the nearby beach bar wanted too much money for the use of his horrible bathroom. I gave him enough for one go; we downed a cold one, and got to bed before the mosquitoes got to us.

In the morning, when things looked a little brighter, it appeared we were in Zipolite, where it didn't take us long to find the cabana of our dreams. Rising high above the ground on stilts, accessible only by a shaky, handrail absent steps, it had more holes in the walls than boards, a bed almost as high as a table and, my favorite, a bug net that at night was our little, tightly woven, fortress, protecting us from mosquitoes, but not from an occasional visit from a gecko, which would run, confused, across us, at all hours of the night.

Surprisingly, I honestly found this to be haven. I understand how not everyone would share my opinion, but even the skeptics should not be able to resist this view.