Hector the Hair

Whilst staying at Jim's on my return leg, I went out to see a band at a bar in Ajijic called La Barca. Met this couple of fools, one had a lot of hair. He was called Hector. That made me laugh, man - Hector the Hair (apologies to those too young to get the gag. Can't think who they'd be as the only people reading this are probably Mum and my probation officer...hello Mrs Goringe!).

The band was extremely funky with a DJ and horn section. Wouldn't have been out of place in some ubercool Hoxton Square joint. Fortunately Hector brought things down to earth - idiot!

The rainy season - no one told ME

Landing in Guadalajara I was greeted by the most stormy wet weather imaginable. After I took the bus from the airport into the backstreets of Guadalajara (naturally I was looking for the bus station but overshot considerably) the heavens opened in spectacular style complete with simultaneous thunder and lightning, the sort that would make a lesser man soil his trousers. Naturally I was too busy changing my trousers to take some snaps of the streets that became rivers in seconds. You'll have to take my word for it though, water was up to the wheel arches of cars and coming in the foot well of the bus.

Here's some less dramatic pics of the rain taken at Tio Jim's.

Mexican Goths...Moths?

I discovered the epicentre of the Mexican Goth (or Moth) - Morelia between Guadalajara and Mexico City. The place was swarming with them as if someone had left the light on. It was an odd sight and I don't mind telling you. Even though we all know that goths are completely harmless folk who wouldn't hurt a bean (and always seem to be lucky in love with their pale, black clad companion on arm) I didn't have the gall to ask to take pictures of them.

They did look funny though as it was raining pretty hard when I was there and their whitish face paint, of which they had to use quite a lot to hide their generally swarthy complexions unlike the Brit goth, was streaming down their faces.

Here's a pic of the centre of all things gothic in Morelia though, which I did have the guts to take. It being a shop I figured it wasn't going to swing a graffiti covered canvas satchel at me or try and flick me with a damp Cure scarf or something.

Goat Mountain 1

For those that like to gather at Goat Mountain on the August Bank Holiday, throw things at each other and potentially (and actually) cause injury under the guise of the Lackademicals vs AD World cricket game, here's a tribute from Mexico:

The way out of San Jose

Didn't fancy the half day bus ride, wait for ferry in La Paz, 18hr Cortez crossing, night in Mazatlan, day's bus ride back to Guadalajara so 'booked' a flight back directly to G'ara. Why the inverted commas? Because I did it through the Air Mexicana (Mix-it-kinda) website. Had a little trouble but all seemed to work in the end. Phoned to confirm, belt and braces being my seldom (if ever) used motto. 'No problem Mr Spratt, you're on the flight.' Great! Still had a funny feeling in my gut that I couldn't put down to Roberto Grande's anonymous meat tacos.

Sure enough when I get to San Jose del Cabo airport:

'I'm sorry, we seem to have three reservations for you on that flight but none are paid for. Please go and stand over there in the corner with your head against the wall and mutter quietly to yourself.'

Arrrrggghhh.

Time past. I went from state of annoyance level orange to bloody cross level crimson. The flight was leaving in 20mins and I had made no further headway other than to seemingly don a cloak of invisibility. I really didn't want another night in San Jose and the above mentioned travel epic to deal with. I let rip in a very uncharacteristic and un-British way, not expecting it to help, but at least hoping it would make me feel better. It actually did both. Got on the flight by a whisker. I was heading back to Guadalajara. Marvellous.

Here's a picture of the very welcome and calming 'traveller' imbided on the flight. Love Air Mexicana!

Los Smithsos

Odd thing - Morrisey, or rather The Smiths, seem to be massive in Mexico. I thought it might have been a one off meeting with a strange fat Mexican piolt in a garish shirt with a penchant for depressing (yet quality) English music from the 80s...but no. There was a definite trend of appreciation for the daffodil adorned, NHS specs wearing, quiff toting moaner. Heard them being played in many bars and cafes. For the musical spods out there - Panic on the Streets of London seemed to be the most popular track.

Here's a pic of previous mentioned fat bloke grooving out in his car to aforementioned tune.

[Memo to self: to avoid being molested and left for dead in scrubland of Mexico do not accept party invites from fat fellas in loud attire 'grooving out' to The Smiths. You will not always be as lucky as you were!]

Deaf aid

Apparently all good things must come to an end. This was sad news to me but I took it on the chin. Joe & Dominique were leaving town. Ah well, we had some fun times didn't we? They offered me a lift to San Jose del Cabo in the very south where I was planning to go diving (more of that later) and we piled into the Jeep and set off, only having to stop once en route for Dominique to hurl - she'd had something the night before that had disagreed with her...like two margaritas and a hat full of scoth and soda!

Had a farewell lunch and swim in the pool at the hotel that I checked into (Senor Manana's - sounds more classy than it really was, no squid in the pool though, which was a blessing). There was a delightful painting in my room, take a look at us taking a look at it:

And then they left and I felt quite sad and lonely...sob sob.

Wandered the touristy streets of San Jose all forlorn (that's forlorn, not 'full on' by the way!). My left ear was still completely deaf or at least felt like I had half the Pacific Ocean and most of Baja's beach sand in it. Investigated to the point of pain with a cotton bud to no avail. This meant no diving, which was a shame in the first instance but it also meant I was stuck in San Jose, which is a very touristy American resort full of obnoxious bullet heads and their brittle bottle blonde wives who were there for the game fishing (and I know I'm generalising, but it was true).

Spent my time studying land based wildlife instead, and VW camper vans, of which there were many, and reading a lot.

Camino Pulpo & Langosta

One afternoon, Joe and I went for a spin north of Todos Santos on a dirt track, just to see what we could see. Soon we had left the outskirts of the town and were in the middle of cactus heavy scrubland with the coast to our left. There was really nothing around. After half an hour or so we came to a cross roads complete with a street sign indicating the junction of 'Camino Pulpo' and 'Camino Langosta', the crossing of Octopus and Lobster Roads, naturally. Terrific.