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Category Archives: Mexico

#19  This is the end, my beautiful friends, the end.  Swimming with Dugongs: Adventures in Central America.

16 Sunday Dec 2018

Posted by thewritingimp in fiction, holidays, humour, life, Mexico, Pindar, politics, travel, writing

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This is the end, my beautiful friends – The Mermaids

We are in two minds to go and swim with whale sharks in Holbox, but this is a pain in the rectum to get to and will take up two solid days of the six we have left. So, we opt for opulence and relaxation on the Isle of Mujeres, after this we will be back in England the fattening pens of work. I have already occurred the wrath of the grammar school I’m going back to, but we will never get the chance to take two and half months off again until we are either retired or dead. Term started three days back, and they have not been able to find a teacher that can teach Chemistry. My blaze attitude of: ‘If you can’t find any one, I’m back in the country on the 14th September I’m happy to come back then.’ My laidback outlook is not what the leadership, and helicopter parents of tomorrow’s professionals want to hear – but needs must when the Devil drives, even in a Catholic school!7024c70e46e93458343991aab3304695

So, we are on a bus travelling to and through Cancun, there has been a gang shooting a few days before in the centre. The east side of Mexico is far safer than the lawless west side – I am aware I sound like a gangster writing that, ‘I’m Eastside’ (Not sure if I’m doing the arthritic ‘sign language fingers’ right?, if nothing else I look like a younger Richard Madeley/older Ali G, or a confused Albanian doing an injured eagle on the freeway, heading to the service station of liberty – it has an M&S.

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We don’t get shot at and it’s not long before we are shooting the short distance across the sea to the Women Island, which appears to be Golf buggy island as we step off the boat. We have opted to stay out of the middle at the top of the island at Maria’s Kin Kan. The wife is neither happy with the location, the room or the price (I’ve booked it!); location from the centre about four miles, the room – not on the sea front, she makes her annoyance abundantly clear to a perplexed Maria, it is crafty ploy to try and get us upgraded – it does not work! Price: £600 for 6 nights, I point out this is reasonable, £100 a night for a place like this, is very good value, we are only getting it this cheap as it’s out of season and I have booked at the last minute, it is normally twice this price. The rooms at the front are booked out in a few days’ time, Maria does not have the super power to move the hotel a few miles down the seafront. The Wife goes to unpack while I give a DNA sample and passport details. “She’ll be fine, Maria, once I give her the right balance of mogadons and white wine and lie to her about our finances.”

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The hotel is fantastic, ok the room does not overlook the sea, but there is a private white sandy beach, a jetty, infinity pool, the twinkling lights of Cancun at night, the underwater museum two kilometres off shore. We are one of five guests staying here, by the next day we will be the only ones for two days. We are A list VIP Royals, the chef, Gas from Argentina, will become our exclusive chef for the next day (I will have a face-lift and a lobotomy, and the wife will have a bum-tuck and breast augmentation – I think I may be getting carried away with the situation?), “Whatever you want, doesn’t matter if it’s not on the menu, I will cook it for you.” Hey, what’s not to like?

For me, if you are after a package holiday to the ‘Eastside’ (arthritis pose) of Mexico, Isla Mujeres is a far better option than Cancun itself.

By breakfast The Wife has calmed down, which is good as the only other people at breakfast are the owners. “I’ve been thinking about the money–” “You can’t take it with you, there’s no pockets in a shroud.” Just before she can reply the chef is upon us asking what we want for dinner. “Red snapper and squid,” I snap back, readily. He suggests other meals, now he has a free hand, he’s worked all around the world, large stints in Spain and Italy. The food on the island is generally great.

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The island is incredibly small, a golf buggy will do you. There are mainly Americans without children around, the shops sell trinkets aimed at sports fans, of teams I don’t know well; Minnesota Musk Oxen, Arizonia Alpha-males, Santa Monica Serial Killers, The Michigan Muscleations, New York Dolls and The San Francisco Friends of Dorothy. We buy Christmas tree baubles, this has become a travel ritual now, it’s nice in the warm glow of Christmas to be reminded of exciting travels past (–the ghost that never visits in your youth!) Baubles for the children started with my sister in law, she buys them Villeroy and Boch, posh ceramic ones in the January sales and gifts them over eleven months later, (very organised, but then again, she does most of her Christmas cooking in October and freezes it!), it’s a great gift idea, the offspring are already adamant they are taking them with them when they leave the nest, so that is testament to how much they are treasured. They have some in-joke, that we don’t fully understand, about a ‘fat Mexican’ so we hunt down the ‘fat Mexican’ in baubalised form. The ones we buy are of a fat Mexican with ‘very’ flexible feet: Roberto! (sorry)

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We kayak out to the Cancun Underwater Statue Museum, I have read an article about this, and it looks amazing. It’s an easy two km paddle. I would have liked to have dived it, but snorkelling will do. The Wife is not sure she will be able to clamber back on board the slippery kayak, but there’s no way I’m not having a look. It’s a little limited to what you can see without a guide and an aqualung, but I manage to see the terracotta figures, cars (VW), large heads and few mooning arses. Well worth a visit, especially if you’re a diver.

On the penultimate day I come down with a fever, sweating away even in the air-conditioned room. I have recovered a little by the last day, but still under the weather, there is a seven-hour flight to recuperate on. My body is having an allergic reaction to working again, that and some dodgy seafood from down by the catamaran port.

On the last night, the Wife says, “You were right about this place, it’s been absolutely amazing, you’re always right.” I write that down, remind her what she has just said, and it’s going on her gravestone.” ‘Eventually’, can take a while to occur sometimes!

Isla Mujeres, Maria’s, is a long way from landing at Manchester airport, dumping my bags at home, quickly saying hello to our daughter, put my suit on and being in work less than two hours after touching down. It will start again, work, the existential life-laundry struggle, amassing enough money to escape again, enough pension-pot not to have to drink your own urine, but the memories of a month in Cuba, hummingbirds, pumas, manatees, friendships forged. They will keep us warm when we are old and voting to re-join the European union. These jaunts away that make you feel alive (at least in your imagination), restore your faith in humanity, give you the freedom to take risks, remind you that life’s for the living, these are what separate YOU and I from the also rans.

So, when the stories and anecdotes have been recounted, the odd person would tentatively ask: How much did it cost all together? The meticulous accounts of The Wife’s: £10,166 exactly. Seems a lot, but that is the equivalent of five two-week holidays. I know large families that go away for two weeks in the summer and spent four grand – seems a bargain now, maybe?

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BIG LOVE and Happy holidays, my fellow humans.

 

I had to give evidence to the Manchester bomb inquiry, the bomber Salman Abedi – a mass murderer who I met several times as a teenager, but never directly taught, went to the school I worked at for years. I couldn’t the authorities anything meaningful, he was a fickle boy and was not radicalised during his time at the school.

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What I will say is: Don’t look back in anger, ‘cos you’re not going in that direction, and if you are, have a change of direction.

 

Bit longer this week, but that’s it then for a while. The end of this travel journey documented. I would like to dedicate these blogs to Trevor Wolfe from Boulder, Colorado. Trevor and Olivia, we met in Costa Rica. He had a degree in Botany, worked in the burgeoning marijuana business and we would often chat on Facebook, about many things, his horror and shame of Trump, my shame of leaving the brotherhood/sisterhood of the EU, both add up to the same thing, our collective fear of the rise of nationalism and self-interest, that then gives birth to xenophobia, that appears to be igniting globally – divide and rule, fanned by neo-liberal sponsored division. Then the communication went dead, when I was asking him about the legalisation of pot in the North Americas. I wanted to buy some shares and he had the inside track. This was strange, he was usually very prompt in replying. I saw something with his name on and a college friend writing a eulogy. I dismissed it thinking it must have been his father with the same name, and… this was the reason why he was not getting back to me, I don’t go on Facebook much. A few days later, I realised it was Trevor that had died, aged just 30 years of age. Both The Wife and I cried, we had only met Trevor a few times, but he was one of those beautiful, beautiful, people that restored your faith in humanity and Americans, the world is a much sadder place without him. Life is an absolute bastard sometimes, and if nothing else, reminds you: to love is to suffer. RIP Trev, and let all that partake raise their joints in your honour.

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Next time: There is no next time. Only the now… Don’t dream it, be it!

@thewritingIMP  www.ianmpindar.com

monochrome imp middle patternIan M Pindar writes books, and also about himself in the third person sometimes, so it looks as though he has a large team of dedicated professionals working around him. His latest book is in fact a novella and has the strange title of: ‘Foot-sex of the Mind’. It is not a Mills and Boon, but about finding out what is important in life far too late.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=ian+m+pindar 

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I was asked what books I read while I was away, and the fact you are probably reading this on the Goodreads site, here goes, by far the most read, and often re-read where the Rough Guides to; Cuba and Central America.

The others were, in this order;

& Sons                       David Gilbert

The Curry Mile          Zahid Hussain

England, England    Julian Barnes

Version of Us            Laura Barnett

Breathing Lessons  Anne Tyler

God in Ruins            Kate Atkinson

The Amateurs           John Niven

…and they say men don’t read fiction, and those that do don’t read women authors!

#18  From Manatee to Yucatan, Every Woman, Every Man.  Swimming with Dugongs: Adventures in Central America.

24 Saturday Nov 2018

Posted by thewritingimp in fiction, Mexico, Pindar, thewritingIMP, travel, Uncategorized

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We could have spent longer on Caye Caulker, but we have sampled all it has to offer except Zika virus, the accommodation owners have both had it a few weeks back and we are keen to avoid it. The fast boat to Chetumal in Mexico leaves at 7am, stopping at San Pedro (last night I dreamt of San Pedro – there’s your earworm), so we can pay our tourist tax to Belizean government – B$38. A Dutch guy in the queue discovers he has left his passport back in Caulker, that’s a bad start to any day.

The same tourist taxation occurs in Mexico at the port – US$20, not Mexican pesos, but painfully slow, we are glad there are only 20 on the boat and not 200! We decide to get the bus to Tulum, along with bunch of insular young Israelis and a friendlier older travel companion in his thirties. All except him are very aggressive to the driver, whose job is to get us to Tulum asap, but says he will stop somewhere so they can eat. When he passes several potential eateries, they become even more aggressive. The older traveller has lived in San Francisco for the last seven years, working in IT, he has a more placid personality, until the driver stops at a roadside restaurant, probably taking commission on the passing trade. The older Israeli guy is now not happy with the menu and he’s now stomping his feet and threatening to cancel his bank payment. It is interesting to observe them, they should be happy-go-lucky laid-back travellers, but they are a far cry from that, all bar him have just finished their national service, before that, uni, maybe this is a factor? I honestly don’t know is the truth, but as a bunch they are unpleasant and bullying, and I know that may make me sound anti-sematic, which I’m not, but I am ant-Zionist, but they are two separate issues, even if the right-wing media melds them together, as a young female Israeli once told my wife years ago whilst fleeing her national service, ‘We Israelis have a siege mentality, it is part of our DNA, can you imagine not being able to go on holiday to any of the countries surrounding you because they hate us, welcome to the Israeli psyche!’ Luckily the driver is an ‘unpopular’ Mexican and not Palestinian!

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We jump out in Tulum, none of the Israelis say goodbye except the older guy. Hey, maybe they don’t want to chat to a middle-aged English couple, maybe they have each other for that, but I know if I was in in my mid-twenties and a middle-aged English couple that had just been on the road for two months in Central America, I would want to know more! Also sounding like an old fart, travel is so much easier these days, I have browsed a couple of sites and booked our low budget hotel literally on the road. Tulum has a fantastic coastal Mayan site which you can get around in over an hour without a guide, Iguanas abound, worth a night to see.

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After two nights we travel onwards to Valladolid, travel is easy in Mexico. Saying ‘Valladolid’ isn’t. The trick is to say it fast like you have a speech impediment and throw a cheerful ‘yeah’ in middle somewhere. We stay at a small boutique hotel with a plunge pool. Like most central and South American towns and cities, it is a variation on a theme, large church or cathedral, unless you are devoutly religious, there is only so many houses of God you can look at, and even if you are, there can only be so many times you can observe Jesus in excruciating pain nailed to a cross. Then there’s the square, surrounded by the restaurants and top end hotels. But Valladolid has something special, it has a cenote, a what?, I hear you say, a cenote is a beautiful deep sink hole fashioned within the sedimentary rock, and there are many in Mexico, but this one could not be more convenient. The morning we have a dip there, we only come across two other people using it, I’m told not many locals can swim, as they are not taught in school. Whenever there is a drowning, it is normally a local. Not sure the sign in English ‘If you cannot swim, avoid accidents’ helps? These ‘plunge holes’ are also a great place to escape the heat of summer.

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We are staying here so we can visit the best-preserved UNESCO protected Mayan ruins of Chichen Itza. Go early, as early as you can, this place gets rammed, and we are there out of season. It’s difficult not to overstate the tackiness the huge number of vendors within the complex detracts from the magnificence of the place. We are there quite early, we catch the public bus, and by the time we leave there must be over a hundred pitches trying to sell you tat. You can accept the people, after all they are coming for the same reason you are, but the tackiness of the place -Tacksville, with a capital, bold and underlined ‘T’! Saying that, you should see it, it is magnificent, the main temple is enormous and restored. The most interesting building is the ball court, two teams would complete to get a rubber ball through their opponents’ hoop, and the captain of the winning team would have their heart pulled out of their body and sacrificed to the Gods! This is the winner!! This was an honour, you got to dwell with the Gods. This is what Paul Pogba probably feared at Manchester United, this would explain why he played so badly when he was captain. Hire a guide, ours, Irvin, is incredibly knowledgeable and interesting.

 

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I get my haircut in Yeahadod by an old hand, Michello, confident in my Spanish and his experience. I think I have asked for cross between a Bowie 80’s cut and a Rupert Everett 90’s. A female hairdresser comes to my aid, “He thinks you want a long back and front.” I’m interested to find out what that might look like, but I suspect I might look like the lead singer of Kasabian after a heavy night out. When I was a student in the 80’s you could model for designer saloons, and I visited a posh one on King’s Street, Manchester, and after a wait, a man that was dressed like Roy Chubby Brown on a stag do appeared, he even had the goggles on his head (honestly), camper than a row of illuminated taffeta Christmas trees, he uninvitedly ran his fingers through my hair and exclaimed in a camp vibrato, “I’ll shave it aaalll offf, and leave a single thin whisp to flick across. That’s all I can offer you!” “No, you fucking won’t.” With that my hair modelling days were gone in the caress of an effete hairdresser’s moisturised fingers. I would have looked like I was emphasising with cancer patients. About this time, I had a number 3 all over, and thought it looked quite suave, picture a cross between Brad Pitt and Jude Law, my girlfriend at the time took one look and said, “You look like you’ve just come out a concentration camp!” – unkind, to say the least, apologies Brad and Jude.

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We go a day trip to Rio Lagratos, – Alligator River, there are no alligators, only crocodiles. It is a great place to see flamingos, eat fresh fish, and just to prove you are a proper tourist cover yourself in think grey mineral mud, which supposedly exfoliates the skin and makes you live for a thousand years, and also give you an opportunity to look (more) ridiculous on social media.

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We fully access all areas of another interesting Mayan ruin on the journey back, Ek Balam, our Guide, Roberto, knows everyone, this proves useful as an Archaeologist from the Anthropological Museum in Mexico City is working on preserving, an already well-preserved freeze, because this particular chamber has been completely hermetically sealed for 1,000 years, not seen by another human eye. We are invited in like VIPs. I try to think what I was doing a 1,000 years ago? Catching the plague and dying.

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The roads on the Yucatan are straight, Romanesque, there are no meanders or deviations to keep you awake, you can see the vanishing distant point, clearly, like when you had to draw railway lines in junior school. The worry now is Roberta’s head is lightly lilting to the ‘eyes closed’ position, I offer to drive several times when I think he is going to give us a closer look at the adjacent roadside ditches – spoiler alert, we don’t crash, but our chances would have been greatly increased if I had fallen asleep as well.

 

Next time: This is the end, my beautiful friends.

@thewritingIMP  www.ianmpindar.com

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Ian M Pindar writes books, and also about himself in the third person sometimes, so it looks as though he has a large team of dedicated professionals working around him. His latest book is in fact a novella and has the strange title of: ‘Foot-sex of the Mind’. It is not a Mills and Boon, but about finding out what is important in life far too late.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=ian+m+pindar

BookCoverImage

 

 

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  • #19  This is the end, my beautiful friends, the end.  Swimming with Dugongs: Adventures in Central America.
  • #18  From Manatee to Yucatan, Every Woman, Every Man.  Swimming with Dugongs: Adventures in Central America.
  • #17 Literally swimming with Dugongs: Adventures in Central America.
  • #11  Oh look, there’s a jungle cat and its offspring: Swimming with Dugongs: Adventures in Central America.
  • #11 Celebrating the Rain. Swimming with Dugongs: Adventures in Central America.

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  • #19  This is the end, my beautiful friends, the end.  Swimming with Dugongs: Adventures in Central America.
  • #18  From Manatee to Yucatan, Every Woman, Every Man.  Swimming with Dugongs: Adventures in Central America.
  • #17 Literally swimming with Dugongs: Adventures in Central America.
  • #11  Oh look, there’s a jungle cat and its offspring: Swimming with Dugongs: Adventures in Central America.
  • #11 Celebrating the Rain. Swimming with Dugongs: Adventures in Central America.

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20: 50 (17-15) mista… on 20: 50 (17-15) mistakes of the…
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