I got another excellent coffee and a mango smoothie from the place across the road from our hotel. Despite the fact that latte, mango and smoothie are all the same words in English as in Spanish, I still had to point at a menu to order after the girl behind the counter and I had traded confused stares and shrugs for a while. Pointing at the door works pretty well for “to go” though, a phrase Ivan has tried to teach me but for some reason I just can’t get.
Brenda is beside me wetting her pants watching An Idiot Abroad, trying to muffle her giggles into her thoughtful travel blanket because the rest of the bus is trying to sleep already.
All three of us caught the bus up to Monte Alban – a huge Aztec ruin. It was beautiful and so peaceful – it’s thought the Aztecs actually flattened the top of the mountain to build it, and the scale of that project once you’re up there is flabbergasting. It was boiling, boiling fucking hot though, so after about 20 minutes I was all full up of ruins and ready for some air conditioning.
A team of guys were weed-whacking the pyramids, which was amazingly surreal.
Went back to the big markets Ivan showed us on the first day – home of the grasshopper vendors and meat-bit sellers and chili growers. Outside, I got genuinely lost for about the second time in my life – if I hadn’t looked at a map I wouldn’t have even known — I thought with every fibre of my being that I was headed in a direction I absolutely wasn’t. The grasshopper labyrinth confused me.
I got back to the hotel a sweaty, fried-up mess, and then it poured and poured with rain. An excellent excuse to sit in the lobby and eat tamales.
Now we’re on the night bus to San Cristobel de las Casas. The bus is better than a plane – footrests, huge comfy seats, pillows and blankets and tea and coffee and a can of pepsi on arrival. There’s even an entertainment unit, but all the movies are dubbed in Spanish and they don’t have Camp Rock 2, so.