Due to unexpected technical problems, ie. ONE SMASHED LAPTOP, there will be no new posts on urbanflaness for the time being.  Thanks for your following!  Rest assured, the journey continues…

xo -carrie

I`ve hit that crucial juncture where I`ve become entirely comfortable being away – living out of an oversized backpack, sleeping in foreign beds with foreign sheets, and with relative strangers surrounding me always - the idea of either riding steadily in this country, or seeking more adventure in others… well, neither would phase me.

At this point I really could be a nomad forever.

I`m a dreamer, but also a realist constantly in search of purpose and now is the time where I either start dreamingly longing for home (for the ideas and jobs and plans I have simply waiting for me to pan out back in Toronto - after all, life there has always been trip!), or simply accepting my nomadic status, and begin seeking out exciting places to park myself abroad.  I have never really done the latter. 

For the vast amounts of travelling I`ve so consistently thrown myself into, I have always done so with a return date.  Not this time, of course, but I ended up with one just recently. 

For better or for worse, it`s granted me structure.  I`ve usually returned home to school, and always a good job… and thus money for future travels.  But I`ve always marvelled at the experience of actually moving - relocating indefinitely for the unforeseen future, to a new place, (or at least travelling in search of one) in search of new friends, a new job, and likely a slightly revamped or at least reevaluated identity.  I`m so very curious.  When the time comes, I will feel it – or at very least have a reason so go (or stay).  But my time has not yet come!

I`ve simply got too much love waiting for me at home.

…

 So I`m here stuck seeking purpose.  For all the deep and introspective conversation you end up having as curious and adventurous young travellers living together in hostels - always reeling towards recovery from some eye-opening new experience (be it a three-week party in the bush, a spirit-quest in the hills, falling madly in love with someone you only hope to find again, or three years in the Peace Corps…) – you so rarely have the gall to be entirely content with your own unique journey.  Your admirers are those you admire, and everyone`s maps and travel books fill up with marks and papers delineating routes and bus schedules, hostel names and contacts.  All in places you`ve never been.  Hopes and dreams and fantasies compound you left and right, and it can be hard to keep yourself grounded.  If you even want to.

Some people go places to relax – entire three or eight or twelve months to relax.  I can`t do only that.  I go stir crazy. 

Some people go places to explore, or to see and experience certain things and fulfill lifelong dreams.  Some to work.  Some to party.  Some to learn a new skill.  Some go to snowboard, surf, ski, or climb.  Some go to get away.

I, for one, have some insatiable curiosity about the people and places of the world that I don`t already know.  I travel not to `conquer` per se, but to immerse myself within and know these places - by sight, smell, sound, and experiential memory… the last of which really makes them my own.  The wonder I feel is overpowering, and simply reading about or planning a trip gets me going like nothing else.  I have to be careful not to drown in it. 

So no matter how much I work and wish and travel to get there, I can never really explain what it is exactly I`m doing “here“.  Which is fine.  Hey, I`m a traveller, why not.  But for a conflicted Librarian soul such as myself, this leaves me a little lost and self-conscious from time to time.  Do I need to do something bigger?  What even counts as bigger?  And who needs to see it, if anyone?  Who does it need to be for, if not only me?  Can I change to world by simply living within it?

“What am I really doing here?“ I occasionally hear my self-conscious angel whisper.  She is green with red stripes.  She wears a dress, but it is the same colour as her skin.  She pulls at my right ear when she knows she can get to me; especially in the early mornings, if I wake up sleepy and out of it, and sometimes after really fun evenings. 

“I`m learning!  I`m writing!  I`m experiencing!  I`m getting to know myself!  I`m figuring out my life and who I am!“ I screech defensively back at her!  My less paranoid self always laughs at this, and jumps in to say, “You`re just being!“.

My more fun-loving adventurous angel is on my left – she is blue, with yellow streaks, and I like her better.  This chick is stubborn, and she always wins.

If you`re a traveller, or have done the `travel thing`, why do you travel?  What an interesting question…

When there is a murder (decapitated, bodiless heads found in a plastic bag), rape or accident, the newspaper here WILL in fact have the most gruesome, up to date and realistic photos available.  Nothing is sugar-coated.  They want and/or NEED you to see exactly what happened. 

Or occasionally, you will wake up in the morning to hear news trucks shrieking out to deliver to you in bed the latest, most horrific news as a morning alarm!  How considerate!  This morning it was “RAPE, RAPE IN ZICATELA!  VERY YOUNG GIRL GETS RAPED AND SLAUGHTERED BEFORE DISPOSED OF IN A GARBAGE CAN!“ for maybe two hours.  Back and forth down the street.

After an entire evening of uselessly freaking out over the tsunami warnings back in Zihuatanejo, I woke up refreshed and energized, thinking to myself “I was such a fool to get all worked up last night… there`s no way the wave could reach here and actually kill me… and if it was my time, it would be my time…“.  A moment later: “TSUNAMI EN ZIHUATANEJO - TSUNAMI EN ZIHUATANEJO!“  I had no idea that this way the NEWS OF YESTERDAY – and my hysteria began anew…

Whether for your intimate knowledge, or simply to scare the crap out of you… I`m not sure.  But the news carriers here… are serious.

But on this (less-crowded, slightly slower, less winding, less bumpy) trip I was finally able to ge some sleep.  Five hours, and… GO!  Though, after a fews days (and not quite enough ime to suffice my beach-lust entirely) I was freezing in the higher altitudes as we got further from Durango! 

I only openned my eyes a few time to peek out at the dusty norteño towns we were passing.  The looked quaint, standing as they were is the very dry, only slightly hilly land.  I got out at the Fresnillo stop – it looked just too Western not to!  Like in the movies!!  And I kind of wished I would stop there for a few days just to see what on earth was there!  But I figured, being alone as I was, and it being as… well, smallish and dusty-ish and enirely devoid of travellers… as cool as that sounds… that I`d get bored rather quickly and shouldn`t bother.  Maybe one day!

It was mostly women and children on my bus for the first few hours; I was the only one for the hour or so.

After all this travel inward – ie. away from my beloved coast! – pulling into the seemingly sleepy hills of Zacatecas was rather disappointing.  Another colonial city; more winding cobblestone streets.  And it`s cold!  “Blah!“ was all I could think.  I contemplated ditching my bag at the station, wandering for the day, and catching anoher (16-hour!) bus to Veracruz on the Gulf Coast that night.

But my cab driver assured me I would slip in to Zac`s easy and comfortable nook before long.  It was Semana Santa, after all, and time for the city`s biggest cultural festival!  (How did I not know??!!)  There would apparently be “shows of all kinds, day and night, arts and entertainment, and not to mention big parties!“  And had I “heard about the Cabaretas?“ he asked me.  These are the Mescal-bearing Mules that are available for rent in the nights… because it is illegal to carry alcohol in the streets here in Zacatecas, these donkeys can do it for you!  What a tempting thought!  I contemplated staying.

This contemplation was finalized the moment I waslked into Hostel Villa Colonial (Primero de Mayo, 201)!  It was so immediately welcoming – its bookshelves, it`s little overhead lounge-nook with a TV, the awesome owner at the front desk who showed me around… a massive rooftop terrace, a nice kitchen and unlimited coffee.  I loved it!  It would be the perfect place to chill out for a couple days and do some writing, reading and picture uploading, before heading over the the Gulf Coast. 

I was bedless for the better half of the morning, however (I`d gotten there fairly early and those from the nigh before had yet to clear out)… so I took the opportunity to tiredly wander through town (try to get in the nook), and grab couple staples at the mercado (market).  It dawned on me for the first time since I`d been in México that – though I love them dearly – I may enjoy something other than veggie tacos for supper that evening.  And for lunch. 

The streets were packed with people, though I had a feeling the festival hadn`t really started up yet.  Gorgeous cafes terraced in floor, after floor of old buildings were bustling by the main cathedral around the corner from my hostel, and the plazas were packed with the most artsy-fashionable ciy people I`d seen in México yet!  I was impressed at all the women walking he cobblestones in heels (and missed my own at home so badly…).  There were dozens of silver shops, and outdoor stands for souvenirs, books, and dulces regionales (HUGE in  the entire West of México!)  everywhere.

My grocery trip was a success!  The Zacatecas market was my fave yet!  I picked up a round of papaya, mago, pineapple and blackberries (umm, all in season!??) outside, then headed in for some bulk granola, almonds, pecans, and cranberries for snacks… and yogurt for brekky.  I bypassed the amazingly fresh, outdoor fish section (which appeared to be fresher than the stinky fish market in seaside Mazatlan), mostly ou of laziness, and picked up a bag of fresh-cut cactus to sir fry up and have with the other veggies and tortillas I`d brought with me from Mazatlan yesterday.  And some canned tuna for good measure.

Terrace – coffee - nap.  Then I`d check out a bit more of Zacatecas.

This would be much better as a day trip – in a bus or in your own vehicle.  Though the driving is tough, so be cautious when navigating this route yourself.

Though it`s a long ride, the bus whips around precarious bends in the road at lightening speed… most of the journey is spent on cliffs perched up high in the mountains!

This is not only the safest, nor the most comfortable route (I fell off my seat countless times while the driver flew around the roads twists and turns at some ridiculously high speed… and didn`t sleep a wink!)… but more than that, it is so gorgeous that a night bus is just robbing yourself of an entire 10-hour chunk of México!

I could see mountain tops and cliffs in the distance… we were so high!  he view was unbeatable!  But still hard to make out in the night.  Much of México is hilly, or mountainous, but this part was different.  Really something special.

The route from Mazatlan to Durango is legendary for it`s pictuesque landscapes, and runs right through the Sierra Madre Occidental mountain range.  I knew this before I went, but opted instead to save myself the time and money, and enjoy an extra day in the sunshine.  Bad move.

In fact, the route is so incredibly stunning, that I would recommend it as a fantastic alternative to Cooper Canyon – if either you are strapped for cash and would prefer not to pay to take the CHEPE train; or if you simply enjoy a less fixed itinerary, or have less time to travel North.  

If you have a car, this would make a fantastic few day camping trip.  The drives are incredible and there are so many places to stop and check out along the way.  Good road map in hand, and a Spanish-speaker in your group to chat with locals in the small communities there for suggestions.  Of course, a cautious driver is more than necessary.

Later that day, I tripped and fell over a tope - tall and pointy Méxican speed bumps.

The beach was teeming with vibrantly-coloured kites and the shrieks of the small children flying them.  The people below kept one eye on them at all times – the occasional misguided kite would come firing down without warning. 

The faint smell of just caught fish mixed with sunscreen.  The breeze was just cool and constant enough to refreshing. 

Méxican families  – local and tourist – and couples and packs of teenage boys strutting “tough“ packed every inch of the sand.  Mariachis singing to picnicking families in front of endless seafood restaurants with palapa roofs.  Semana Santa was beginning to unfold.  The beach was oozing enjoyment! 

I sit alone, reading my book: muy tranquillo.

The action that surrounds me is intoxicating!  Yet somehow I`m more mellow for it.  I wonder if I`ll return here at some other point in my life.  Different places are for different people, and for different times.  Mazatlan is a killer family vacation spot, for one week or more - with it`s long beaches, malecon, party scene, yummy seafood… its colonial architecture and pulsing city-feel.  Something for everyone! 

I melt into my spot in the sand and breathe.

…

The kids take over many parts of the beach, and then some parts are just suddenly and entirely abandoned and tranquil. 

Then at the end of the Zona Dorada (after Senior Frogs – Mazatlan`s favorite bar and merchandise provider! – and where the beach curves to the right), the infamous Joe`s Oyster Bar gets most of the action.  It sits right on the beach and is rammed – RAMMED – with people (many underage in Canada…) by the time I get there around five thirty or so.  Everyone is here to party for Semana Santa!  They spill out onto the beach, hang over the sides and dance on tables!  There is one older (though only about 35 or 40) blonde-ish foreign couple perched on the side.  They are looking around with delighted faces… but seem to be questioning what exactly it is they`ve fallen into!  Méxican SPRING BREAK BABY!!

This may just be the Méxicans` Cancun!

The beach surrounding Joe`s however, is sick.  Groups of people party there, drink beer and camp out all day – either leaving their trash there or tossing empty beer cans into the ocean… which just either washes them onto the already nasty shore or sweeps them out to sea.  It`s a disaster, even with the few city workers there to clean up.  THIS is sick. 

But the ceviche I eat on the malecon on the way home cheers me right up… and I head home to shower and pack my things.  Another overnight bus.  My beach break is over – I`m headed in-land to Zacatecas.

…

*scrambled eggs

**traditional Méxican breakfast food of cooked torilla chips in tomatoe sauce and chillis

I wandered the area where I was staying – I was in Old Mazatlan; not quite downtown, and not yet part of the Zona Dorada (the Golden Zone of hotels and touristy amenities).  All of Old Mazatlan – from the Market to the Boardwalk (Mazatlan is famous for its long Malecon, always filled with strollers, rollerblading tourists and bikers*) – seemed only to have fish and ceviche for sale… which was not the breakfast food I was looking for.  I ended up getting a licuado (smoothie) at a Greek stand (?) in the far part of the market, close to downtown) to tide myself over as I wandered the hectic and picturesque colonial streets to the South end of the Malecon. 

The smell of fish crept up on me (somehow, in a good way…), and I knew I was approaching the Malecon.  Fishermen lined the entire thing, catching and selling their fresh goods to restaurants and passersby. 

The beach downtown was small and relaxed, with several tourists and locals wasting away a perfect mid-afternoon in the sun.  I walked back up towards my hotel beside the beach, on the Malecon, passing the many sculptures, restaurants, bars and souvenir vendors along the way – Mazatlan seemed to have endless picture-perfect viewpoints.  Families, couples holding hands and police men on bicycles traversed the Malecon. 

I ended up grabbing a simple egg, bean, tomato and tortilla breakfast for $35 pesos across from Hotel Lerma, made fresh by the cutest old lady.  I promised my self I would go there again tomorrow morning.

I decided to take it with me for some down time at a little drive-through cafe called Caffino I`d spotted on the Malecon, that had internet and yummy flavoured lattes, American style.

It was decision time for me – I`d reached the point in my trip where I had originally planned to take the ferry over to the Baja Peninsula for a little adventure and to meet my friend and yoga instructor near Cabo San Lucas.  I`d really wanted to go!  I`d heard nothing but great things about the peninsula, and the landscape was supposed to be breathtaking, and unlike other areas in México!  Besides, I was doing a full México trip!  I almost needed to see it (I`d convinced myself)!

But I was running out of time and money (though I didn`t yet have a ticket home, I had an estimated time to meet a friend down South) and really didn`t want to rush any part of my trip.  And I wanted to take Spanish lessons.  And I lived in Canada – which, relatively speaking, isn`t so far away… AND I love California.  So, because the ferry ticket was so expensive (about $85 American Dollars, one way!) and I`d likely have to rush myy time there anyway… I appeased myself by saying I`d do some crazy roadtrip there one day – hopefully West across Canada from Toronto, before heading down through California until I reached the Baja, minus the rest of México.  One day!

Oh the joys of lone travel!  No public consultation… just decisions based on my own wants and needs.  Mmmm… this was new!

In celebration of actually making a decision (I`m notoriously bad for this!) I headed up the boardwalk a little, to enjoy a bit more of the day… and decided it was time to scout of my friend`s parents. 

I ran home to change and caught another friendly pulmonia to the Riu Emerald Resort.  It was ridiculously far – for everything that Mazatlan is (its gorgeous colonial architecture, it`s crazy Carnival, it`s laid back, very Méxican city-beach culture), it is best known for it`s 16kms of beach, stretching from the very pretty Olas Atlas (downtown Maz) through Old Maz and the slightly dirtier and more bustling Zona Dorada, and across through the newest resort spaces to the north.  The Riu Emerald was at the far end of the new area, and though reachable by bus (the transportation here is great, and well connected) you would have to transfer in the Zona Dorada if coming from anywhere further South. 

Luckily, I have honed my haggling skills over the years, and had asked the chicas at Caffino how much a pulmonia would cost to get there.  I slightly understated that quoted price to the driver and assured him they (being locals!) had told me that was how much it should be.  We agreed on something that suited both of us, and chatted about the city`s development in the little flying golf cart, all the way.

…

 I pulled into the Riu Emerald… and the luxury oozed into me.  It had been a while since I`d done anything really overly luxurious, and it was clearly time for me to appreciate this place a little.  For sake of balance. 

I was happy and slightly flabbergasted… but I didn`t let the employees sense my excitement.  I wanted to look like I belonged… precisely because I didn`t have a room, nor even a number for my friends, and would have to swindle my way past security somehow!

The Riu was the tallest, whitest palace on the strip – it`s spotless exterior solicited envy from all other beach and resort-goers; it`s exquisitely furnished marble interior sparkled with newly constructed luxury.

I looked up “Mis Padres de un Otra Hermana“ at reception (“My parents to another sister“… which I thought was funny but only inspired baffled looks from the people behind the desk) and called their room.  Nobody answered.

I figured they were on the beach enjoying their last sunset in México… and somehow managed to get a bell boy to escort me around the entire complex to “search for them“ and essentially kill time until they got back to their room. 

It worked!  I checked out every last restaurant the place had (everything from martini bars, to pool-side lounges, to sushi, wine and steak, buffet and traditional Méxican), its many pools, its beach, and its common areas.  An exquisite place… for a resort.  But so very strange to be in… it didn`t at all feel like México in there (everyone was essentially Canadian).  A trip away from my trip I suppose, a little transportation device home.

My otha Mum came down to pick me up after we eventually got a hold of her, and one by one the Poole`s kept me company in the front lobby while the other showered off their day and got ready for dinner.  It was so nice to see them!  The first familiar faces in a month or so… and some of my favorites!  They treated me to an unlimited pass in their resort, which brought with it unlimited food, booze and luxury.  I was stoked!

Dozens of fancy cocktails and martinis, a ridiculous feast, tons of fun, music and lots of love later, I found myself in another taxi on my way home with a sack full of booze from their all-inclusive hotel room.  They insisted I take it – it was free, after all!  I loaded up my closet at Hotel Lerma, with waterbottles of white rum (which I only once mistook for water!) and Dos Equis Cervezas.  It occured to me that I likely wouldn`t drink it here, being on my own and on a little quiet break… but I resolved to bag it and take it with me to my next destination where I`d likely be staying in a hostel. 

Thanks Pooles, for being so fun and awesome – you`re like second parents to me!  And for giving me the luxurious break I needed to tide me over the next few months!

*I wanted so badly to rent rollerblades or a bike here, but I found it very hard to find a place with rentals!  Even many hotels and taxi drivers I consulted didn`t know where to get them!  Though by the time I found this recommendation online, it was too late for me, if you are looking for a bike or blade rental try Kelly`s Bike Rental, at Avienda Camron Sabalo 204. Local 10.  In the Zona Dorada.