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So far we have written extensively about our adventures in Mexico. Unfortunately, shortly before the end of our trip, there is, once again, no more space on the blog. Therefore, we have set up a new part 4 of our travel blog. Here you can read and see photos of Loreto and the remaining days of our adventure in Baja California Sur and in Mexico City. Enjoy! Looking back After three months of travelling through Mexico, it’s time to reflect. We’ve written about the places, the adventures, and the people — but what did we really take away? And what kind of tourists were we? Tourism in Mexico, as elsewhere, is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it brings clear benefits: jobs, support for small businesses, and the preservation of culture, traditions and historic sites. Many livelihoods depend on visitors. But there’s another side — harder to ignore. Baja California, for example, left us with mixed feelings. It offered stunning landscapes, beautiful beaches and a sense of freedom — but also moments of discomfort. Away from charming towns like Loreto, the desert reveals stark poverty. What struck us most was the contrast: huge motorhomes and oversized pickup trucks travelling along Highway 1, overnighting on the beaches, whilst next to them, local families camp in simple tents or inside their work vans. Many visitors come from the US and Canada, drawn by sunshine, space and lower costs. But the divide between wealthy visitors and local communities feels very real — and raises questions about sustainability. At times, Baja even felt less “Mexican” than the mainland, with English often the default language in tourist areas. It makes you wonder how locals feel about this— welcoming or quietly resentful? We noticed similar patterns elsewhere. In cities like Mexico City and Oaxaca, tourism is transforming neighbourhoods. Rents are rising, short-term rentals and Airbnbs are increasing, forcing locals out of city centres. When we returned to Oaxaca after nine years, it felt busier, more crowded, and at times overwhelming. Cultural traditions seemed increasingly shaped for visitors rather than lived from within. North Americans often fly down to Oaxaca for a long weekend of partying. Mass tourism also brings environmental strain. We experienced water shortages ourselves — locals going without, while tourist accommodation remained supplied and swimming pools filled. And culturally, there is tension too. Events like Día de los Muertos, once an intimate family ritual, are now major attractions, sometimes reduced to photo opportunities for visitors who don’t fully understand their meaning and just want to upload photos to Facebook or Instagram. All of this raises an important question: where do you draw the line between appreciation and intrusion? We tried to travel thoughtfully — supporting local businesses, speaking Spanish, and respecting boundaries. There were things we chose not to do, such as visiting cemeteries during Día de los Muertos. Some moments feel too personal to observe, and too obtrusive. Perhaps that’s the key: to travel with curiosity, humility and respect. Mexico is an extraordinary country — rich in culture, warmth and creativity. The challenge, here as elsewhere, is finding a balance where tourism supports communities without overwhelming them. We don’t want to be the cause of “Gringos go home” spray-painted on the walls. Our travels in Mexico gave us incredible memories, a fondness for the people and respect for their culture and environment. Lisa and Dave 8. Last Phase: Mexico City: 8th until 12th March 2026 Lisa: 8th March 2026 The drive from Los Barriles to Los Cabos was quick, and so was the handover of our campervan to Julian of Vanbaja. There was no damage, no scratches; we were happy with it. It had suited us perfectly for our travels through Baja California. We very much appreciated Julian’s remote support when something went wrong. A great service. Julian kindly drove us to the airport, where we said goodbye and wished him all the best for his campervan rental business. From our experience of handing back our camper in Sidney, Australia, we had expected a long wait for the handover formalities and had therefore booked a later flight back to Mexico City in the afternoon. As it turned out, we arrived at the airport far too early with plenty of time to kill. First, we sat outside on a bench in the warm sun and finished our leftovers from our previous evening: Jumbo prawns, fish and veg - cold but still delicious. Afterwards, we moved inside to the waiting area and spent some time writing on our blog. Eventually, our flight was called, and once again we were reminded that our chosen airline, Volaris, is the Mexican equivalent of Ryanair: cheap, cheerful and with very little legroom. Poor Dave had to sit sideways, but fortunately, it was only a 1 1/2 hour flight. By the time we arrived in Mexico City, it was already dark. The taxi driver informed us that, due to demonstrations in the city centre, he might not be able to drop us directly in front of the hotel but would get us as close as possible. He explained that it was International Women’s Day and claimed that the women marching on the street were very violent, warning us to be careful. I chose not to pursue the conversation further. However, when we reached the centre, there were no demonstrations and no roads blocked. We drove straight through, and he dropped us directly outside our hotel. The only sign of any potential unrest was the presence of numerous police vans filled with armed officers stationed on street corners, their lights flashing. The shutters of the shops were down, but there was no sign of violent protesters. Later, when we went out for dinner, we even found some of them in our restaurant, El Quatro 20, enjoying a meal and drinks with friends - perfectly peaceful. The supposed “violence” seemed entirely exaggerated. At the hotel, however, we faced some disappointment. The first-floor room with a balcony overlooking the square, which we had booked and paid for five weeks ago, was not available due to a problem with the water pipes. We were offered instead, a dark room with a view to a side street. Strangely, our friends, Beverley and Terry, who had stayed at the same hotel a few weeks ago before returning to London, had the same problem and had also been given another room. We asked the staff to find us an alternative and, in the meantime, we headed out for dinner. When we returned, there was still no other room available. We spoke to the manager, who explained that the hotel was fully booked and that we might be able to change rooms in two days, or perhaps even tomorrow. How frustrating! After our wild camping experience in Baja, we had hoped to end our time in Mexico on a high note, in a lovely hotel room. However, changing rooms for the final night would have been far too disruptive. Instead, we asked for some form of compensation - perhaps a bottle of their best red wine? Agreed! We accepted the room, and in the end, it turned out to be rather nice. The Hotel Domingo Santo describes itself as a boutique hotel - very modern and stylish, in a historic building, with indirect lighting throughout that can be dimmed. The reality, however, was a little more complicated. The light switches were temperamental and required patience. Dave’s bedside lamp seemed to have a mind of its own, constantly cycling through its three brightness settings. In the end, he had to remove the bulb to get some sleep. The toilet and shower area had glass walls, which looked stylish but offered very little privacy. The lighting in there was so dim that you could barely see. The door to our room did not lock, so we could only hope that no one would wander in uninvited. That said, the room itself was pleasant enough - with a small balcony overlooking a side street. Once the motorbikes and lorries had stopped passing through, it was relatively quiet. 9th March 2026 We slept very well and, reassuringly, nobody had broken into our room overnight. Breakfast was served on the roof terrace overlooking the square, a lovely setting. They didn’t have black tea, but thanks to Beverley’s generous supply of Twinings tea bags from London, I now travel prepared, bring my own tea bag, and simply ask for hot water. Problem solved. The food was excellent, although the waiter - clearly a stand-in - seemed rather stressed. He spoke very little English, which did not help matters, especially with the demanding Indian couple from Texas at the next table, who appeared determined to make his life as difficult as possible. We felt quite sorry for him. After breakfast, we hurried to the National Palace, hoping to finally get tickets to photograph the Diego Rivera murals. After Christmas, tickets had sold out daily by 10 am, and we were told March would be quieter when fewer tourists were in town. Unfortunately, the palace was now closed for refurbishment until the end of April. Typical! Very disappointing, but nothing to be done. So, we improvised and spent the morning in the historic centre before setting off in the afternoon on a “dummy run” to Frida Kahlo’s house in Coyoacán. We had managed to secure tickets weeks in advance for tomorrow at 11.15 am and were determined not to miss our slot. On a previous visit, we’d seen a couple turned away for arriving just 20 minutes late - lesson learned. The journey wasn’t straightforward. We took the metro, changed at Ermita Station, and then had to find the right bus. This proved trickier than expected, with several people confidently sending us in the completely wrong direction. Eventually, an older man approached Dave, who was a little dismissive at first. The man then spoke to me and gave clear, accurate directions, even describing the colour of the bus and correctly guessing our destination. He also asked me to tell Dave not to be afraid of him. Fair enough. We explained our frustration, and he laughed knowingly before heading off. We found the bus, paid 15 Mexican pesos (£0.64; 0.74 Euros) for both of us, and 17 minutes later were dropped right outside Frida Kahlo’s famous blue house. Success! We now know exactly where to go and how long it will take; there are no excuses for being late tomorrow. Job done. We celebrated with tea, coffee and an almond croissant at a nearby cafe. The return journey, however, was less relaxed. The metro  at 5 pm was packed with commuters. When we reached our stop, Allende, we couldn't get off because people were already pushing their way in. We shouted and pushed (politely, at first) to get out. I just about managed to squeeze through, but Dave was stuck. A large man shoved him, and he shoved back; others joined in - it was escalating quickly. For a moment, it looked like things might turn ugly. Then, somehow, Dave broke free just as the doors were closing. The train pulled away behind him. That was a close one. On the way back to the hotel, we came across the damaged head of the Angel of Independence on display in the courtyard of the Historic Archives. The original statue on the Plaza de Independencia had fallen from its column during the 1957 earthquake, shattering on impact. While the statue was later restored, the original head could not be repaired and is now exhibited as a reminder of the event - known locally as “el sismo del Angel’ (the Angel's earthquake). The damaged head remembers of the Angel's earthquake We still had one unresolved issue: our terracotta jaguar. Five weeks earlier, we had bought it at the Saturday Bazar. Jaguars symbolise strength and protection in Mexico, and we were keen to bring this one home. The seller, Rodrigo, had promised to deliver it to our hotel - but it hadn’t arrived. Nor could we reach him despite multiple calls and messages. By now, we were getting concerned. We mentioned it to our hotel manager (now our friend), and he immediately took charge. He called Rodrigo and got through straight away (of course), politely but firmly asking when the jagar would be delivered. After much apologising, Rodrigo promised it would arrive that afternoon or evening. We would see. Reassured, we headed for dinner at the well-known Café de Tacuba. The historic interior, with its ornate paintings and gold-framed pictures, felt almost church-like. The food was good, and the staff were dressed in traditional attire - the waitresses resembling nurses in their white aprons and headpieces. A live band played throughout the evening; they were good, apart from one singer who struggled rather heroically with the high notes. Enjoying a Bohemian Beer at the Café de Tacuba. It was an enjoyable experience, but overall it felt like an overpriced tourist spot. We both preferred El Quatro 20 from the night before - livelier, simpler, better food and half the price. An easy choice for our final evening. Back at the hotel, relief at last - our jaguar had arrived. We took him upstairs, and the next day, we would buy bubble wrap to protect him for the journey home. He was smaller than we had remembered him. Fortunately, he fitted neatly into Dave’s day rucksack, and we did not need to buy an extra bag for him. 10th March 2026 Today was the day when we returned to Frida Kahlo’s house. We had visited nine years ago and were keen to experience it again. Determined not to be late, we set off early, far too early, as it turned out, and spent quite some time queuing. Still, better early than missing our slot. The queue was well organised; every 15 minutes, a group of people was allowed in, keeping the house and garden pleasantly uncrowded. As before, it felt less like visiting a museum and more like stepping into her home - her private world. The house and garden are full of her personality and artistic spirit. Downstairs and in the garden, there were displays from her extensive art collection, along with black-and-white photographs of Frida with Diego Rivera, friends, and family - offering a very personal glimpse into her life. For me, the highlights were upstairs: her studio with the easel, brushes, and paints; her wheelchair placed in front of it; and her bedroom, where a mirror is fixed to the ceiling. Her father had installed it after her terrible accident, when she was confined to bed for over a year. Unable to move, she began painting herself - and the rest is history. Frida’s paintings are displayed throughout the house. One that particularly stayed with me was a still life of watermelons. Painted years earlier, she added the words: “Viva la Vida!” (Long live life!) shortly before her death. Just days later, she passed away. It felt both powerful and poignant. Viva la Vida - Long Live Life! Throughout the house and garden, there are handwritten notes and letters from Frida Kahlo or Diego Rivera. In one of the smaller buildings, her corsets, crutches, dresses, and jewellery are exhibited; in another, a documentary with photographs and diary excerpts gives further insight into her life. In the courtyard, visitors can relax with a cup of coffee or even join drawing classes. There is so much to take in. After about two and a half hours, we left - tired but deeply moved. The whole experience feels intimate and emotional, almost like a pilgrimage. People of all ages from all over the world come here, drawn by her life, her resilience, and her art. It’s absolutely worth the visit. A constant long queue in front of Frida Kahlo's blue house. Much has been written about Frida Kahlo, and films have been made about her life. Here are some links for those who want to read some more background information. Here is a link to her biography: https://www.britannica.com/biography/Frida-Kahlo https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frida_Kahlo https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frida_Kahlo A wall painting in a nearby street. We recovered at a nearby café with cappuccinos, tea, and an almond croissant, scrolling through our photos before heading back. This time, the metro journey was refreshingly calm - mid-afternoon and far less crowded. For our final evening in Mexico, we returned to our favourite restaurant, El Quatro 20. With a Bohemia dark beer in hand, Dave enjoyed a delicious octopus dish, while I had flautas (fried tortilla rolls filled with chicken). I would have happily shared more of Dave’s octopus as it was excellent, but he liked them so much and wasn’t feeling particularly generous. A real shame. Delicious food, but Dave's octopus is off-limit for me. 11th March 2026 On our last morning, we packed our bags and headed to the Torre Latinoamericana, a 44-storey, 182-metre-high landmark in the historic centre, opposite the Palacio de Bellas Artes. Its 360-degree observation deck on the 42nd floor promised the perfect farewell view. The tower is an engineering marvel — the first skyscraper built in a highly seismic zone — and has survived several major earthquakes, including the devastating 1985 Mexico City earthquake. Photos in the small museum show the tower standing intact, surrounded by completely destroyed buildings — quite a sight. After a few hazy days, the weather finally cleared just in time for our departure. The views were spectacular, stretching across this vast and impressive city — a fitting way to say goodbye. Palacio Bellas Artes and City View We decided to end our journey where it had begun: at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the Zócalo, with views of the cathedral and the National Palace. With a cold drink in hand, we took it all in one last time. Then reality intervened. A message from Aeroméxico warned us of a taxi strike targeting airport access, particularly Mexico City International Airport Terminal 2, where our flight would depart. The hotel advised us to leave early and arranged a trusted taxi. On the way, the driver received updates over the radio — instructions to stay calm and respectful amid the disruption. Terminal 2 was indeed blocked, but he dropped us at Terminal 1 instead, from where we could take the connecting train. Problem solved. We arrived far too early — but better safe than sorry. Ongoing construction work ahead of the upcoming World Cup made things chaotic: no lifts, no escalators, just endless stairs. Thankfully, helpful staff came to the rescue and carried my suitcase (Dave, less fortunate, managed his alone — sorry, Dave!). Eventually, we reached Terminal 2, only to find we were still too early to check in. We collapsed into some seats, connected to the Wi-Fi, and passed the time working on the blog. One lingering worry remained: our extra bag — containing the carefully wrapped jaguar — wasn’t technically allowed. At check-in, no one noticed. At security, an officer began unwrapping it, and I feared for its survival. Thinking quickly, I showed him a photo of the jaguar. He laughed and waved us through. Crisis averted. Boarding came with more waiting — and more quiet anxiety about the extra luggage. But again, no issues. In fact, a friendly stewardess even helped us stow the jaguar safely in the overhead locker between our rucksacks. The flight itself was mostly uneventful — for me, at least. Dave’s seat had to be replaced (apparently a casualty of the previous passenger), so he stood waiting while a clean one was found. His entertainment screen then refused to cooperate, repeatedly freezing mid-film — not his lucky day. I, meanwhile, watched a long documentary about Frida Kahlo and spent much of the flight worrying about turbulence and the fate of our jaguar. Sleep was minimal. We landed an hour early, around 2 pm. All our concerns about customs turned out to be unnecessary — no questions, no checks, we just walked straight through. And now, our little jaguar sits safely in our living room, a daily reminder of an extraordinary journey through Mexico. We are safely back home. ——— Dave: 8th March 2026 We landed in Mexico City airport Terminal 1 at 19:00, 10 minutes early. A MX$500 (£21.00) 25-minute taxi ride brought us to Hotel Domingo Santo, our home for the next three nights. Our driver managed to avoid the Women’s Day demos in the centre, and we arrived at 20:00. There were problems with our room. A month ago, we’d booked and paid for our room, a room with a balcony overlooking the main square. However, we were given a room with a balcony overlooking the side street, so we complained. The hotel boasts a covered rooftop terrace, so we dropped our bags in the room and went to have dinner there. Unfortunately, the restaurant closes at 20:00. Bother! We checked for nearby restaurants on Google Maps and set off to find one. The demonstration was still ongoing, and many of the side streets were filled with police vehicles, officers standing by with batons at the ready, just in case of trouble. You know how violent women can be! Many restaurants had closed early, some because of the protest, and others simply because it was Sunday and getting late. We wandered the streets for a while and, inevitably, got lost. Eventually, we stumbled across El Cuatro 20, a lively restaurant/cervecería bar packed with locals, mostly women who had clearly been on the demonstration. We were thirsty, and they served Modelo Negra on draft, perfect! I ordered pozole, whilst Lisa ordered quesadillas, and both were excellent. Afterwards, we managed to get lost trying to find our way back to the hotel, not helped by a stop at a convenience store to buy water, wine and a small bottle of rum. By the time we returned, the hotel receptionist had changed shifts. I complained once more about our room, and was advised by the new receptionist to speak to the manager in the morning. We retired to our room, showered, and finished the evening with glasses of rum, whilst watching BBC News on our television 9th March 2026 I enjoyed a lie-in until 06:30, whilst Lisa slept until 08:00. Before we had breakfast, we spoke to the hotel manager about changing to the room that we’d originally booked, the one with a balcony overlooking the main square, but it wasn’t possible as there was a problem with a broken tap. As compensation, we were offered a good bottle of red wine, which we happily accepted. We’d bought a ceramic jaguar figure in a shop in a famous Saturday market, whilst with Terry and Beverly, about a month ago. We gave the owner the address of our hotel and the date of our arrival on our return to Mexico City. He promised faithfully to deliver it to our hotel today. Unfortunately, it hadn’t arrived. We had breakfast in the covered rooftop restaurant of our hotel, and afterwards set out to retrace our steps to El Cuatro 20, the delightful restaurant where we had dinner the night before. I’m usually good at navigating unfamiliar places, but I managed to get us completely lost trying to find our way back to the hotel last night. We found the restaurant easily enough, but still got lost on the way back to our hotel. Later, we went to the Zocalo and tried once again to visit the National Palace, something we’ve attempted several times since Christmas. Once again, we had no luck and were told it was closed until April, this time for refurbishment. Following Google Maps on our smartphones can be surprisingly frustrating, even in a city with a grid system like Mexico City. It would help enormously if the north always stayed at the top of the screen instead of constantly rotating. Back at the hotel, our jaguar hadn’t arrived, and Lisa had trouble contacting the shop owner. I tried too, but without success. Fortunately, our hotel manager stepped in, made a few calls, and somehow managed to reach him. He joked that it worked because he was a Mexican hotel manager speaking to another Mexican. The shop owner promised to deliver it later today, though I remained sceptical. Tomorrow we have timed tickets for the Frida Kahlo Museum at 11:15. It’s quite a journey: taking the Mexico City Metro to Ermita, then a 35-minute local bus ride. As entry times are strictly enforced, and tickets must be booked weeks in advance, we decided to make a trial run, and that’s what we did. After a short break in a small café around the corner from the museum, where Lisa happily celebrated, having found a café that had proper tea, with a small cake. We returned to Ermita Metro Station by local bus and got off at Allende Metro Station. Just around the corner is the famous Café de Tacuba, where we had dinner. Although the house band was excellent, the restaurant felt rather too touristy for our taste. We both preferred the atmosphere at El Cuatro 20, from the night before. Even with both of us checking Google Maps, we still managed to take a wrong turning on the way back to the hotel. We’d pointed out to the hotel manager when we first checked in that our room had a faulty interior door lock. At 22:00, the hotel maintenance man knocked on our door. He’d come to repair the faulty lock, proof that our hotel manager was a man of his word. 10th March 2026 I was up early at 05:00 writing my blog and diary, while Lisa got up at 06:30. After breakfast, we walked to Allende Metro Station, took the Mexico City Metro to Ermita Metro Station, and then took a local bus to the Frida Kahlo Museum. We arrived with about an hour to spare before our allocated entry time of 11:15, and joined the queue. The museum runs a very efficient system, with tickets issued at 15-minute intervals, and visitors admitted strictly only at their allotted times. Thankfully, the trees provided some welcome shade whilst we waited. We came out of the museum at 13:30, feeling pleasantly exhausted. Our visit was just as fascinating and rewarding as when we last came nine years ago. The queues were just as long as when we arrived. Like yesterday, we escaped to a nearby café for a rest, a chance to cool down, and a well-earned coffee. The museum is incredibly popular, drawing visitors from all over the world who come to pay their respects to Frida Kahlo. Tickets have to be booked online, and the earliest available dates were already well into mid-April. Selected exhibits from Frida's extensive art collection One can’t help wondering what Frida herself would think today of the crowds, the revenue the museum generates, and the many people now employed there, from staff to private tour guides? Who was Frida Kahlo? Frida Kahlo (1907–1954) was one of Mexico’s most famous artists. She is best known for her striking self-portraits, which often explore themes of identity, pain, Mexican culture, and her turbulent life. Key facts about Frida Kahlo Mexican painter known for vivid, symbolic self-portraits. Strongly connected to Mexican identity, often wearing traditional Tehuana clothing. Her art was deeply influenced by lifelong health problems, including severe injuries from a bus accident when she was 18. She had a passionate and complicated marriage to the famous Mexican muralist Diego Rivera. The Frida Kahlo Museum (the Casa Azul or Blue House in Coyoacán) is now one of the most visited museums in Mexico City. Today she is seen as: a major figure in 20th-century art, a cultural icon of Mexico, and a symbol of strength, resilience, and individuality. Her life and work have made her famous worldwide, which explains why the museum attracts such huge crowds. Here are five fascinating things many visitors don’t realise about Frida Kahlo , even after visiting the Frida Kahlo Museum: 1. She didn’t originally plan to be an artist. Frida wanted to become a doctor and was studying medicine when she was young. Her life changed completely after a devastating bus accident at age 18 left her with severe injuries. While recovering in bed for months, she began painting using a mirror mounted above her bed. 2. Many of her paintings are self-portraits. She once said she painted herself so often because ‘I am the subject I know best.’ Her portraits often show physical pain, emotional struggles, and symbols from Mexican culture. 3. She carefully crafted her famous look. Frida’s distinctive appearance, braided hair, flowers, colourful shawls, and traditional Tehuana dresses were deliberate. The clothing helped express her Mexican identity, and also helped hide some of the physical effects of her injuries. 4. Her marriage to Diego Rivera  was famously turbulent. They married in 1929 and were one of the most famous artistic couples in the world. Their relationship was passionate but complicated, involving separations, affairs (on both sides), divorce, and eventually remarriage. 5. She became far more famous after her death. During her lifetime, she was known mainly as ‘Diego Rivera’s wife.’ It wasn’t until the 1970s feminist movement that her work was rediscovered and celebrated internationally. Today, she is one of the most recognised artists in the world and a major cultural symbol of Mexico. A detail many visitors miss in the museum. Frida actually died upstairs in the Blue House, and her ashes are still kept there in an urn shaped like a toad, a reference to the nickname she used for Diego Rivera. Here are three of Frida Kahlo's most famous paintings and the symbolism behind them. Many visitors see them at the Frida Kahlo Museum without realising the deeper meaning. 1. The Two Fridas (1939).  This is one of her most famous and dramatic paintings. The painting shows two versions of Frida sitting side by side. One wears a European-style white dress, representing the Frida who was rejected by her husband, Diego Rivera,  after their divorce. The other wears a traditional Mexican Tehuana dress, representing the Frida he loved. Their hearts are exposed and connected by a vein, symbolising emotional pain and the connection between her identities. The severed artery and blood symbolise her heartbreak after her separation from Rivera. 2. The Broken Column (1944).  This painting reflects the physical suffering she endured after her bus accident. Frida stands almost naked with her body split open. Instead of a spine, she has a crumbling stone column, symbolising her fragile body. Her body is covered in nails, representing constant pain. She wears a metal medical brace, something she had to wear in real life. Despite the tears running down her face, she stares directly at the viewer, a sign of resilience. 3. Self‑Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird (1940).  This painting is filled with symbolism from Mexican folklore and nature. The thorn necklace cutting into her skin represents suffering and sacrifice. A dead hummingbird hangs from the necklace — in Mexican tradition, hummingbirds can symbolise luck in love, suggesting her heartbreak. A black cat behind her symbolises bad luck and death. A monkey (a pet given to her by Diego Rivera) pulls the necklace tighter. Sources AI. The two Fridas Marxismus Will Heal the Sick. Tree of Hope, Remain Strong. Some of Frida's many corsets Long queues at Frida Kahlo's House. Like yesterday, we retraced our route back to Allende Metro Station, and it proved to be a hot and sticky journey (especially for me on the crowded ancient bus, as I had to sit on the hot metal engine cover next to the driver) on the capital’s crowded Metro transport system. When we first arrived in Mexico City, in the early hours of Christmas morning, it was cold enough to wear our fleece jackets. Nearly three months have now passed, and summer is approaching. The daytime temperatures and humidity are steadily rising, and the evenings are so warm I can walk around in my sandals, T-shirt and shorts. One of Lisa’s sandals needed repairing, and after some searching, we finally found a small shoe-repair stall. The cobbler stitched the sandal immediately for just MX$40 (£1.70), an excellent bargain. On the way back to our hotel, we bought some bubble wrap and carefully wrapped our ceramic jaguar; we even managed to squeeze it into my rucksack. Fingers crossed, we’ll be allowed to take it as hand luggage on our flight back to London Heathrow Airport. Back at the hotel, we downloaded our Frida Kahlo photos onto our iPads, worked on our blog, and checked the latest updates about the developing conflict with Iran. As it was our last night in Mexico City, we decided to return to the restaurant/bar, El Cuatro 20, so after showering off today’s dust, we headed out at 19:00. We were very thirsty, and the first thing we ordered was two half-litre glasses of their delicious draft Modelo Negra. I had octopus with rice, whilst Lisa ordered flautas (fried tortilla tubes filled with chicken and cheese), both dishes were delicious. We struck up a conversation with a friendly couple from Utah who sat at the next table. They were around our age, and we quickly discovered we shared similar political views and musical tastes. Far out, man! The time flew by; we said our final farewells to our new friends, and we left together. Back in our hotel room, we watched the rather gloomy news on television about the latest developments in the American-Israeli war with Iran whilst finishing the rest of our bottle of red wine and of the little bottle of Bacardi rum. 11th March 2026 I woke at 05:30 and caught up with the news, my blog, and diary before Lisa woke at 07:30. Tonight we fly back to London Heathrow on the 22:45 Aeroméxico flight from Terminal 2 at Mexico City International Airport. We had to vacate our room by noon, but managed to extend it until 12:30, giving us time to visit the top of the Torre Latinoamericana skyscraper, for one last view over the city. The skyline was hazy, and I’m not a fan of heights, but it was still worth it. View of this vast city with distant smog. Palacio Bellas Artes We returned by midday, changed, repacked and stored our luggage, including our jaguar, safely wrapped in bubble wrap inside my rucksack, in the hotel storeroom. At 12:45, we headed to the rooftop restaurant of the Hotel Majestic overlooking the Zócalo. We had arrived in Mexico in the early hours of Christmas Day, and in the afternoon, the first place we visited was this rooftop bar. This was the same place we’d also visited nine years ago, so it felt like a fitting place to end our Mexican adventure. Cheers and a fond farewell to Mexico City. Today, taxi drivers were staging demonstrations against Uber taxis being allowed to operate from Mexico City’s International Airport Terminal 2. In the morning, they’d blocked all the roads leading into Terminal 2. Our taxi, arranged by the hotel for MX$300 (£12.57), picked us up from our hotel 15:00, as we’d been warned of possible disruptions, and we reached the airport at 15:30. The taxi driver's boss had phoned him on the way to say the protestors were still blocking the roads into Terminal 2, so he had to drop us off at Terminal 1. We then had to take the inter-terminal train to Terminal 2. Normally, this is straightforward, but the airport was in chaos preparing for the upcoming 2026 World Cup, and the lifts weren’t working, meaning we had to haul our luggage up several flights of stairs. The Aeromexico desk at Terminal 2 told us we were too early to check in, so we found a nearby café, but it wasn’t pleasant, as we were amongst the renovations, and it was noisy and dusty. Afterwards, we found seats downstairs in the departure hall and spent the time working on our blog until check-in opened. We checked in at 18:00, and our worries about our extra hand baggage, my large rucksack carrying our ceramic jaguar, proved unfounded. When it passed through the security scanner, an officer asked what was inside. I explained, and when Lisa showed him a photo of it he burst out laughing and waved us through. Time passed slowly until boarding finally began at 22:00. It was rather disorganised, with five different queues forming, and random passengers being pulled aside for additional bag and jacket searches. We were among the last to board the Aeroméxico flight. Fortunately, we had an overhead locker to ourselves, so we placed my rucksack holding the jaguar, now wrapped in Lisa’s waterproof jacket, to wedge it securely between our Samsonite bags. However, I couldn’t sit in my centre aisle seat, 25E, because someone on the previous flight had vomited on it, and the flight attendants were desperately trying to source another. They found one, and 10 minutes later, I could sit down. We eventually took off at 23:05, 20 minutes late, with an estimated arrival time of 15:05; we’d arrive almost an hour earlier than scheduled, which suited us perfectly as it meant avoiding the evening rush hour. 12th March 2026 The flight went smoothly, although my attempt to watch ‘F1: The Movie’ was less successful. Ten minutes into the film, my screen went blank. A flight attendant reset it, but the same problem happened several times, and I never did get to see the end. Thankfully, I managed about five hours of sleep during the nine-hour flight, despite some turbulence. At Heathrow Airport, we passed through immigration quickly. Once again, our worries about being stopped and searched, as we went through the Customs ‘Nothing To Declare’ isle, were unfounded. After the warmth and sunshine of Mexico, stepping out of Belsize Park tube station, beneath a cold, grey sky, was an abrupt return to reality. Fleece jackets back on against the cold, we walked home and arrived at 16:45, where our Mexican adventure came to an end. 7b. Baja California Sur: 28th February until 8th March 2026 A map of Baja California. Lisa: Loreto and the rest of our Baja California Trip 28th February 2026 We set off early without breakfast, keen to arrive on time at a recommended RV campsite in Loreto. It was Saturday morning and we expected it to be full for the weekend. After two hours driving along the coast and through the mountains, we reached Loreto at 9 a.m. Our navigation system guided us to Campsite Romania, highly praised by fellow travellers. According to them it was one block from the beach, with hot showers, Wi-Fi, and a lovely café opposite serving fresh croissants. It sounded like heaven. - The reality was very different. The site sat beside the main highway, with lorries roaring past, and behind a scrapyard filled with abandoned cars. We drove in and found only a few ageing mobile homes—no seaside, no café, no sign of the idyllic spot we had imagined. With no mobile signal, we had no idea what had gone wrong. Had our fellow travellers been joking? We looked at each other, turned around, and I quickly entered the address of our second-choice RV park into the navigator. That turned out to be a much better option. Located on the other side of town, it was just two blocks from the beach and had clean, modern shower and toilet blocks, Wi-Fi—and space for us. Perfect. We were a bit early, though, and asked to return at midday once our spot was free. No problem. We used the time to stock up on supplies at a few supermarkets before heading back to set up camp. The first thing we did was take a hot shower. After nearly a week of wild camping without proper facilities, it felt glorious. Tea followed, then a much-needed load of laundry. Clean and refreshed, we headed out to explore the beach and the town of Loreto. There we met a couple from Calgary, Canada, who had arrived three weeks earlier and rented an apartment for a stay of three months. They kindly offered to show us around and took us to Mike’s Bar, their favourite spot, even insisting on buying us a beer. Their friendliness was overwhelming—but the conversation was rather one-sided, and we soon realised we were more tired than sociable. As politely as we could, we excused ourselves and returned to the campsite. Back at the RV, I contacted Julian from Vanbaja about our blocked drain. He arranged for someone to come by on Sunday morning to take a look and see if it could be repaired or if a plumber would be needed. One of the advantages of renting from Vanbaja is their local network—they have people across the region who can help when things go wrong. Relieved that the issue was in hand, we cooked a lovely dinner and relaxed with a bottle of wine. A good end to an eventful day. 🍷 1st March 2026 Sunday began with a leisurely breakfast and a chat with our neighbours. Next to us were two elderly ladies in their eighties from Texas, travelling in a rather posh camper van. They are frequent visitors to Baja California and own a house in San Felipe, about six hours from Texas. They told us they used to travel in one of the huge expandable motorhomes we saw opposite our pitch but had recently downsized. Their current van still looked enormous to us. Across the campsite stood two real giants: about 18 metres long, each pulled by a 6.7-litre pickup truck, with two slide-out extensions that turned them into something resembling a three-bedroom house on wheels. Soon another large truck arrived, reversing carefully while towing a massive trailer. The only space available was between two shower blocks, leaving barely half a metre on either side. Once the extensions were out, the passage behind was completely blocked, forcing the bikers with tents there to take a long detour to reach their campsite. We couldn’t help wondering how anyone could comfortably drive such enormous vehicles on Baja’s rough roads—or why one would want to display that level of luxury in such a poor region. But, of course, everyone travels their own way. Big, bigger and biggest! A few days later the two giants finally left, giving us a wonderful open view of the campsite and the surrounding mountains—only to be replaced by two new monsters. These were German Dethleffs Globetrotter XXL motorhomes, decorated with German flags, one from Jena and the other from Landshut. Their owners had spent nine months travelling through the United States and were now crossing Baja before taking the ferry from La Paz to Mazatlán, Mexico mainland. From there they planned to drive all the way to Argentina. I couldn’t help wondering how those huge, low-clearance vehicles would cope with rough roads further south—or with travelling through places like Sinaloa during a period of drug-gang violence. They spoke hardly any Spanish and only a little English. But again: each to their own. Behind us camped a French-Canadian couple we had already seen at another site. He is from France, she from Canada, both around our age and clearly experienced travellers. Their setup could not have been more different. They drive a small van they bought in Mexico City, with a mattress and a few storage boxes in the back—no toilet, no shower, no electricity, no fridge. They cook on a small gas stove and keep food cool in an ice box they refill every couple of days. Years ago they shipped a van from France to Veracruz and travelled Mexico the same way. Now they are happily continuing their simple, minimalist style of travel. Over the summer months, they put their van into storage and go back to France, only to return in October before winter sets in. Late in the morning—about an hour behind schedule, which is perfectly normal here—the man arrived to check our blocked wastewater tank. He is the uncle of the RV park owner. After inspecting the problem, he concluded that a plumber would need to come on Monday and remove the tank. Dave suggested another idea: perhaps blowing air—or water—into the pipe might dislodge the blockage. There was no air pump, but a hosepipe was found. After some determined teamwork involving Dave, the uncle and two park workers, something suddenly shifted. A moment later the wastewater began to flow again. Problem solved—I even have a photo to prove it. Group photo: Problem solved. work done! In the afternoon we walked along the Malecón into town. Loreto is a charming and peaceful place. Founded in 1697 as the first Jesuit mission in the region, it once served as the capital of the Californias until a hurricane destroyed much of the town in 1829 and the capital moved to La Paz. Today Loreto is thriving again thanks to tourism. Its seaside promenade, small harbour, restaurants, cafés, galleries and craft shops give it a relaxed but lively atmosphere. Relaxing on the Malecon! Visitors come in all forms: surfers exploring the coast, retirees enjoying the mild climate, and digital nomads who can work remotely from almost anywhere in the world. Walking along the Malecón, we saw energetic travellers on bikes and elderly couples strolling slowly in the sunshine—each enjoying Loreto in their own way. 🌊🌴 The Mission of Our Lady of Loreto Church founded in 1697 A missionary recruits an indigenous child with the bible and the whip. Reminder of better times when Loreto was the Capital of whole California from 1697 until 1777. The building is now a luxurious hotel. The City Hall in the Civic Plaza. 2nd March 2026 Luckily we had Wi-Fi again, which meant I could finally upload text and photos to the blog. Unfortunately, the campsite connection was terribly unstable and kept kicking me off—a nightmare to work with. When I mentioned it to the manager, she kindly gave me access to her private Wi-Fi, which worked much better, although I had to stay close to the office where the router was located. So I set up my temporary “office” in the laundry room next door and spent five hours sitting between washing machines and dryers, uploading photos and updating the blog. By late afternoon, it was finally done. I felt I had earned a break. We headed out for an early dinner and enjoyed delicious fish tacos at a restaurant on the City Hall Plaza, sitting outside and watching the last light of the sun fade. Around us were fellow travellers much like ourselves—most of them cheerful, talkative, and a little nosy. 🌅🌮 Having a good time with delicious tacos and beer at the Tacos Bar. Too much of a good time? Too much Tequila? 3rd March 2026 We were planning to leave early the next morning, so we went out to stock up on food. At a hardware shop we bought extra gas bottles for our stove, and at a fishmonger we found some fresh fish for the next few days. Everything went straight into the fridge and freezer. Shortly afterwards we realised something was wrong: the fridge wasn’t cooling. Dave restarted it, but nothing changed. The lights were on, yet it remained stubbornly warm. Before we started to panic about all the food that needed refrigeration, I contacted Julian for advice. Normally he responds quickly, but this time there was silence. We even tried calling—no answer. Three hours later, just as I was asking the campsite manager if we could store our fish in her freezer overnight, Julian finally called back. He talked Dave through a series of checks and suggested a cold restart by removing the fuse. After a while the fridge came back to life, making a reassuring—if rather noisy—hum. What a relief. Over the next few days, however, the fridge stopped working several times, and Dave had to restart it again and again. Even at night we found ourselves listening carefully and checking whether it was still running. Now, a few days later, most of the frozen food is gone. If the fridge fails completely, our backup plan is simple: fill the icebox with ice and replace it every couple of days. For the moment, though, the fridge has been running smoothly for the past 16 hours without our intervention. Perhaps it will hold out until we return the van on Sunday. The small pleasures of renting a camper van. 🚐 4th to 7th March 2026 Finally, it was time to move on—again. We set off early, with a long drive ahead. Our friendly Texan neighbours had given us several recommendations, including La Paz and La Ventana, and had even shown us the routes on their well-used paper map. Originally, we had planned to spend our last few days in Todos Santos, the charming town on the Pacific side of the peninsula. Travel guides describe it as a cultural hub of Baja California Sur, full of galleries, cafés, bars and restaurants—a “must-see.” It sounded perfect. But when we read recent reviews of the nearby campsites, our enthusiasm faded quickly. Many described them as dirty, noisy, poorly maintained, even full of fleas. That was enough to change our plans. Instead, we decided to stay on the eastern side of the peninsula along the Sea of Cortez. With the TomTom set, we headed off. The route first took us across the mountains toward the Pacific side before looping back east again, bypassing the busy capital of La Paz and continuing on to La Ventana. We had heard wonderful things about it—a surfer’s paradise with a long beach and a relaxed atmosphere—so we were looking forward to seeing it. After five and a half hours of driving, we finally arrived. In reality, La Ventana turned out to be little more than a single road running along the coast, lined with restaurants, cafés, bars, hotels, rental apartments and campsites. We checked the campsite that had been recommended to us and were immediately shocked. Although it was right on the beach, you couldn’t even see the sea because the entire area was crammed with cars, camper vans, trailers and tents. The place was packed. There was barely any space between sites and no privacy at all. The front row—those lucky enough to have a sea view—looked as though they had been there for months. The facilities were even worse: four toilets and a hosepipe serving as an outdoor shower for what seemed like hundreds of people. There wasn’t even a manager’s office on site. We looked at each other in disbelief and quickly drove off to check two other campsites nearby. They were just as bad. Perhaps perfect for young surfers who spend their days on the water and nights in bars and discos—but definitely not for us. Without much discussion we made a new decision: we would return to where our Baja trip had begun—Los Barriles. We had stayed at Playa Norte RV Park there and remembered it as clean, quiet and right by the beach. After weeks of travelling, that sounded exactly like what we needed: a few days of sun, peace and doing absolutely nothing. According to the navigator it was only another hour and a half away—and, as a bonus, it would shorten our drive to Los Cabos on Sunday morning when we had to return the van. We hadn’t eaten since breakfast but didn’t want to waste time stopping at a restaurant. So I quickly made sandwiches from our supplies, we drank some water, and we were back on the road. Once again we felt a bit disillusioned—our expectations raised by glowing reports that simply didn’t match reality. The ninety-minute drive passed quickly through desert and mountain landscapes. Shortly after 5 p.m. we arrived at Playa Norte. The manager recognised us from our previous visit and gave us a nice pitch—slightly away from other campers but close to the showers and toilets. We didn’t have a sea view, but once we settled in with our chairs and a well-deserved cold beer, watching the sun set behind the mountains, it felt like heaven. The next day we went to the nearby beach—and realised we had made exactly the right decision. We had no desire to explore more tourist hotspots or make more small talk with fellow travellers. All we wanted was a little sunshine and a chance to unwind before heading home. An empty beach. And that is exactly what we did for the next four days: long walks along an almost empty beach, apart from the occasional dog walker; sunbathing; watching pelicans glide over the water and dive for fish; and observing the kite surfers out in the bay. In the evenings we cooked simple dinners—fresh fish or prawns—then relaxed in the warm evening air. Chef of the day. After nearly three busy months of travelling, we were exhausted and needed time to recharge our batteries. Tomorrow we leave Baja California and fly back to Mexico City for a few very busy days. On Wednesday night, we finally head home. ✈️🌅 -------------------- Dave: 28 February 2026 We left our campsite at 07:45 without breakfast and reached Loreto about 90 minutes later. The first recommended RV campsite was at the end of a long dusty road, beside what looked like a car breakers yard, which was grim and seemingly abandoned. We drove in and straight back out again. Lisa quickly entered the coordinates for our second recommended RV campsite, Rivera Del Mar RV Park. It took another 20 minutes to drive there, and thankfully, they had space, though not until 11:30, when the current occupants were due to leave. We didn’t mind, it was clean, well organised, and had spotless toilets and hot showers. We used the time to head out for supplies. Two nearby supermarkets were disappointing, with poor meat and fish selections, limited wine, and no beer we wanted. A helpful local directed us to an El Cactus liquor store, where we stocked up on the beer and wine we liked, including a bottle of Bacardi rum. We got back to the campsite at 11:30, and our allocated plot was still occupied, the chap inside the van apparently asleep. For reasons unknown, the staff didn’t knock. He finally woke, moved his van, and we finally moved into our allocated plot at 13:00. Mid-afternoon, another enormous twin-axle trailer arrived, hauled by a huge 6.7-litre pickup from Canada, parking beside his friends with an equally vast setup. The scale of some of these fancy rigs continues to amaze us. Later, we walked along the Malecón into town, joining a couple we met en route, and they invited us to Mike’s Bar for a beer, and generously paid before we headed back 45 minutes later. Lisa contacted Julian from Vanbaja about our blocked grey water tank. After a WhatsApp exchange, he arranged for someone to visit the campsite tomorrow, Sunday. With that sorted, we set up our table and chairs at the front of the vehicle and placed a lamp on the bonnet. Lisa prepared carrots and potatoes whilst I cooked the second half of our chicken, simple and excellent, especially with a bottle of red wine. The four people from the large North American trailers gathered in the campground dining area, drinking, eating, talking loudly, and listening to what I assumed was country music. We washed up in the campground kitchen area and retired with cups of Bacardi and juice to finish watching ‘Once Upon a Time in the West’. We finished the film and switched the lights off at 21:45. 01 March 2026 Another broken night’s sleep in Loreto; distant disco thuds, barking dogs, and cars crawling past with music blasting through open windows were the cause. The camper was stifling, so we slept under just a sheet until about 04:00, when the desert chill crept in and forced us to use the extra blanket. We were up just after 06:00, working on our diaries, pausing at 08:00 for breakfast of fried eggs, bread, cheese, and our customary large mugs of tea. Even I’ve surrendered to tea, because without a proper kit, the Mexican powdered coffee is grim. Now that we have WiFi, we messaged Julian at Vanbaja yesterday about our grey wastewater tank that would not empty. To his credit, he swiftly emailed us back and arranged for a local plumber to visit the campsite today. After breakfast, and dishwashing in the camp kitchen (a step up from seawater and sand since we couldn’t use the sink), we showered and continued working on our blog whilst waiting for the plumber. The plumber arrived late morning, and soon five of us, the plumber, the camp manageress, the cleaner, Lisa and I, stood behind the van debating strategy. The plumber’s flexible metal cable failed to navigate the sharp 90-degree bend in the outlet pipe where it connects to the grey wastewater tank under the campervan. He then used a chemical drain unblocker, which made no difference. Removal of the entire tank was mentioned. I suggested forcing air through the waste outlet with an air compressor. Instead, we improvised and used a long hose connected to a tap, with the plumber pressing the open end to the outlet pipe. The cleaner turned on the tap, and when she did, water splashed everywhere. After a few attempts, a reluctant dribble appeared, and then a glorious gush. We all leapt back. The stench was ferocious. Two sniffs and you’d be labelled greedy. Bucket after bucket was filled, carried to the toilet, emptied, and refilled once again, until the flow ran clear. Lisa marked the occasion with a photo of the four of us admiring the final bucket of stinky water. Victory. We worked through until 16:00, celebrating both the revived sink and Lisa’s marathon German translation of the blog and uploading text and photos. Then we showered, dressed up, and headed into town. It was still hot at 16:30 as we walked along the palm-lined malecón. The light was softening, the mountains crystal clear in the distance, and the waters of the Sea of Cortez a shimmering blue. Cactus lady. We turned right into the centre of town at the far end of the malecon, and chose an outside table at Claudia’s Margaritas bar and grill. Lisa had three fish tacos, I had three shrimp ones, and we pushed the boat out further with four small bottles of Bohemia dark beer, whilst watching the sun slip slowly behind  Loreto’s city hall. The bill came to MX$850 (£36.40). A good night out! We were back at the RV camp by 19:30, and opened a bottle of wine. We sat outside in front of our campervan, beneath an almost full moon, until the biting insects drove us inside. We finished the bottle in bed, watching the final scenes of  ‘Yesterday’, a fittingly light-hearted end to a day dominated by plumbing and perseverance. 02 March 2026 One of the long-term residents at our RV camp told us about a shop where we could buy fish, so after breakfast, we walked there and bought frozen fish for dinner. It’s always nice getting recommendations from people who’ve settled into the rhythm of life here, as they know exactly where to go. We had hoped to spend a few lazy hours sunbathing on the beach, but the internet had other ideas. Uploading photos for our blog proved frustratingly slow, and Lisa also needed time to do that. Before we knew it, the afternoon had slipped away, and it was already 16:30. Rather than sunbathing, we decided on a walk along the left-hand side of the beach, and it felt good to stretch our legs after being tied to screens for most of the day. Back at the campervan, we enjoyed refreshing showers and cracked open a cold beer, the perfect reward. As the evening settled in, we cooked our defrosted fish for dinner, a simple meal that tasted all the better for being local, and eaten under the Baja sky as day turned into night. ———————- Loreto: an overview. Where is Loreto ? Loreto sits on the eastern side of the Baja California Sur peninsula, about 360 km (a 4–5 hour drive) north of La Paz along Highway 1. It’s backed by the rugged Sierra de la Giganta mountains and faces the calm, island-dotted waters of the Sea of Cortez. Offshore lies the protected Parque Nacional Bahía de Loreto. Population: roughly 20,000 Vibe: Quiet, authentic, outdoors-focused. A Brief History: Loreto was founded in 1697, making it the first successful Spanish settlement in Baja California. It became the capital of ‘Las Californias,’ a vast territory that once included present-day Baja California, Baja California Sur, and the U.S. state of California. At the heart of town stands the historic Misión de Nuestra Señora de Loreto Conchó, the first mission in the Californias, which still overlooks the main plaza today. From this mission, Spanish expansion northward began, shaping much of the region’s early colonial history. What Makes Loreto Special? Loreto blends: Colonial heritage Dramatic desert mountains Rich marine biodiversity A genuine small-town atmosphere Unlike larger resort destinations, it has avoided heavy development. Evenings are calm, centred around the plaza, cafés, and simple seafood restaurants, rather than nightlife. Nature & Wildlife: Loreto lies within a UNESCO-recognised marine region known for exceptional biodiversity. The waters are famously rich, oceanographer Jacques Cousteau once called the Sea of Cortez ‘the world’s aquarium.’ Wildlife highlights: Blue whales (January–March) Dolphins Sea lions Mobula rays Activities: Snorkelling Sea kayaking around the islands Whale watching Sport fishing Climate: Winter: Mild and pleasant (15–25°C) Summer: Very hot (often 35°C+) with high humidity Rainfall: Minimal year-round Winter and early spring are generally the most comfortable months to visit. Food & Atmosphere: Loreto is known for simple, fresh seafood: Fish tacos Shrimp tacos Ceviche Grilled dorado Small cafés cluster around the plaza, and the town has a relaxed, early-evening rhythm. This isn’t a party town; it’s somewhere to stroll along the malecón at sunset and enjoy the quiet. Getting there: Loreto International Airport (with domestic and some seasonal international flights) Highway 1 connects it to the rest of the peninsula Who Would Enjoy Loreto? RV travellers and campers Whale watchers Kayakers and snorkellers Those who prefer scenic, slower-paced Mexico. For those who enjoyed places like Mulegé or Baja’s quieter beach camps, Loreto offers that same understated feel, but with deeper colonial history and slightly easier services. It’s Baja without the gloss, and that’s precisely its charm. ———————- Loreto's The Mission of our Lady of Loreto Church 03 March  2026 A lazy start to the day, and after breakfast, we walked along the beach to catch some rays and then along the malecon and watched a few fishermen drive their boats onto submerged trailers and then powerful pickup trucks drag them out of the sea onto dry land. There was a lot of sea fog on the horizon around the Isla Coronado. From there we walked into the centre to look around the famous historic Misión de Nuestra Señora de Loreto Conchó, the first mission in the Californias. On the way, we stopped for refreshments at a coffee shop opposite an RV campsite. This campsite was the one recommended to us and where we originally wanted to stay. However, we couldn’t have stayed here, as our campervan is solar-powered and needs direct sunlight for the solar panel on its roof, but this site was shaded by trees. We wanted fish for tonight’s dinner, and we’d passed a fish supermarket a few days earlier, so we went there and were very disappointed. The only fish they had was frozen, unnamed and unpriced. However, we did find a proper fishmonger, and bought two pieces of fresh sea bass, enough for tonight’s dinner and tomorrow's too, on the recommendation of a chef buying fish for his restaurant. We got back to our RV campsite, and there was water on the floor of the campervan. Our refrigerator had stopped working. We WhatsApped Julian from Vanbaja but couldn’t get through, so we tried to phone him. He got back an hour later and gave me instructions for a hard reset of the refrigerator. Take a fuse out, wait 5 minutes and put it back. It worked, and we had our fridge back. Whilst doing this, we had a good talk with our French neighbours. They’d bought a normal van in Mexico City, put a bed inside, and bought a coolbox, which they filled every other day with bags of ice. They were travelling around Baja, were our age, and were a very nice and interesting couple. We cooked the fish as the day turned into night, despite the mosquitoes that suddenly appeared, drank our wine, and retired to bed to watch a Netflix series. 04 March 2026 During the night, the refrigerator had stopped working again, so at 07:00, when daylight arrived, I went to investigate. The solution turned out to be another hard reset. I began preparing breakfast whilst Lisa showered. Afterwards, we packed everything away. Lisa washed the pots and pans, whilst I showered. Despite the daytime temperatures hovering around 32–33C, the nights were surprisingly cool and damp. At 08:00, we said goodbye to our new French-Canadian friends and drove out of the RV campsite. A petrol station just a couple of blocks away provided the first stop of the day, where we filled up. For the first 6 kilometres, a smooth dual carriageway led out of town, but soon enough it ended, and the road narrowed back to the familiar two-lane highway that wound its way into the mountains. The drive demanded your full attention. The bends were constant, the drop-offs steep, and most sections had no barriers at all. Every so often, you passed a small roadside cross, a simple shrine, or a faded bouquet of flowers that marked the spot where someone’s journey ended. It’s best not to dwell on those things for too long and just concentrate on the road ahead. After a few hours, we changed drivers. By lunchtime, the temperature had climbed to 36C, thank goodness for the campervan’s air conditioning. Our destination for today was the small beachside town of Ventana, where we hoped to spend a couple of nights at one of the recommended RV campsites. On the way, we stopped in La Paz to refuel again and restock our supplies at a large roadside supermarket. It wasn’t particularly impressive, but we managed to buy some frozen fish and vegetables. Unfortunately, they didn’t have drinking water or a decent selection of wine, so we stopped later at an OXXO convenience store and bought a large bottle of water. An hour later, we arrived in the town of Ventana and headed straight for the first highly recommended RV campsite. Within minutes, it was clear this wasn’t going to work. The place was packed with RVs squeezed tightly together, many clearly belonging to long-term residents. The best pitches, those with views of the sea, had long since been taken. Some vans were parked so close together that there was barely room to walk between them. The site itself looked tired and dirty, and with so many people there were far too few toilets and showers. There was no office, no manager, and no one around to ask questions. We drove in, took one look around, and drove straight back out again. The second recommended campsite was just 3 kilometres further along the coast road, but unfortunately, it was just the same. Again, there was no manager or office, and the RVs were packed in tightly, like sardines. This area is popular with the kitesurfing crowd, and although we couldn’t see the sea because of the rows of RVs, we could see the sky above. It was filled with colourful kites, so many of them that from a distance they looked like a swarm of mosquitoes. Lisa and I looked at each other and said exactly the same thing: ‘No way’. At that moment, we scrapped the idea of spending two nights in Ventana and made a snap decision to drive on to Las Barriles, the RV park where we had spent the first nights of our adventure. Sometimes it’s simply better the devil you know than the devil you don’t! Before leaving the campsite, Lisa made a quick sandwich whilst we sat inside the campervan. We also used their facilities. The toilets were filthy,  which confirmed that we’d made the right decision to leave. We were back on the road again soon afterwards. The drive to Las Barriles took about an hour and a half and we arrived at 17:15. The site manager was still on duty and immediately recognised us from our earlier visit. He warmly welcomed us back and guided us to a pitch. It had been a long day, and we had been on the road for over nine hours. Once parked, we set up camp and enjoyed a long, hot shower. Afterwards, we sat outside at our small table with cold beers in hand, watching the sun slowly sink behind the distant mountains. As darkness fell, I switched on the lamp by the campervan door to give us some extra light, and we cooked the other half of the sea bass we’d bought earlier. It had been a long day on the road, but a satisfying one. 05 March 2026 Today turned out to be a wonderfully lazy day. After almost three months of travelling and exploring, we decided it was time to take a break and simply relax. We’re staying at Playa Norte RV campground, which sits right beside a long, beautiful sandy beach. Our campervan came equipped with a brand-new beach umbrella, so we carried it down to the beach and found a perfect spot just a few metres from the sea. With the temperature hovering around 36C and hardly a breath of wind, the umbrella provided some very welcome shade, and that’s where we stayed for several hours. The tide was out, which meant there were quite a few rocks to negotiate if we wanted to swim. If the tide had been in, the water would have covered them, and it would have been much easier to get into the sea. The beach itself stretches for about 5kms, and for most of the afternoon, we were the only ones sunbathing. There were, however, plenty of people strolling along the beach with their dogs. This area is very popular with Americans, and every so often, a dune buggy would trundle past along the beach, usually with dogs in the back. This stretch of coast is well known for windsurfing and kitesurfing, but today there was almost no wind at all. The sea lay completely calm and flat, too quiet a day for the kitesurfing and windsurfing crowd. We stayed on the beach until about 15:00, before taking a slow walk back to the campsite. Back at the campervan, we made a cup of tea and sat in the shade of our campervan, catching up on the latest news, particularly the ongoing conflict with Trump/Netanyahu’s private war with Iran. It felt strangely out of place in our peaceful beachside setting. After a shower, we opened a couple of bottles of Bohemia Obscuro dark beer, sat outside, and watched the sun slowly sink behind the distant mountains. As it disappeared, the temperature began to fall into the mid-20C’s. Although we’re surrounded by desert, the temperature drops gradually through the evening, reaching its lowest point around 05:00. By then it’s cool enough to pull an extra blanket over us. Loreto had been hot during the day too, but the heat there felt more humid, whereas here it’s a much drier mountain desert heat. In the evenings, it’s wise to put on long trousers, socks and a T-shirt, as there are plenty of small biting insects out hunting for European blood. Once darkness fell, we switched on our outside lamp and cooked our dinner: frozen vegetables and the fish we’d bought yesterday. This is the magical part of the day, sitting outside, eating dinner on our laps, whilst watching the stars gradually light up the desert night sky. After washing up, we settled down inside the campervan and watched a Christmas special of ‘All Creatures Great and Small’. Like most people on the campsite, we were fast asleep by 21:45. 06 March 2026 We have two more full days left at Playa Norte RV campground, and we’re thoroughly enjoying the peace and quiet. After nearly three months of travelling, it felt good to slow down and simply relax by the sea. The campground is spread over a wide desert area dotted with trees. Larger motorhomes can hook up to power, water and waste, but we’re completely self-sufficient. Our campervan runs on solar power and has everything we need: a shower, a sink, a grey water tank, and our trusty Coleman twin-burner stove for cooking. We’re parked in the dry camping area beneath a few trees, where our roof-mounted solar panel can still catch plenty of sun. Conveniently, we’re also close to one of the spotless shower and toilet blocks. With only two days left before returning the campervan, we decided to enjoy some fresh seafood while we still could. Fish is surprisingly expensive in Mexico City, so the coast is the place to make the most of it. A neighbour told us about a man selling fish from ice boxes beside a convenience store along the main road. We drove there, first filling our water tank from a campsite hosepipe. The man had three large ice boxes packed with fish and ice. We bought a bag of king prawns and a big piece of halibut. Inside the store, we bought a large bottle of beer, six eggs, a bottle of wine and a small bottle of dark Bacardi rum. We enjoyed our lazy beach day so much yesterday that we decided to repeat it. We changed and headed off to the beach, armed with our beach umbrella. Today, there was a welcome breeze, and the kite surfers were out in force, their colourful kites dancing across the sky. We settled down on the long sandy beach for another afternoon of doing very little. The most entertainment came from watching pelicans gliding low over the water before suddenly diving for fish. In the evening, we shared the big bottle of beer while watching the sun sink behind the mountains. Dinner was simple but delicious, pan-fried king prawns followed by halibut. After washing up, we ended the day the same way many others on the campsite did, by relaxing inside our campervan. We had internet, so we watched a film on Netflix. For some reason, Lisa had difficulty getting a signal on her phone, and if she did, it disappeared after a few seconds. The Wi-Fi was not strong enough to write on the blog.        07 March 2026 After a lazy start to the day, we headed down to the beach, together with our beach umbrella, and spent most of the day relaxing on the beach until 15:30. After almost three months of sunshine, clouds rolled in late afternoon, and the temperature dropped to a more comfortable mid-20C. Back at the campervan, we began preparing for tomorrow’s departure, packing our suitcases and tidying our campervan so we could make a quick getaway in the morning. Clouds shrouded the mountains and spoiled the sunset, so we walked back down to the beach for one last look across the Sea of Cortez, as dusk slowly turned into night. Later, we cooked the second half of our king prawns and halibut, a very satisfying final meal. What little remained, we packed into an empty yoghurt pot to take with us for lunch at the airport tomorrow. Yummy fish! 08 March 2026 We had planned to get up at 06:00 for showers and a simple breakfast of our last avocado and three eggs. In reality, we woke at 03:00 and dozed restlessly before finally getting up in the dark at 05:45. After my shower, I boiled water for tea and our boiled eggs, which was far easier than frying them and then having to wash the pan afterwards. Once breakfast was finished, we packed the last of our things away, storing the small table, chairs, and our trusty Coleman gas cooker in the back of the campervan beneath the bed. Our plan had been to leave at 07:00, but we were a few minutes late leaving the campsite. The roads were quiet on Sunday mornings, and our TomTom estimated the journey would take about 1 hour and 15 minutes, though it could sometimes take a little longer on these roads. As we drove south, the surrounding mountains were shrouded in thick cloud, and it looked as though rain had fallen overnight. Nearer to our destination, we stopped to fill the tank, as the campervan had to be returned with a full tank. We arrived at the VanBaja office at 08:45, just ahead of the 09:00 return deadline; any later and we would have been charged for an extra day’s rental. Julian arrived at 08:55 in a taxi, after his scooter broke down on the way. He checked over the campervan, and everything was in order. We mentioned the blocked grey-water pipe and the fridge needing a couple of hard resets, which he had already shown me how to do by removing a fuse. During our three weeks, we’d covered just over 2,300 kilometres (1,430 miles). Once the paperwork was completed, Julian kindly drove us to the airport in the campervan and dropped us off just before 10:00. We said our final goodbyes and watched him drive back to his office in our trusty campervan. At the check-in desk, we asked if it was possible to get an earlier flight. Unfortunately, there were only two flights a day to Mexico City: one departing at 16:08 and the other much later, so we settled in and patiently waited. We spent the first hour sitting outside the terminal building and ate our lunch, the leftover king prawns and halibut from the night before. Delicious they were too! Afterwards, we went through security and into Los Cabos International Airport (SJD). Inside was a Starbucks, so we ordered coffee and found a table, where we would spend the next few hours catching up with our blog and my diary. We started boarding at 15:33 and left on time at 16:08. The plane was full, and we had a lot of turbulence on the flight. There’s a one-hour time difference, so we added the hour to our flight time. We landed in Mexico City Airport’s Terminal 1 at 19:00, 10 minutes early. ------------------

As in previous travels we want to share our experiences and adventures with you. Two monhts into our travels, we have already written extensively and there is no more space on the blog post for text or photos. As a result we’ve opened up a new post and continue from here onwards with part 3 of our travel blog. Enjoy. Baja California, 15th February until 8th March 2026 Dear readers, unfortunately, the blog is full again, and for the remaining reports and photos we have set up a new blog (part 4). There, under 7b, you will be able to read about Loreto and our remaining days in Baja California as well as about our last days in Mexico City. Enjoy! See link below: https://www.rememberrelatereflect.com/en/post/vamos-amigos-come-with-us-to-mexico-part-4-of-our-travel-blog 7a. Baja California: 15th until 28th February 2026 Lisa: 15th to 17th February 2026 On Sunday, 15 February, we picked up the van at Vanbaja in San Jos é  del Cabo. We received a helpful introduction from Julian, our contact at Vanbaja with whom we had been corresponding from London. He showed us how everything in the van worked and pointed out some of the most interesting places to visit in Baja. We set off straight away—first to a nearby supermarket to stock up, then on to our first overnight stop in Los Barriles, about two hours north of Los Cabos. It’s a large campsite with clean showers and toilets. The first thing we noticed was how relaxed everyone seemed—and that the campsite was firmly in North American hands, whether American or Canadian. Many have been coming here for years. They know one another, know all the best spots and restaurants, and seem to know everything. Some are friendly and chat with us; most keep to themselves. They arrive in large trucks with trailers and cruise around the beach and town in rented beach buggies or quad bikes. We decided to stay here for a few days to get used to the campervan and to Baja, and to finish the last chapter of our blog about northern Mexico. The Wi-Fi signal is unreliable, so I spend hours in the “library,” a small building with a few desks and shelves of books. The connection is strongest there, and I regularly see other people working on their laptops—presumably working remotely. Our van has taken some getting used to. It’s a RAM 2500 with a powerful engine. It doesn’t have four-wheel drive, but as long as we’re careful, it should be fine. We chose it because it’s short and narrow—ideal for winding roads. Inside, it’s tiny. There’s just one seat and a small table, but the driver’s seat swivels around so we can both sit there. The bed is fixed in place, unlike in Australia, where we had to go through a complicated routine each evening to set it up. Here, it’s always ready—but it’s high up, so we have to climb in and out using a small stool. It’s comfortable, though. We sleep sideways, and even though I’m not tall, I often bump my feet—or my head—against the wooden walls. Beneath the bed there’s a small fridge and storage space for food and drinks. Next to it is the kitchen area, with a sink and cupboards below, and opposite are shelves and drawers for utensils and supplies. We have a rather fancy Coleman kitchen set with pots, pans, plates and bowls. The stove is a portable two-burner gas cooker with three small gas bottles. Each bottle is supposed to last at least a week, but the first one ran out after just two days—we suspect it wasn’t full to begin with. The cooker takes up a lot of space, so we mostly cook outside when the weather allows and it’s not too windy. We usually eat outside too, as it’s very cramped indoors. If it’s cold and windy, we simply put on several sweaters and anoraks. Electricity isn’t an issue—at least as long as the sun is shining and we’re not parked under cover—because we have solar panels on the roof. That means we don’t need an expensive campsite hook-up. We are (almost) self-sufficient. There’s also a shower—but it’s simply a shower head at the back of the van. To use it, you open the rear doors and shower in the open air. For a bit of privacy, we can hang up a small shower curtain. The water comes from an 80-litre tank. And we even have a loo: a portable toilet stored under the seat by the table. To use it, you slide it out, open it, do your business, flush, and slide it back underneath. It’s ingenious—but it does require a certain level of comfort with the idea of using the toilet in your living room/kitchen/bedroom without much privacy. We’ve decided to use it only at night, and only for number ones. Home sweet home - with and without potty. In Los Barriles, we walked into town to do some shopping. One disadvantage of staying on campsites is that they’re often located outside towns, and without bicycles or a car to tow behind the camper—like many of our North American neighbours—it can be quite a trek. We walked about two miles each way in the midday heat. There are some pleasant cafés and restaurants, but we didn’t really connect with the town or its people. We hardly heard any Spanish being spoken. It’s a feeling that will accompany us throughout our journey in Baja—but more about that later. The beach of Los Barriles 18th February 2026 After a few days in Los Barriles, we moved on and drove north to go whale watching. We set off early, just before sunrise, and stopped for breakfast somewhere along the way. Our destination was Magdalena Bay, the first of three places where we hoped to see whales. It was a long drive from La Paz, particularly after Ciudad Constitución. We passed very few villages and drove endlessly through a barren, desolate landscape of desert scrub and cacti. The road deteriorated steadily: narrow, riddled with large potholes, with sections of tarmac crumbling away at the edges. You had to be especially wary of the white line on the right-hand side—particularly when there wasn’t one and the road had simply fallen away. The many roadside crosses told their own story about how dangerous these roads can be. We finally arrived at Magdalena Bay at 3.30 p.m., and were deeply disappointed by the town. It looked dirty, neglected and forlorn. We had no mobile signal and no real sense of where we were. Eventually, we found the tourist agency. As we stepped out of the van, a fierce, icy wind nearly blew us off our feet and it looked as though it might rain. The next whale-watching tour was at 6.30 the following morning—so early because the wind tends to strengthen later in the day. It would be a six-hour boat trip. No toilets—sorry. The cost was $120 per person, or $560 for a private tour for the two of us. No, thank you. With high waves, the threat of rain, six hours at sea and no toilet, we decided against it. We went back to the van, looked at each other and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” By then it was 4 p.m., and we still had another two hours and fifteen minutes of daylight. Without a proper paper map—and with no Google Maps, but our TomTom SatNav—we headed back to Ciudad Constitución and then crossed the mountains towards the east coast and the Sea of Cortez, which lies between mainland Mexico and the peninsula of Baja California. As always on our travels, we had prepared carefully for the trip—but we were not prepared to be completely disconnected: no Wi-Fi, no mobile reception, no signal, no maps, not even in towns. Nothing. In mainland Mexico we had often relied on public Wi-Fi in town centres or a mobile signal, but here there was absolutely nothing. Like in the old days, you might say—except that we didn’t even have a paper map. To make matters worse, signposting was extremely poor—virtually non-existent. You had to rely on asking people, yet there were very few people about. Baja California is remote, apart from a few select tourist enclaves where hotels, restaurants and smart RV campsites offer Wi-Fi. Where we were heading, there was nothing. It was a poor area, truly the back of beyond—though at the time we didn’t fully realise that. We had expected remote stretches, but we had travelled a thousand miles and for 999 of them there had been no internet. If we had been in mortal danger, there would have been no way to contact the outside world. One could, in theory, use Starlink, but there had been none available to rent when we collected our campervan. Back to that day’s journey: if we made good time, we might reach the town of Loreto before darkness. If not, we were confident we would find somewhere in a mountain village to park for the night. It was a long drive, and it dragged. The roads were dreadful, with tarmac frequently broken away at the sides. I panicked every time a large lorry thundered past, but the drivers behaved sensibly, miraculously keeping within their lanes. It was getting dark and we began scanning the road for somewhere to stop. We passed no villages or towns, not even a petrol station along the long stretch of road. The verges were lined with stones or dense bushes, making it impossible to pull off safely. We had no choice but to continue. We had never driven this van at night before and didn’t even know where the headlight switch was. I tried to decipher the vehicle manual, but my Spanish does not stretch to complicated technical instructions. Eventually Dave found the switch, but the headlights were weak and barely adequate for navigating the winding, treacherous mountain roads. In any case, it is generally advised not to drive at night in Mexico. What were we to do? Then, as we drove around yet another bend, we saw a small parking area beside a roadside café—a little shack—with a house opposite. Dave quickly turned in and stopped. It seemed a safe enough place to spend the night. The café was closed and looked as though it had been for some time. We were the only ones there. I prepared some food and, exhausted and with nothing else to do—no internet, no distractions—we went to bed early. Apart from the lorries roaring past throughout the night, we slept reasonably well. We set off again at dawn. In the daylight we could see just how dangerous the road had been, and we were immensely relieved to have found our overnight stop when we did. 19th February 2026 We continued our journey. In Loreto we filled up the van with petrol. There are very few petrol stations along the road—as we had discovered the previous night—so it seemed sensible to top up whenever we saw one and the tank was down to half full. By 10 am we were hungry and pulled into one of the few lay-bys in the middle of nowhere to make breakfast. We still had a long drive ahead of us and did not reach Guerrero Negro until 3 p.m. This was another well-known spot for whale watching. Our TomTom satnav took us to the address I had pinned, but we ended up in the middle of nowhere: a vast, dry expanse of land stretching towards the sea. The tide was out, revealing enormous mudflats that seemed to reach all the way to the horizon. We turned around and asked some locals for directions, but were sent off in various directions. Once again, it seemed that rather than admit they did not know, people preferred to point us somewhere—anywhere—just to be helpful. Eventually, one set of directions proved correct and we arrived at a hotel with an RV park behind it and a small tourist agency on site. We booked a boat tour for the following day and secured a pitch in the RV park behind the hotel and restaurant. The hot shower was absolute bliss after two days on the road—we were hot, dusty and sticky—and we greatly appreciated the facilities, which cost just 200 pesos per night. Afterwards, we quickly went to a supermarket to buy some chicken—no fish available, despite being at the seaside—and cooked ourselves a delicious meal. We ate indoors, as a strong wind had picked up and it had turned decidedly cold. 20th February 2026 It was a cold night. We got up early and postponed our showers until after the tour, as we had been warned to expect plenty of spray during the trip. We paid 1,030 Mexican pesos per person (£44) for a four-hour excursion, departing at 8 am. Wearing our life jackets, we set off on time. Together with thirteen other people, we were taken by minibus to the departure point, where our boat would head out to the Ojo de Liebre Lagoon. There are three main lagoons along the north-western Pacific coast of Baja Sur: Magdalena Bay, which we had visited the previous day; Ojo de Liebre in Guerrero Negro; and Laguna San Ignacio, which we planned to visit the following day. We climbed into our boats and sped off through wind and rain, crashing over high waves on our way to the lagoon. Even once inside, the wind remained strong and it was bitterly cold. I was grateful for the two jumpers beneath my anorak and for my hood pulled tightly over my head. The boat rose and fell heavily; by then, at least, the rain had stopped. Before long we were surrounded by whales, swimming beneath the boat and occasionally surfacing to reveal a face or a tail. A few came close but quickly disappeared again before anyone could touch them. We had been told that grey whales are famously friendly—that they approach boats, interact with people, enjoy being stroked, and sometimes even nudge their calves towards the tourists, as if introducing them to the world. None of that happened on our trip. We learned that the mothers give birth after a gestation of around twenty months and then remain in the calm waters of the lagoons to nurse and protect their young. Once the calves are strong enough, they must swim through the powerful currents out of the lagoons. This usually happens around mid-March, in time for the migration north towards the Arctic ice, which begins in early April. We were also told that at one point as many as 6,000 whales gathered in Ojo de Liebre Lagoon. Today, the numbers are significantly lower, as many do not survive due to diminishing food supplies linked to melting Arctic ice. The effects of climate change feel starkly visible here. After the boat trip, we thoroughly enjoyed the hot showers at the campsite. At 1 pm we set off again, heading for San Ignacio, our next stop. Once more, it was a long and rather monotonous drive, retracing some of the previous day’s route. We arrived in San Ignacio at 4 pm and strolled around the charming plaza beside the church, which was once part of a mission—as were many churches in Mexico until the mid-19th century. We chatted with a couple from South Carolina who warmly recommended the nearby RV park, just around the corner and within walking distance of the town centre. We drove there, set up camp and booked a whale-watching tour through the owner of the RV park. Afterwards, we went in search of a supermarket selling chicken or fish, but without success. In the end, I prepared a meal of vegetables with tinned herrings in tomato sauce and sweetcorn. Surprisingly delicious. We celebrated our safe arrival with a beer and later joined a small group of people playing guitar and harmonica and singing together. It was a lovely atmosphere, lit only by a few torches. Gradually the campsite fell quiet. Even the children, who had been running around a campfire earlier, had settled down. On campsites, people tend to retire early—usually shortly after 8 p.m., or at least that’s when they disappear into their campervans or tents. 21st February 2026 We rose early the next morning, as a long drive lay ahead. The distance from San Ignacio to Laguna San Ignacio is about 59 kilometres (37 miles). The journey usually takes between one and a half and two hours, as it involves roughly 40 kilometres of paved road followed by 15–20 kilometres of dirt track, depending on where you are heading within the lagoon area. We made our way to Antonio’s Eco Tours, the last of the whale-watching operators along the lagoon. We hurried, as we had been told the tour would begin at 10 am. On arrival, however, we were informed that the boat would leave at 11. In fact, we did not set off until 11.30. Laguna San Ignacio is a biosphere reserve and impressively well organised. The various tour operators work together to protect the whales. Boats are allowed into the lagoon only for limited periods, and only a fixed number may be inside at any one time. The journey from the shore to the whale-watching area takes about fifteen minutes. Before entering, the boat’s capitán must report to an official overseeing access to the lagoon. Each boat may remain for only one and a half hours before leaving to make way for another. At any one time, a maximum of fifteen boats are permitted. The lagoon itself is vast and divided into zones: breeding areas, areas reserved for mothers and calves (which expand as the calves grow), and a designated zone where authorised whale-watching tours may operate. That was where we were. If you are lucky, the whales approach the boats, play and display themselves. That day there was no wind and no swell; it was hot as we waited for signs of movement. Unfortunately, we were not lucky. Apparently, the whales are more active in wind and choppier water. We saw very little close up. In the distance we occasionally spotted a spout of water or the curve of a body breaking the surface, but never near enough for a proper photograph. One young big American woman became wildly excited whenever she glimpsed a whale. She leapt from seat to seat, trampling over Dave’s rucksack, which he had placed at his feet. She was always first to thrust her camera forward, and many of my photos feature her back blocking the view. Afterwards, she even had the audacity to ask whether we could send her our pictures. Somewhat disappointed, we returned to shore, where we consoled ourselves with an excellent meal of fish and prawn tacos before setting off again. We still had a long way to go. Our aim was to reach Mulegé on the east coast. That meant retracing the dreadful dirt road back to San Ignacio and then continuing along Carretera 1 through the mountains towards the sea. We were pressed for time, having been delayed by almost two hours, and hoped to reach our RV campsite before sunset. It was a long drive through stark desert mountains and then along the coast, where breathtaking views unfolded—though the driver could scarcely enjoy them, given the many sharp bends on the narrow road. We passed through Santa Rosalía, once a mission settlement, now a rather forlorn and windswept town with rubbish blowing through the streets. It felt marked by poverty and neglect. We kept an eye out for a supermarket or fishmonger to buy something fresh for supper, but without success. The small shops we found sold drinks, crisps tins and tortillas—no fresh vegetables, fruit or fish. We were hoping for something more substantial. Just before 6 p.m. we reached Mulegé. The TomTom worked well enough but directed us along a short cut down an alarmingly steep hill, where I was convinced we might tip over at any moment. The van, however, remained reassuringly steady. On the way to the RV park we spotted a larger supermarket. Dave parked while I dashed inside in search of butter and fish. There was no fresh fish—only frozen chicken, which would not do for that evening. By then Dave had joined me to remind me to buy a bottle of rum to celebrate the long drive. As I was paying, a local man rushed in to say that the police were outside removing number plates from a wrongly parked van. Dave ran out to check whether it was ours. It was. I hurried after him. A policewoman was standing in front of our campervan, writing out a ticket; our number plates had already been removed. Without them, of course, we could not continue our journey. Apparently, we had parked on a red line. Only then did I notice the faint trace of red paint along the kerb—so worn it was barely visible. You would have needed to know it was there in the first place. We had been inside the supermarket for less than five minutes. I tried to explain that we had been driving all day and were simply buying food for supper. Nothing softened her stance. If we wanted our number plates back, she said, we would have to go immediately to the police station and pay the fine. She indicated the way to the station, though ironically there was another red line in front of it. We hesitated to park there for fear of another fine, but she assured us it was permitted for police business. Inside the station, we paid 700 pesos (£30) and were handed back our plates. Dave asked whether we might borrow a screwdriver to reattach them, but none was forthcoming, and no one spoke English. It seemed their tools worked perfectly well for removing plates—less so for putting them back on. By now it was almost dark and we still had to find our campsite. We drove out of town and, after about two kilometres—just as it became dark—found it beside the river. Fortunately, there was a pitch available, complete with a small covered kitchen area, a sink, a table and benches. Perfect. We parked, opened a well-earned beer and celebrated our safe arrival against the odds. I cooked a simple but satisfying meal of vegetables with the last tin of sardines. Gradually, we calmed down and the frustrations of the day began to fade. 22nd February 2026 The following day we explored the town of Mulegé and went to the supermarket to buy provisions—this time on foot, so as not to risk another parking incident. Once again, we were unable to find any fresh fish, though we did manage to buy some frozen chicken breasts and legs, which would defrost by the evening. Breakfast at the Don Chaco Campsite - its freezing cold in the morning. In fact, we have not been able to buy fish in a supermarket since our first day in Los Cabos, when we purchased frozen octopus. Since then, we have found fish only in restaurants or taco stalls. Most locals we asked said they did not know where to buy fish. Do they not eat it? As far as I understand, fish—particularly in the form of fish tacos, ceviche and other local seafood dishes—is a cornerstone of the region’s cuisine. Living on a peninsula surrounded by sea, one would expect fish to be readily available. Yet people seem to eat more chicken than fish. I am sure there must be sound economic reasons for this. A little research suggests several factors affecting affordable local access to fish. Much of the catch—especially high-value species such as lobster and certain prized fish—is increasingly reserved for export or for restaurants catering to tourists. This makes it expensive or less accessible for everyday local consumption. So while seafood remains culturally important, traditional diets are shaped by economic realities. Locally caught fish can become a luxury item, prompting residents to rely on other sources of protein. In addition, demand for popular species sometimes exceeds supply, leading to substitution with alternative fish. One study in Baja California Sur found that around 42 per cent of fish served in restaurants is substituted with other species—meaning diners may pay for premium fish such as marlin but receive a cheaper local alternative instead. Something to bear in mind the next time we order fish in a restaurant. That said, the following day, while travelling and stopping for petrol, we came across a roadside stall selling a variety of freshly caught—though frozen—fish. The woman who sold us octopus explained that she is there every day from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., and that on Wednesdays she also offers fresh (not frozen) fish. Later in the week, a local fisherman regularly visited our campsite selling fish, lobster and prawns—but at distinctly high prices, almost as high as in the UK. Back to Sunday afternoon in Mulegé: we found a delightful restaurant with a shady patio garden, where we had soft drinks and wrote up our diaries. Afterwards, we strolled back to the campsite along the river, feeling rather more at ease with the world. That evening we read reports of a major police operation in the state of Jalisco , in Puerto Vallarta, where we had been only four weeks earlier. One of the world’s most wanted drug traffickers—the Mexican cartel leader known as “El Mencho”—had reportedly been killed by security forces, according to Mexico’s defence ministry. The operation triggered a wave of violence: vehicles were set alight, gunmen blocked highways in more than half a dozen states, and even supermarkets were attacked. Authorities in several affected regions urged residents to remain indoors; schools were closed and people advised to keep a low profile and stay at home until order was restored. Baja California, where we are currently travelling, was also affected, though mainly in the north near the US border, around Tijuana and Mexicali. The current Mexican president, Claudia Sheinbaum, has been under pressure from the United States government to intensify action against the drug cartels. Reports suggest she had been cautious about provoking a violent backlash ahead of the forthcoming World Cup, concerned about Mexico’s stability and reputation as a host nation. However, she was overrolled by the US authorities who wanted it to happen now. The situation is ongoing. —————- More information: Here a link to an article by The Guardian as of 22 Feb 2026: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2026/feb/22/mexican-security-forces-reportedly-kill-drug-cartel-boss-el-mencho?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other Here a link to an article ZDF Heute: Wie "El Mencho" der mächtigste Drogenboss Mexikos wurde https://www.zdfheute.de/panorama/kriminalitaet/el-mencho-portrait-aufstieg-drogenboss-mexiko-100.html?at_medium=Social%20Media&at_campaign=ZDFheuteApp&at_specific=ZDFheute&at_content=iOS Und in der Tagesschau: https://www.tagesschau.de/ausland/amerika/mexiko-kartelle-100.html —————- In our earlier post about our travels in the North in Chihuahua and Sinaloa, I referred to the impact of the violence of the Sinaloa drug cartels on the local population. We were glad that we had not any running-ins with them. Here is an interesting link to background information from Wikipedia on the Sinaloa drug cartels. https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sinaloa-Kartell https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sinaloa_Cartel ————— 23rd to 25th February 2026 This morning we left our campsite and Mulegé and continued south. After only about half an hour on a beautiful mountain road overlooking the deep blue sea, we arrived at Santispac RV Park. We’re planning to stay here for two or three days to unwind, before slowly heading further south towards Loreto. The campsite stretches around an entire bay and is packed with campers and trailers. Some people stay just a few days; others—like our neighbour—remain for three months or more. We also see cars arriving for the day so people can swim or kayak, then heading off again in the late afternoon. It’s a simple site. We chose a pitch with a palapa—a little shelter with a palm-leaf roof next to our van that gives us some shade from the fierce sun. There are no showers. Two toilet blocks are dotted around the campsite; the toilets are basic and a bit rough, but clean. There’s no running water—you flush using a bucket filled from a large drum. The only drawback is that it’s quite a walk to get there. There are two restaurants serving breakfast, lunch and dinner. We’re sticking to cooking for ourselves, but we occasionally stop by for a soft drink to make use of the only available Wi-Fi. At least, that’s the plan—the Wi-Fi is currently “down”. Allegedly. Perhaps it will magically reappear tomorrow. As mentioned before, much of Baja has no mobile signal, which makes it tricky to stay in touch, work on our blog or follow the news—especially the recent developments after the killing of the drug lord. Still, we can manage without for a few days. We came here for these beautiful bays and beaches, so we’ll adapt. Water is another thing we have to manage carefully. There’s no mains water on site. We have a 10-litre canister of drinking water, plus supplies in our kitchen tank, toilet tank and even enough in the shower tank for two very short showers each. So we’re being economical, especially when washing up. Luckily, we filled an extra container at our last campsite, which helps. The next place with proper showers will be in Loreto in about five days’ time. Good thing I bought a pack of wet wipes. We’ve since learned that a pick-up truck comes by daily selling water. I wouldn’t necessarily drink it, but it’s fine for washing up. Another truck regularly appears selling freshly caught (though frozen) fish and prawns. There’s also a tiny shop behind the restaurant with basic supplies. We’re slowly getting used to how things work here. Sunrise on our Santispac RV campsite I counted around 50–60 campers, trailers and caravans. Ours is among the smallest. A group of friends from Florida are here with four fabulous silver Airstream caravans. We chatted with one of them while he was playing with his dog in the water. He’s ex-military, now retired. He sold his house, put everything into storage and has been travelling in his Airstream since May last year. He’s currently touring Mexico with friends, but next week he’s heading back to Florida and then with other friends on to Canada and Alaska for the summer. Not a bad life. On our left side are two friendly men camping in a tent. We first met them at the restaurant when they were served chicken instead of prawns—but they just laughed and enjoyed it anyway. We were there only for drinks (and Wi-Fi). We’ve come to suspect the Wi-Fi works better for diners than for those just ordering drinks—but never mind, the two kind men shared the password with us. One of them is also ex-military and was stationed near Heidelberg in the 1990s. They’re both from Los Angeles and often travel to Baja. Soon they’ll head back home—a two-day journey. Our neighbour on the other side has an enormous trailer with pull-out sides and even a fold-out balcony at the back, towed by a huge Ford Motor Company pick-up truck. He and his wife have been here for three months, they sold their house and bought this trailer and travel the continent. During Covid they were caught in Europe, rented a caravan and travelled Europe, in particular the Balkans until Covid was over and it was safe to go home. He’s also ex-military and now works as a mechanic for motorcycle racing teams. He works around 60 days a year; when he’s needed, he flies out for three or four days, then returns to wherever they’ve parked their trailer. They travel widely and seem to have found a good balance. The campsite is also popular with motorcyclists. Just now, about fourteen of them roared past our van on their way to the far side of the bay, where they’re camping in tents. At the edge of the bay are what look like long-term residents, complete with little gardens, flowers and outdoor carpets arranged around their trailers. On Tuesday afternoons there’s apparently a happy hour and disco at the restaurant, when everyone gathers to chat, drink and dance. Today a military patrol drove slowly through the campsite, heavily armed and watchful, but they soon moved on. Otherwise, it’s peaceful. The residents we’ve spoken to aren’t too worried about the unrest elsewhere. They believe cartel violence is unlikely to reach southern Baja—there’s only one main road down here, and it’s in poor condition. “Too much effort,” as someone put it. So we should be safe. Best of all, our neighbour has kindly shared his Starlink with us. We’re connected to the world again—at least while we’re parked next to him. A group of 10 motorcycles just arrived at our beach. We got talking: they (the motorcyclists and their wives) come from all over Central America and Argentina and are on a two-week tour of Baja California. We talked to someone from Mexico, Guatemala and a very nice couple from Costa Rica. They all rode BMW motorcycles rented from the tour operators. Only the Mexicans had their own bikes with them. It was a lively group. They populated our beach and celebrated one of their friends' birthdays. The music was loud, there was dancing and drinking. Latinos just know how to party. It was a good atmosphere. Finally, we felt like we were in Mexico. Afterwards, the men rode their motorcycles to a nearby hotel where the group was staying. The women were transported in a minibus. We hope the group arrived safely, given the many bends in the road. So we’re spending a few blissful days here: sunbathing, walking along the beach, working on the blog (thanks to Starlink), cooking octopus or prawns in the evening, enjoying a sundowner beer and gazing at the stars. Life feels wonderfully simple. Tomorrow we’ll move further south to Requesón Beach Campground—another beautifully located but very basic beach campsite. Let’s hope someone there is willing to share their Starlink too. 26th February 2026 When we got up, our Los Angeles Neighbours packed up to leave. We had a chat and wished them a safe journey. They had been very pleasant neighbours. Tonight they would stay in San Felipe, then the next day drive all the way back to Los Angeles. After a leisurely breakfast, we also drove off and made our way south. We needed to find a supermarket to stock up on food, but there was none on our way. We turned into what looked like a compound of little holiday houses or a hotel in the hope that people there most certainly needed a shop to buy essential food. To our surprise we found the group of Latin bikers there. That’s where they were staying. They were just packing the bikes and preparing to go for breakfast. They told us they had a good time at the party yesterday. But they also bitterly complained that their hotel had turned off the electricity and water supply at 10 pm and only turned it on again at 9 am, treating them like children, not like paying guests. We all know water is tight, but this is unbelievable. The restaurant that served them breakfast was also a shop but had not much to sell. We found three avocados and paid an exuberant amount of 70 pesos for them. In Oaxaca the kilo of avocados was 40 pesos. I complaint and the shop owner but he just shrugged his shoulders, take it or leave it. Supply and demand! We had hardly seen any avocados in shops in Baja. We said good bye to our biker friends and continued our drive. At some point, Dave stopped in a lay-by on the road. He wanted to free up the blocked kitchen sink outlet, without success. We need to contact Julian from VanBaja - when we had access to wifi or a phone signal again - to sort something out. Until then we needed to be careful with the amount of water and washing up water pouring into the sink as the waste water does not run away. Then we continued to drive through the mountains with a wonderful view of the blue Sea of Cortez. Soon, 18 km south of Santispac we arrived an the Requeson Beach, our home for the next two nights. Each slot had a Palapa by its side, a palmroofed shady area. The toilets were clean with running water. What was missing, though, was a sink outside the toilets where to wash your hands. There were no showers and no water. But you can’t have everything. This beach came highly recommended for swimming and we were looking forward to it. We settled in and had a walkabout the campsite and chatted with our new neighbours. To our left was a young lady with a Chihuahua mixed with something dog. She just came back from a tour with her boat and the little dog had misjudged how far it was to swim to shore and was exhausted and traumatised. She had a colourful camper with an extendable roof for sleeping and a nice stainless steel kitchen in the back of the van, so outside cooking only. She is US American but for the last three years she lived in Baja California, in the north. The couple next to her are Chileans from Valparaiso, living for the last 20 years in Toronto. The man always goes out with his boat for fishing. The neighbours on the other side of us are also Mexicans, a family with 3 adult children. They have a pick up truck, but most of them sleep in a tent. I wondered how their sleeping arrangements were, as all five of them were rather large and the tent was small, with a maximum of three slim people fitting in. On the other side of the bay, are some large vehicles with huge trailers parked. They are mostly US Americans or Canadians. Suddenly, a large tourist bus made its way down from the main road and stopped right in the middle of the campsite. The passengers come out with lunch boxes and streamed towards the beach and shady palapa areas. One of them is right beside our van. Here about 20 of them gathered trying to stay out of the sun. The bus driver was checking his tires. One of them was flat. I had a chat with a few of the passengers under the palapa next to us. It turns out they are all Mexicans on an organised  Baja California tour. They flew from Mexico City to La Paz in the South of Baja California. From there they will explore Baja for one week. This was their first day of the tour. The bus managed to get them to their destination, Requeson Beach. Whilst his passengers enjoyed themselves on the beach, the bus driver arranged for a mechanic to come and change the tires. Perfect timing. The group consisted of people of all ages. They were in a good holiday mood. Some of them walked along the beach, others went into the water but the water here is flat and calm and one has to walk a long way to get to deeper areas where swimming is possible. Suddenly we notice that two young lads were supporting their friend out of the water. He could hardly walk, blood dripping of one foot, so they carried him out of the water to the shade, where people attend to him. I assumed he has been stung by a stingray. We had seen a dead stingray on the beach of Santipac, picked upon by seagulls. So I wouldn’t be surprised, if this was the case. Someone asked the guy I had spoken to whether he had any tequila. A bit early at 11 am, I thought. I went to see the young lad, how he was getting on. He was obviously in a lot of pain and his foot was bleeding heavily, a woman attended to the wound. Someone handed over a bottle of Tequila, but rather than giving it to the lad, to drink it against his pain, the woman used it to sterilise the wound. Aha, wrong assumption. Three people had to hold down the poor young lad, as he was in so much pain. I still think they should have let him drink a gulp of the Tequila first. I know from experience how painful a stingray sting is. Dave had been stung by a stingray many years ago in Nicaragua. It was very painful, his leg went numb, but after 6 hours the pain was gone and he was able to dance. We left them to it, they seemed to know what they were doing. An hour later, a pick-up truck came along. Dave, curious as always, checked what they had on offer. Ceviche (a fish salad, a Mexican speciality). Word got out and many of the Mexican bus passengers streamed there to get some of the ceviche, as they preferred them to their packed sandwiches. The seller even let you try some to see whether you liked it. We liked it. It was nice fresh and cool. We shared one portion, which was enough for us both. The price came close to restaurant prices, 300 pesos for one portion of ceviche. But again, supply and demand. Everyone paid without complaining. And the ceviche was very yummy. He promised to come back the next day. At 4.30 pm, the tire was repaired, and the passengers went back onto the bus. We waved off our newly found friends. The father of the lad assured me that he was already better, but in La Paz they would still bring him to a doctor to check him out. Just in case. It was getting cooler and the wind had dropped a bit. Dave and I walked along the beach, where we met a nice Mexican couple from Quintín, in California Baja Norte. She was heavily pregnant, due to give birth in two weeks. This was their last chance to undertake a trip to the south of Baja. They had never been in this area and were enthusiastic about the beautiful bays. They went with a pick-up truck from his work and were staying in small hotels along the road. Back home, they were living in a trailer, which was good enough for them both, but now with the little one coming, they had to get something more substantial and bigger. They were a lovely couple, setting up a family together. We wished them all the best. Later before they set off, as they were staying in a small hotel nearby, they came over and brought us five oranges that they had bought in Ciudad Constitution, in the middle of Baja Sur, a region where the oranges are especially sweet. How very kind of them! We cherished these oranges and they were really sweet. We are often taken by surprise by the kindness of many Mexican people. In Baja we met some who were not friendly, probably fed up with all the tourists, who come in huge trailers, dominate the place and don’t interact with locals, may even don’t notice them, in return some Mexicans treat the tourists as somebody who can be milked, or as cash machines. Then again, we meet so  kind people like the shop owner the other day. I had bought eggs, you get them in a small plastic bag, which makes them easy to break. After I had paid, my plastic bag with eggs clicked on the table of the counter and one of the eggs broke. This woman, heard the click too, took the plastic bag with eggs from me, took all the eggs out washed them, tried them, put them in a new plastic bag, put the broken egg aside and replaced it with a fresh one. After that she refused to take payment when I wanted to pay for this additional egg. Her argument- with a smile, nothing is wasted. She will have my broken egg for lunch. In the evening, Dave and I prepared dinner. We had a feast of shrimps with garlic and lemons, washed down with a nice bottle of Chilean wine. What a life! 27th February 2026 We had the best night’s sleep in a long while. At 6 am we put with our easy chairs nearer to the water to watch the sunrise over the bay. Hardly anybody else was up. It felt magical. After breakfast we went for a walk following a sandy path through desert bushes to the next bay, carefully watching for scorpions or rattle snakes. We didn’t find any, only dog shit. The bay was completely secluded, no road access. A few stingrays glided through the shallow water, which put us off swimming. A pity. On the way back we passed the Mexican family camped next to us. Their teenage boy hung back to have a phone conversation, presumably with a girlfriend. We could hear her voice and told him to say hello from us. He just giggled. Later we came across a VW camper from Fulda, Germany. The couple had shipped their van—newer and larger than the classic California model, more like a Mercedes Sprinter—from Hamburg to Baltimore. From there they toured the US over the summer, visiting their son on student exchange in Iowa. They’re now spending a month in Baja California, loving it, before heading north through the States to Canada. In July they’ll catch the ferry from Halifax back to Hamburg. What a wonderful way to take a year out. Their English was limited and they spoke no Spanish at all, which inevitably restricts what they can experience—but there are always other ways to communicate. Back at our Campervan, I got chatting to our US American neighbour, who water delivered and expertly filled her kitchen- und shower water tanks without spilling a drop. She’d lived for six years on a sailing boat off San Francisco, that’s where she learnt to conserve water. An interesting woman and well travelled. She came to Baja California on a sailing trip, liked it and stayed. She is ex-military and was once stationed at the US American Airforce base of Lakenheath in England. She is critical of some of the US American people who arrive in their huge camper trailers, take up a lot of space on the campsites for months and months and rarely engage with the locals. They stay here because it is cheap andwarm. Many don’t leave their trailer because they don’t speak or understand Spanish, so they keep amongst themselves. They don’t know how to communicate other than in English, which many Mexicans here in Baja don’t understand. So they stay amongst themselves. Technically, US citizens receive a 180 days visa, but overstaying is very common and largely tolerated. Our neighbour also said, many of the campsites in Baja are full with Trump supporters. She mentioned, a few years ago, some of the campsites were full with pro Trump 2020 flags, but they have largely disappeared. We wondered why? It’s probably still the same people, but perhaps they are no longer so confident, or are disappointed as nothing has changed for them for the better? We were just contemplating about similarities to BREXIT in the UK, when the fish pickup van arrived and offered ceviche for lunch. Our efforts to putting the world to right had to be postponed as lunch was waiting. I still wanted to know how she was earning a living, but certain things are not being asked when not forthcoming. In the afternoon, three enormous RV coaches rolled in, each towing a big pickup truck. They parked in a circle to create their own compound, set out cones to mark their territory; and effectively blocked access to that side of the beach. Tables and chairs appeared, along with large brown bottles and they settled in.  It reminded me of old Western films, where settlers would circle their wagons for protection against the Indians. We went for a walk, hoping the wind would drop so we could have a shower. However, with this wind, our outdoor shower would have drenched our bed. We could not risk that. At that point we were dreaming of the next manifest in Loreto - with a hot shower and even wifi. As we prepared dinner, sitting in front wind shade of the van, our Chilean neighbour, Antonio, walked past. I ask him whether he had caught any fish today. Yes, he did, a big one, but he threw it back as they had still to eat the three fish he’d caught yesterday. We reminisced about Chile and the fabulous New Year’s Eve fireworks in Valparaiso that Dave and I had seen. Antonio was brought up in the coastal village Algarrobo where I used to go with friends for a day-trip on Sundays from Santiago by bus. After Pinochet’s cop, his activist uncle fled to Spain, while his own family endured police harassment until they moved away to Valparaiso. Twenty years ago Antonio and his wife emigrated to Toronto. He’s a carpenter; at first it was hard to win trust as a Latin American tradesman, but now he runs a successful contracting team and can afford two months off each year. We talked about immigration—about working hard, building a life abroad, like him in Canada or me in England, and the benefits migrants bring. Soon he hurried off to his wife, only to return moments later with hot Chilean cheese empanadas he’d made earlier. We offered red wine in return and carried on talking. Dinner was late, but good company matters more. Afterwards we watched the Mexican family light their wood fire with petrol. One of the boys misjudged the fumes and a dramatic flame shot up - luckily no one was hurt. We joined them by the fire. They are from Tijuana, the Mexican boarder town with the US, and have holidayed in Baja Sur every year for sex years. The father loves whale watching and proudly showed us photos of himself stroking a grey whale, which lingered by their boat to be tickled again. A true whale whisperer. Tomorrow they head north, stopping in San Felipe before reaching home. We wished them a safe journey and finally retreated into our van after a long, full and memorable day. ————— Dave: 15 February 2026 The alarm went off at 07:00, and we had a busy day ahead. Lisa worked on the blog while I finally managed to download the map of Baja California Sur onto our TomTom. Breakfast at 08:00 was included in our room rate, and was excellent. After repacking, we handed in our key and I booked an Uber to the company we’d rented our campervan from; VanBaja. Ten minutes later we arrived to find it gleaming in the driveway, freshly washed and polished. We met our host Julian, who was originally from Buenos Aires, completed the paperwork, paid the balance in cash, MX$45,000 (£1,925.55) and left a deposit for the campervan on my Wise card. The van is built on a six-year-old Ram 2500 chassis. The original engine had been replaced with a smaller 2.5-litre petrol version, slower uphill, but far more economical. I was pleased. Inside, it had an efficient fridge and a portable two-ring Coleman gas cooker with a three-sided windbreak, perfect for outdoor cooking. We’d also hired a portable toilet that slid neatly out from a cupboard. Great in the middle of the night, once you got over the fact you’re going to the loo in your living room! Our first stop was a nearby supermarket to stock up. Dinner for the next two nights would be pan-fried pulpo with vegetables, accompanied by beer and wine. With supplies stowed (eventually), we set off for our first campsite: Playa Norte RV Park near Los Barriles, about 75 km away. We were struck by how mountainous Baja California Sur is, stark desert terrain, twisting narrow roads, sheer drops and no barriers. Once off the highway, it’s sand. Full concentration required at all times. The RV park sprawls across sandy ground dotted with trees and toilet blocks. There’s a small library, launderette, lively beach bar for sundowners, and localised Wi-Fi zones that are somewhat hit-and-miss. It’s clearly a place for longer stays for Americans and Canadians; many of the RV trailers were fenced n and shaded with roof structures. The manager was nowhere to be found, and a garbled phone message told us to pick a spot in Row F and to check in tomorrow. So we did. We spent the afternoon unpacking, working out storage solutions, and organising our clothes, thankfully packed in zippered nylon bags. Our suitcases now live in the space below under the bed, accessed from the read doors. Later we caught up on emails, photos and our blog. At sunset (18:18) we walked down to the beach and looked out over the Gulf of California, returning via DoDo’s Beach Club, where the music was pumping and short shorts were in full swing. ______________________________ Background information: The Gulf of California, also known as the Sea of Cortez, is a 750-mile-long (1,200 km) marginal sea of the Pacific Ocean separating the Baja California Peninsula from mainland Mexico. Covering roughly 160,000 km², it is one of the most biologically rich marine environments on Earth. Often described by Jacques Cousteau as “the world’s aquarium,” it is recognised by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site. Its waters are home to more than 900 species of fish and around 39% of the world’s marine mammal species, including whales, dolphins and sea lions. A remarkable number of species are endemic, found nowhere else on the planet. The combination of desert landscapes, and isolated islands creates an ecosystem of extraordinary diversity — a rare meeting point of stark arid land and intensely productive sea. Courtesy of Wikipedia. _________________________________ Back in our campervan, we cracked open a beer and began cooking. Lisa prepped the vegetables while I tackled the pulpo. Disaster struck when the frying-pan handle collapsed, dumping onions, garlic and oil into the sand. After some choice words and a repair job, we started again, lesson learned: begin earlier, and have decent pots and pans. Everything takes twice as long the first time. The camper is fully solar-powered, so we’re entirely self-sufficient, no electrical hookup required. Water is topped up from hoses around the site, and as long as we limit the portable toilet to night-time visits (and avoid “number twos”), it should only need emptying every few days. By 21:00 we were locked up. The wind that had blown through the afternoon had completely dropped. The campsite was silent, the stars brilliantly clear. Best of all, we could stream ‘The Lincoln Lawyer’, so we watched another episode before switching off the bedside lamp and settling into our first night of campervan life. 16th February 2026 We spent the day exploring our huge RV campsite and trying to locate the manager of the site. A most elusive character. We managed to track him down eventually in his office and pay our camp dues. We also got the WiFi passwords. There were two, one near the laundry and another in the library. Yes, the site had a library too. Lisa spent most of her time in the cool library contacting Tania and uploading photos and diary entries for our blog. Day turned into night and we had a beer before preparing dinner. 17th February 2026 We wanted to find a supermarket to buy some essentials, so after breakfast we walked into the nearest town, Los Barriles. We were told it wasn’t that far, but in this heat it must’ve been twice as far as the manager of our RV campsite said it would be. Th first thing that struck me was the unfriendliness of the people, these were Americans on vacation and each and everyone we came across failed to offer a greeting. The mini markets we came across didn’t have any fresh fruit, vegetables,  fish or meat. We walked to the far end of town to an alleged large supermarket and that was just the same. Dusty tinned fish, out of date vegetables and no fresh meat. So disappointing. We walked it back thorough the heat, stopping for a cold tin of coke in a shack at the side of the road, before a shortcut back along the dried riverbed to the beach, and from there back to the beach entrance to our camp.  We took a leisurely hot shower, and afterwards had a cold beer sat outside our campervan, before starting dinner. A lesiurely end to a leisurely day. 18th February 2026 We left Los Barilles campsite at 07:25 and drove north via La Paz towards Magdalena Bay for whale watching. On the way we stopped at a scruffy hypermarket on the edge of an equally scruffy town, stocked up on a few basic vegetables and a case of beer, and failed to find anywhere decent for coffee. An hour later we were relieved to come across a pleasant roadside restaurant, where I had a croissant and coffee, and Lisa a tea. It was a long haul to Magdalena Bay. When we finally arrived, we were disappointed. We stopped beside what looked like a row of holiday cottages. The tide was out, the bay just a stretch of mud, and a fierce, icy wind nearly knocked us over as we stepped from the van, fleece jackets immediately required. We drove into the town, which looked like it had seen better days, to enquire about whale-watching tours. Because of the wind and rough sea, tomorrow’s trip had been brought forward to avoid worsening weather. The tour would cost US$120 (£89) per person. There would be a 06:30 start before dawn, then six hours on a cold, very bouncy boat, full wet-weather gear essential, and cameras not advised due to the sea spray. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and drove on. Our goal was Loreto before sunset. The mountain road was narrow and twisting, with heavy wagons thundering towards us and no barriers at the edge, definitely not somewhere to be after dark. About 60 km short of Loreto, at 18:25 with sunset upon us, we pulled into a lay-by beside a closed roadside café and called it a day. It had been a long tiring drive. Lisa made guacamole while I opened a cold beer, both of us relieved to have found a safe spot in the mountains. We’d filled up earlier with 50 litres for MX$1,062 (£46). Even though the gauge still showed half full, we’ll refuel again when we reach Loreto. In Baja California Sur, petrol stations can be few and far between, and it pays not to gamble. 19th February 2026 We got up at first light, 06:45, and we weren’t the only ones who’d chosen the lay-by for the night. A weary wagon driver had parked his rig opposite us. The greasy spoon café beside us showed no sign of life, and with no facilities open we resorted to some discreet wild camping etiquette before getting back on the road. (A shared dump beside the side of our campervan). It was a long, winding drive through the mountains before we finally reached the coast of the Sea of Cortez. From there we headed north through Loreto and Mulegé, climbed back into the mountains, then crossed to the Pacific side. At 16:30 we rolled into the town of Guerrero Negro, on the border between California Baja Sur and Norte. We drove around town checking out whale-watching options before settling on a small, secure RV spot behind a hotel. It had clean toilets, hot showers, and, luxury of luxuries, internet! Next door was a whale tour booking office, so we reserved a tour with them for tomorrow, Malarrimo Eco Tours for MX$1,020 (£43.70) per person. Transport would collect us at 08:00 from outside the hotel car park. With plans made, we cooked dinner, opened a cold beer, and relaxed after another long Baja driving day, even managing to stream the final episode of The Lincoln Lawyer. Such luxury indeed! 20th February 2026 We’d booked an organised whale-watching tour with Malarrimo Eco Tours for MX$1,020 per person (£43.62). Up at 06:45, we were warned to prepare for everything: warm layers against the cold, boots, and waterproofs for the spray, both from the sea and from the whales’ mighty spouts. By 07:45, thirty of us were divided between two boats and driven out to the lagoon. A stiff breeze whipped up a choppy sea, and our boat bounced energetically over the swell. We were thankful for our waterproof jackets as spray drenched us repeatedly. At one point we sped through a brief rain shower, rewarded moments later with a vivid rainbow arcing across the grey sky. Out on the water, several boats criss-crossed the whale area. There were plenty about, and we managed some decent shots on our phones, though the constant spray made it far too risky to have brought our expensive Sony cameras. Whales are extraordinary creatures. When they surfaced near the boat, people splashed the water with their hands and, astonishingly, the whales responded, gliding right up alongside us, playful and curious, as if it were all part of a game.  We spent over two hours among them before heading back. On the return journey we passed a group of sea lions sprawled across a large metal pontoon. Our skipper gently nudged it with the bow, waking a particularly large sea lion who promptly slid into the sea with a splash. We were back by 12:30. After showers, packing, and topping up our water tank, we left at 13:00 for San Ignacio, about two hours away. We needed fuel and groceries en route. One supermarket looked promising from the outside, but proved disappointing within, so we pressed on. San Ignacio turned out to be a charming little town centred around its beautiful old mission church, Misión San Ignacio Kadakaamán, but frustratingly, no decent supermarket. An American lady we met recommended an RV campsite, Paraiso Misional RV Park, within walking distance of the square. It was friendly and welcoming, with clean toilets, hot showers and reliable internet. At MX$300 (£12.91) for the night, it felt like a bargain, though the number of campers suggested it might not be the quietest evening. We also booked another whale watching tour for the following day, with Antonio’s Ecotours Whale Watching, paying Antonio US$170 (£125.98) for a two-hour trip when we arrived in the morning. To reach their base beside San Ignacio’s lagoon by 10:00, we’ll need to leave at 08:30 and tackle a 90-minute dirt road drive. Afterward, we’ll return through the town of San Ignacio, and continue on to Mulegé, on the shores of the Sea of Cortez, where we planned to stay at Huerta Don Chano RV Park, which was beside the river. That evening we settled in, and Lisa produced a delicious meal of sardines and vegetables. We wandered around the campsite, listening to music drifting over from a cheerful group from Kansas. Not bad at all. Later, we turned in and watched something on Netflix before sleep. 21st February 2026 We were up at 05:45, loo first, then blissfully hot showers, before setting off at 08:30 for Antonio’s Ecotours. The first hour of road was manageable if you avoided the crumbling edges; the final thirty minutes was a slow rattle along washboard dirt road. We saw no other vehicles heading in. After the tour we’d retrace it all the way back to San Ignacio town, then join Highway 1 heading south toward Mulegé, hoping for space at Huerta Don Chano RV Park. By the time we reached Antonio’s at 10:00 it was 16C with a biting wind, beneath a cloudless blue sky. We paid for our tour in US dollars, drank tea and coffee, and waited for the previous boat tour to return, which it did 45 minutes later. Seven of us climbed aboard. The lagoon was mirror-calm, and warm inside our life vests and almost no spray because of the calm waters. We saw whales up close, though fewer than on our previous trip. Our guide suggested the reason was the the calm conditions, as grey whales seem to prefer choppy waters and a breeze. It was fascinating listening to our knowledgeable guide explaining the strict rules that must be followed, to keep within the designated area of lagoon, in order to be able to operate his whale watching tours . ______________________________________ Background Information: From the sand dunes across the lagoon to the distant headland, an imaginary line marks the start of the whale-watching zone. There’s a 15-minute run at full speed to reach the imaginary line. Once inside, the captain of the boat radios the ‘sheriff,’ who logs each boat’s arrival and departure. Only sixteen boats are allowed in the whale-watching zone at any one time, each given ninety minutes before making way for the next boat. In total, just over two hours on the water. It’s still early in the season, and there are around 120 grey whales in the lagoon, including a handful of mothers with calves. These mothers and calves remain in the calmer upper reaches of the lagoon, as the calves are born with very little fat. The tides are strong, especially around the new moon, and the narrow channel in the lagoon can run like a river. Later in March the mothers will edge south to strengthen their calves, before starting the long migration north to the Arctic feeding grounds in the Bering Sea. These grey whales travel thousands of miles each year. Most females arrive already pregnant, giving birth in the relative warmth and shelter of Baja’s lagoons. Grey whales start to give birth between the ages of eight and twelve years old, and are capable of having one calf every two years, but they don’t get pregnant every time. They have calves, one every two years, until they die. Nobody really knows, but they’re guessing they live between eighty and one hundred years. There are other species of whales, like the bowhead, that can reach a grand old age of 250 years. However, The grey whale population has fallen sharply, from about 27,000 a decade ago to nearer 13,000 today. The cause lies far to the north. Grey whales feed on tiny, fatty amphipods that depend on algae that grows beneath the Arctic sea ice. With less ice forming, there is less food. Even a small rise in ocean temperature can ripple through the ecosystem. Climate change is to blame. Orcas are the grey whales enemy and they’re waiting just outside of the lagoon ready to attack. A few did enter the lagoon once, and killed a calf and a dolphin, but they haven’t been seen since. For now, the whales are here, so enjoy them whilst we can. When we stepped off the boat, the meal we’d prepaid was waiting. We were hot and hungry after sweating inside our life vests, and a cold Coca-Cola restored our spirits before our 90 minute drive back to San Ignacio town. We should have left just after midday. In reality it was nearly 14:00 because of the late departure of our tour, and meal. I drove the awful washboard dirt road, and we swapped when we reached the  asphalt road and changed again an hour later in town. Highway 1 climbed through mountains and across the backbone of Baja California Sur, then dropped down towards the Sea of Cortez. We passed through an awful dust bowl of a town called Santa Rosalia. By 17:22 the sun was going down and we still had many kilometres to go, and we were unable to keep the speed on the rougher stretches of road. At 17:55 we finally rolled beneath the stone arch and entered Mulege. We hadn’t found a decent supermarket en route, and I pulled over at the first supermarket we came to. A few seconds after we’d entered a customer hollered out ‘whose is the white van, as there’s a policewoman standing in front of it’. We rushed out, but she’d already removed the front numberplate and was writing out a ticket. It seems it was illegal to park next to a kerb that had faded red paint on it. No amount of bargaining would change her mind. I had to follow her in her police pickup truck back to the police station. She wanted me to park next to another kerb with red paint on it. I said that was illegal, as we were just about to been fined for parking next to one. Don’t worry, this is police business. You can’t win with the Mexican police! We were fined MX$700 (£30), and only then was our number plate returned. My request for a screwdriver to screw back the number plate was met with no-comprehendo. We were not happy bunnies, and certainly not one of our finest travel moments. Thankfully Huerta Don Chano RV Park, beside the river, was less than five minutes away, and when we got there they had space. Plot 16 came with excellent wifi, water, sink, and a trestle table. Lisa cooked a simple meal of potatoes, courgette, onions, black beans and sardines, and a couple of cold beers certainly improved our mood. We fitted the thermal screens against the chill, as the last few nights had been particularly cold, and we ended the day by watching a film on Netflix. 22nd February 2026 We had another poor night’s sleep. I was up at 05:30, a quick trip to the loo before settling down with my diary, while Lisa carried on writing hers in bed. It had been a very cold night, and stayed that way until the sun finally cleared the surrounding hills and warmed our pitch. Breakfast was simple but satisfying: fried eggs, refried beans, bread and cheese, washed down with mugs of tea. The fish man never appeared, despite being told he’d call between 10:00 and midday. By early afternoon we’d given up waiting, showered, and walked into town in search of the recommended supermarket near the stone arch at the entrance into town. The road from camp into town was narrow, with two bends and no pavements, so we had to be careful as Mexican cars are big and unforgiving. The supermarket was another disappointment, with very little fresh produce. There was no chicken on display either; we had to ask, and an assistant produced a bag of frozen pieces, two thighs and a lump of breast. They did, however, stock Chilean wine, so we left with four bottles of red. On the way back we stopped at Histórico Las Casitas, right on the main square, Parque Miguel Hidalgo. It was a charming, traditional Mexican-style hotel with a rustic, old-world feel, a little dated perhaps, but full of character. We found a table in the shade of an ancient tree in the garden and ordered drinks. I had a tin of Coca-Cola while Lisa bravely ordered tea. As usual in Mexico, it arrived lukewarm. I took it back, dipped a finger in to demonstrate the point, and asked for a hot one. We spent a very pleasant ninety minutes there, enjoying the shade and catching up on the news and emails. A very nice spot indeed. Afterwards we wandered back through the sleepy town to our RV camp and settled into a lazy afternoon, making another cup of tea whilst we read the news and answered messages until the sun slipped behind the hills. Later we cooked a relaxed dinner, then climbed into bed and continued the film we’d been watching on Netflix. 23rd February 2026 It was another cold night in the campervan, though once the sun climbed above the surrounding hills the chill quickly lifted. We were up at 06:00, quietly catching up on our diaries before a relaxed breakfast of fried eggs, cheese and bread. After hot showers, we prepared the van to leave Mulegé and head south to Playa Santispac, just 22km away, a mere 24-minute drive. After our recent long hauls, it felt wonderfully easy. We stopped to refuel and at a small shop beside the road that offered fish from an ice box. We bought 2kg pack of frozen octopus for MX$250 (£10.68), which I’ll cook over two nights.  Playa Santispac sits on Bahia Concepcion, along the shores of the Sea of Cortez. It’s a beautiful, secluded sweep of sand framed by desert mountains and calm, turquoise water. Popular with RV travellers, it’s known for safe swimming, kayaking and snorkelling, and offers a handful of palapas (shaded huts) for shade. It’s classic ‘boondocking’ dry camping with minimal facilities and all for MX$200 (£8.54) per night. Vendors pass through selling fresh bread and fish, but otherwise you’re reliant on your own supplies. We paid MX$600 for three nights, including palapa, and reversed into our pitch, just metres from the water.  Campervans lined the shore, all facing the tranquil bay. Ours was among the smallest. Our neighbour’s motorhome was enormous, with slide-outs, a rear platform and awning, perfect for sundowners overlooking the sea. He and his wife had been there for three months, and planned to stay until Easter. This was their home. We got on well with him and one of his two chihuahua's. He must’ve liked us, for he was kind enough to share his Starlink WiFi password. Not only could we access the news and our emails, but we could also get Netflix too. He worked as a motorcycle mechanic for a top American racing team, and when the season began his wife would drive him down to Loreto airport so he could to fly out to whichever circuit beckoned. Water bowsers trundled around the site offering refills for the larger rigs, we used one to top up our two 10 litre plastic water bottles. There are dump stations on site, for a fee, though manoeuvring some of these motorhomes wouldn’t be simple. With no electricity hookups, everyone relied on solar power; panels were everywhere, all angled toward the sun. Our neighbour towed his motorhome with a large Ford pickup, itself carrying a big lockable container.  Inside the container, I found out later, was a pump and a dump station. He’d connect a pump to his motorhome waste outlet, suck the waste into the dump station on his pickup, and when full, drive his pickup to the site dump station, and empty it into it. Was all this fiff-faffing about worth it? There again he had been on site for over 3 months. He also brought with him what looked like a Zodiac rubber boat, a motorcycle and two high-end bicycles. Quite the travelling setup. Lisa’s office space. The beach shelves gently, so you have to wade out some distance before you can properly swim. The main drawback for us was the toilet situation. A small restaurant on site had reasonable facilities, but they’re only available if you eat or drink there. The don’t open until around 11:00 and close between 19:00 and 20:00. There are three campsite toilet blocks on site, but they’re basic: no doors, lights, seats, or flush. A torch is essential after dark, and a cautious stamp of the feet before entering is wise - just in case. Once you’ve done your business, you fill a plastic bucket from one of the water barrels outside and pour it down the loo. Simple enough, though not exactly luxurious. Still, as the sun set over the bay and the water turned a deeper shade of blue, it felt a small price to pay for such a peaceful, beautiful spot. It was mid afternoon before we’d settled in, and after catching up with our diaries we went for a long walk along both sides of our beach. We’re in the desert mountains and when the sun goes down behind them it casts long shadows, and then there’s a noticeable drop in temperature.  I prepared the whole 2kg pack of octopus. Mid afternoon we bought a kilo of frozen king prawns from a guy going around the camp selling fish, and defrosted a few to have as a starter with our octopus. Preparing the octopus wasn’t an easy task, in fact it was rather messy, and I needed to be careful with our precious water, so I washed them in the sea. There was a lot of octopus and I cut them up into small pieces, and divided them into two. The other half we’ll save for tomorrow night’s dinner.  We prepared for the evening and set up our camp table and chairs behind our campervan overlooking the bay. A cold beer at 18:00started off our evening. It gets dark quickly here surrounded by mountains, and we started with king prawns, fried in the pan. Delicious! Next was our octopus. Some were a little hard, which was my fault, because I hadn’t beaten them when I’d initially prepared them. Even so the majority of them were perfect. We ate from our laps, sipping our wine, beside our table, placed behind our campervan, gazing out across the bay, now lit by a quarter moon. Afterward we washed up and watched, thanks to our neighbour, something on Netflix in bed and by 21:00 we were fast asleep.    24th February 2026 It was a wonderfully lazy day. We did little more than enjoy the peace and quiet, lounging beneath our palapa with our chairs planted firmly in the sand. Long, unhurried walks along the shoreline filled the hours, the calm waters of Bahía Concepción shimmering beside us. In the evening I turned my attention to the remaining octopus. Determined not to repeat the previous night’s mistake, I placed it in our metal pan and gave it a thorough beating with a large stone I’d collected from the beach earlier in the day. Some of the thicker tentacles were cut into smaller pieces before being pan-fried with sliced onion and tomato. The result was delicious, tender, flavourful, and all the better for being shared over a bottle of wine as the light faded over Playa Santispac. Lesson learned: never again will I forget to bash the octopus before cooking. As we’ve come to notice here, most people turn in early and rise early. No matter how promptly we set our alarm to catch the sunrise, there is always someone already up, quietly watching the first light touch rise above the distant desert hills. 25th February 2026 We were running low on water and needed supplies, ideally fish, otherwise chicken. Knowing the petrol station on the road back towards Mulegé stocked water, we drove out after breakfast from Playa Santispac. We bought two 5 litre plastic bottles of water, though there was no frozen fish, chicken or vegetables in sight. Across the road were two small shops, an OXXO and a local mini-market. We picked up juice in OXXO, already aware they rarely stock frozen food or fresh produce, then tried the smaller shop. There we bought six eggs and a frozen lump of chicken. One egg cracked as Lisa put them in a small plastic bag, but the owner kindly replaced it, washed the others, and refused payment for the broken one, smiling and saying she’d have it for her lunch. Back at camp we headed out for another long walk along both sides of the bay at Bahía Concepción, enjoying the heat stillness of the afternoon. Later, a group of motorcyclists arrived and gathered at the restaurant. We struck up a conversation and quickly realised how misleading stereotypes can be. Far from the clichéd image of leather-clad outlaws, they were a friendly, educated group of friends from Central and South America touring Baja California together, accompanied by wives and girlfriends. They spoke excellent English and were full of stories. We took photos for them with their cameras whilst the women spent time swimming and relaxing on the beach. Travelling with them was a large support van carrying luggage and, if necessary, a broken-down bike. As afternoon slipped into evening, another party at the restaurant began celebrating a birthday. Drinks flowed, music played, and before long the two groups had merged into one cheerful gathering, as day turned into night well. Sensibly, the riders abstained from alcohol, though the support van proved useful when the restaurant closed, ferrying the merrier non-riders, wives, and girlfriends back to their hotel, still singing as they disappeared into the darkness. We retreated to our campervan, the neighbour’s WiFi too weak for Netflix, so instead we watched a music video before turning in. 26th February 2026 We had a leisurely start and were sitting behind the campervan by 06:30, watching the sun rise over Bahía Concepción. Our friends a couple of bays along were already up, breaking camp and preparing to head north, slowly making their way back home to Los Angeles. We too were moving on, south for us, to Playa El Requesón, just 18km away. Like Playa Santispac, it’s a popular dry-camping beach within the bay. After breakfast of bread, cheese and fried eggs, we left at 10:00, hoping to find fresh vegetables, especially avocados, along the way. About 10km down the road we turned off towards a small village. There was a modest hotel, where our motorcycling friends from the previous day were staying,  and we greeted them again as they checked out, continuing their Baja adventure. Attached to the hotel was a tiny restaurant/shop where, somewhat reluctantly, we bought three avocados for MX$70 (£3.50). In Oaxaca we’d paid MX$40 per kilo, but needs must. By late morning we arrived at Playa El Requesón and paid MX$500 (£21.20) for two nights, palapa included. We reversed into position, with the turquoise water’s of the Bahia in front of us, and desert mountains beyond. A stiff breeze, however, had other ideas, as it promptly blew our chairs over, so I folded them flat and turned the table upside down until things settled. At 34C, with heat reflecting off both sand and water, the wind was at least a cooling blessing. A coach soon arrived carrying a tour group from Mexico City on a scheduled beach stop. Their afternoon took a dramatic turn when the coach suffered a puncture, and they had to wait for a tyre repair. Spirits remained high, and they were enjoying the shallow waters, until one of the party stepped on a stingray. He was carried back to shore, foot bleeding, while a passing pickup selling ceviche did roaring trade. We bought a tray for MX$300 (£13+) and it was excellent. Though the beach is famed for swimming and snorkelling, you have to wade more than 100 metres to reach deeper water. Later we heard that stingrays were common here, and that three people had been stung the day before, which put us right off from venturing in. The coach finally departed around 16:30 once the wheel was fixed. By 17:15 the sun had slipped behind the mountains. It was still hot and windy, so we opened a cold beer before preparing dinner, the last of our king prawns. I washed them in seawater, whilst Lisa chopped garlic. Using the campervan as a windbreak, I rigged our outside lamp to bonnet of our vehicle and cooked the king prawns in two batches. As daylight faded into near-full moonlight, it felt magical sitting beside waters gazing out across the Bahia beneath the starry sky, finishing off our delicious king prawns, and our bottle of wine. After we’d cleaned up, no easy task dry camping, we went to bed, and watched part if a film ‘Yesterday’, a Beatles comedy, which I had saved on my iPad. At 21:15 we switched off the light and slept. The rest of the RV campsite was deathly quiet, as they were already fast asleep. 27th February 2026 We were up at 06:15 and carried our chairs down to the water’s edge to watch the sunrise. The stiff breeze had eased and the fiery orb of the rising sun rose slowly behind the desert mountains, warming us as it climbed.  Afterwards we made tea and had our usual breakfast of fried eggs, toast today, with Oaxaca string cheese. We followed a stony track beside our beach that led to the next sandy bay, accessible only on foot. The water was beautifully clear, though who knows what swam beneath. We walked back and along the sand on the other side of our pitch, and met a German couple from Fulda, Germany. They’d shipped their campervan from Hamburg to Baltimore, and were spending a year touring North America and California Baja. They were heading to Loreto, our destination tomorrow, so we may see them again. Back at camp an irritating family had arrived for the day and parked too close, using their car as a windbreak and partially blocking our view. By mid-afternoon the heat and dust defeated them and they left, to everyone’s relief. Our other neighbours were far more companionable: a Mexican family from Tijuana camping neatly under a palapa, and on the other side a Chilean carpenter from Toronto, and his wife sleeping in his works van escaping the Canadian winter. The breeze kept temperatures out of the 30C+ bracket, but ruled out us having a shower, as we needed to keep the rear doors open, and the wind would have blown the water straight onto our bed. We set up our cooker in front of our campervan to use as a windbreak and cooked half of the chicken we’d bought previously. The Chilean guy from Toronto came over for a natter and stayed 30 minutes and asked if we’d like a couple of warm cheese-and-cream empanada’s that his wife had just made. Yes please! When he returned he gladly accepting a cup of wine in return. (We don’t have glasses.) Later in the evening the Mexican family lit one of the beach fire pits with a dramatic whoosh, after a splash of petrol. We joined them and the dad showed us photos of one of their whale-watching trips. It was hard for us to finally make our escape. Earlier, three enormous American motorhomes had rolled in, sides extended and cones placed around them. They dominated the campsite, a stark contrast to our modest setups and the easy generosity of our New Mexican and Chilean friends. Another day in Baja: desert dawns, shifting breezes, and the full spectrum of campervan life. After thoughts. Mid afternoon we walked past these huge motorhomes on one of our walks along the beach. They’d set up tables between two motorhomes, and they and several of their friends were drinking heavily. It was like the old Wild West films with a modern twist. Motorhomes instead of horses and wagons circling at the end of the day. What a difference to our new-found friends. The bigger the motorhome and the bigger and more powerful pickup truck, the bigger your status. It’s as though they were showing off their wealth. These motorhomes are huge and the roads the length of mountainous California Baja north and south so narrow. I fail to understand why two people and the inevitable dog, (they all seem to have dogs) would want to drive around for 1000’s of miles in such huge motor homes? Talking of dogs. They exercise these dogs on site and many of them don’t clear up after their dogs, so you have to be careful where you step. We were reliably informed, that Americans virtually live inside their motor homes because they can’t speak, or understand, Spanish. More from us later here on the last eight days in Baja California. —————————————— 28th February until 8th March 2026 Loreto and the rest of our Baja California Sur Trip Dear readers, unfortunately our blog is full and we can no longer upload text and photos. Therefore, we have seet up Part 4 of our Mexico Travelblog. You can there under 7b. read our reports and see the photos of our last week in Baja California, including Loreto and the South of Baja, as well as our adventures of the last days in Mexico City (8.). It is worthwhile checking this out. See link: https://www.rememberrelatereflect.com/en/post/vamos-amigos-come-with-us-to-mexico-part-4-of-our-travel-blog The North, 7th until 14th February 2026 Chihuahua and Copper Canyon 7th until 10th Februar 2026 Los Mochis 10th to 14th February 2026 Lisa: 7th February 2026 When we arrived in Chihuahua at the airport, there was an eery atmosphere. The sky was covered by black clouds, threatening to burst any moment. We just made it to the hotel by taxi before it began to drizzle. It was very cold. We checked in with a grumpy receptionist. We didn’t know what had got into him, possibly he was bored of his life. It was also very quiet - nobody in the restaurant, nobody speaking, only the television blasting away. We had stayed in this hotel before, and remembered it fondly. In that occasion, we only stayed a few hours, as we had arrived on the El Chepe train from Los Mochis lat at night and left early in the morning for the airport. This time we wanted to do the tour the other way round: start off in Chihuahua and get to know more of the City, which we had liked, before travelling by bus to Creel to explore the Copper Canyon and eventually take the El Chepe train to Los Mochis. This was the plan. It was freezing cold when we ventured out on Saturday night in search of a restaurant. Three was not much Saturday night life going on in the area where our hotel was and we could not be bothered to travel far in the cold. We went back to the Hotel and had a delicious chicken soup in the restaurant - just the right thing to warm us up. We were tired and went back to our room. 8th February 2026 The next morning we woke up early and worked on the blog. Overnight it had rained and the roads were wet with puddles everywhere. The sky was grey and day light did not seem to want to appear. At 10 am we went out to get some breakfast. The hotel breakfast did not look inviting. We also had no success finding breakfast in our area. There were a few stalls, where women were selling food, but that did not look particularly inviting either. A few men were huddled around the woman’s fire, to warm up, eating and getting a hot drink. They looked as though they had slept on the street, or at least somewhere not comfortable or warm. No wonder they felt cold, the temperature at 10 am was about 10 degrees, at night it had dropped to no more than 2 degrees. The City has grown in recent years, with more inhabitants, but to us it felt neglected and run down. At least in the areas we had seen, many businesses were closed and boarded up, houses were abandoned, and the streets and pavements were dirty and full of rubbish. At 11 am on a Sunday morning, the streets were empty; hardly anybody was out and about. Only a few older cars drove along the roads. Eventually, we found a nice cafe. A young lady was just about o clean the floor. She made us ham and cheese paninis for breakfast with cappuccino and she even had Twinings green tea (no black tea), We enjoyed our breakfast and took in the atmosphere of the cafe. There were shelves with books that customers could read, and board games to play. In the corner was a piano ready for someone to play. It was a very tasteful setting. We were happy to have found it. We were the only customers. I chatted with the nice young lady and she told us, we might even be the only customers that day. She had opened the cafe about 3 months ago but so far business had been very low. We.wished her well for her business and many future customers; then we continued our walk through Chihuahua. A few blocks away was the El Chepe railway station and we were keen to take photographs of the famous train. Unfortunately, the train station and its museum are closed on Sundays. We could see the train through the bars of a huge fence. We continued our exploration and passed the local prison, the Penitenciaria del Estado. The prison is overcrowded and full of gang members, which often get involved in violent fights. Throughout 2024 and 2025, following violent incidents, many high risk inmates and gang members were transferred to high security prisons to reduce overcrowding and violence. The infamous Penitenciaria del Estado Chihuahua A few houses further down from the prison is the famous Sacred Heart of Jesus Church. By now it was 1 pm and when I walked in, the Sunday mass was about to start. Some people in blue t-shirts were distributing plastic bags to worshippers; as far as I could see they contained food. I was told, it was not a special event but simply a community looking our for others. Outside on the street it suddenly became livelier as cars rolled up with people attending church; while other drove families to restaurants for Sunday lunch. Older cars were replaced by newer and bigger cars. So clearly, not all of Chihuahua was poor and run down. We also passed nice houses. Dave needed to visit the toilet so we went to a Happy Chicken restaurant (Feliz Pollo) and had a soft drink. Apart from us, only one other woman was sitting there having lunch. Business was slow there too. It felt as though there was a stark divide between posh restaurants, frequented by people with expensive cars, nice houses and the rest of the population. We decided to take the bus back to the hotel because Dave’s foot was hurting. He had injured it in Sayulita when stepping barefoot on a sharp rock on the beach, and his shoes were rubbing against the wound. In a pharmacy around the corner we bought some large plasters to cover it. We then took the bus, which took us past the historic centre with the Plaza de Armas, which we had been looking for, and groped us just around the corner from our hotel. At midday, the sun had come out and it warmed up a bit, but by 4 pm the sky was covered with heavy rain clouds and it had turned cold again. We spent the rest of the afternoon working on the blog. In the evening we went out in search of a restaurant, but once again could not find one within walking distance, so we returned to the chicken soup an the hotel. 9th February 2026 It had rained all night and dark clouds obscured the sky on Monday morning. We got up early, worked on the blog, then packed and at 8 am we went out in search of breakfast. On Monday morning, we had hoped, that life would have returned to the city and cafes would be open for workers to grab breakfast before going to work. None of this was the case. The only cafe that was open was a drive-in, not suitable for us, as we don’t have wheels. We also tried to withdraw money from a cash machine at one of the banks nearby, but there were no cash machines available and they did not exchange money either. Frustrated, we returned to the hotel, as I remembered having seen some sandwiches at reception. So we ate sandwiches in our hotel room with a cup of tea from the hot water machine. By then we had enough of this city and called a taxi to bring us to the Central Bus station as we had bus tickets for a five-hour journey to Creel. In the lift, on the way down to reception, we met a friendly young Canadian man from British Colombia. He was travelling in a Japanese-built compact Toyota mobile home. He had already been on the road for 6 months, travelling on his own, and would also be in Baja from following week. He wanted to show us his mobile home, but the our taxi arrived and we had to leave. We will look out for him in Baja and hope to see him again. It was very cold at the bus terminal. Even Dave felt the cold and opened his suitcase to get a warm jacket out, but still kept his shorts on. While we were waiting at the bus station for our bus, one of the elderly porters approached me and asked what music i liked. I thought he wanted to talk about Mexican music. It turns out, he was a fan of heavy metal and rock, in particular music by Judas Priest, and other English bands. He knew them all and had seen them in concerts in El Paso, Texas. El Paso is about 380 km from Chihuahua, and the bus journey takes about seven hours. I was genuinely surprised, as I had not expected a luggage porter to be so knowledgable about rock music and bands. But why not? Once again, I had made assumptions based on their appearance - and shouldn’t have. What do we really know about other people? Then our bus arrived and we boarded. I had booked seats 3 and 4 in the first row, but they were occupied by the bus driver’s bags. I went back outside to ask, and was told there was no seat allocation but to sit anywhere. However, by the time I returned, the best seats had already been taken and we had to move towards the back. The bus had clearly seen better days. The seat cushions were slipping, the seats wobbled, the fabric was torn, but at least there was a toilet on board. That was something I had specifically checked for when booking online, as five and a half hours is a long time to spend on a bus. So I was able to look forward to the bus ride quite calmly. Only after four and a half hours, when Dave went to use the toilet did he discover that the door had been screwed shut. So no loo after all! Just as well I hadn’t known earlier - I might have panicked. We only had another hour to go. We were glad to leave Chihuahua behind. We felt as though the city had a desolate atmosphere. I couldn’t quite understand why, so I looked online for information about recent developments in the city and the region. This is what I found: ———- Back ground information: One of the explanations I found was that drug cartels operate in the Chihuahua region, as they do also in other parts of the North of Mexico, such as Sinaloa, Jalisco, Michoacan and Guerrero. The high number of abandoned houses in Chihuahua City and the surrounding state is primarily the result of a combination of extreme violence, poor urban planning and economic factors. Many people have fled their homes, because intense ongoing violence, driven by conflicts between rival drug cartels, has turned neighbourhoods and entire communities in Chihuahua into ghost towns. Residents often abandon their homes due to kidnapping, extortion and threats. Many of the deserted houses were part of large-housing developments, built on the outskirts of the city, far away from employment centres, schools and public transport. These areas often lack basic services, making it difficult for residents to earn a living, and many of them move away. Once a few homes in a development are abandoned, they are frequently looted and vandalised, triggering a chain reaction that makes the surrounding area increasingly unsafe and prompts even more people to leave. ————- A few hours into our bus journey, it started to rain and became very cold. People standing outside on the street were wearing thick jackets, some with gloves and woolly hats. Those boarding the bus were shivering with cold. It was quite concerning, but inside the bus it was warm and comfortable, as the driver had switched on the heating. However, the full impact hit us when we got off the bus in Creel. It was absolutely freezing. There was no internet and no GPS signal, and we had no idea where we were or how to find our hotel. A kind lady in a sweet shop showed us the way to the Valle Hotel. When we arrived at the address, however, we could not see a hotel — only a large handicrafts shop. So I went inside to ask where the hotel was. The shelves were crammed with a mixture of traditional clothes, scarves, gloves, hats, souvenirs and all sorts of things one does not really need — rather tatty items. Behind the counter sat a few women, wearing gloves, scarves and woolly hats because it was so cold indoors. It turned out that this was our hotel. Heavy rain had started to fall. A young, strong woman took our suitcases outside and dragged them through the rain and mud along the street, then up to the first floor balcony platform with a row of rooms. She showed us our room. It was freezing cold. An icy wind blew in through a gap beneath the door and through the ill-fitting windows. We looked at each other in horror. The room had two double beds and a bathroom — also cold — but no wardrobe. We had booked it through booking.com and it had received glowing reviews. The room looked nothing like the photos on the website. It was Monday, and we had booked the room for four nights as a base for tours to different parts of the Copper Canyon, before taking the El Chepe train to Los Mochis on Thursday. Furthermore, the weather forecast predicted more rain throughout the week. We needed to find a way to deal with the situation. Dave fiddled with the air conditioning in the hope that it might be able to blow warm air. And — he managed it: warm air began to flow and we huddled around the unit to warm up. That made it slightly more bearable. After a while, the rain eased and we decided to go out for a walk to explore the area and find a restaurant and a shop. We also needed to go to the railway ticket office to buy tickets for Thursday. The office was open until 6 pm, so we had better hurry. Before our departure, I had researched the El Chepe timetable and we had planned our trip around taking the Thursday train to Los Mochis. Nine years earlier, we had simply gone to the ticket office in the morning, bought our tickets and boarded the train ten minutes later. Now everything was far more complicated. There is the El Chepe Express, aimed at tourists; it offers tourist, first and business class, has a bar and a viewing platform, and is often sold out. We wanted to take the regional train, as we had done before, and travel with the local population. It was cheaper and, although the view might not be quite as spectacular, it suited us better. The Thursday service had been listed as the regional train. In the last few days, when I checked online, I found conflicting information about travel days and times. So it seemed wise to sort this out and choose our tickets for Thursday in advance. We walked through puddles of muddy water — the rain had flooded the streets — and within minutes our shoes and trousers were soaked. When we arrived at the railway station, the ticket office was closed. I approached a man in a yellow vest who looked authoritative. He told me the ticket office would open the following morning at 7 am. He also said, there was no train at all on Thursday, nor on Wednesday. There was one train the next day, Tuesday, at 11.47 am, and another on Friday — but that was the El Chepe Express, which was often sold out, and he did not know whether any seats were still available. Bother! That was not what I had expected to hear, nor what my research had indicated. The timetable had changed since I last checked in December, before we started our trip, and I had not been aware of it. What were we to do now? We would have to wait until the ticket office opened the next morning and then decide. Frustrated, we left the railway station in the rain and went in search of a supermarket to buy a few tins of beer. However, none of the supermarkets sold alcohol. Later, we discovered that many restaurants did not serve alcohol either. According to my research, this is due to strict licensing regulations that restrict sales to specialised liquor shops and require special permits. These restrictions are generally intended to control availability and address alcohol-related public health concerns. Such regulations vary between states and municipalities in Mexico. Eventually, we found a liquor shop on the outskirts of town. It felt rather strange going into a liquor shop, as though we were buying forbidden goods. However, when we entered, a very friendly young woman served us. She spoke good English and we began chatting. We asked her to recommend a good restaurant, and she even wrote down the name of the place and her favourite dish, which contained a mixture of chopped meat. We thanked her and set off in search of the restaurant, Ice-Creel. It took us some time, and we had to ask several people before we finally found it. When we went in, it looked like an ice cream parlour. I showed the little note and asked whether we were in the right place. Yes, we were. So we ordered the recommended dish and looked forward to having a nice beer. Sorry — no alcohol. All right then, Fanta instead. Soon the highly recommended dish arrived. It was a tortilla filled with small pieces of chopped meat and some beans. It was tasty, but not what we had expected. We briefly considered ordering another one, but on reflection realised that even a second tortilla would probably still leave us hungry. So we paid and left in search of another restaurant serving proper food — and beer. Again, out in the rain, we soon found a restaurant called La Cabaña. It looked like a ski hut with its wooden walls. In fact, come to think of it, the whole town had the architecture and atmosphere of a ski resort, mixed with that of a Western town. Creel - after the rain with new rain clouds already gathering The restaurant was full with people eating and drinking beer, and we chose a table well away from the draughty door. We ordered chicken soup to warm up. Despite wearing two pullovers and my rain jacket, I was so cold that my hands were shaking and I spilt some of the soup while lifting the spoon to my mouth. Afterwards, we walked the short distance back to our hotel. By then our shoes were soaked and muddy, our trousers and jackets wet; I could wring out my sodden socks. Dave switched the air-conditioning unit to heating mode and we hung up our shoes and clothes to dry overnight before slipping into bed to keep warm. It was not even 8 pm. The large television did not work properly — the picture was blurry and hurt our eyes. However, we had Wi-Fi and were able to watch another episode of The Lincoln Lawyer on Netflix on Dave’s iPad, gradually warming up. We left the heater on throughout the night, as an icy draught came in through the gap beneath the door. 10th February 2026 Early in the morning I got up and worked on the blog. Then, at 7.30, we made our way through the waterlogged streets to the railway station. We had made a snap decision to get out of the town as quickly as possible rather than wait and hope that a train might be available on Friday. We wanted to leave immediately and did not worry about the two hotel nights we had already paid for. It was still dark, freezing cold and thoroughly miserable. Although the rain had stopped, black clouds gathered on the horizon, threatening more rain throughout the day. Parts of the road and pavement that were not flooded were covered in ice. As we approached the railway station, masses of people with luggage were moving towards a waiting train. There was a train leaving at 8 am — yet only the previous day we had been told that there was just one train at 11.47. What was going on? We pushed our way through the crowds of tourists and I asked someone where the train was going. “I don’t know,” came the reply. They asked others, “Where are we going?” — “I don’t know.” Finally, someone was able to tell us that it was the 8 o’clock train to Los Mochis. There was no way we could return to the hotel, pack, and make it back in time. In any case, hundreds of people were trying to board, and there was no guarantee that seats were still available. We made our way to the ticket office instead. A very friendly lady informed us that the train was full, but sold us tickets for the 11.47 regional service. Phew — at least we were safe. The El Chepe Express, the tourist train, carries between 340 and 540 passengers, depending on the configuration. It has six passenger carriages, a bar, a restaurant and a terrace with a viewing platform. There are three classes — tourist, executive and first class — and ticket prices range from 1,200 to 5,400 Mexican pesos (£51 to £230). We paid 1,030 pesos (£43) for our seats on the regional train. The regional service takes longer, as it stops at many more places along the route. Calmly, we watched the tourists fighting to board the train and walked alongside the El Chepe to take some photographs. We were constantly followed by a few dogs that ran between our legs and nearly made us trip over. We simply could not shake them off. They did not bother the locals at all. Presumably, they had seen too many soppy films in which poor little stray dogs are taken home by tourists and live happily ever after. Sorry, mate — not with us. Off you go. While we were waiting for the train to depart, many of the cars arriving in town — possibly from the surrounding hills — were covered in snow. Unbelievable - snow in Mexico! Eventually, the enormous El Chepe rolled past us and we took our photos. Afterwards, we went to the restaurant Las Cabañas for breakfast. I was delighted to see a large box with a selection of tea bags. There was no black tea, but I settled for the last bag of Earl Grey, which was the closest option. I had a mushroom omelette and Dave chose fried eggs. After a good breakfast the world felt much better. Back at the hotel, we packed and worked a little more on the blog before leaving and returning the key to the owners, who were once again sitting in gloves and hats in their souvenir shop. We were relieved to be leaving what had felt like a rather inhospitable town. We arrived at the railway station early. An icy wind swept across the platform, although it was slightly warmer inside the ticket office. Suddenly, I realised that in all the morning’s commotion we had forgotten to book a hotel in Los Mochis. We were due to arrive there at around 9.30 pm with nowhere to stay. Panic. I tried searching online on my phone, but there was no signal. What were we to do? We could not even telephone a hotel, as we did not know any in Los Mochis. I approached the kind ticket clerk and, miraculously, she gave me access to her private internet connection. How incredibly generous of her. We had only a few minutes before the train arrived. I searched quickly and found a hotel with good reviews, booked it for the next four nights, and informed them that we would be arriving late on the El Chepe regional train. Phew — that was close, but at least we had somewhere to stay. We will always remember what happened the last time we were in Los Mochis. Our plane was delayed and, although I had telephoned from Mexico City airport to inform the hotel that we would be late, they gave our room away and the hotel was closed when we arrived. That triggered a rather interesting chain of events, which I later wrote up as a story. See here… De: https://www.rememberrelatereflect.com/post/auf-dem-weg-zum-copper-canyon-in-nordmexiko En: https://www.rememberrelatereflect.com/en/post/on-the-way-to-the-copper-canyon-in-northern-mexico The train arrived. I thanked the very kind ticket clerk and we boarded. Everything was very well organised. The train had left Chihuahua at 6 am and already had passengers on board. Several conductors were on hand, directing people to allocated seats. There was an economy class as well as a social economy class, with cheaper fares. A large group of mostly Indigenous passengers who had gathered at the far end of the platform with substantial luggage boarded those carriages. We entered the economy-class carriage. Dave struggled with our luggage because one woman tried to squeeze past — very pushy, even though we all had assigned seats. Once we reached ours, Dave tried to position our hand luggage safely on the floor by our feet. The same woman was sitting in the seat in front of him and abruptly pushed her seat back. As there was resistance — Dave’s knee and hip were in the way — she pushed even harder. I had to tell her to stop. She then turned round and told us to put our hand luggage on the overhead rack so that she would have more space. That was precisely what we did not want to do, as it contained our expensive camera equipment (though I did not mention that). I asked one of the conductors who allocated seats, whether we could change to other seats as ours had restricted view. No problem - and we were far away from this very pushy lady. Eventually, we all settled down and the train departed, half an hour late. There was plenty of space in our carriage, and many seats were empty at first, though they gradually filled up along the route. The Chepe Express had started its journey in rain and fog, but now, four hours later, the rain had stopped and, to our surprise, the sun even came out. We were lucky and enjoyed good views. Unfortunately, the windows were cracked and not ideal for photography, but at the end of the carriage there was a small platform where passengers could stand to admire the scenery and take pictures. Many did so, despite the big sign saying it was prohibited to stand on this platform as it was not safe. We spent some time there. The journey was magnificent. The scenery was breathtaking. A man offered to take a photo of me leaning out of the window with my phone, from one window to the next, but I declined. He might have dropped it while leaning out — or worse, run off with it. Who knows? Better safe than sorry. Spectacular views of the Copper Canyon at Divisadero. At the stop in Divisadero, we were allowed off the train for fifteen minutes. We remembered the location from our previous trip and hurried to the viewpoint from which there is a spectacular panorama of the Copper Canyon mountains, so that we could take some photographs. Then we returned to the train and continued our journey through mountains and forests, and over bridges. El Chepe - the link between the mountains of the North and the Pacific Coast. A relaxed atmosphere in the train: the conductor chatting with passengers. It was a long trip — eleven hours in total — though we managed to make up some of the delay. We were relieved when we finally arrived in Los Mochis at around 9 pm. We looked for a taxi, but no one wanted to take us — possibly because the town centre was not far enough to make the fare worthwhile. Eventually, one driver, Ernesto, agreed to take us, but to compensate for the short distance he also picked up another couple along the way. Within ten minutes we arrived at the Hotel Central Americano in the centre of town. We were shown to our room and were shocked. There was a tiny window set so high that you could not see out of it. The fridge was filthy. The air conditioning had cables hanging down, secured with tape. The bathroom light above the sink was loose, with just the bare bulb exposed — touch it with wet fingers and you could electrocute yourself. There was no wardrobe, nowhere to put our clothes, and nowhere to place toiletries in the bathroom. And this was a hotel with a review score of 9.0? There was no resemblance to the photos on booking.com . We simply could not believe it. We went down to reception and asked for another room, but there were none available. The hotel was fully booked — perhaps something might become free the following day. Most likely, they had let out all the better rooms and kept this one in reserve in case we failed to turn up. We were furious and did not sleep well that night, even though we were absolutely exhausted. Los Mochis 11th until 14th February 2026 11th February 2026 The next morning I spoke to one of the cleaning ladies, who kindly showed us several rooms that had already been vacated. They were much nicer — not perfect, but certainly better than ours. We arranged to change rooms and then went down for a very tasty breakfast. We were far happier with the new room. It was cleaner, better organised, and the light fittings were secure. It even had a small desk and chair. That was perfectly adequate for us. After spending some time working on the blog, we went out, changed some money, explored the town and found a launderette. Life was beginning to look up. We stopped at a café for a Coca-Cola, but the owner did not sell fizzy drinks. She specialised in healthy beverages and persuaded us to try protein shakes instead. Dave’s was a vivid pink. And they say this is healthy? We chatted for a while and eventually she asked how old we were. She seemed very surprised and said we looked so young and fit. Thank you very much. She herself was 64 and looked considerably older (despite the protein shakes). Over the past few weeks, several people had asked our age and seemed astonished that we were still fit enough to travel. In Mexico, people are often considered old at 60, partly because of the harsher living conditions. The average life expectancy is around 75 — 72 for men and 77 for women. Dave is already well beyond that and still strong and in excellent shape. We carried on, dropped off our laundry at a launderette, and then looked for a restaurant for dinner. We could not find any. When we asked, we were told that there were no standalone restaurants and that most dining options were located inside hotels. We eventually found a restaurant in Hotel Fénix and studied the menu. Dave discovered they served pozole — a hearty soup with beans and generous portions of pork knuckle. That suited us perfectly. No alcohol, though. Never mind. We returned to our hotel, worked on the blog for a while, and then went back to the Fénix for dinner. This is delicious! The soup was delicious. The meat fell off the bone. It was rather too much meat for me, but still extremely tasty. With full stomachs, we walked back to our hotel, where a beer was waiting for us in the fridge. We watched another episode of The Lincoln Lawyer on Netflix and then fell into a deep sleep. 12th February 2026 Los Mochis is not a tourist destination in the traditional sense, and there is little to see or do for visitors. It does not have a Plaza de Armas where people gather. The city functions more as a business centre and transport hub. It is relatively young, founded in 1903, and has grown to become the third largest city in the state of Sinaloa. It is the western terminus of the Chihuahua-Pacific Railway (El Chepe), which passes through the scenic Copper Canyon. The railway concession was authorised and promoted by President Porfirio Díaz between 1897 and 1902 as a trade route linking the cattle markets in Kansas City with the nearest Pacific port, Topolobampo. Today, the North Pacific region of Mexico (Sinaloa and Sonora) is Sinaloa’s principal agricultural area, producing sugar cane, cotton, rice, flowers, and a wide variety of vegetables. Transport connections are provided by air via Los Mochis Airport or by sea from the nearby port of Topolobampo. From Topolobampo, an overnight ferry carries cars and passengers across the narrow stretch of water to Baja California. On this day, we wanted to explore the port and beach area of Topolobampo. We packed our swimming costumes and took a local bus on the 40-minute journey to Topo, as the locals call it. Taxi drivers in Los Mochis offer trips to the Marviri Islands in Topolobampo Bay, which are said to be very beautiful. It is a long and expensive journey, which we did not want to undertake today, as we will soon be in Baja California and will have plenty of time to enjoy the beaches there. In Topo we wandered along the streets and visited a small local museum that displayed a replica of the first fighter aeroplane that had operated in the area in 1914 — a fascinating story, which I am sure Dave will elaborate on. The first fighter aeroplane in 1914 in Topolobampo, A replica of the first fighter aeroplane. We then strolled along the Malecón. It was not quite what we had expected. The water was green and reeked of algae. Pelicans perched on boats or waded in the water, hunting for fish. A few fishermen waited in the shade, offering tourist trips to the surrounding islands — though there were none to see at that time. A few groups of people sat on benches drinking beer. There was no proper beach, and swimming in the green water was not inviting at all. We walked towards the port to see the ferry, but it was not there, presumably still out at sea. We had considered taking the ferry across to Baja California, but there was conflicting information online regarding the sailing days and times, and booking proved complicated. We did not want to risk having to wait several days for a ferry with available space, as we had already booked a motorhome in La Paz and were on a tight schedule. In the end, we opted to fly — a rather complicated route via Mexico City to San José del Cabo. Surprisingly, the flight was only slightly more expensive than the eleven-hour ferry. At the far end of the Malecón, there were a few pleasant restaurants and cafés, likely catering to tourists arriving or leaving by ferry. We stopped for tea and coffee in a lovely café, where the friendly waitress assured us that the area came alive in the evenings before the boats departed. Soon after, we made our way back by bus. We were tired, and rather than facing another pork-knuckle soup, we stayed in for the evening and settled for a bag of peanuts and a beer for dinner. 13th February 2026 I slept straight through until 5.30 in the morning — I must have been completely exhausted. Today we faced the tricky task of withdrawing a rather large sum of money from ATMs. Tomorrow we are flying to Baja California, and on Sunday morning we are due to pick up our camper van. As part of the deal with VanBaja, the motorhome hire company, and to save on tax for the second payment, we had agreed to pay this second instalment in cash. Since we did not want to carry such a large amount of cash around Mexico for long, we needed to withdraw it shortly before the payment was due. Given our previous experience with ATMs in Sayulita, we were hoping that a business city like Los Mochis would make the process easier. Yesterday, we had tested the waters — or rather, the cash machine — at the bank opposite the hotel, and it had worked. So, after breakfast, we went across the road to the same bank. To withdraw 48,000 Mexican pesos (£2,035), we had to take out the daily maximum from each of our cards. Three of the cards worked perfectly, but the last one refused on several machines. Back at the hotel, Dave called our bank in England. They assured us that the card had not been tampered with and should be fine. We tried another bank, and finally — success! Now we are all set for tomorrow morning. The money is safely hidden away. The taxi driver will arrive at 5 am to take us to the airport, which means packing today and getting up at 4 am. Isn’t travelling fun! We also booked a hotel in La Paz, Baja California, for tomorrow night, near the airport, as VanBaja, where we collect the camper van, is nearby. 14th February 2026 Today was an exhausting travel day. We got up at 4 am, the taxi picked us up at 5 am. The drive to the airport at this time of the day only took 25 minutes. The airport was still dark, but we saw inside some people and through a sliding door we got inside. Yesterday, I had received an email from the airline Volaris, urging us to be at least 3 hours before departure time at the airport. Departure time was 8am. When we arrived at 5.25 am  everything was still closed, including the Starbucks Cafe. The airport slowly  came to life just after 6.15. We checked in and had still time to have some breakfast. Then we went through security where I had to hand over my Swiss pocket knife, as I had forgotten to pack it into my suitcase. Shit! The flight was an hour delayed, but we were not bothered, as we had a long stopover in Mexico City before our flight to Baja. When we landed, the woman next to me received a phone call and suddenly burst into tears. She sobbed loudly, desperately and inconsolable. Two flight attendants tried to consolidate her. In tears she said she immediately had to go back to Los Mochis. Some surrounding female passengers handed her tissues. The flight attendants offered to help her and led her off the plane before everyone else. We other passengers were shocked having experienced her desperation. Some of us probably thinking back to a desperate situation they had faced themselves. I still now think of her, what might have happened, and what she would be doing now. The airport terminal in Mexico City is still under construction with lots of building work going on in preparation for the Football Cup. Dust and noice and smell of glue everywhere. Never mind. We soon entered our next flight and arrived in Baja California. We stayed at the Airport Hotel, because Vanbaja, where we will pick-up our camper van tomorrow, is nearby. The hotel was a welcome change to the hotels we had stayed at during the last week: It had a huge room and a bed that was as large as our total bedroom at home. We had dinner in the hotel as there was no other restaurant around, and the fish fillets in garlic were delicious. Afterwards, I was tired and exhausted and operated on autopilot. That had consequences: When cleaning my teeth I realised that the toothpaste did not foam and tasted horrible. Without my glasses on, I had taken the wrong tube: instead of the new blue Mexican toothpaste, I had taken the (also blue) anti-mosquito cream. Quickly, I rinsed my mouth to get rid of the horrible taste and cleaned my teeth extra long and extra carefully with the right toothpaste. Dave’s commentary: I should be glad as now at least my mouth was a mosquito-free zone! ——————— Dave: 08th February 2026 A solid night’s sleep at last, only interrupted by a few trips to the loo. I was up at 06:00 and working on my diary after a shower, while Lisa began hers at 06:30 from the comfort of the warm bed. Breakfast at the hotel was a non-starter, the restaurant was full, with just one free table, so we set out in search of alternatives. Finding nothing open nearby, we walked towards the famous El Chepe railway station. En route, in a rather seedy area, we found a small café serving paninis and, more importantly, tea for Lisa. The walk to the station was long and, frustratingly, it was closed, although still worth seeing. On the way back we stopped for a cold drink opposite the state penitentiary, where I was extremely grateful for a conveniently timed toilet break. Whilst I was otherwise occupied, Lisa went online and booked tomorrow’s bus from Chihuahua to Creel: MX$400 (£16.50) at the seniors discounted rate of 50%. We stopped at the cathedral, Lisa venturing inside, then we caught the bus back to the hotel for MX$22 (93p). I was knackered and dozed while Lisa pressed on with the German blog translation. Tomorrow’s task: photo updates from 28 January to 7 February. Dinner was their excellent chicken soup again, albeit with no crackers, and only one spice pot). Standards are certainly slipping! We were the sole diners. Back in our room we went to bed to began Season 4 of The Lincoln Lawyer, newly released, but ten minutes in Beverley called. They were enjoying their final days in Mexico City, and they too had had an earthquake warning. Terry narrowly avoided losing his wallet to a three-man distraction gang, quick reactions and a chase forced them to drop it. A lucky escape indeed. 09th February 2026 Another restless night, whether from the antibiotics or a touch of flu, I’m not sure. I woke feeling decidedly under par: head tender, eyes like fried eggs, and alternating between hot and cold. At 07:40 it was still dark and just 12°C, sunrise not until 07:48. During a brief pause in the rain we went in search of breakfast, but everywhere was closed, even approaching 09:00. OXXO yielded nothing but crisps and biscuits, so we retreated to the Ibis and chose the freshest-looking two of the four sandwiches available. Chihuahua seems larger than when we last visited, but also more rundown. There’s talk of families moving away because of cartel violence, and the place feels neglected and subdued. We packed, went down, and ordered an Uber to the bus station MX$87 (£3.67). Outside we bumped into the young Canadian with his British Columbia campervan. He was six months into a ten-month adventure, and also heading to Creel. We said our goodbyes and hoped our paths might cross again. Our 11:00 bus, supposedly a 4½-hour journey, quickly descended into disorganisation. Although our tickets showed seats 3 and 4, the driver declared open seating. Fortunately we secured two together. The coach had seen better days: some seats broken and stuck fully reclined. Some passengers had to stand in the aisle. I go for a pee, but there are 5 screws holding the one toilet door firmly closed. Broken seats, seat allocation nil and the toilet locked more securely than Fort Knox. I’m glad we’re travelling 1st and not 2nd class!   There is no intel from our driver, so we don’t know when he pulls to a stop, whether its just to pick up/drop off passengers, or maybe just that little bit longer so we can get in a quick pee. One things  for sure, nobody dares to try as our driver isn’t interested, and would simply drive off with our luggage and leave us behind.  So we just sit and suffer, hoping our ordeal will be soon over. We finally reached Creel around 17:00 in cold, soaking conditions. Water flooding the streets.  Hotel Los Valles bore little resemblance to its online photos, and the room was freezing, though I managed to tweak the air-conditioning into producing warm air. Determined to clarify El Chepe train times before the 18:00 closing, we set out for the train in torrential rain. We’ll before we reached the ticket office Lisa’s shoes and socks were soaked, and when we got there at 17:30 it was closed. An official in a yellow vest told us it reopened again at 07:00, but there remains confusion between the times of the Express and regular El Chepe services. On the way back into town from the ticket office we’re surrounded by dogs and they’re an absolute nuisance. They’re constantly around your feet tripping you up. These are tagged street dogs, who think tourists are a soft touch, and they only pester them and leave the locals alone. Streetwise dogs indeed.  Hungry, cold and drenched, we eventually found warmth and a good meal at the delightful La Cabaña restaurant diagonally opposite our hotel. We had chicken soup, washed down with bottles of Modelo Negro beer.  Back in our chilly room, socks drying on the air-con, I set the temperature to 26°C, climbed under the thick teddy-bear over blanket, watched another episode of The Lincoln Lawyer, and fell asleep to the relentless drumming of rain on the roof. 10th February 2026 Thanks to the central heating we slept well, though I woke at 02:30 with painful toenails, but a quick trim solved that and I managed a few more hours’ sleep. Just before 07:00 we set out in a clear but freezing 2C morning to the station to book the 11:47 El Chepe Regional train to Los Mochis. The platform was already chaotic, with the 08:00 El Chepe Express preparing to depart, and passengers scrambling to board. This El Chepe Express was news to us, but it was fully booked anyway. The helpful clerk secured us seats on the regional service for MX$2,068 (£87.87) for both of us (the Express would have been MX$2,364). We walked back carefully over icy sleepers and had breakfast at La Cabaña, passing cars coming into town covered in snow. The famous El Chepe - just before leaving Creel. Snow on the cars, black ice on the pavements - its really cold in Creel. Lisa is overjoyed about the selection of teas. Back at our “hotel” we caught up on emails and blog posts, then checked out at 11:00, reclaiming our MX$50 key deposit and forfeiting two remaining nights, no great loss given the mismatch with its online photos. Another complaint for later. At the station we waited in the chilly sunshine (still only 2C) for the 11:47 train to arrive. Passengers in the waiting room. It was a mad scramble boarding, when it did, but after being allocated seats with limited visibility, we charmed our carriage conductor, a football fan, with tales of Liverpool FC, and he moved us to better window seats, cracked glass notwithstanding. The train pulled away with a mournful blast of its klaxon. We felt safe and well protected on the train. We stopped briefly at Divisadero at 13:30 for a 15 minute break to let us stretch our legs and photograph the dramatic canyons. We got out of the train, taking our rucksacks with us, because you don’t know what some of the characters on this train are capable of. The carriage was full when we boarded, it was a good idea to  mark our territory with our hats and jackets before we got off.   At Temoris a fellow passenger tipped me off about an upcoming 100-metre-high bridge the train would pass over. Photographers gathered by the open window despite warning signs written in big letters on the wall, ‘Prohibited to stand in this area’. After much jostling for position, and some near-misses with passing foliage, the bridge itself proved underwhelming, and we were over it in 20 seconds. We noted the one-hour time difference with Los Mochis, Mexico City is an hour in front, important for our onward flight on Saturday, via Mexico City, to Baja California Sur to pickup our campervan. As dusk fell we passed El Fuerte, where we’d travelled to Creel from nine years ago, and later Sufragio, arriving in warm Los Mochis at 20:45. It was chaos getting off the train and even more so getting a taxi. A taxi valet grabbed our suitcases and took them to a group of taxi drivers, where we were allocated a driver, together with a young couple. We got in the back, the young couple had to squeeze together onto the passenger seat. We reached our hotel, the rather grandly named Hotel America Centro at 21:30 and paid our driver the set fare of MX$150 (£6.34).  Our allocated room was disappointing but the hotel was full, so no change possible until tomorrow. After showers, and another episode of The Lincoln Lawyer, we turned in, tired but satisfied after a memorable, and eventful day on the rails.  11th February 2026 I was awake at 04:30, thanks to a bus idling on the opposite side of the road. Beside the crossroads, a group of drivers gathered beside it for what looked like a pre-work smoke. They finally drove off at 05:15, but not before making one hell of a racket, another good reason to change rooms. I worked on my diary until Lisa woke around 06:00 and began hers. By 06:30 I was tired enough to doze for an hour and a half. We showered and had breakfast. The maids kindly showed us a couple of rooms and we chose Room 81, which was an internal room overlooking a courtyard. We approached reception prepared for a fight about the faults in our original room. We’d made a list: a broken bathroom light without a shade, a missing table, and a damaged air-conditioning surround, a loose taped electrical cable, a dirty fridge and a noisy room overlooking the street. To their credit, the staff agreed immediately and moved us without fuss. Even so, we’ve made notes and will be writing to Booking.com when we’re back in England. Our hotel had no resemblance to the photos neither inside or outside. This outside picture was photoshopped to let disappear the ugly electricity posts in front of it. After settling in, we continued working on the blog. Around noon we went out to find a lavadero so we’d have clean clothes for our flight to Baja California Sur on Saturday via Mexico City. We found one a few blocks away. A brief stop on our way back to our hotel at a rather intense health café ended with a polite escape. We dropped off our 3.9kg of dirty washing, which cost MX$160 (£6.78). A fully loaded working car. We’d already checked the menu at the Hotel Fenix, spotted Pozole, and that had settled our dinner plans. At 19:30we walked the two blocks to the hotel restaurant. Their Pozole was excellent; the service painfully slow. It had turned cool by the time we walked back. Back in our room we had a rum nightcap, and watched another episode of The Lincoln Lawyer After that we crashed out. 12th February 2026  I was up at 05:45 for another diary session, finally finishing Wednesday’s entry three hours later. After breakfast, just as good as yesterday’s, we checked emails before heading out for a bus to Topolobampo, swimming trunks packed just in case. The 40-minute ride ended by the malecón, where friendly locals ensured we found our way. _________________________ We visited the modest but interesting Museo Comunitario Juan Noriega Valdivia. Background information: This community museum highlights: The First Naval–Air Battle in History (1914) during the Mexican Revolution, which took place in Topolobampo Bay. Historical photographs and documents. A scale model of an early biplane. Maritime and railway history of the port. It is a modest museum but historically interesting because of the aviation connection. ________________________________ A replica of the first fighter aeroplane in 1914. The waterfront itself was less appealing, with strong-smelling algae, murky water and no chance of a swim. There were many pelicans patrolled the bay, or lounging on the fishing and tourist boats bobbing about in the gentle breeze and 30C heat. We took a break at the far end of the Malecon for drinks at Alma de Mar café. We walked back along the Malecon before catching the minibus back to Los Mochis (MX$120 for both). After collecting laundry, we retreated to the air-conditioned room for a rest, then worked through photos from Creel and our El Chepe journey. At 18:00 we enjoyed a cold beer while watching a documentary about the making of ‘Rumours’ by Fleetwood Mac. We never made it out for dinner, peanuts sufficed, and rounded off the evening with two episodes of ‘The Lincoln Lawyer’, before lights out at 22:15. 13th February 2026 I was awake at 06:00 and quickly discovered I’d deleted something I shouldn’t have, which meant rewriting 11th February. Bother!! While I wrestled with that, Lisa worked on the German version of our blog. We finally broke for breakfast at 10:00. I was also battling with the TomTom, trying to download the Mexico map, but the hotel Wi-Fi stubbornly redirected me to its IP address page. A problem for another day. We’re getting a special cash deal on the campervan rental, so needed to withdraw MX$48,000 (£2,035.68). In the afternoon we went to the bank opposite. Lisa’s cards worked perfectly, but one of mine was repeatedly rejected. Back in the room I called First Direct; they could see no withdrawal attempts and suggested trying another bank. I did, and it worked immediately. The issue was clearly with the first bank. Crisis averted. We also booked a hotel for Saturday night near the camper rental office and the airport, the Hotel Aeropuerto Los Cabos, conveniently within walking distance of departures. Our flight to Los Cabos International Airport goes via Mexico City, departing Los Mochis International Airport at 07:57. We were advised to arrive three hours early, so alarms are set for 04:00 with a taxi booked for 05:00. We worked until 18:30, then headed out to a local fiesta before dinner at the Hotel Fenix Restaurant. The fiesta was underwhelming, fast-food stalls around the perimeter, clothes and trinkets within, and in the centre a bandstand surrounded by happy parents, smartphones held a loft, taking photos a 7 year old singing very badly, and so off key it made my ears bleed. We left for the Fenix restaurant. Dinner was quick, Lisa had flautas, I chose tacos, before returning to finish packing. We managed half an episode of The Lincoln Lawyer before an early night, ready for the pre-dawn start. 14th February 2026 Our alarms sounded at 04:00 on Valentine’s Day. (XX). We showered, packed, and met our taxi at 05:00. Twenty-five minutes later we were at Los Mochis International Airport, paying MX$300 (£12.69) for the ride. The airport didn’t officially open until 06:00, though the doors were already ajar and a couple of early travellers were inside. We sat near Starbucks, where mosquitoes lurking in the pot plants made a meal of us while we had cups of coffee, and tea and shared half a baguette. The terminal soon filled. We checked our luggage through to Los Cabos International Airport and headed for security, where Lisa’s Swiss Army knife was confiscated, she’d forgot to put in the suitcase due to the early start. Our flight was delayed by 23 minutes, but boarding was swift once the aircraft arrived, and we were seated and ready to go by 08:10. Nothing was complimentary, even a small carton of apple juice came at a price, very much the Mexican equivalent of a EasyJet, or Ryanair. Approaching Mexico City in the smog. We landed in Mexico City at 11:10, but were briefly held on the tarmac due to an unspecified emergency. Five minutes later we taxied to the gate. The woman beside Lisa suddenly burst into tears, she had received news of a death and needed to return immediately to Los Mochis. The crew seemed uncertain how best to help her; it was an awkward and emotional scene. Inside the terminal, preparations for summer football were causing confusion, and creating a lot of dust. We were sent to one end of the airport and then back again, good for the step counter if nothing else. The onward flight to Baja California Sur took about 1 hour 45 minutes, landing at Aeropuerto de Los Cabos at 15:15 local time (we gained an hour). Disembarking via the rear steps into a warm 29C was a pleasant change after Creel. We thought Los Cabos was a tiny airport, but look how many aeroplanes are docking. Our bags were among the first on the carousel. After passing through security, we phoned for the hotel courtesy shuttle. The signal was poor and the rapid local accent didn’t help, but by luck I spotted the hotel courtesy vehicle outside. There were just the two of us, and a pilot, aboard. We checked into the Hotel Aeropuerto Los Cabos, room 226,  which was a welcome step up from some of our recent ‘hotel’ stays. I finally managed to download the Baja California Sur map onto the TomTom as this hotel had a better wifi, and we spent a good few hours catching up on our blog. Dinner tonight will be in the hotel restaurant.

As in previous travels we want to share our experiences and adventures with you. One month into our travels, we have already covered a lot and our post is full, overloaded with text and photos. As a result, we continue from here onwards with part 2 of our travel blog. Enjoy. ——————— Dear readers, over the last two months we have reported here so much about our adventures that the blog post can’t take any more text and photos.  We will open a part 3 travel blog and will continue there with reporting about our trip to the North, including Chihuahua and the train journey through the Copper Canyon and Los Mochis on the Pacific Coast. You can also read about our last destination on this trip, when we travel with a hired camper van through Baja California. Please check it out. https://www.rememberrelatereflect.com/en/post/vamos-amigos-come-with-us-to-mexico-part-3-of-our-travel-blog ———————- Pacific Coast: Sayulita, 2nd February to 7th February 2026 Lisa: Sayulita 2nd February 2026 On Monday morning, we got up early to catch our flight to Puerto Vallarta. All four of us were ready by 7:15, waiting for Fernando—the taxi driver who'd taken us to Teotihuacan—to drive us to the airport. It cost 900 pesos (£38)!! (The Uber Dave ordered on our arrival had been just 215 pesos/£9, but with four people and luggage, we needed a bigger car.) We sped through the empty streets of Mexico City on a bank holiday morning, arriving early despite the airport already buzzing with travellers. We squeezed through the crowds until I found a helpful Aeromexico staffer who took us under her wing, printing our boarding passes and checking-in our bags. With the right person helping, it was all straightforward. We sailed through security with time for breakfast. Beverley remembered her HSBC global membership, granting lounge access (no guests allowed), so she and Terry headed there. Dave and I went to the Chilli Cafe next door: hot chocolate and banana pancakes for me (no black tea available), cappuccino and croissant for him. We finished just in time to head to the gate. The flight ran late but made up time, landing on schedule in Puerto Vallarta. I'd been coordinating with Laura, our Sayulita house contact, who waited outside in her car. With no parking, she looped around the corner, hoping we'd emerge soon. Once outside, my internet died, but then she pulled up in her white Honda. We fit two suitcases in the boot—then it was full. No problem: Laura pulled out rope, we hoisted the other two onto the roof, tied them down, and were off. The hour-long drive cost another 900 pesos. I felt a twinge of apprehension returning to Sayulita and the house I'd recommended to the group. Friends had tipped us off about Sayulita for our last visit, and we loved it—especially after Thanksgiving, when the American crowds went home and it quieted down. Our old hotel had turned into an pricey boutique hotel, so renting a house suited better for our group of four. Tucked back from the noisy centre and beach, it promised (per Booking.com photos) a stunning terrace view. I hoped everyone would love it. We arrived and dragged our cases up steep stairs. The property had two apartments: Boho 1 below and our Boho 2 (ours) on top. It featured two en-suite bedrooms, a kitchen/living room, and a lovely terrace overlooking the forest—like being in the treetops. The kitchen had all the basics we needed. I breathed a sigh of relief when the others approved. The beach, which Google Map showed as just a short distance away, wasn’t accessible through the forest, but via the village and was 10 minutes away. No problem. Once we settled in, we took a walk to explore the area and check out the stores, figuring out the best spots to shop and grab food for dinner and breakfast. With a kitchen on hand, we planned to cook for ourselves over the next few days. I remembered the location of the food and vegetable market, where we bought avocados, potatoes, onions, tomatoes, courgettes, garlic, and a pineapple. Beverley had also picked up avocados from another store—you can never have too many! We also bought olive oil, bread, cheese, beer, and ice for drinks. On our way down to the village, we'd spotted a restaurant with chicken on the BBQ and made a mental note to grab one for dinner. But when we passed by later, none were available, and the waiter said they didn't have chicken on the menu. Had we gotten it wrong? Nope—it turned out the grilled chicken was just for the staff, courtesy of one waiter's granny. Bon appétit! Unfortunately, it was too late by then to get fresh chicken or fish, so we settled for tinned sardines in tomato sauce for dinner. No big deal. Many bars were offering happy hour specials—two cocktails for the price of one—so we grabbed a margarita and a pomelo cocktail before heading home to cook. While waiting for our drinks, Dave dashed off to a recommended shop across the village to buy rum for our sundowners on the terrace later. For dinner, we started with guacamole, followed by tinned pilchards in tomato sauce with potatoes. Yummy! We enjoyed our dinner on the terrace, listening to the sounds around us. 3rd February 2026 We had a good night's sleep, though the room was a bit hot—still, I'm not complaining. After the cold in Mexico City, it was lovely to feel warm again. Dave and I got up shortly after 6 am to sit on the terrace, read the news, write our blog, and listen to the birds singing and cockerels crowing. It was lovely! We were only disturbed a bit later by someone firing up a chainsaw. Grrrh. Later, we had breakfast again with avocados, toast, cheese, eggs, and butter. After breakfast, Dave and I headed to the village to buy fresh fish from the fishmonger. They'd sold out yesterday afternoon, but today they had plenty of red snappers and a big pile of dorado fillets. We watched the fishmonger filleting the dorado—very skilled with a big sharp knife. We wanted two medium-sized red snappers, but they only had big ones or small ones, so we bought four smaller fish and had them gutted and cleaned. Four fish cost about 200 pesos (£8). When we got back to the house, we met two Mexican women who had rented the lower part of our place. Mother and daughter, they lived in Oklahoma and had come for a week's holiday. They also owned a house in Guadalajara, where they were heading today for a few days before flying home. The younger woman had a little Chihuahua with her. She explained that it was her support dog—she's diabetic, and it's a trained diabetic alert dog (DAD) that detects high or low blood sugar levels from her breath and body odour, alerting her or even waking her if she passes out. She's a dog trainer herself, specialising in medical assistance dogs. We were fascinated by how skilful these little dogs can be. When her dog was on duty, it wore a special vest; once she took it off, it was off duty and could relax. On the beach, it went wild—running in circles, digging holes, and so on. You wouldn't believe such a tiny dog carried so much responsibility! In the afternoon, we headed back to the village. Sayulita is a lovely spot, with plenty of bars and restaurants spilling out onto tables in the street, plus shops selling clothes, jewellery, and handicrafts. It has a very pleasant, relaxed atmosphere. Tourists love hiring golf buggies—loads raced around town. We were offered one too, but declined. Dave told the guy we prefer to walk, and he laughingly called us 'Chevro-legs'. Terry and Beverley wanted to browse the shops, so Dave and I went to the beach. We passed rows of tents and sun umbrellas packed with people enjoying the sun, sea, drinks, and massages, then strolled along the long beach towards the end of the bay. It was wonderful feeling the warm sun on our shoulders and bodies, cooled by the sea breeze. Pelicans soared high and dived for fish, while swimmers plunged into the waves. Dave went in too and loved the surf, though a strong current meant you had to be careful not to get dragged out. We passed where we thought our old hotel had been, but couldn't spot it— so many new ones had sprung up along the beach, probably obscuring the view. We were glad we'd found our house, away from the hustle and bustle. We still had to watch the sun, so at 5:30 we headed home and joined Terry and Beverley on the terrace for tea and coffee. We watched our neighbour take her dog for a dip in the swimming pool. I made a mental note not to use private pools any more—you could pick up dog fleas and other unhygienic things. Or am I just too fussy? Dave had taken on the task of cooking dinner. This turned out to be quite a challenge, as we had an electric stove with two hobs, a microwave, and an electric American Oster countertop convection oven. Laura, who looks after the place, said the oven is mostly used as a toaster rather than a proper cooker. Undeterred, Dave looked up on YouTube how this monster worked. According to YouTube, the oven could also be used for baking, and the fish should take only 20 minutes at 400°F. Reality, however, was different. In addition to the fish in one tray, we had potatoes, courgettes, and carrots in another. That tray was too large to fit on the lower level, so it had to be placed above the fish. To make things more interesting, every so often the oven stopped working, switched itself off, and had to be reset. As a result, everything took a bit longer—but we had time. We enjoyed a beer on the terrace, with no rush at all. When dinner was finally ready, it was delicious. 4th February 2026 We had a good night’s sleep, although it was a bit hot (I’m not complaining). Dave said he had a toothache and wanted to see a dentist. Beverley and Terry prepared breakfast: fruit salad and yoghurt, toast with cheese, and scrambled eggs. It was very delicious. After breakfast, Dave and I ventured out in search of a dentist. A Google search revealed several dentists in the village. We chose one with good reviews—mainly from US families who said they visited Sayulita regularly and always went to the same dentist. Possibly this is because dental treatment here is cheaper for foreigners than in their own countries. The dental practice was on the other side of the village, past the bridge on Avenida Revolución. We were able to get an appointment for Dave that same afternoon, although only for an X-ray to determine what was wrong with the tooth. The dentist explained that he wouldn’t be able to drill or repair it that day because there was no water in the village (only we tourists had water). That was also the reason the woman at the laundry couldn’t wash our clothes that day. Water is very scarce. Piped water is delivered on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and stored in cisterns. If you need more water beyond these standard deliveries—as most hotels or Airbnbs do—you have to order extra water, which arrives by lorry and is pumped into the cisterns. This is very costly. We had seen this system in other cities such as Mexico City, Puebla, Oaxaca, Querétaro, and now here in Sayulita. In recent years, the village has grown immensely, with many new houses and hotels, but the water supply has not been expanded accordingly. For a long time, electricity was the most expensive utility; now water has overtaken it in cost. We went back to the dentist, and the X-rays revealed that Dave had a massive infection on the upper right side of his gums. The dentist explained various options, and we decided that Dave would take antibiotics for seven days, in the hope that the infection would subside enough for him to be comfortable for the rest of our journey, until he could see our dentist at home. The cost for everything? 500 pesos (£21.26)  for the X-ray and 324 pesos (£13.78) for the antibiotics. Not bad. Pharmacies here, apart from filling doctors’ prescriptions, sell all kinds of medication over the counter—painkillers, antibiotics, Viagra, steroids, and more. I shudder to think how many people self-diagnose and buy strong medication without proper medical advice, relying instead on hearsay from neighbours, pharmacists, or past experiences. A visit to the doctor may simply be too expensive, or the waiting times too long. Laura explained to us that people like her, who are in work, have the option of paying into a kind of insurance system and can then access public healthcare facilities, such as doctors, hospitals and midwives. In this case, the whole family is also covered and can access healthcare. Public healthcare, however, is not very good: there are too few doctors and too few facilities for the number of people seeking care, and waiting times to see a doctor are long. On the other hand, Laura’s younger daughter has type 1 diabetes and requires specialist care, which in her case is excellent, as there are diabetes specialists in her area. In other regions, or for other conditions, the situation may be very different. Those who are not in work are unable to pay into a health insurance scheme and therefore either have to pay privately or have no access to healthcare at all, as they cannot afford it. Sayulita is a holiday village with many tourists and foreigners who spend time here or have decided to settle permanently. We were told that some long-standing American residents of the village have generously donated to local healthcare facilities, for example towards a new ambulance. After our successful visits to the dentist and the pharmacy, we went home for a cup of tea, and Dave was keen to start his antibiotic treatment as soon as possible. In mid-afternoon, we went with Terry to the local beach and watched the high waves breaking, with some brave surfers gliding along the waves—or falling in. There was a wind warning that day and the current was strong. Terry went into the water and was immediately carried along by the current. Luckily, he is a good swimmer and came to no harm. In the evening we had chicken. Beverley and Terry had bought grilled chicken with rice and tortillas. We only needed to warm it up, and dinner was ready. It tasted very good. 5th February 2026 This morning Dave and I were out on the terrace by 6 am, writing our blog diaries. It was cool and fresh, and it was lovely to hear the birds, the cockerels and the dogs barking—until, at 7 am, a chainsaw started up again. Later we found out that some tree branches were being cut nearby. Terry joined us on the terrace for a chat. At 8 am we went to the laundry, hoping that the water had come overnight and that the young woman would be able to wash our clothes. The water had not yet arrived, but she was optimistic that at least some would come during the day. We left our laundry with her and walked into the village to the fishmonger to buy dorado for dinner. Unfortunately, the fishmonger was still closed. The vegetable seller opposite told us they would open in half an hour, at 9 am. We waited for a while, but 9 am came and went and no fishmonger appeared. We went home and had breakfast with Terry and Beverley: granola with fruit and yoghurt. Afterwards, we returned to the fishmonger and bought one kilo of freshly filleted dorado for 370 pesos. Then we headed home. By this time, Dave’s feet were hurting. The reason: Terry had gone out earlier to take some photos of the beach and had accidentally put on Dave’s shoes. They were the same make and colour, but two sizes bigger, which meant Dave had been squeezing his feet into much smaller shoes. Luckily, when we got home, Terry was back and they were able to swap shoes. Later, Laura contacted me to say that she had found a taxi driver who could take the four of us, with luggage, to the airport on Saturday morning for 1,600 pesos in cash. This was 600 pesos more than we had expected, but it was a large car and all our luggage would fit, so we agreed. The cash payment meant we needed to withdraw some money. My internet research revealed that there are two banks in Sayulita, as well as a number of cash machines. However, we were warned not to use ATMs located out on the street, as they are often tampered with and subject to fraud. No thanks. Many of the other ATMs we found were out of order, being repaired, or abandoned altogether. We decided not to use any ATMs and not to risk our card being swallowed—we are only halfway through our trip and still need it. Instead, we went to one of the banks on the other side of the village. After a long walk, a friendly woman there told us that it was not the kind of bank that had an ATM, paid out cash on cards, or even changed money. She suggested we take a local bus and travel for half an hour to the next village, where there were more banks and ATMs. No thanks. On such a lovely day, we did not want to spend hours travelling in the hope that we might get some cash. We walked to the other bank, only to hear the same story. The bank staff even agreed that, although Sayulita is a tourist destination, the banking situation is appalling. We had had enough. We decided to change some US dollars the next morning at one of the exchange offices. It is always good to have a plan B—and some cash dollars—to avoid problems. We then went to the beach, where we met Beverley and Terry and spent a few hours enjoying the sun and watching the waves and the surfers. Afterwards, we walked back at a leisurely pace, buying some potatoes and vegetables for dinner on the way. Dinner was delicious. The fish was very light and tender. However, once again the Oster oven took longer than expected, and while we were waiting we indulged in guacamole and tortilla chips. By the time the meal was ready, we already felt rather full. Beverley and I had piña coladas—sadly none for Dave because of his antibiotics—while he and Terry stuck to beer. (The dentist had allowed Dave a small amount of beer, but no spirits.) We were tired from the sun, so we went to bed early. 6th February 2026 We were up early (Dave at 5.30 am, me at 6 am) and sat out on the terrace in the dark—the sun does not rise until 7.30 am—drinking tea, reading the news and writing our blog. I love this time of day, when the village is still quiet, apart from the cockerels, and only just beginning to wake up. I checked in for our flight back to Mexico City, obtained our boarding passes and emailed them to everyone. Tomorrow morning we have to leave by taxi at 6 am, which means dragging our suitcases down the stairs to the front gate. I made a mental note to locate the light switches beforehand, to avoid any accidents—or leaving half our luggage behind. Today we wanted to go for a long walk along the beach to the next bay. We had done this walk before and remembered how lovely it is, winding through the jungle and up a hill before opening out onto a long stretch of beach. On our previous visit, we had walked towards what we thought was a restaurant to get some refreshments, only to discover it was a private house where about ten people were celebrating something. They had been very kind and gave us some water. So this time we knew better: there is no restaurant or bar, and we needed to take water with us. After a quick breakfast, we set off on our own. We had our US dollars with us, but so early in the morning none of the exchange booths were open, so that would have to wait until later. We walked to the end of our bay and then climbed over rocks into the jungle, following narrow paths through dense trees and bushes. There were many exposed tree roots, so we had to be careful not to slip or trip. We were also cautious about grabbing branches without checking first, in case there were snakes or spiders. We met only a few other walkers, as not many tourists venture that far from the beach. At one point we took a wrong turning, which led us to a lovely small bay with nobody there apart from us—and two hairy, spiky dead fish. The water looked tempting for a swim, but there were many rocks in the bay, and possibly more hidden underwater, so after a short rest we climbed back up to the jungle path and continued on to the next large bay. When we reached it, two yoga groups were in full session. We walked on towards the sea and watched the huge waves crashing. We went into the water briefly, but the beach sloped steeply into a dip and the waves were powerful, pulling one further into the dip and making it difficult to get out. A group of young men were swimming beyond the breaking waves, where the sea was calmer, but getting there and back was the challenge. I was too scared to attempt it. Still, it was a magnificent sight, and we enjoyed spending time on this vast beach with very few people around. After a while it became too hot, so we slowly made our way back, crossing into the next bay and passing the many people on the village beach enjoying the sun, the waves and their beers and cocktails. We noticed groups of armed policemen controlling some of the vendors and checking the papers of those offering massages. This was the first time we had seen armed police in Sayulita; in the big cities we had seen many, but not here. We left the beach and changed our US dollars into Mexican pesos, then went to the beach restaurant Maika, where we had a Coca-Cola and reserved a table for that evening. Terry and Beverley had kindly offered to take us out for dinner on our last night together, as a thank-you for organising the trip for them. That was very kind. We chose Maika because it had the best reviews in the village. Being by the sea, we wanted to eat fish, but we were careful about where to do so. On our last visit, Dave had suffered food poisoning, possibly from a ceviche at one of the village restaurants. This time, I felt responsible for keeping all four of us safe—fish and seafood can easily spoil in the heat, and I did not want to take any risks. Maika seemed the most trustworthy option, and other customers we spoke to confirmed that the food was excellent. Unfortunately, it closed at 7 pm, so we had to eat at 6. We went home to shower and change. Terry and Beverley had also found another restaurant they liked, upstairs in a building with a view and live music. However, as we had already booked a table, we decided to stick with Maika. When we arrived, there was loud drumming coming from the beach, so we changed tables. Then live music started up in the bar next door. It was not ideal, and it was impossible to have a proper conversation, especially as Terry’s hearing is affected. But from experience we knew that on a Friday night in a village like this, it would be noisy everywhere. At least here we had a good chance of excellent food. Dave and I ordered octopus—the best we have ever had. Absolutely delicious. Terry had salmon marinated in orange juice, and Beverley chose pasta with seafood. Both said their meals were very good. Luckily, the live music next door eventually stopped; the band was probably moving on to another venue. It was still a relief to leave the restaurant and walk back through town. Music was everywhere. We stopped for a while to watch a solo musician making an impressive amount of noise, singing and playing along to backing music from a tin. In the plaza, a singer was performing traditional Mexican ranchera songs. He was excellent. There were tables, chairs and lots of people, and we were invited to join them for food. We learned that the Sayulita community had organised an evening with food and music to raise money for one of their friends, Rafa, who was in hospital with cancer and needed funds for an urgently required operation. It was wonderful to see such a strong sense of community coming together in times of need. We continued our walk, enjoying the lively atmosphere, and took photos of the beautifully lit bars, restaurants and shops—so different from the daytime view. Finally, we walked home and had a last nightcap with the remaining fruit juice and rum, while Dave had a beer. We went to bed early, as we needed to be up at 5 am to be ready for the taxi at 6 am to take us to the airport. 7th February 2026 Dave woke up before the alarm went off and pulled me out of the deepest sleep. I was actually quite pleased he did, as I was in the middle of one of my horrible recurring dreams in which I have to sit my A-level exams again, completely unprepared and about to fail. What a nightmare! So it was better to get up and get going. Today was another travel day, and we had a long one ahead of us. We got ready quickly and even had time for a cup of tea. Then, ten minutes before 6 am, José Martinez, the taxi driver, arrived with a car large enough to fit all our luggage, and we started dragging our suitcases down the stairs. The motion sensor lights were not working properly, so in places there was no light at all and we had to be very careful. Still, we managed to reach the entrance safely, luggage and all. The drive to the airport was smooth, and we arrived shortly before 7 am at Puerto Vallarta airport, still in the dark. As we were so early, the Aeroméxico desk was not yet open, so we went to have breakfast first. When we later joined the queue, there were not many people in front of us—just a few families—but it took a long time for the desk staff to process them. They all had to pay extra for their luggage. Presumably, when booking their flights they had opted for the cheapest fare without checked baggage, as adding luggage was quite complicated, and hoped to sort it out at the airport. Unfortunately, this is much more expensive. I had done all of this painstakingly when booking the flights for the four of us, a process that nearly did my head in, but it was sorted in the end and much cheaper. The families simply shrugged and handed over their credit cards—less hassle for them. Each to their own. The flight back to Mexico City was quick, just over an hour. Then it was time to say goodbye to Terry and Beverley, who were staying in Mexico for a few more days before returning to London, while we were heading north to Chihuahua to continue our journey through the Copper Canyon. We went with Terry and Beverley down to the baggage reclaim area to make sure there were no unexpected problems, then waved them off. When Dave and I went back up the stairs to reach the domestic connections area, we were stopped by a rather snotty security woman who told us we were not allowed to go upstairs and had to go back out through the main terminal and pass through security again. I could not believe it. We were only about five metres from the domestic connections area. I tried to explain that we had just seen friends off at baggage reclaim and were now continuing our journey to Chihuahua, we had not gone out but stayed in the transit area, but she insisted we had to go back out. We had an argument. I chose to ignore her and continued up the stairs. She shouted for assistance and another security guard arrived. Now I through that we were going to be arrested. But this guy, wearing a yellow vest, was calm, polite and actually listened to what I had to say. He explained that because of extensive construction work at the airport ahead of the upcoming Football World Cup, there were additional security restrictions in place. I could accept that explanation—it was delivered respectfully, not barked at me. So we turned around and went back down, passing the unpleasant woman, who continued to shout and order people around, clearly enjoying the small amount of power her position gave her. We got lost on the way out, as there were building sites everywhere and many areas were cordoned off. Most of the security guards we asked apologised for the chaos at the airport and the extra security measures. We understood that. Why she couldn’t show the same courtesy remains a mystery. It took a while to get back in and pass through security again. Exhausted, we decided to have tea and coffee and returned to the café where we had eaten breakfast five days earlier. I went to the toilet while Dave took our hand luggage to the café and found us a seat. He ended up having an argument with a waitress who repeatedly shoved a menu under his nose and insisted he order food immediately. He wanted to wait for me so we could order together. Was this the day of over-pushy women? We ordered our drinks and said we needed a bit more time to look at the menu. She clearly did not like that, slammed our drinks down with an angry expression, and disappeared for a while without taking our food order. Service with a smile! Needless to say, she did not earn a tip. We spent the next few hours wandering around the airport, waiting for our flight. I booked a hotel for four nights in Creel, our next stay after Chihuahua, but the purchase of the bus tickets to Creel were cancelled just after I typed our card details in. I checked, it had not yet been taken out. I also managed to get us tickets for the Frida Kahlo House for when we come back to Mexico City on the 10th of March, the day before we fly back. Lucky we- as the tickets are very scarce and only view tickets a week are released!!  Eventually, boarding was called. At the gate, a man asked me to “take my head off”. I laughed—he meant my hat. I explained the difference between a head and a hat, and we all burst out laughing. What a difference it makes when people communicate with a smile and a bit of humour. We boarded the plane, and the two-and-a-half-hour flight passed quickly. We even made up some of the earlier delay and landed in Chihuahua ahead of schedule. —————— Dave: 02 February 2026 We were up at 06:00 and met Terry and Beverley in the lobby at 07:15. Fernando, who had driven us to the pyramids, took us to the airport for the eye-watering sum of MX$800 (£33.58). The airport was chaotic and surprisingly cold, just 5°C outside - and not much warmer inside. We split for breakfast: Lisa and I ate at Covina Urbana - hot chocolate and pancakes for her, croissant and cappuccino for me, whilst T&B used their HSBC Premier Lounge cards (no guests allowed). Our flight to Puerto Vallarta was scheduled for 10:30, but with the airport in disarray due to preparations for the Mexican World Cup later this year, we eventually took off at 11:10. Despite the delay, we arrived on time. Stepping out of the airport into bright sunshine was a shock, the temperature had jumped to a sticky 30°C. Laura, who Lisa had been dealing with about our Airbnb, met us outside the Pacific Bar after circling the pickup area because of heavy traffic. Some of our luggage wouldn’t fit in her Honda’s boot, so two suitcases went up on the roof rack, and we set off for Sayulita. The first half hour was slow going through busy resort areas, but once inland the road twisted through lush green hills. Soon we arrived in Sayulita, a small, colourful resort with narrow cobbled streets. A right turn up an even narrower track brought us to our Airbnb, perched on a verdant hillside. Getting the luggage up several flights of steep stairs in the humid heat was hard work, and we were soon hot and sticky. The apartment has two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, a shared kitchen, and a lovely balcony overlooking the opposite hillside. Although west-facing, dense foliage blocked the sunset. Laura had to leave for an appointment as soon as we arrived, but her daughter showed us around before we took a short rest and a cup of tea. Later, we walked into town to explore and pick up food. The beach was packed and the sea dotted with surfers. The streets were lively, lined with bars and restaurants offering happy-hour deals, which we happily took advantage of around 17:30. While waiting for cocktails, I popped into a recommended shop and picked up a litre of Bacardi dark rum for MX$310 (£12.96). A saxophone busker drifted between bars, adding to the laid-back atmosphere. We grabbed a few beers on offer from a corner shop, and headed back. Sadly, the roast chicken stall we’d planned on for dinner had already closed, so Lisa and Beverley improvised with tinned sardines and vegetables. Back at the apartment, we enjoyed cold beers and rum on the balcony as the evening cooled slightly. Dinner was a delicious guacamole starter followed by vegetables and sardines: our turn to cook tomorrow night. By 21:30, the early start, travel, and heat caught up with us, and we all headed to bed, ready to settle into Sayulita life tomorrow. 03 February 2026 We were up at 06:00, catching up with the blog on the balcony. Sunrise in Sayulita isn’t until 07:37, noticeably later than Mexico City. Somewhere in the distance a chainsaw whined into life, but it didn’t spoil the moment. The surrounding hills were waking up too, alive with birds chattering in the trees, cicadas and the calls of cockerels hidden in the dense foliage. Predawn is a magical time here. After breakfast, Lisa and I walked into town to the fishmonger, as I’d volunteered to be the cook tonight. we bought four fresh red snapper for MX$205 (£8.63), an absolute bargain. Back at the apartment entrance we chatted with the woman next door, a diabetic from Oklahoma with a Chihuahua medical alert dog (DADs). The little dog was trained to detect changes in her blood sugar levels and alert her by pawing, nudging, or barking: fascinating. Back inside, I cleaned and prepared the fish and put them in the fridge. The morning’s minor drama involved the safe in our wardrobe, which refused to open. Laura arrived ten minutes later with a master key and suggested Lisa leave it on top of the wardrobe. Unfortunately, there was a narrow gap between the wardrobe and the architrave and the key promptly vanished into it. After a bit of careful levering, I managed to retrieve it - crisis averted. We then headed into town again and walked along the beach, while Terry and Beverley planned to go into town later. With only one set of keys between us, they would have to leave them in the key safe for whoever returned first. We walked barefoot to the far end of the beach, stopping to sunbathe and for me to swim in the surf. It felt wonderful - warm sand, sunshine, and salt water. On the way back we photographed a wedding through a hotel’s wire fence, photographers, and a band playing behind the happy couple. I could only hope the photographers were better than the band. After showers, we relaxed on the balcony. I went online to work out how the rather overcomplicated American Oster countertop convection oven actually worked. The fish went into a dish with sliced potatoes and onions, with the remaining vegetables in a separate pan. There wasn’t enough room in the oven for everything, so a few potatoes and carrots had to be boiled. I’d carefully copied the oven instructions into my iPhone notes. 20 minutes to bake the fish, it claimed. In reality, everything took closer to 50 minutes. So much for American convection ovens. Still, the extra time paid off, as the fish (I hoped) were perfect. We drank a few beers, and Terry had the inspired idea of putting both glasses and beer into the freezer for fifteen minutes. Frosted glasses, perfectly chilled beer: excellent thinking. Later, Terry shared some of his tequila as a nightcap. By 21:50, full, relaxed, and tired, we called it a night and went to bed. 04th February 2026  We’d both had a rough night. My toothache, which had been nagging for days, flared up badly and kept me awake for hours. The hot, humid bedroom didn’t help. By 06:30, we gave up on sleep and moved out onto the balcony, working quietly on our diaries while the day began. Terry was already up, checking emails beside us. After breakfast we set off at 10:30 to walk into town to find a dentist. Lisa had found three online, one with particularly good reviews, and that’s where we were heading. On the way we stopped at our local launderette to ask about their service. Although it opens at 08:00, they’re affected by Sayulita’s water shortages. On days when the water is shut off, customers have to wait until the supply returns to collect their clothes - one of the growing pains of a town that’s become very popular with tourists.We found the dentist and made an appointment for 14:30, then wandered back towards the centre and stopped for a Coke at the Maika bar overlooking the sea. It’s also a restaurant with a tempting seafood menu, including octopus, and we thought it might be a good choice for our final meal on Friday. It closes at 19:00, which would suit us perfectly with our 06:00 airport departure on Saturday. Later, we walked to the far left-hand end of the beach, where fishermen haul their boats up past the high-water mark using a tractor. Pelicans were feeding on fish remains, and we spent some time photographing them. I also chatted to a group of Americans just back from a fishing trip. There were four of them, and had been out from 08:00 until midday. The cost of the trip was US$350+10% tip. (£256.30). At 14:30 we were back at the dentist. He was thorough and reassuring, taking several X-rays and diagnosing a root canal issue along with gum infections in two places. His consultation and X-rays cost MX$500 (£21.01), which felt like a bargain. He prescribed Amoxicilina, three tablets a day for a week. We went straight to a pharmacy we’d passed earlier and paid MX$324 (£13.62), including a welcome 10% discount. Back at the Airbnb, we had a cup of tea and I took my first antibiotic. At 16:00 we returned to the beach to swim and sunbathe. Terry came too, although Beverley stayed behind. The beach was busy and noisy, with crashing waves, music, beers, and cocktails being drunk everywhere. We’d read that red flags were flying in Puerto Vallarta because of powerful surf, and it certainly felt the same here. Terry and I both went in, but caution was needed as every tenth wave was noticeably bigger and could easily knock you off your feet. We walked back at 17:45, picking up some beers on the way. My gums were very tender by then, so I took my second antibiotic.Beverley cooked that evening. She and Terry had bought two cooked half chickens earlier from a small kiosk nearby, which only needed warming in the oven. She’d also made potato salad and guacamole. I limited myself to two small beers — three a day was the maximum I felt sensible with the infection and medication. Feeling tired and slightly odd, I headed to bed early at 20:45. The others weren’t far behind, calling it a night about ten minutes later. 05th February 2026 It was another poor night’s sleep. My toothache and a sore right shoulder, aggravated by my tennis elbow, meant that whichever side I lay on caused pain. By 05:30 we gave up and got up, taking our diaries out onto the balcony. As we worked, we listened to the cockerels and the surrounding forest slowly come alive in the pre-dawn light. At 08:00 we walked into town, first to drop off our dirty washing at the nearby launderette, then on to the fishmonger to buy dorado for dinner. Sayulita is suffering from an acute water shortage and the water supply is turned off for several hours every day. The launderette had no water, but the lady assured us she’d wash our clothes once it came back on. When we reached the fishmonger, he was closed and not due to open until 10:00. We waited until just after 09:00, on the off chance he might open early, but he didn’t, so we walked back. We had a lazy breakfast with Beverley and Terry. Afterwards we headed back into town, knowing the fishmonger would sell out by midday. Terry left a little earlier to collect their washing and take photos of the beach, but accidentally took my sandals. We both wear Keen sandals, his are size 9, mine size 11, so I made the return trip with slightly pinched toes. We bought a long 1kg slice of dorado, also known as dolphinfish or mahi-mahi. One useful discovery: my next pair of Keens will be size 10, as size 11 are just a touch too big. We got back just before Terry, swapped sandals, and then we went online to book two nights at the Ibis Hotel in Chihuahua, the same one we stayed in nine years ago. After that, we headed back into town to find a cash machine, agreeing to meet Terry and Beverley on the beach afterwards. We’re wary of using cash machines in small tourist towns, because if our cards were swallowed, we’d be in serious trouble, so we decided to visit the two local banks instead. The first, near the bus terminus and almost out of town, had no cash machine at all. Nor could we withdraw money at the counter or exchange US dollars. I was getting increasingly irritated. What kind of bank doesn’t deal in money? The second bank, closer to the centre, did have a cash machine, but it was out of order, like most of the others in town. There was no counter either, just two women at a small desk, one of whom told us we’d need to take a 30-minute bus ride to the next town if we wanted a bank that issued cash. Madness. Hot, sticky, and tired after walking in the humid 29C heat, we stopped at a nearby coffee bar to cool down, then walked on to the beach. Terry and Beverley were already there. We joined them beneath their umbrella and spent a couple of hours relaxing, until the wind picked up and the umbrella collapsed. At 16:00 we headed back separately, as we needed potatoes and to collect our washing, while they went shopping for presents. Back at the apartment we sat on the terrace with a cup of tea. I showered, partly packed my suitcase for our early departure on Saturday, and prepared the dorado for dinner. We had a few cold beers while waiting for it to cook. As I’d already discovered, our oven isn’t the best. What should have taken 20 minutes stretched to 45 minutes, but the wait was worth it as the fish was cooked to perfection. By the time we’d finished dinner we were all exhausted. I announced I was going to bed at 21:10, which prompted everyone else to admit they were just as tired and ready to turn in too, which they did. 06th February 2026 We were up at 05:15 and sat on the balcony in the dark, quietly working on the blog while the world slept. A few peaceful hours later, at 09:30, we set off to walk along the right-hand side of the beach, a route we’d last taken nine years ago. It didn’t take long for things to get interesting. Sand found its way into my sandals, so I wanted to sit on a rock to knock it out. Unfortunately, the rock I’d stood on was razor sharp. I slipped trying to avoid slicing my feet and ended up bruising my ankle and toes instead. I muttered a polite “bother” and carried on. After clambering over rocks beside an hotel, we followed a narrow jungle path over the headland, dense with foliage, emerging into the next bay. We pushed on into yet another bay of beautiful golden sand and stopped halfway for what we hoped would be a swim. The sea had other ideas. The beach was steep, the surf rough, and within a few steps the water was waist-deep. Waves knocked us off balance and the current pulled seaward. We tried briefly, then sensibly decided it was too dangerous. Better safe than sorry. It was almost midday and getting hot, so we retraced our steps back over the headland and along the beach. We were running low on pesos and needed cash for our taxi the next morning. With no banks nearby, and the towns cash machines decidedly iffy, we resorted to a money exchange bureau, changing US$200 at MX$16.7 to the dollar, not a great rate, but unavoidable. That evening Terry and Beverley insisted on taking us out for dinner to thank us for organising their time with us. We chose Maika, a lovely seafood restaurant overlooking the beach. After stopping in earlier for a cold drink, we booked a table for 18:00, then headed back to the Airbnb for a light lunch. We washed some clothes, I washed our smelly sandals, and left them out in the sun, fingers firmly crossed they’d dry. We left for Maika at 17:30. A live band played at the beach bar next door, music drifted in from the beach, loud, yes, but it was Friday night in a very popular beach resort, but no worse than the headbangers’ bar we’d enjoyed a beer in near our hotel in Mexico City. Lisa and I both chose octopus, perfectly cooked, and enjoyed a few beers. The restaurant closed at 19:00, but we were finished by then. Terry and Beverley picked up the bill, and we thanked them warmly. After dinner we wandered through town, taking photos of the lively Friday night atmosphere. People and music spilling out of bars, a Mexican singer at full volume playing in the town square, cars and golf buggies cruising slowly through the streets. We’d had enough and slowly made our way back. We sat on our balcony one last time. I had a beer, the others cocktails, and I set my alarm for 04:55. Our taxi, arranged through Laura, would collect us at 06:00. It would still be dark, and the steep steps down to the road meant we’d need to be careful with the suitcases. I went to bed, and the others followed shortly after. 07th February 2026 I had a poor night’s sleep, waking several times feeling bloated and bunged up — thanks, no doubt, to the antibiotics. Although I’d set the alarm for 04:55, I was awake by 04:45. I made a couple of cups of tea, knocked on Terry and Beverley’s door, showered, and finished packing. Our taxi arrived at 05:45. We loaded up carefully, taking extra care on the unlit steps, and were on our way by 06:00. The drive to the airport was straightforward and we arrived in the dark at 06:50. The fare was MX$1,600 (£67.68), which we shared. Inside, the airport was absolutely freezing. We found a coffee shop and bought coffee and croissants. Check-in was easy, though slowed slightly by two families with small children. Our suitcases were tagged and disappeared into the bowels of the airport. Next came security, which we sailed through, apart from one woman officer who managed to drop my watch onto the floor (dumme Gans!) By 08:30 we were all sitting at Gate 4, waiting for our 09:56 departure flight. We arrived in Mexico City 15 minutes early but couldn’t disembark straight away because we were too early. Terry and Beverley were staying on in Mexico City for the final three days of their Mexican adventure. We went with them to collect their bags, said our goodbyes, and watched them leave. Our own onward journey was less smooth. When we tried to head back upstairs to continue in transit, a security guard refused to let us through, meaning we had to trek all the way through the airport and go through security again. With a long wait ahead and hunger setting in, we found ourselves back in the same freezing restaurant we’d endured when flying out to Puerto Vallarta, complete with the same surly, pushy waitresses. No tip, I’m afraid. Time passed surprisingly quickly, despite a bored young girl lying on the ground nearby repeatedly bouncing a half-full water bottle on the floor. Our flight finally departed at 15:40, 25 minutes late, but was scheduled to land at 17:25, 20 minutes early, which it did. During our three-hour stopover in Mexico City airport, we were productive and booked tickets for the Frida Kahlo Museum, for the 10th of March, for when we returned back in Mexico City, as well as securing a cheap hotel in Creel for three nights, from Monday 9th to Wednesday 11th February. We landed in Chihuahua beneath a lowering sky, the surrounding mountains shrouded in rain clouds. We were quickly through the airport and used the official taxi rank, paying MX$286 (£12.10) for the 25-minute journey to our hotel, the Ibis Chihuahua. 4. Central Mexico, 25th January until 2nd February 2026 Mexico City visit 28th January to the 2nd February 2026 Lisa: 28th January 2026 We arrived after a 3 hour journey from Queretaro in Mexico City at the North Bus Terminal. It took us over 1/2 hour by taxi to our hotel in the district of Roma, near the centre of the city. The journey showed, once again, how huge this city is. We passed by shanty towns on the outskirts of the city that have organically grown up on the hills. Some of them, after years of isolation have only recently been connected to the rest of the city by several cable cars. A brilliant idea to enable people to connect with the city, enable them to go to work, go to school, go to the doctors … open up a different life. We had similar projects seen in Medellin, Colombia, a few years ago with great success. When we came closer to the centre, the traffic in Mexico City was horrendous. Too many cars, too much traffic on the huge two and four-lane roads and soon we were stuck and in stop and go mode we finally arrived at the hotel. Later we met our friends, Terry and Beverley, and we walked around the district of Roma in search of a restaurant for dinner. First we had a drink in a bar, then we found a Taco place which seemed to be popular and good as many people queued and the place was packed. We joined the queue and then ordered a selection of Tacos (small tortillas with fillings of a choice of chicken, meet, cheese etc). Very tasty. After dinner we discussed our plans for the next few days over a drink and to celebrate their arrival. 29th January 2026 Today we went to the Anthropological Museum in the district oft…. This is in walking distance of our hotel and gave us the opportunity to walk through the beautiful Bosque de Chapultepec. —————- Back ground: Chapultepec Park (Bosque de Chapultepec) is one of the largest and most historically significant urban parks in the world, covering over 650 hectares (1,600 acres) in the heart of Mexico City. Its history dates back to pre-Hispanic times, when it served as a sacred area and leisure retreat for Aztec rulers, and it has remained closely linked to Mexico’s political and cultural life ever since. The park’s most prominent landmark is Chapultepec Castle, the only royal castle in the Americas. Built in the 18th century, it later became a military academy and an imperial residence before being transformed into the National Museum of History, which shows Mexico’s past and offers panoramic views of the city. Chapultepec is also a major cultural centre, home to renowned institutions such as the National Museum of Anthropology, the Museum of Modern Art, and the Tamayo Museum. In addition to its cultural attractions, the park provides extensive green spaces, lakes, gardens, and walking paths, making it a popular destination for recreation, boating, picnics, and outdoor exercise. It also includes the Chapultepec Zoo, one of the most visited in Latin America. Overall, Chapultepec Park blends nature, history, and culture, making it an essential and iconic part of life in Mexico City. ——————- The park is a very popular destination for Mexican families, in particular on weekends when thousands of visitors come here. Sunday is the most popular day to visit because the museums are free, and visitors may spend the entire day in one or more sections viewing the attractions, picnicking, or grilling. Despite its local popularity, however, foreign visitors usually only see the small fraction of the park near the museums. At the Chapultepek Park on the way to the Anthropological Museum This is also the part that we walked through on our way to the museum. We strolled passed the many stalls that sell sweets, drinks, food, and many handicraft items and stopped to watch a group of indigenous boys in their traditional clothes spiralling down a pole, like we had seen in Cholula. ———— Back ground: The Museo Nacional de Antropología in Mexico City  — one of the most important anthropology museums in the world — showcases Mexico’s rich human history, from early humans to the great civilizations of ancient Mesoamerica and the diverse indigenous cultures that still exist today. The museum’s collections are divided into archaeological and ethnographic sections that cover Mexico’s cultural heritage: The National Museum of Anthropology presents a broad overview of Mexico’s cultural history, from the earliest human settlements to modern indigenous communities. Its most famous galleries feature pre-Hispanic civilizations, including the Aztec Sun Stone, the monumental Coatlicue sculpture, Olmec colossal stone heads, and rich Maya artifacts, such as jade masks and a reconstruction of King Pakal’s tomb. There are also important collections from Teotihuacan, Zapotec, Mixtec, and Toltec cultures, showing their art, religion, and daily life. The ethnographic halls on the upper level highlight Mexico’s living indigenous peoples, displaying traditional clothing, crafts, tools, rituals, and beliefs. Together, the exhibits offer a clear and engaging picture of Mexico’s archaeological heritage and its continuing cultural diversity. The museum also hosts changing exhibitions, cultural events, and educational programming that explore different themes in anthropology and history. Overall, the museum offers a comprehensive, immersive journey through the history and cultural diversity of Mexico — from its earliest inhabitants to the rich traditions that continue today. ————- It’s been my third visit to the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City, the first in 1988, then in 2026 and now. Each time I am overwhelmed by the complexity and amount of the display. I find it very interesting and each time the exhibitions have changed. I always find something new. Unfortunately, the information provided is not well documented. I would have liked to have more background information to many of the items on display, but it seems to me that the curators expect the visitors to have a certain prior knowledge of Mexico’s history. In addition, there are only few note boards also translated in English language, so foreigners, who are not speaking Spanish are at a loss. We will have to read up on Wikipedia later on to better understand the complexity of the display of the exhibition. - A reason to come back again, perhaps this time with more prior knowledge. After our museum visit we made our way by metro to the district of Coyacan, where Frida Kahlo’s house is located. We want to suss out what the ticket situation is. At our last visit, Dave and I queued at the house to get our tickets. As the staff recognised, that we were elderly people, they invited us to the front of the queue to get our tickets, and in we went. Not so anymore. Latest since the 2002 Friday Kahlo film with Selma Hajek, the visitor numbers have jumped enormously. Many tour operators offer tours, often combined with other throw-in tours to nearby or further away tourist attractions. When we checked online with the Kahlo Museum itself, the tickets were sold out until mid February. Unfortunately, that’s too late for our friends who by then will be back in London. So we went there to personally enquire the ticket situation. When we arrived at the blue house, there was a long queue which we joined. Staff walked along the queue and controlled the tickets. A couple in front of us were sent away because their ticket had expired by an hour, there was no way to slip in with the next group. The groups are organised by 1/2 hour entries. We were told there were no tickets available to buy at the house there and then, but only online a few would be still available, but the earliest free date was the 19th February. There are many offers on the internet where to not ticketed and tours to Friday Kahlo’s house but the very helpful staff member warned us, as in recent years fake agencies have made a business of selling expensive last minute tickets, but the tickets are worthless, not valid. When I pressed her for more information she gave me the names of two agencies, of which she has seen tickets that were accepted and they had not heard any complaints from disgruntled visitors. - good to know. We tried them later, again, but without success. Unfortunately, Terry and Beverley have to go home without having seen the Friday Kahlo house. We can try to book at a later date, as from time to time a few dates are available for tickets. We shall try every day before we go back to London. So sorry we could not get tickets to the Frida Kahlo House - at least we had a glimpse of the outside of the house. Afterwards, we strolled through the leafy streets of the district Coyoacan, a lovely district with a bohemian atmosphere but a long history. Originally a pre-hispanic settlement, Coyoacan predates the founding of Mexico City itself.  After the Spanish conquest, it became one of the first Spanish colonial towns in the Valley of Mexico. Its historic centre preserves colonial architecture, cobblestone streets, plazas, and churches and has a picturesque, almost village-like atmosphere within the busy metropolis. Coyoacán is famous as a bohemian, artistic, and intellectual centre of Mexico City: Many famous artists, writers, and thinkers lived there, including Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera, José Juan Tablada, Salvador Novo, Octavio Paz, and historians and painters from Mexico’s cultural history. This has given the area a vibrant creative and cultural identity that persist today. We walked through the cobblestones streets and admired the colonial architecture and took in the lively atmosphere on the plaza. We found a restaurant where we had dinner. Groups of musicians passed by offering their music services for a tip. We agree to two guitar players to play for us and they play the old famous song: Besame mucho (Kiss me a lot). I had heard it so many times, in many different interpretations, but these two older guys did not really sing it with the passion  this overly sentimental (cheesy) song deserves. The food was good. I had a Mexican speciality chicken leg with a sauce. The chicken leg turned out to be a breast and the sauce was not the yellow brown sauce I had been promised by the waiter but the Oaxacan brown chocolate based mole with chili. I did not complain and ate it as I was hungry. It was good, but once again too much meet and heavy for my sensitive guts. As I sad already, I will have to find a strategy to find food that is easier digestible. After dinner we lazily decided, rather than to walk the long way back to the metro to take an uber taxi home. The taxi ride took about 40 minutes and the friendly taxi driver was chatty talking telling us about the traffic in the City, the changes over time with the cars etc. The time of the long drive passed quickly and soon we arrived back at the hotel. 30th January 2026 The next day we went to Teotihuacan, the pyramids north of Mexico City. We hired a driver via the hotel, Fernando. He was also our tour guide for the trip. He spoke very well English and was very knowledgable. We drove up to the North of the city, passed by the North bus terminal where we had arrived a few days earlier from Querétaro. The we came to the outer districts of Mexico City, with favela like houses being built up on the hills. Fernando pointed out that four different cable cars that were recently built to connect these settlements with the city, its infrastructure such as the metro and metrobus station ‘indios verde’, enabling people to get to work, to school, shopping etc., hence releaving poverty for the population. A scheme that we had already seen successfully implemented in Medellin, Colombia. About 20 minutes later, we arrived in Teotihuacan. But before we entered the site of the pyramids, Fernando dropped us off at an area where a woman told us about the Obsidian stones and  cactus plants famous in the area, then after having offered us a selection of Mescal, Tequila and local liquor, she ushered us into a store where many handicraft items were displayed in the hope that we would buy. We don’t like being pushed into buying things and were disappointed that in what we considered a private tour we landed in a tourist trap, Anyway, we made the best of it , had a look around and found a stack of Mexican hats and had fun photographing each other with one of these hats on. Then it was time to move on to the pyramids. Que viva Mexico!! Fernando walked us through telling us about the history of the place, the meaning and the different stages of excavation. This is the third time I had been in Teotihuacan and this time there were more places to see and areas were accessible now that were still cordoned off then because of ongoing excavation. ———— Teotihuacan — History in a Nutshell Teotihuacan was one of the largest and most powerful cities in the ancient world, flourishing roughly between 100 BC and 550 AD. At its peak, it had over 100,000 inhabitants, making it bigger than Rome at the time. It is not known who built it—even the Aztecs, who arrived centuries later, found it abandoned and named it Teotihuacan, meaning “the place where the gods were created.” The city was a major religious, political, and economic centre, controlling trade (especially obsidian) across much of Mesoamerica. Around 550 AD, Teotihuacan collapsed—likely due to internal unrest, political conflict, and fires, possibly worsened by drought. It was never rebuilt, but its influence shaped later civilizations like the Maya and Aztecs. The Most Important Things to See The Pyramid of the Sun is one of the largest pyramids in the world and was built around 200 AD. It was likely connected to solar worship and sacred caves beneath the structure, making it the symbolic heart of the city. The Pyramid of the Moon dominates the northern end of the site and was used for rituals and sacrifices. The large plaza in front of it illustrates how public ceremonies would have taken place and also offers an excellent viewpoint over the entire city. The Avenue of the Dead served as the city’s main axis, linking all the major monuments. Its layout was designed to reflect cosmic order rather than simple urban planning. The Temple of the Feathered Serpent (Quetzalcóatl) displays a richly decorated structure. Archaeologists found mass sacrifice burials here, revealing the city’s militarised power. The Residential Palaces & Murals show colourful murals of gods, animals, and ritual scenes. These complexes reveal daily life and social organisation. Teotihuacan wasn’t just big—it was carefully planned, religiously symbolic, and internationally influential. Later civilisations treated it as a sacred place, believing the gods themselves were born here. ————- After Fernando’s explanations he introduced us to a man who showed us how the colours were produced that were used for the painting of the walls and the pottery. Fernando also recommended this man’s goods as they were of good quality and he would give us a good price and then left us to walk around the site and explore on our own. We walked up the Pyramid of the Moon, but access was only allowed until the mid base level. The Pyramid of the Sun is not accessible to avoid accidents, as the stones are to slippery. It was hot that day and the sun was burning. The site was interesting, the views great, we took a lot of pictures and then afterwards we climbed into Fernando's taxi, tired but happy, and were driven home. After a rest, we met again to explore the area of our district, Zona Rosa. What a difference it is now in comparison to the quiet Christmas time walking through the busy streets. The roads are packed with cars, pedestrians hurry home after work or out for something to eat. We passed many restaurants, shops, bars, sex shops. Finally, we found the restaurant Casa Tono where we had our first Mexican food when we had arrived. Unfortunately, this is more like a fast food restaurant where people quickly grab a quick meal before they go on whatever they want or need to do on this evening. So staff expect a quick order and turnaround. But it took us a while to translate the unknown Mexican dishes on the menu and decide what to eat. In the meantime, a big platter arrived with guacamole with fried plantanes, creme, cheese and chicharon (better known as pork scratching). It was on offer for us as a starter, and startled but also to buy ourselves some time we accepted and ate it hungrily. Finally, we decided to order a selection of dishes to share as the best way to get to know Mexican food. The food was okay, cheap enough, but it came as a surprise when the bill came that the starter was the most expensive item. Never mind. We paid the bill and left to wander around  Zona Rosa. It was Friday evening and the area was packed with people celebrating a night out. There was music everywhere, discos, people eating in restaurants or fast food joints. In a bar we had some drinks. Dave and I ordered Mochito, Beverley had a Margarita, which all turned out to be overly sweet, only Terry was sensible and stuck to beer. Afterwards, we called it a day and walked back home to the hotel. 31st January 2026 Today is Saturday and we went to the famous Sabado Bazar on Plaza San Jacinto in the district San Angel. San Angel is in the south of the city, near Coyoacan. It is complicated to get there but luckily there is the Metrobus that runs directly there. We took the Metrobus near our hotel from Hamburgo to Bambilla, which takes about 38 Minutes. Then we walked to the Plaza San Jacinto, passing many handicraft shops and cafes on the way. This Saturday Bazar is a well known handicraft market, perhaps the most famous in the country, and is well frequented with visitors. Part of the market is housed in a beautiful colonial style house, but also has many stalls outside and in neighbouring houses. The market offers more upper market products with better quality than you usually can find on street stalls or markets, including handmade jewellery, clothes, soaps and body oils, traditional and stylish Mexican handicraft of different kinds. Dave and I found a jaguar, similar to that we had seen in the gallery in Oaxaca. The jaguar is important for certain religious authorities in many Mesoamerican cultures, who often associate the jaguar as a spirit companion , which will protect the religious figures from evil spirits and while they move between the earth and the spirit realm. We both fell in love with it and discussed the logistics of getting him home. Rodrigo, the owner, promised to wrap him up in bubble wrapping and keep it for us until we are coming back to Mexico City in March and then delivery it personally to our hotel. Done, deal. We got it. I may regret it if I have to hold him on my lap all the flight from Mexico City to London and then on the tube home. But never mind. We took a picture of him, we will call him Max, and said our good byes to him and the owner and hope the deal will actually work. The market had many more interesting items on show. There were a few jewellery items which I liked. They were handmade and I had a good chat with the designer. But they were too expensive (after all we just had bought Max). Dave liked one section where a guy made wonderful lamps and other items out of metal, glass and other unusual materials. I am sure he will write more about this. We chatted with the designer, a very friendly elderly man (well about our age) and took some pictures of him with us. Dave promised to send them to him. I had a long chat to him about the political situation in Mexico, Nicaragua and overall in the world. Unfortunately, time flew by and there is never enough time to come to a solution. We said our goodbyes. Next we want into the neighbouring house where beautiful items were exhibited. Beautiful to look at but impossible to take them all home. Later we met up again with Beverley and Terry, who had successfully bought some items to take home as presents. We had a coffee/tea and croissants and other goodies in a cafe and then made our way back on metrobus. We got off at the station Campeche and walked towards the district of Candesa, famous for its beautiful street lined streets and beautiful houses varying from colonial to elegant 1920s-30s buildings with Art Deco charm. It is loved for its laid-back, stylish vibe. It has many excellent cafes, bakeries, restaurants and relaxed bars. On the way looking for a suitable restaurant we sit down at a bar for a rest and drink a beer. The owner sat with a few family members at the table next to us with a half full bottle of Tequila. He paid a women selling flowers to give a rose to Beverly and me and then invited Dave and Terry to drink a glass of tequila with them, which Dave kindly shared with me. We had a good chat, me translating, and Terry and the owners son Antonio got on very well with each other. Time is passing quickly, we thank them and leave as we still need to find a restaurant to eat.  We passed an Argentinian restaurant and, to make a change to Mexican food, chose to eat here. Beverley went for pizza, I chose pasta to calm me sensitive guts. They boys wanted to try Argentinian steaks. And there was a lot on offer. The waiter brought a big plate of a selection of meat cuts to explain the variety of steaks they had. Dave selected a churrasco steak and Terry went for a half-portion of Tenderloin (400gr), which he barely managed to eat and had to ask us for help. We kindly obliged. It was delicious and very soft. We also shared a bottle of red wine and dined in style. No space for desert, though. Just good that the restaurant was close to our hotel so we did not have to go very far. Yum yum! 1st February 2026 Today is Sunday and we had a leisurely morning. At midday we went by metro to the Centre of town to show Terry and Beverley the historic town centre with the Zocalo, the Cathedral, and the National Palace. Behind the Cathedral some indigenous dressed in traditional outfit with masks and feathers offered cleansing rituals. We had seen that before, but never went through it ourselves. So Beverley and I went for it. But what we thought was a short ritual, turned out to take up much more of our time. We were led to one of many queues as many people, mostly Mexicans, were patiently waiting for their cleansing. We had to queue for over half an hour and had ample time to watch the going ons. Beside our queues some indigenous people performed dances to the sound of drums, a little 3 year old boy joined them and danced happily amongst them. There were sounds of howling monkeys, roaring lions, and all sort of birds produced by indigenous who blew into seashells.  The three girls in front of us were from Mazatlan visiting the capital for a few days. They told me, they have this cleansing procedure done regularly and said it is very relaxing. Then it was our turn. The cleansing involved being sprayed with some cleansing water (that looked like washing up liquid or disinfectant that we used in times of Covid) fresh smelling oils massaged on the forehead and neck, smoke from incense being waft around face and body, some prayers murmured. The young man who did my cleansing was kind, he made the procedure personal by asking the name and where you came from and what you did. He already seemed a bit tired and still had a long queue to go through. After that we moved on through the crowd looking for the hotel which Terry and Beverley had booked for when they come back from the coast. We had a coffee/tea at the rooftop restaurant. It was a Boutique style hotel in a old beautiful colonial building, the staff was friendly, we liked it and decided to book the hotel for the few days when we come back to Mexico mid March before heading back to London. Then we strolled along a handicraft market at the plaza next to the hotel and walked the streets to take in the atmosphere of the historic centre. Skorpions and snakes added to Tequila promise good health and strength. At the end of the street Republica de Cuba we came across quite a few white tents. An middle aged man approached us and told us they were the tenants of the house Cuba 11. Whey had been living in this old colonial building for generations, paying rent to their landlord. Once the landlord had died, an estate agency took over but went bankrupt. They sold the house to two people who wanted to renovate the house to create AirBnBs to make money. So without further notice, they evicted the 19 families of the building. Now these 19 families with children, older people, their whole belongings, furniture, kitchen utensils were out on the streets. The father of one died of a heart attack after a few days. They erected tents and wrote complaints to the government - so far without success. They gave interviews in local and international newspapers to tell their story and put pressure on the government to act. The eviction happened by the end of August and still there was no solution found. In the meantime, they live in tents with their furniture, beds, couch, wardrobes; they have various kitchens where they cook in turn. They have to look for places where they are allowed to use the bathrooms or washing facilities.  The house Republica de Cuba 11, where 19 families have been evicted and now live on the street. It is a horrendous situation, but they stoically stay there in the hope that the government will bow to pressure and find a solution and, if they can’t go back to their apartments, find suitable housing for them. How brave these people are. I attach a link to an article that was written in September 2025, 10 days after their eviction for everyone who wants to know more. https://share.google/uacGDctvEoXMQ0nPt Back in the hotel we had a rest and met up for dinner at 7.30 pm. The restaurant “Casa de los Abuelos” that we had chosen to go to, did not offer any alcohol, so we went to the cellar bar Santa Leyenda next door. It was a lively atmosphere there. Groups of mostly young people were enjoying cocktails or drinking beer of 5 Liter glass containers with several taps to pour beer. They had great fun. A band was playing. I took a photograph of the group of friends at the next table and they invited me over to have their photograph taken with me. Time passed quickly and we had to leave to get some food. The restaurant next door was a lovely light environment, more in cafe house style with paintings on the walls and huge lamps on the ceiling. Luckily they had a menu with pictures so that we could clearly see what food we were ordering. Dave had chicken soup and I had quesillos and we shared. The soup was very tasty with lots of chickens, white beans and various vegetables; it came with a side dish consisting of chicharon (park scratchings), avocados, tortillas, beans; hence it was very filling. It would have been enough for us both. So Dave was not very keen on helping me with my quesillas. So again, we felt we had eaten too much. On the way back to the hotel we passed many bars were people were chatting and drinking and celebrating. The next day was a bank holiday and free of work for many people. Hence the festive atmosphere. ——————- Dave: 28th January  2026 The coach arrived at Mexico North Terminal at 15:50, 10 minutes early, and it was an easy walk from the coach with our luggage to the taxi rank. We paid MX$180 (£7.56) at the taxi booking kiosk for a taxi to our hotel. The roads were quite busy and the taxi took about 30 minutes. We checked in room 332, where we had a quick shower. Lisa phoned our friends Terry and Beverley in their room and we met up with them in the lobby. From the lobby we walked around the streets checking out the restaurants and showed them Sevilla, our nearest underground Metro station. We had a wander, stopped for a beer in a bar along Cozumel. We continued with our wander, and finished up in a simple, but very noisy and busy local restaurant frequented by young Mexicans. The food was basic but good. The restaurant was along Florencia, a block away from our hotel.  We walked back to our hotel at 20:10 and went into the bar to discuss our plans for the next four days over drinks. 29th January 2026 I had a poor nights sleep woke up about 02:00 and could not get back to sleep for a few hours. I woke at 07:30, wrote up my diary and then we showered and came down to the café in our hotel to have a croissant and a cup of coffee, and wait for Terry and Beverley, who were having breakfast, to appear. Their hotel deal included breakfast, our deal was cheaper and didn’t. Today we’re walking to nearby Anthropology Museum of Mexico City, Museo Nacional de Antropología. The National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City is one of the country’s most important museums and an absolute highlight. Located in Chapultepec Park, it showcases Mexico’s indigenous cultures and pre-Hispanic civilizations, from the Olmecs and Maya to the Mexica (Aztecs). The museum is famous for the Aztec Sun Stone and its striking modern architecture, centred around the iconic umbrella fountain in the courtyard. There are 22 permanent exhibition halls, but even a short visit gives a powerful insight into Mexico’s history and cultural identity. Entry is inexpensive, free for Mexicans on Sundays, and the museum is typically open Tuesday to Sunday. Allow at least two to three hours for a highlights visit - more if you want to do it justice. Later we sat down to discuss plans for the next few days and sort out a few things. We met in the hotel lobby at 11:30 and walked slowly through a park to the museum, arriving at 13:30. Entry cost MX$210 (£8.78). We left at 15:00 and travelled by Metro to the Frida Kahlo Museum, hoping to buy tickets for the following day despite confusing information online. After two Metro lines and a 20-minute walk through some seedy streets, we reached the museum to find a long queue. We were told tickets could only be bought online and the earliest available date was 18 February, which was especially disappointing for Terry and Beverley as they fly home before then. We were directed to the nearby Museo Casa Kahlo, which opened in September 2025 and costs MX$270 (£11.28), but we really wanted the original museum. Tired and thirsty, we walked to a nearby square and at 17:40 found a noisy bar for drinks, as most places insisted we eat. Terry and Beverley, with Lisa’s help, spent a long time online trying to buy Frida Kahlo tickets, but the process seemed dubious and they eventually gave up. It looks unlikely they’ll be able to visit. Hungry, we wandered the square and at 19:20 chose a restaurant called Ave Maria. We started with a cocktail for Beverley and beers for Terry, Lisa and me. Terry had a couple of glasses of red wine, one from me as the waiter mixed Terry’s and my plates, and I’d ate some of Terry’s potatoes before I realised! The food was good, but once again their was too much of it. The bill came to MX$2300 (£96.19). We were too tired for the Metro, so I ordered an Uber back to the hotel for MX$210 (£8.78), a 40-minute journey. We plan to visit the Teotihuacan Pyramids tomorrow, and asked reception about a taxi to take us, wait for two hours, and bring us back. After some delay, we were told the driver would only be available in the morning. We let Terry and Beverley know and finally turned out the lights at 22:15. 30th January 2026 Another poor night’s sleep had us both up at 05:30, working on photos and the blog. After our usual croissant, coffee, and tea at Starbucks at 09:00, we met T&B at 10:00and arranged a taxi through the hotel concierge to visit the Teotihuacan Pyramids. Taxi ride to the Teotihuacan Pyramids ————- Where is Teotihuacán and what are the Teotihuacan Pyramids? Teotihuacan was an ancient Mesoamerican city located about 40 km northeast of Mexico City, flourishing roughly 100 to 550 BC. Its name, later given by the Aztecs, means ‘the place where the gods were created.’ It has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1987. There are two main Pyramids. The Pyramid of the Sun is one of the largest pyramids in the world. It was built around 200 BC, and aligned with astronomical events, possibly of religious, or ritual, significance. The Pyramid of the Moon is older than the Sun Pyramid, and sits at the north end of the Avenue of the Dead. It’s associated with water, fertility, and the Great Goddess. Who was the Great goddess? Among the most striking figures at Teotihuacan is the Great Goddess, a powerful female deity whose real name is lost to history. She was closely linked to water, fertility, and renewal, and may have been the city’s most important god. In murals, especially those at Tepantitla, she is shown with water, seeds, and vegetation flowing from her hands, wearing an elaborate headdress filled with birds and spiders. The imagery feels nurturing, yet cosmic, suggesting a goddess who sustained both life on earth and the cycles beyond it. Walking the site, it’s easy to miss her among the vast pyramids, but once you know her story, the murals feel less decorative and more like a quiet reminder that Teotihuacan’s power wasn’t just monumental, but spiritual too. The Temple of the Feathered Serpent (Quetzalcoatl) is located in the Citadel complex. Inside is decorated with carved feathered serpent and rain god (Tlaloc) heads and there is evidence of large-scale ritual human sacrifice. The City once housed 100,000 to 200,000 people, and was laid out in a a grid system. It was one of the largest cities in the ancient world. The central axis of the city was the Avenue of the Dead. What happened to the city?  It was mysteriously abandoned around 550 BC. The causes may have included internal unrest, drought, or political collapse. ————— Fernando, our driver and guide, arrived at 10:30 and we set off shortly after. Traffic was heavy leaving the city, but he’d allowed for it and we arrived just after 11:30. As expected, we were first routed through a ‘five-minute’ stop at a tourist shop - maguey, obsidian, mezcal tastings, which stretched to nearly an hour. Not our favourite part. Once inside the site, Fernando proved to be a knowledgeable guide, showing us areas that had been closed on our visit nine years ago. Sadly, climbing the Pyramid of the Sun is no longer allowed, now deemed too dangerous after years of wear. At the Pyramid of the Moon, climbing to the first level is still permitted, with the help of a central cable - steep, unforgiving steps that made the descent just as challenging. Beverley sensibly stayed at ground level. We walked along the Avenue of the Dead, took photos at the Sun Pyramid, and picked up a couple of small Aztec musical instruments as souvenirs. At 15:00 we headed back to the hotel, arriving at 16:20. We paid Fernando MX$5,000, including a well-deserved tip as he’d been a safe driver and an excellent guide. After a short rest, and more work on photos and the blog, we met again at 18:00 and headed to La Casa de Toño, in Zona Rosa. The food and beer were good, but the service was lightning fast - eat and move on. By 19:45 we’d eaten were back exploring the streets. Zona Rosa was in full Friday-night frenzy: packed bars, deafening music, and crowds everywhere - oh to be young again! We briefly wandered into a strip club by mistake (interesting) then tried a cocktail bar, sticky seats and overly sweet drinks, before deciding we’d had enough. The streets were jammed with traffic, police cars cruised with lights flashing, and the pavements were so crowded you had to walk in the road. At one point a friendly stranger even offered me a swig from his bottle of mezcal; I politely declined. By 22:00 we were back at the hotel, said our goodnights in the lobby, and agreed to meet again at Starbucks at 10:00 in the morning to plan Saturday. 31st January 2026 I had a good night’s sleep and woke at 06:45. After making myself a coffee and a cup of tea for Lisa, we got down to working on the blog. We wrote until 09:30, then showered and went down to Starbucks for our usual croissant, tea and coffee at 09:45. We waited there for Terry and Beverley to finish breakfast so we could plan the day, agreeing to meet back in the hotel lobby at 11:30. The weather forecast wasn’t great: cloudy, the possibility of showers, and a maximum temperature of 16°C. Our plan was to take the Metrobus to the famous Saturday market, El Bazar Sábado, in San Jacinto Plaza, San Ángel. We walked several blocks down Hamburgo to the junction with Avenida Sonora and caught the Metrobus, which runs in its own dedicated lane in the middle of the road, with stations also located in the centre of the traffic. It’s quite a long journey and we arrived around 13:00. El Bazar Sábado is housed inside an old building, and Beverley was immediately in her element, wandering among the many shops and stalls. The place was packed with tourists, and whilst weaving through the crowds we came across a jaguar sculpture that we both instantly fell in love with. It was priced at MX$6,500 (£270.46), but after a bit of negotiation we agreed on MX$6,000 (£249.66), saving £20.80. We paid by credit card. As we’ll be returning to Mexico City at the end of our tour and haven’t yet chosen our final hotel, part of the deal is that they’ll deliver the jaguar - carefully wrapped - to whichever hotel we decide on. The market itself was absolutely fascinating. I had an interesting chat with a silver-bearded designer who makes lamps, lampshades and ornaments, from such things as camshafts and other engine parts. I’d fallen in love with one of his lamps. The design was of a jellyfish. It was about a 12 inches (38.5cm) tall, the glass head had the light source inside, and it had many thin metal tentacles dangling down. Alas, it was far too expensive.  Right at the end of our visit we found a building filled entirely with clay skeletal creations, of people, various vehicles, and even small skeletal footballers dangling from the ceiling. They seemed to be happy for us to take photos of their wonderful objects, creations and paintings.  It was impossible to explore as a group, so we split up and agreed to meet Terry and Beverley at a designated spot at 15:15. By then we were in need of a sit-down, so we found a café, Lego El, where we could get cups of tea, coffee and something to eat. This should have been the warmest part of the day, but it was still overcast, and breezy, which brought the temperature down to 15°C. It was cool enough for me to put on my fleece. We left at 16:30 and took the Metrobus back toward Condesa, an area near our hotel, getting off at the Campeche stop to explore the area. Within minutes we stumbled across yet another bazaar. I was thoroughly bazaared out by now, so I sat on a post outside and wrote up my diary and waited for the others. We continued wandering the streets and eventually stopped for a beer at a bar called Guardatiempos (something like: take care of your time). We declined an offer of tequila as we entered, from what appeared to be the bar owner and sat at a corner table with our beers. At the next table the owner and a couple of friends were sitting around a litre bottle of tequila, half full, or perhaps half empty. A woman appeared and handed Beverley and Lisa a single rose each. They initially declined, assuming there was a catch, but the bar owner assured them they were a gift, paid for by him as a gesture of friendship. When we went to leave, Terry and I were offered large glasses of tequila by the owner and his friends. We toasted one another, chatted, took photos, and left with warm farewells, Beverley and Lisa clutching their roses. For dinner we chose an Argentinian restaurant near our hotel, Quebracho. The food was good and we shared a bottle of wine. As we left, the restaurant was beginning to fill up. The bill came to MX$2,300 (£95.70), which we split, with a 10% tip added. Terry covered the tip as he’d had the most expensive steak. We left at 21:35, were back at the hotel by 21:50, and agreed to meet again in the morning at 11:00. 01st February 2026 We were up just after six and spent the morning working on the blog and photos until ten. After showers, we went down for our usual croissants and coffee, meeting Terry and Beverley at 11:00 to plan the day. We agreed to meet again at 12:30. It was a lovely sunny day, around 20C, though it’s set to drop to 3C tonight. We walked to the Insurgentes Metro, changed lines, and got off at Zócalo. Lisa and Beverley queued for about 30 minutes to be cleansed by one of the indigenous soul cleansers in the square, costing MX$100 each. We then walked to the Hotel Santo Domingo, where Terry and Beverley will stay after returning from Sayulita. We were shown a room and liked the hotel enough to book ourselves in for three nights - our final nights in Mexico. We took a coffee break in their covered rooftop restaurant before leaving. Outside the hotel was a small market. I sat and wrote my diary while the others explored. Later, we walked back to the Balderas Metro station, then back to Sevilla, checking out restaurants along the way. Although Beverley isn’t keen on Mexican food, we chose a Mexican place, only to find it didn’t serve alcohol, so we planned a stop at a nearby bar first. We went to the bar, which turned out to be a very loud headbangers’ place with Mexican wrestling on the screens. During our beer an heavy metal band came on stage, much to the appreciation of the people in the crowded bar. We finished our beer and moved on. Dinner was at La Casa de los Abuelos. I tried pozole (soup) with chicken and pork for the first time and it was excellent and shared it with Lisa, along with three quesadillas. The others had chicken, and Terry even managed a pudding. On the walk back, Terry was limping after missing a step earlier walking down the stairs into the headangers’ bar, and Beverley’s cold was affecting her sinuses, so we stopped at a chemist for a nasal stick. Although we’d planned an early night, it was 22:15 by the time we returned to the hotel and said our goodnights. Queretaro, 25th to 28th January 2026 Lisa: 25th January 2026 On Sunday afternoon we arrived in Querétaro via Mexico City. Querétaro is located in central Mexico, on the Mexican Plateau, at an altitude of 1,860 metres. It is famous for its grand colonial centre, bustling Plaza de Armas, and vibrant restaurants and pedestrian streets. Its well-preserved historic centre was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1996. Querétaro is deeply steeped in Mexico’s history, and its people are very proud of that heritage. Here are a few interesting historical facts for those who are interested. ————— Background Information: Querétaro was founded by the Otomí people and was incorporated into the Aztec Empire in 1446. It served as an outpost against enemies from the north until 1531, when it came under Spanish control. Querétaro then became a major base for Franciscan missionary work in North America and served as a way station and supply centre for the rich mining districts of Guanajuato and Zacatecas. In 1810 it was the scene of a plot against Spanish rule that led to the uprising headed by Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, a Roman Catholic priest and revolutionary leader known as the father of Mexican independence, although the initial movement failed to achieve independence. Finally, in 1867, the forces of Benito Juárez defeated those of Emperor Maximilian at Querétaro. Maximilian, of the House of Habsburg, and his generals were executed by firing squad on a nearby hill. The Mexican Constitution of 1917 was written in Querétaro, and the city later became the birthplace of Mexico’s Institutional Revolutionary Party in 1929. ————— It is fascinating to walk through the centre of Querétaro. We admired the colourful colonial houses—some majestic, others smaller—as well as the many churches, convents, plazas, and monuments. It is a pleasure to stroll around, discovering something interesting around every corner. We came across a cultural centre that exhibits information on independence struggles around the world, including Mexico. Entry is free, and we managed a quick visit before it closed. The streets and plazas were busy with people enjoying their Sunday afternoon and evening. In one plaza there was a karaoke-style session, with people taking turns to sing their favourite Mexican songs while others danced. We joined in and earned some applause from the spectators. Around the corner, the Plaza de Armas hosted a DJ, with people dancing—some quite professionally. The atmosphere was joyful and relaxed. Then we were getting hungry and there was a huge choice of restaurants, but some look better than others. We chose the restaurant San Miguel opposite the Museum of Independence. And it turned out to be a good choice. To Dave’s  delight they had beer, and we ordered a shared dish which was brought in a hot pot of volcanic stone, with a selection of pork, beef, chicken, sausages, in a sauce with a corn husk, avocado and peppers in it. It was a lot of food, even for two people. It was very good though, but we felt stuffed when we walked home. No space for desert. Querétaro is about 700 metres higher than Oaxaca and the evenings are freezing cold. The hotel room was cold, without heating of course, so I asked for extra blankes and we were sitting wrapped in blankets. 26th January 2026 This hotel offers a 24/7 supply of hot water. There is a water cooler with a hot-water tap at reception, so I can have hot water for my teabag whenever I want. When we left the hotel in the morning, we sat on a bench in the sunshine for a while to warm up. Then we found a lovely café for breakfast. On the way back, we noticed a statue of a accordeon player in a courtyard. Curious, we went inside, where a man welcomed us and invited us to look around. It turned out that the building houses the Cultural Institute of the local university, and he was the head of the department. They had just opened a small exhibition about their work, and he proudly showed us around. The institute offers music courses covering a wide range of instruments. The statue of this accordeon player is over 400 years old. Again and again, we saw many courtyards like this—outwardly plain houses concealed beautiful spaces, full of surprises. At noon, we took an Uber to Cervecería Hércules, a visit that had been highly recommended by the hotel receptionist, another fascinating project, deeply rooted in history. ————— Background Information: Cervecería Hércules was founded in 2011 in Querétaro by Luis and Carlos González. It is a prominent craft brewery located in a former 19th-century textile factory in the Hércules neighbourhood. The complex honours its 173-year industrial past (1846–2019) by transforming the former textile mill into a lively beer garden and cultural centre. The site originally operated as a mill known as El Colorado before becoming a textile factory in 1846, owned by Cayetano Rubio. At the time, workers and their families lived on the factory grounds. They shared kitchens and other facilities, and each family was allocated a single bedroom. For many years, the working day lasted up to 19 hours, until legislation was introduced to reduce it to eight hours. The textile factory remained a local economic pillar until its closure on 30 September 2019. When cheap fabric from Asia entered the market, the Mexican textile industry became no longer viable. A new business concept was developed, and in 2011 a brewery was founded with the goal of producing high-quality craft beer while reviving traditional brewing methods. Today, the company specialises in classic European styles and lagers, and makes use of local ingredients such as native corn. Cervecería Hércules preserves its industrial architecture, offering an experience that beautifully combines working-class history with modern beer culture. ————— The existing factory buildings were revamped for use by the brewery. Other parts have also been renovated and are now rented out to local small businesses producing soap, textiles, and similar goods. The former bedrooms where workers’ families once lived are now used by the newly established Boutique Hotel Hércules. It is all very posh now—though we found it rather sterile. A woman I spoke to at Cervecería Hércules told me that the people running the brewery today are the children and grandchildren of those who worked for generations in the textile factory. They try to preserve the sense of community that once existed by maintaining the site as a lively cultural space, a beer garden and hosting events such as concerts and film screenings. When I asked the security woman whether it wouldn’t be convenient to have your accommodation right where you work, as people did in the old textile factory days, she disagreed. No, she said—she wouldn’t want to live at her workplace, because you could never really switch off from work. She explained that factory workers had complained that when they were on shift work, they couldn’t sleep, as the constant noise of the weaving machines kept them awake. Fair enough—you can’t really argue with that. A taxi took us back to the centre, and the kind driver even stopped so we could admire Querétaro’s impressive aqueduct—an engineering landmark and unmistakable symbol of the city. Built in the 18th century, it is one of the largest aqueducts in Mexico, stretching 1.28 kilometres and supported by 74 arches, with an average height of 28.5 metres. It was constructed because the city lacked a reliable and healthy drinking-water system; the old canals and pipes supplied water that was dirty and unhygienic, contaminated by the butcher shops. After that, we continued wandering around Querétaro, exploring its many churches and former convents—now museums—and admiring the beautiful architecture. In the evening, we headed towards a recommended restaurant, but first we wanted to see Querétaro by night and take photos of illuminated houses, churches, and anything else that caught our eye. Unfortunately, the weather was cold and windy—12 degrees, but feeling more like 1—so our night photography adventure was cut short, and we hurried into the restaurant Tikua to warm up ourselves near the gas heater. As often happens when a menu is full of unfamiliar dishes, our minds went completely blank. Once again, we put our fate in the hands of the waiter. Dave ordered a generous plate of pork ribs with a delicious sauce and tortillas. I opted for something “lighter” (in theory): tacos filled with pork and sauce. The food was very good—but, once again, extremely filling. We really shouldn’t have eaten so much of the free dips they brought us while we were waiting… but we were hungry, and free dips are dangerous. 27th January 2026 For today, we had planned a day trip to the nearby town of San Miguel de Allende, another World Heritage treasure renowned for its beautiful colonial architecture and enchanting cobblestone streets. However, we decided against visiting, as there was still so much more to explore in Querétaro and we didn’t want to rush through yet another town. After breakfast, we first headed to the old Railway Station—now a museum—only to find that it was closed today. The station was first used on 1 May 1903 and was later declared a historical monument by presidential decree on 17 March 1986. It was built following the principles of British railway engineering. The old Queretaro Railway Station Passenger rail service in Querétaro, particularly the Mexico City–Querétaro line, was discontinued in 1996 following President Ernesto Zedillo’s decision to privatise the state-owned rail company, Ferrocarriles Nacionales de México, and to terminate most passenger services across the country. In the meantime, plans to revive the Mexico City–Querétaro passenger line have been discussed, but so far such initiatives have failed twice. On our way back to the centre, we passed a restaurant with an intriguing bar filled with mirrors and bottles. As we approached to take photos, the staff invited us inside and even suggested taking pictures of us behind the bar. Such kind people. The rest of the afternoon was spent delving deeper into the city’s history by visiting former convents that have since been converted into museums. Querétaro was once a stronghold of Spanish power, and as a result churches, convents, and monasteries were built throughout the city. During the Reform period of 1861 to 1864, a nationwide effort to separate church and state led to the closure of these religious institutions, and monks and nuns were sent home. Many of the buildings were subsequently repurposed as government offices or for military use. One notable example is the Convento de las Capuchinas, which is particularly famous for having served as the final prison of Maximilian of Habsburg in 1867, shortly before he and his generals were executed. After years of decline and abandonment, the site has now been restored and transformed into a cultural space, housing an art gallery and the city museum. After so much culture, we needed a break and decided to take one of the open-top city buses. We were the only passengers. The tour lasted about an hour and passed through the centre of Querétaro, but we have to admit that these tours are usually disappointing. The distorted loudspeakers make it almost impossible to understand the commentary, which is only in Spanish, and there is never enough time to explore anything in depth. You can make a mental note to return to places that catch your interest, but by the end there are so many that it becomes impossible to follow up on them all. We consistently find that wandering aimlessly through the city on our own—open to whatever we may encounter—leads to more interesting discoveries and unexpected surprises. In the evening, we ate at another restaurant outdoors, accompanied by a live band. Once again, the portion was far too much for me—very filling—even though this time we hadn’t started with any dips. In the future, we will either share a dish, or I will stick to something lighter, like soup or guacamole. One way or another I will find a solution. 28th January 2026 Today we are heading back to Mexico City by bus. We expect to arrive by late afternoon just in time to meet our friends Terry and Beverley, who arrived today and will be joining us for the next two weeks. Please note that for the next week or so we will not have much time to write, but will upload a few photos and make up for it later. —————— Dave 25th January 2026 A bit of a cock-up this morning. We were up at 05:30 and ready to go by 07:00 when the Uber taxi I’d ordered to the airport messaged to say sorry, no taxi - try again later. Cue mild panic. Lisa went downstairs to speak to Emma, one of the Airbnb’s part-owners. Luckily, she’s an early riser too. She contacted their reliable taxi driver, who arrived just 15 minutes later in his new yellow cab. The fare was MX$350 - about twice the normal price - grrr! By 08:00 we were in the check-in queue at the Aeroméxico desk at Oaxaca International Airport. We had only a short wait to check in our suitcases and then sailed through passport control and security. There was enough time for something to eat and a drink before boarding. Our scheduled take-off was 09:40, and we left just eight minutes late. The flight time to Mexico City was meant to be 1 hour 20 minutes, but we arrived at 10:40 - a good 20 minutes early. There was a 20-minute wait for our luggage, though the most frustrating delay was Lisa’s queue for the ladies. Next task was booking the bus from the airport to Querétaro. Fortunately, the bus terminal is right next to the airport exit. As we’ve come to expect, buying tickets was fast and efficient. We paid MX$625 (£26.20) each. Ten minutes later our suitcases were taken, our rucksacks went through airport-style scanners, and at 11:40 we boarded the coach and set off for Querétaro. The journey would take around three hours, dependent upon traffic. We’re travelling with Primera Plus, and what a difference compared to the buses nine years ago. The coach was very modern, with separate men’s and women’s toilets. Each passenger seat had a large 40 cm (16-inch) LCD screen, plenty of legroom, fully reclining seats, and even leg rests. The only downside was that everyone with a window seat had their blackout curtains closed. We were in the front inner seats, numbers 2 & 3, on opposite sides of the aisle, but the glass partition separating the driver from the passengers was also blacked out. Thankfully, the girl sitting next to me kindly opened her curtain part-way so I could at least see out. We made good time and arrived after three hours at the bus terminus in Queretaro. We took an official taxi to Hotel Madero, our home for the next 3 nights. Our room was small, presentable and cold. We dropped off out bags, freshened up and the went out with our camera to explore the area. Queretaro is a city and spread over quite a large area.  We were looking for a restaurant for tonight and decided on one with many Mexicans dinners. We explored some more and were hungry, so we returned to the San Miguelito restaurant and shared a typical Mexican dish, a Molcajete por Mexico, which came in a pipping hot grey volcanic lava dish that stood on it’s three stubby legs. Before the main dish arrived they brought fried tortillas and several spicy dips, which went down well with the cold beer. The Molcajete por Mexico hit the spot, but Lisa said that too much emphasis was placed on the meat, and not the vegetables. I was impressed with the meat and even more impressed with the volcanic lava dish the food came in, which was still untouchable, even when they came to take the empty three-legged dish away. After the meal we slowly made our way back to the hotel, and shared a couple of glasses of wine, which we’d bought earlier in a OXXO supermarket.   26th January 2026 We were up early, working on the blog before heading out for breakfast. After a shower, we discovered a lovely little coffee shop called Croissanto, stopping along the way to photograph interesting street scenes and the menu from the restaurant we’d eaten at the night before — I wanted to remember the name of the dish we’d shared. Back at the hotel, we picked up our cameras. Our receptionist had recommended Cervecería Hércules, a former textile factory converted into a brewery. An Uber collected us from just outside the hotel and, twenty minutes later, dropped us at the entrance for MX$90 (£3.76). Cervecería Hércules is far more than just a brewery. Established around 2011–2012, it produces a wide range of fresh, unpasteurised beers, from traditional styles to more experimental brews. Housed within part of the old El Hércules textile factory, the industrial character remains unmistakable — thick walls, high ceilings, rusting machinery, and vast spaces now filled with gleaming stainless-steel vats. The complex feels like a small village, with craft shops, workshops, and Hotel Hércules occupying what once housed factory workers and their families. Lisa was very disappointed as there was no information available about the social history of the people who worked and lived within the El Hércules textile factory. This aspect seems to have been erased and all the information, and tours, are all about the production of Hercules beers. Finding the beer garden took some wandering, as there were no signs. We passed small artisan shops, including one selling olive-oil-based soaps from Spain, before finally reaching the busy beer garden at the back. Half of it was outdoors and other half covered, with the kitchen visible at one end, it had a relaxed, atmosphere. The menu was simple and well suited to the beers offered — sausages, pizzas and Mexican dishes. We shared guacamole, plantains, and half a pint of Hércules beer, which was excellent. Despite its modern use, the old factory has retained its character, making Cervecería Hércules one of Querétaro’s most interesting places, if you enjoy craft beer and industrial history. We had trouble getting an Uber back due to poor WiFi signal, but flagged down a passing taxi instead. We paid MX$110 and accepted our drivers offer to stop at a mirador to view the city’s impressive aqueduct, which was well worth the extra MX$20. An old photograph of the aqueduct with an old steam locomotive He dropped us at Plaza de Armas, where we sat in the sunshine listening to a violinist play for diners beneath outdoor canopies. After more blogging and photo editing back at the hotel, we ventured out again to a restaurant called Tikua. The restaurant was above the normal restaurants in the area. I had pork ribs and Lisa had pork tacos with sauce, and both were excellent. We sat beside one of those large industrial barbecue heaters, and were very happy that we did as it was cold inside and the outside temperature had dropped to 1C, and boy oh boy did we notice it when we walked the short distance back to our hotel. We were more than pleased too that we’d asked for extra blankets for the bed for our room was cold. 27th January 2026 We were up early to catch up on the blog, then headed out for breakfast at our favourite coffee shop, Croissanto. After such a cold night it wasn’t surprising to see people on the streets still wearing scarves and winter coats at 10:30am. Back at the hotel we booked our Prima Plus coach back to Mexico City (Terminal México Norte) for tomorrow at 13:00, made a few notes for why we wanted to see in the afternoon, including a trip on the tourist tram around the centre, and then walked to the city’s old railway station. The Antigua Estación del Ferrocarril, built in the early 1900s and inaugurated in 1904, is now a cultural centre and museum preserving Querétaro’s railway heritage. Unfortunately it was closed, but one office door was open and a man working inside kindly let us in to look at the old photographs on the walls. The station was declared a historic monument in 1986 and forms part of the city’s UNESCO World Heritage zone. Walking back towards the centre we passed Cantina La Casa Verde (opened in 1928). We took photos through the open door before being invited inside to stand behind the bar holding a bottle of mezcal. The barman was happily to take our photo.  We continued our walk back into the historic centre, stopping at the Templo de San José de Capuchinas and the nearby city museum.  Why are the majority of Mexican museums free to enter? Because in Mexico free, or near free access, has been baked into cultural policy for decades. Culture and education are seen as something that everyone should have access to, not just for the people who can afford a ticket. Many museums are run by the federal or state government, so entry is subsidised by public funds. The philosophy behind this is simple: you’ve already paid for this with your taxes, so go inside and learn. England could learn a lot from Mexico. Querétaro’s historic centre is a joy to wander around, with narrow alleyways, shady parks and pedestrian-friendly streets. Nude woman resting in a park We stopped at a café for a break,  Lisa with a cup of tea and me with a Coca-Cola, enjoying the sunshine despite a cool breeze. After a short visit to the art museum, opposite Tikua Sur Este where we ate last night, we headed to Plaza de Armas to find the tourist tram. We reached the Plaza and had to ask a policewoman if she knew where the pickup place was. She immediately got on her phone, and within seconds a guy approached. He took us to the starting point, and we paid him MX$300 (£12.61) for us both. It wasn’t a tram but a modern small open sided single decker bus, and we were the only ones on the tour. Just after 16:00 we set off in the sunshine. We had a 55-minute tour covering the main landmarks, with brief stops at Santa Rosa de Viterbo, the aqueduct, and the Mirador. Pleasant enough, though slightly underwhelming. We finished the afternoon sitting in Jardín Zenea, enjoying the late sunshine, before returning to the hotel to work for a few hours on the blog.  We wanted to have something simple to eat after last night’s blow-out meal and intended to eat in the adjoining small restaurant next to our hotel. Unfortunately they didn’t sell alcohol, so we left. We finished up at the swanky Meson de Chucho El Roto restaurant, on Plaza de Armas. It was busy and they had a three piece band playing out front, keyboard, drums and violinist. Good too. We chose something simple together with  bottled beer. Afterward we went back to our hotel to continue watching James Bond in Goldfinger on Netflix. 28th January  2026 I had a good night sleep but got up at 05:15 to write up our blog as I needed to catch up on two days. I finished at 08:00 and then we packed our suitcases because just before midday we’ve got to leave the hotel. We went for breakfast at the Croissanto for our usual croissant and cappuccino, Lisa a tea instead of coffee. We had a slow walk back to our hotel and then sat on the little table outside our room and worked on the photos and our blog until midday. We said goodbye to the receptionist, and then walked to the road junction on our right, where I ordered an Uber for MX$107 (£4.49). We only had to wait two minutes and it arrived. 25 minutes later we arrived at the Premier Plus bus terminus. Check-in was painless and then at 11:45 we boarded, ready for our 13:00 departure. Once again security was tight, and had to put our rucksacks through the scanner, were security opened them to check there was nothing untoward inside them. Once again, we’ve managed to get the front seats, but this time seated together in seats 3 and 4. Our journey time will be approximately three hours, dependent upon the traffic and then when we arrive get a taxi back to our hotel in Mexico City, the Galeria Plaza Reforma. The same one we stayed in when we first arrived in Mexico on the 25 December 2025. Our friends Beverley and Terry arrived from Heathrow this morning at 05:00 and we’ll be meeting them later. Our ETA at our hotel should be around 17:00. 3.Oaxaca 4th January until 25th January 2026 - (Continuing) Oaxaca, 18th - 25th January 2026 Here is our report about the last week of our time in Oaxaca. The other reports on the previous two weeks can be found in part one of our travel blog. Lisa: 18th January 2026 We are starting the last of our three weeks in Oaxaca. Time is running fast and there are so many things to see and to do. However, we also are exhausted and need to tread slower and take it easy. After all, we are still another two months on the road. Today, Sunday, was an easy day devoted to art. We went to a photography exhibition that had been highly recommended. The Centro Fotográfico Manuel Álvarez Bravo was established in honour of the renowned Mexican photographer, one of the most important figures in 20th-century Latin American photography. His career spanned from the late 1920s to the 1990s, and he was influenced by the Mexican muralist movement as well as broader cultural and political efforts to redefine Mexican identity. He received many awards and died in 2002 at the age of 100—a truly remarkable figure. We were very much looking forward to seeing his work. Unfortunately, the gallery was not showing Álvarez Bravo’s photographs, but instead featured the work of a young Mexican female photographer. From the outset, we were not impressed. Many of the photographs were out of focus and blurred—the kind of images we would normally delete. We also struggled to understand the message or intention behind the work, as there were no information cards explaining how the photographs had been taken or what they were meant to convey. We left shortly afterwards, feeling quite disappointed. This was especially frustrating because, to our knowledge, this gallery—bearing the name of such a renowned photographer—is the only dedicated photography gallery in Oaxaca. It seems a missed opportunity, as there is so much potential to present both historic and contemporary photographs of this vibrant city to a national and international audience. Our luck did not improve that day. The other exhibition we had planned to visit—a private art museum that was also highly recommended, the Belber Museum—turned out to be empty, apart from a single large statue of an angel. We had checked the website beforehand, which stated that the museum was open. Perhaps it has moved or closed down altogether and the website was never updated. Yummy!! In order to lift our spirits we went into a cafe opposite the Santo Domingo Church, where Dave relished an iced Mocca, with chocolate and lots of creme. That went down very well. The night before we did not sleep well as nearby was a music festival until 3 am in the morning. It was not our music taste; it was more like a howling, and reached our ears despite our usually quite effective silicon earplugs. So we were a bit tired all day, which also may have affected our spirits. 19th January 2026 For today, the plan was to visit the Botanical Garden on the grounds of the former Monastery of the Santo Domingo church. On the way to the Gardens we used a different route and explored another beautiful area, so far unknown to us, with lovely little shops and cafes. We sat on a bench in the shade and watched the world go by. The Botanical Gardens currently have reduced entry times and limited capacity, and we were told there were still two hours to wait until the next entry at 5 p.m. We used the time to go on one of the open-top tourist buses to get around Oaxaca. Unfortunately, the loudspeakers blasting information about the sights in Spanish were overdriven and crackling, and they hurt our ears. I soon gave up trying to understand what was being said and simply enjoyed being driven around town in the sunshine. Usually, these hop-on, hop-off buses have several stops so tourists can take pictures, but the only stop on this tour was at an ice-cream parlour, where we were urged to buy ice cream—possibly owned by a family member of the driver (we didn’t). After that, the bus swiftly returned to the starting point. The “one-hour” tour ended after just 40 minutes, which seemed fitting given that we had started with a half-hour delay. Still, we made it back in time to join the queue for the Botanical Gardens. ————— Background information: The Botanical Garden was founded in 1994. It was originally part of the Dominican monastery, and the Dominican friars began building Santo Domingo in the 1570s. They moved into the monastery in 1608 and remained there till the 1860s.  The Dominicans were expelled in the early 1860s — at a time when, nationwide, all church properties were expropriated and nationalised. The federal government took over the whole complex and handed it to the military, and Santo Domingo served as a cavalry base until 1993. The military used this space to exercise forces, to hold military practices, to park military vehicles. They destroyed much of the Dominican garden, that was once famous for its wide range of plants, including algarve, cactus and medicinal plants. When the military left in 1993, the new owners started to reconstruct the buildings, but nothing happened to the garden until finally in 1998 when they began to prepare the soil, to plan out the garden and to begin planting, and the garden opened to the public in late 1999. ———— We were told that a change in administration was the reason for the reduced entry times and limited capacity. Entry was free, and only up to 30 people were supposed to be allowed in at a time to prevent overcrowding. I counted 44 people in our group, but when we entered, another group was just finishing their visit. How they had been admitted while the rest of us had previously been turned away remains a mystery—apparently, there are different rules for different people. We were led by two guides into one specific area of the Botanical Garden and were not allowed to wander into the other sections. So we took photos of the lovely selection of cacti and agaves in the fading afternoon light, carefully avoiding the sharp spines. After 20 minutes, our time was up. I had assumed these restrictions were due to a lack of funding, but when I spoke to one of our minders, Jesús, he explained that the problem lay with the new leadership, who had yet to agree on a clear strategy or decide what they wanted to do with the Botanical Gardens and how to manage them. What a pity, as this is a beautiful garden that needs care and deserves to be open for the public to enjoy. I do hope they get their act together soon. 21st January 2026 Yesterday, we enjoyed a much-needed lazy day of shopping, resting, and planning ahead. Today was market day in the Valley of Etla, so we went to the Abasto Market to catch a colectivo taxi to get there. By now, we know our way around town. There was already a taxi waiting with two passengers, so we got in and off we went. Our driver was young, energetic, and very amicable. Dave was lucky enough to get the front seat because of his long legs, while I was squeezed into the back with a Mexican couple. When we set off, I noticed that Dave’s seatbelt was fixed behind his seat, so I handed it to him to fasten. The driver said it didn’t work that way, and instead of being annoyed by my insistence, he stopped and fixed the seatbelt properly. Dave was embarrassed by all my fussing, but the driver didn’t mind at all. He turned on some loud, hot Mexican music and sang along. When I asked about it, he told me it was a well-known Oaxacan band that plays at weddings and funerals. The music was lively, and our driver sang enthusiastically while drumming on the steering wheel, darting in and out of lanes to overtake slower vehicles. He drove fast and only used the brakes at the very last moment to avoid hitting other cars. Just good that he crossed himself three times before we set off. Still, I was glad I had insisted that Dave wear his seatbelt. As for me, I was so tightly wedged in the back that I couldn’t move anyway. It took about half an hour to reach Etla, and I must admit I was relieved when we arrived safely. The other passengers, however, seemed completely unbothered and slept through the entire journey. The village of Etla lies about 17 km northwest of Oaxaca. Despite being called a village, it is in fact a small town, best known for its weekly Wednesday market. Here, visitors can find traditional local foods such as Etla’s white cheese, tamales, and goat barbacoa prepared in an earthen oven. Tamales are made from corn dough and filled with meats, cheeses, fruits, vegetables, herbs, or chilies—whatever suits one’s taste. They are steamed in corn husks or banana leaves; the wrapping is either discarded before eating or used as a makeshift plate. Goat barbacoa is a typical Oaxacan dish in which a whole goat, seasoned with onions, coriander, and other herbs and vegetables, is baked underground for about eight hours. We had a taste of it in Zaachila. Etla’s white cheese is famous throughout Oaxaca. Known as quesillo, it is a type of string cheese that is rolled into a ball. It is still hand-produced by a number of families in the Etla area, using a surprisingly complex process. Traditional quesillo is made from a curdled mixture of fresh milk and sour milk. Once the curd has solidified, it is cut into cubes, which are then melted by pouring scalding hot water over them. The melted curds are stretched until the characteristic cheese threads form. Water is then added to stop the melting process, and the threads are rolled up into the familiar cheese balls commonly seen in markets throughout Mexico. There is a legend that this cheese-making process was invented by accident. According to the story, in 1886 a family left their 14-year-old daughter, Leobarda Castellanos García, in charge of making the household’s traditional cheese. As teenagers sometimes do, she became distracted and let the milk curdle beyond the usual point. In an attempt to save it, she poured hot water over the curds and accidentally created the stretchy, gummy mass that became the basis of what is now known as Oaxacan string cheese. When we arrived in Etla, we went straight to the market in the town centre. It had a lively yet very relaxed atmosphere. We both felt safe, and the people were extremely friendly. Not many tourists make it up here. We wandered through the aisles of both the outdoor and indoor markets, curious to see what was on offer. The outdoor market was similar to others we had seen, but the indoor market showed all the regional specialities. We stopped at a cheese stall to talk to a woman about how the cheese is produced. Each evening she makes the cheese, a process that lasts through the night, and the following day she sells it at the market. The cheese comes as long, thin strands—about half a centimetre thick and an inch wide—which are rolled up into a ball. You can buy it by length; we bought a metre, which rolled up into a palm-sized ball. We then strolled through the various sections of the market, taking in the smells and colours of the produce: the vast meat and sausage area, the fruit and vegetable stalls, and the bread, tortilla, and taco section. We bought some tamales filled with zucchini flowers and a little meat. They were delicious and spicy. We watched the lively comings and goings of the local people as they went about their business, meeting friends and family at this weekly event. After a while, we left the market and strolled through town, trying to find a good spot from which to photograph the surrounding mountains. However, they were always obscured by houses, trees, or electricity cables. Then a middle-aged man on a bicycle approached us, speaking perfect English, and simply wanted to have a chat. It turned out he had lived in the United States for 30 years, where he worked as a mechanic repairing RVs and raised a family. About seven months ago, he was expelled by ICE from the country where he had built a life for himself and his family. Now he was back in his home country, but settling in again was difficult, and finding work was hard, as he had spent his entire adult and working life abroad. Most of all, he missed his family—his wife and daughter, who are still in Utah. What a mess. We talked for a while, then wished him all the best, and he cycled on. We continued our walk and stopped for a Coca-Cola at a small restaurant. To our surprise, the drinks were served with a bowl of peanuts and some chicken tacos in a spicy sauce. Yummy. Then we decided to hire one of the many three-wheeled vehicles—tuk-tuks—for an hour to see more of the surrounding area before heading back to Oaxaca. The driver, a young lad, clearly enjoyed taking us up the hills and along the cobbled village streets until we reached San Agustín Etla, perched on top of a hill with wonderful views of the surrounding mountains. We took a few photos, and before we knew it, it was time to head back. We greatly enjoyed this little adventure, bouncing along in the tiny vehicle and taking in the scenery. The young lad dropped us off back in Etla, where the colectivo taxis to Oaxaca were waiting. There was a long queue for the taxis, but it soon became our turn, and we squeezed in with five other people—three in the back and Dave and I in the front beside the driver. It was a tight fit, and after the fast drive we were glad to get out, stretch our legs, arms, and backs, and return everything to its proper position. It had been a great day out. 22nd January 2026 The next few days were spent relaxing and revisiting places we had enjoyed before. We went up to a viewpoint behind our house. It was a steep climb, which is why we had avoided it until then, even though it came highly recommended for its views. The view was indeed fantastic: a wide panorama of the city with the mountains in the background. However, getting there was unpleasant, as we had to walk through a dirty, neglected, slum-like area to reach the top. We won’t be coming back. I had found a tortilla mill near our house and bought some tortilla dough (masa), which went perfectly with the black beans I had soaked all day and wanted to cook for dinner. So Dave and I tried making tortillas by shaping a small amount of dough into a ball, flattening it into a thin, round tortilla, and roasting it on a pan. We had great fun, although our tortillas were not as round or flat as the ones you can buy at the market—but they tasted great. We had enough dough (and black beans) left for breakfast the next morning. Yummy. By the way, we’ve finally figured out why our showers have been cold in the mornings for the past few days. Our new young neighbour next door always takes long showers in the evening and uses up all the hot water. Since the hot water is produced by the solar panels on the roof, and there’s no sun at night to heat it, the water just stays cold. Not ideal when morning temperatures are around 5–7°C! How thoughtless of her. On top of that, there’s a drought in Mexico, and everyone—including tourists—is asked to conserve water. She’s also not very communicative: she never talks to us and usually runs past without even saying hello or nodding. I understand that young people don’t want to chat with their “grandparent-aged” neighbours all the time, but a quick greeting or a nod to acknowledge someone’s presence when we are sitting on the terrace, literally just metres from her, seems like basic politeness. Are we expecting too much?. Well, we’ve now adjusted our routine: we take warm showers in the evening (hair washing included) and just hop under a quick cold shower in the morning to wake up. Now, she doesn’t have any hot water either—so at least she has one reason to be annoyed with us! These are the little challenges of life here. It’s not too bad, as long as it doesn’t get worse. - And we only have a few more days here in Oaxaca. 23rd January 2026 All morning we worked to solve a problem with my Sony camera. To repair the fault, it needed an update of its software. After many attempts and lots of search on the internet, Dave managed to get the update downloaded and installed on the camera. Well done. We learnt a lot about things, a few years ago I wasn’t bothered about and didn’t need to know. Well, that’s technology for you and we have to keep up with it. After this huge effort we deserved a piece of cake and a coffee in one of the cafes which we only recently found in town. And to my surprise: They had black tea. That made my day. 24th January2026 For the last few days we wandered through Oaxaca, camera in hand, revisiting favourite spots and snapping photos—like the Guzmán church. We also checked in on old acquaintances. The jaguar in the gallery is still there, patiently waiting for us to take him home. Sorry mate, we can’t take you home. You will certainly brake in on the way. Over the past three weeks we explored Oaxaca almost entirely on foot. According to our pedometer, we averaged about 8,000 steps a day—roughly 6.4 km. That adds up to around 128 km of strolling through Oaxaca’s streets. Not bad at all, though sadly this was our only form of exercise. Now our visit is coming to an end. We planned carefully: the fridge is empty, supplies depleted, and tonight was our last dinner out—a rooftop restaurant to celebrate our time in Oaxaca in style. Before heading there, we took one final walk through the town centre to photograph Oaxaca in the evening light. Along the way, we passed two wedding celebrations—music and traditional dancing filling the streets while the couples were still in church. Eventually, hunger and thirst won. We arrived at the restaurant already dreaming of a cold beer on the terrace. When we ordered, the very nice young waiter, Sally, shook his head. “Sorry—dry weekend.” Dry… what now? It turns out there are local elections on Sunday in Oaxaca, and for the entire weekend alcohol sales are banned across the state of Oaxaca. No restaurants, no shops, no off-licences. Nothing until Monday morning. Disaster. Tragedy. We could not have picked a worse night for our festive farewell meal. Still, leaving wasn’t an option—the situation was the same everywhere, and we had absolutely nothing left at home. So we accepted our fate, ordered food and water, and made the best of it. And honestly? The food was excellent—really delicious. In the end, it was still a pretty good way to say goodbye to Oaxaca. Even without the beer. Tomorrow we're going to Querétaro. To be on the safe side, I checked online beforehand to see if elections are also taking place there. Good news: the last local elections in the state of Querétaro were in 2024. So chances are good that we'll be able to drink beer there legally again. 🍺 ————— Dave: 18th January 2026 It had been a noisy night, with much wailing and screeching echoing through the dark. It sounded as though it came from a nearby church, but we later discovered the source was the large tent-like structure of the Auditorio Guelaguetza. The open-air amphitheatre sits on Cerro del Fortín, directly behind and above us, and is famous for hosting the vibrant Guelaguetza festival, celebrating Oaxacan culture, dance, and music. There had indeed been a major event on Saturday night that ran into Sunday morning. It wasn’t the Guelaguetza festival itself, as that is held in July, but a large-scale ticketed musical event featuring popular Mexican singers Virlán García and Germán Montero, along with Banda La Prestigiada. The ungodly racket woke us at 01:00 and continued until after 03:00. Still, we’ve been here for two weeks and this was the first time noise had disturbed our sleep, so we can hardly complain. We had a leisurely breakfast, enjoying the sunshine on our terrace. At noon, our 20-litre plastic water container was replaced. In the afternoon, we planned to visit a photo exhibition and another nearby museum that had caught our interest. Throughout the morning and early afternoon, people were letting off bangers that exploded with almighty bangs. Whether this was connected to the musical event on the hill behind us, we weren’t sure, but the local dogs certainly didn’t approve, barking and yowling in protest. It turned out to be an unsuccessful afternoon on the exhibition front. The first venue was closed, and peering through the window we saw the premises were completely empty. We moved on to the photo exhibition. This was the opening day of the exhibition. Unimpressed, we left after ten minutes. We stopped for a coffee at The Italian Coffee Company café opposite Santo Domingo church on Calle Macedonio Alcalá. A chill wind had picked up, and from the open upper-floor window we looked out across at the church, shivering slightly, paid our bill and left. By the time we got back it was still chilly. Cloud had obscured the sun, so sitting out on our roof terrace was out of the question. 19 January 2026 We spent the morning and much of the afternoon working through photos for the blog, before deciding to head out to the Botanical Gardens of Santo Domingo de Guzmán. On the way, we wandered along the touristy side streets around Calle Macedonio Alcalá, pausing to sit on a bench beside a ghostly white female mannequin. At the gardens we found the iron gates chained shut. Entry was free, but strictly limited to guided groups of 30. Tours lasted just 20 minutes, with no wandering allowed, and the next available slot wasn’t until 17:00. We were advised to return by 16:30 to queue, so we decided to fill the time elsewhere. We opted for one of the open-top tourist bus tours of the city, booking tickets for MX$100 (£4.50) each. The bus arrived late, finally setting off around 15:30. It was hot on the top deck, but pleasant to roll through the streets in the sunshine. The tour lasted only 45 minutes, five of which were spent stopped for an ice cream, but it worked in our favour as we made it back to the gardens in good time.  While queuing, I chatted with a Mexican who spoke good English and his deaf wife, getting a laugh when I jokingly signed ‘bullshit’ with my hands at the security guard’s queue instructions. —————— Background information: The Botanical Gardens of Santo Domingo de Guzmán in Oaxaca showcase the rich plant life of the region, with carefully arranged cacti, agave, and native species from across the state. Set beside the former Dominican monastery, the gardens blend natural beauty with history, offering a calm, educational walk that highlights Oaxaca’s biodiversity and traditional uses of plants. —————— Inside, two guides gave a short introduction before leading our group around the gardens beside the former Dominican monastery. The fading sun cast long shadows, making photography tricky, and we were kept firmly to the path, not that wandering off was appealing with so many viciously spiked cacti. The collection of cacti and agave was impressive, though beyond these and a small pond near the entrance, there wasn’t much else to see, apart from the high stone walls of the former monastery. The gardens were well maintained but felt in need of a bit more investment. We left in the fading light, picked up bread at the good bakery to last for the next few days. Back at our Airbnb we shared a beer on the terrace while watching the afterglow of sunset. Later, we cooked the third portion of our pork ribs and ate outside, just comfortably warm enough to linger into the evening. 20th January 2026 I was up at 06:00 this morning, and finished writing up the diary for the yesterday. We had a lazy breakfast, then Lisa carried on working on the blog, adding photos and uploading both the English and German versions. We spent the whole morning on it. Lisa was especially busy translating, uploading photos, and publishing the German version as well. It’s not easy, as the iPads don’t work as smoothly as the Mac. Afterwards, we needed to go to the good supermarket, Chedraui, at the top of Calle Niños Héroes. We set off at 13:45, and had to wait 50 minutes in the blazing sunshine for the bus to arrive, and there the supermarket’s facial recognition didn’t work for me, despite repeated attempts. Perhaps I should’ve combed my hair! We bought two tins of beer, a bottle of wine, some nuts for tonight, and a few avocados, then took the bus back. These bus drivers are lethal, and don’t seem to care about the safety of their passengers, as I they’re constantly swerving, or slamming on the brakes, jolting us passengers around. Mexican cable knitting- but it works. We spent a lazy hour sitting in the late-afternoon sunshine on our balcony. Later we shared a beer, and at 18:45 it was time to oven-cook the last of our pork ribs for tonight’s feast. Norbert, our friend living in El Salvador, phoned and we had a natter. It was just about warm enough to eat on our terrace last night. Tonight it’ll be 1°C warmer, so by 21:00 the temperature will only drop to 13°C—positively tropical! That’s how quickly the temperature falls here, and by dawn it’ll be down to 7°C, which is better than a few nights ago when it dropped down to 5°C. 21st January 2026 After breakfast we went to our local market to buy more pork ribs and a few vegetables to see us through until Saturday. Today’s plan was a trip to Etla, a village just north of Oaxaca City, with its Wednesday market. Etla lies in the Etla Valley, one of the three valleys that surround the capital, and is an easy journey from the city. Finding the right bus can difficult and confusing, so like most people we took a colectivo taxi. The rank is near the Central de Abasto market, and the colectivos are easy to spot, painted red and white with their destinations written across the windscreens. There were already two passengers inside. Lisa climbed into the back with them, and I took the front seat next to the driver. Nothing in this taxi worked. The dashboard was completely dead - no speedometer or instruments - and when I tried to fasten my seatbelt the driver had to stop and rummage around under my seat to find it. I briefly wondered whether sitting in the front had been a good idea, but at least I now had a working seatbelt. A tight fit! Music from a local band blasted from the speakers at full volume. The driver sang along at the top of his voice, whilst swerving between lanes of traffic in search of the fastest route. Meanwhile, the man in the middle of the back seat slept soundly. He was clearly used to this. Thirty minutes later we were dropped at the outdoor Etla market. The fare for us both was MX$40 (£1.80). ————- Background information: What is so special about Etla? Etla is quieter and more rural than Oaxaca City, surrounded by open fields and low hills, with a slower, steadier pace of life. It isn’t a place you visit for sightseeing, but somewhere you go to understand how the valleys around Oaxaca quietly support the city itself. There’s little to rush you here; the countryside feels close, and daily life moves to its own rhythm. The village is best known for its food, particularly quesillo, Oaxaca’s string cheese. Much of the cheese sold in the city comes from this valley and is still produced by small family operations using traditional methods. Food here is shaped by what grows nearby rather than by fashion. The centre of the village is functional rather than pretty. It hasn’t been dressed up for visitors and feels lived-in and purposeful. There’s a small zócalo, a church, and a handful of streets where everyday life unfolds. Market day is Wednesday, when stalls appear selling vegetables, bread, and simple food, and most people seem focused on getting on with their day rather than catering for tourists. ————— We wandered through the indoor and outdoor markets, taking photos of the meat stalls - carefully, as stallholders don’t like their photos being taken. Afterwards we walked towards the edge of the village, passing the church and looking for good viewpoints over the surrounding mountains. Unfortunately, buildings and electricity cables spoiled most of the views. On our way back a man pushing his bicycle stopped to talk to us. He was Mexican and his English was good, and we chatted for a while. He told us he had lived in Utah for 30 years, where his wife and child still are. Because of Trump’s ICE policies he had been deported and was now back in his home town in Mexico, hoping one day to return and be reunited with his family. We assumed his papers weren’t in order, maybe an illegal. Not long after, we stopped for a Coca-Cola at a wonderful little café-bar. At the back was a dance floor surrounded by tables and chairs, the walls covered in murals, and music videos playing on two flat-screen TVs. Five other people were drinking and eating. When our drinks arrived they came with a plate of peanuts, slices of lemon, and unexpectedly two small tacos filled with chicken and tomato. The bill came to MX$70 (£2.97). Back in the centre we approached a tuk-tuk driver and asked what he would charge to drive us around for an hour, maybe into the hills to see the surrounding villages. We agreed a price: MX$100 (£4.24) and set off. The tuk-tuk struggled on the steeper slopes, but the slow pace suited us. We stopped a couple of times to take photos of the impressive landscape. The highlight was San Agustín Etla, with its striking church and art centre. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to visit the centre itself. Our ride ended back at the taxi rank in Etla. The return trip to Oaxaca was just as hairy, if rather uncomfortable, as Lisa and I had to share the front passenger seat. At least this taxi had a working speedometer even if it didn’t have seat belts, and we made a stop to refuel. We got stuck in traffic before we reached the end of our journey, so we jumped out at a set of traffic lights and walked the rest of the way back to our Airbnb. When we got back our cleaner had just finished cleaning and changing our towels and sheets. Lisa took our washing to the local laundry, whilst I washed our smelly sandals. Later we wrote emails and caught up on the news, enjoying a cup of tea and the late-afternoon sunshine on our terrace. It was warm enough to eat dinner outside - pork ribs, vegetables, and Lisa’s special black beans. 22nd January 2026. It takes time to write up our diaries, and we’re usually up at 06:00 doing just that. We’ve been in Mexico for just over four weeks now and we’re tired; it takes real concentration to get the facts right.  On the way back from the laundry last night, was a corn mill, where Lisa bought some corn dough, so we could make our own tortillas for breakfast. We did, and ate them together with boiled eggs, avocado, and black beans on our sunny terrace. So after our 10:00 breakfast, we switched off, chilled on our terrace under the sunshade, and read the latest news on our iPads. We’d promised ourselves to walk to the Mirador — the viewing area high above and behind us — ever since a Canadian couple we’d met told us they walked there every morning, saying how beautiful it was, with the whole valley laid out in front of you. So we set off at 16:00, walking up the cobbled road just outside the entrance to our Airbnb. After checking the route on the iPhone, and negotiating a few twists and turns, we came to a steep set of stone steps zig-zagging upwards. The last part was grim. We spent more time looking down, as the area was covered in dog turds and the smell was something else altogether. This was the edge of the city — totally run down — with rubbish everywhere, even an old washing machine thrown over chain-link fencing. The final steps were especially steep as they climbed the retaining wall of a dual carriageway curling around the huge tented Auditorio Guelaguetza. This landmark sits on the hill behind our Airbnb, and is visible for miles. At the foot of the wall, a young woman and her infant were playing in the dirt outside a corrugated shack — a sobering sight. At the top there was a car park where people stopped briefly to admire the view and take photos from the Mirador. Clearly there had once been grand plans: steps led down to a couple of long-abandoned restaurants, their owners’ dreams now as decayed as the ruins themselves. No, it wasn’t a pretty place. You could see the vast Oaxaca Valley spread out before you, but the view was spoiled by the smells, trees blocking sight-lines, filth, and electricity cables strung between tall poles. We took what photos we could and then headed back down, once again through the smells, dodging dog turds. Benito Juarez - the Oaxacan-born Mexican President towering over the valleys of Oaxaca from the Mirador. Time was getting on and we hoped to stop for a coffee, but nothing we passed appealed. We paused briefly to photograph the Guzmán church below, though even that was marred by cables strung across the street. We abandoned the coffee idea altogether and headed home, stopping only to buy a bottle of juice. After showers we sat on our terrace to watch the sunset, sharing a cold beer before cooking the last of our pork ribs with vegetables and black beans. It was just warm enough to eat outside. 23rd January 2026 With three days left before the end of our three weeks in Oaxaca, and our move on to Querétaro, we’re enjoying every minute of the sunshine and heat - especially breakfasts and evening meals on our terrace. While I prepare breakfast, Lisa goes down to collect our clean laundry and buy fresh tortillas from our local corn mill. Lisa has been having a problem with her Sony camera, and a recent firmware update promised to fix it. I searched online and tried several suggested solutions, including downloading the update onto a formatted memory card, but nothing worked. After more searching, I discovered that the only way to update the firmware was via the Sony Creators’ Cloud application. When we bought the cameras, we’d downloaded the app onto our smartphones and registered as members. The app is designed for professional photographers and acts as a hub for the whole Sony Creators’ Cloud ecosystem, including a web-based content management system - ideal for professionals, but not really for us. We prefer the much simpler Adobe Lightroom. However, if you want to update the firmware on a Sony camera, you have no choice but to use Sony Creators’ Cloud. The cameras must be paired to a smartphone, and the update is managed directly through the app. Once we finally understood this, it was straightforward: we linked Lisa’s camera to her phone and followed the app’s instructions. After the firmware had downloaded, we completed the update on the camera itself. Ten minutes later, the camera was fully updated and the problem was fixed - though the whole process had taken almost two hours. To celebrate, we walked into the centre and stopped at a café opposite the entrance to the Jardín Etnobotánico. We sat in their cool, open courtyard - Lisa with tea and cake, me with a Coca-Cola and cake. Afterwards we walked back via an OXXO supermarket to buy some nuts to nibble on later while watching a Netflix James Bond film on my iPad. At 18:00 we had our usual cold-beer sundowner on the terrace, and later our final dinner here: the last of our oven-cooked pork ribs and vegetables, accompanied by our last bottle of red wine. 24th January 2026 Tomorrow we’re leaving for Querétaro, so later we’ll have to pack. I couldn’t sleep and was up at 06:30am to write up yesterday’s firmware update problems with Lisa’s camera. Before breakfast we washed a few clothes, and part packed our suitcases. We breakfasted on the remaining food in our fridge and then checked our emails. Tonight we’re walking into the centre to take night time photos, and afterward walk back to the restaurant with a roof terrace we’d earmarked for our last meal in Oaxaca. On the way we stopped at Galeria Romeo to have one last look at the magnificent Jaguar they have for sale. There were two, but someone in Chicago bought one. We took photos to remind us of it. It cost MX$10,000 (£419.60). Postage would have be expensive, so too the UK import tax.   We continued into the centre as darkness fell, and followed a procession. Two large swirling papier-mâché puppets, followed by a noisy brass band, twirling traditionally dressed ladies of mature age, and a huge crowd making their way to the Guzmán church. We mixed with the crowd and took many photos. However, we were a little disappointed, because we remembered doing the same 9 years ago, and then the streets more flamboyant and atmospheric. Now it seemed the fire had gone out, and this was just a Saturday night exercise for the tourists. We walked back to Casa Abuela Maria, and its wonderful roof top restaurant to celebrate our last night in Oaxaca. We chose a table overlooking the street and ordered two beers, and they told us they’re not allowed to sell alcohol, as there’s a local election taking place this weekend. No alcohol sales anywhere in the town until Monday, until the election is over! So we’re sat there drinking water with our meal, on a Saturday night, to celebrate our last night in Oaxaca. Local elections - Cheers is not the word that springs to mind! (Clucking bell is are the words that springs to mind)!  We made our way home and checked the corner shops to see if it’s true that the sale of alcohol is banned this weekend. It is. We have a little rum left and some juice, so we sat on our terrace and shared what’s left. 25th January 2026 A bit of a cock-up this morning. We were up at 05:30 and ready to go by 07:00 when the Uber taxi I’d ordered to the airport messaged to say sorry, no taxi - try again later. Cue mild panic. Lisa went downstairs to speak to Emma, one of the Airbnb’s part-owners. Luckily, she’s an early riser too. She contacted their reliable taxi driver, who arrived just 15 minutes later in his new yellow cab. The fare was MX$350 - about twice the normal price - grrr! By 08:00 we were in the check-in queue at the Aeroméxico desk at Oaxaca International Airport. We had only a short wait to check in our suitcases and then sailed through passport control and security. There was enough time for something to eat and a drink before boarding. Flying beside one of Mexico’s many volcanos. Our scheduled take-off was 09:40, and we left just eight minutes late. The flight time to Mexico City was meant to be 1 hour 20 minutes, but we arrived at 10:40 - a good 20 minutes early. There was a 20-minute wait for our luggage, though the most frustrating delay was Lisa’s queue for the ladies. Next task was booking the bus from the airport to Querétaro. Fortunately, the bus terminal is right next to the airport exit. As we’ve come to expect, buying tickets was fast and efficient. We paid MX$625 (£26.20) each. Ten minutes later our suitcases were taken, our rucksacks went through airport-style scanners, and at 11:40 we boarded the coach and set off for Querétaro. The journey would take around three hours, dependent upon traffic. We’re travelling with Primera Plus, and what a difference compared to the buses nine years ago. The coach was very modern, with separate men’s and women’s toilets. Each passenger seat had a large 40 cm (16-inch) LCD screen, plenty of legroom, fully reclining seats, and even leg rests. The only downside was that everyone with a window seat had their blackout curtains closed. We were in the front inner seats, numbers 2 & 3, on opposite sides of the aisle, but the glass partition separating the driver from the passengers was also blacked out. Thankfully, the girl sitting next to me kindly opened her curtain part-way so I could at least see out. We made good time and arrived after three hours at the bus terminus in Queretaro.

As in previous years, we want to spend this winter in a warm place. This time, our destination is Mexico. We have been in Mexico a few times before, last in 2016. We liked it very much and always wanted to go back, with more time, to explore more of this fascinating country. This time, we want to avoid big crowds and some tourist attractions but go off the beaten track as far as possible. We will set off on Christmas Eve to Mexico City and take it from there. If you like, follow us on our journey. Impressions of Mexico from previous visits The highlights will include visiting the outstanding Anthropological Museum, Frida Kahlo’s Blue House and Diego Rivera's Murals in the National Palace in Mexico City and strolling through the picturesque colonial “magic towns” of Querétaro, San Miguel de Allende, Zacatecas, and Puebla, delving into their history and culture. In Oaxaca, we’ll take cooking classes to learn how to make delicious Mexican dishes and chocolate sauce with chilli, and visit nearby villages to observe cheese making, weaving, and tequila production. Farther north, we’ll explore the Copper Canyon by riding El Chepe, the region’s famous railway. For the final three weeks, we’ll travel through Baja California in a campervan, hoping to spot not only cacti but also whales and other exotic species. At least, that’s the plan—let’s see what adventures await us on this trip. As in prior travel blogs, we both will share our expressions of this trip here. As you will see, although we visited the same sights, we experience and remember them differently. Dear readers, over the last four weeks we have reported hier so much about our adventures that the blog post can’t take any more text and photos. We will open a part 2 travel blog and will continue there with reporting about our last week in Oaxaca, 18th to 25th January. Please check it out. https://www.rememberrelatereflect.com/en/post/vamos-amigos-come-with-us-to-mexico-travel-blog-part-2 3. Oaxaca 4th to 25th January 2026 Lisa 11th January 2026 In the meantime, we have arrived in Oaxaca. Our Airbnb is lovely: bright, with a terrace that offers a view of the mountains—a perfect place to stay for the next three weeks. We left Puebla on Sunday around midday and rode for five hours by bus through an impressive mountainous landscape. Oaxaca lies at 1,500 meters above sea level and is surrounded by mountains. During the day, temperatures reach up to 30°C, but at night they still drop to between 8 and 10 degrees. A barren mountainous landscape We arrived in the late afternoon and, after settling into our lovely new home, went out for a meal. Our apartment is right in the centre of town, only seven blocks from the Zócalo, the main square. We were here nine years ago, and slowly the memories are coming back. Despite the Christmas decorations and markets, we recognised some streets and buildings. Among the many outdoor restaurants around the Zócalo, we chose one we had visited before, and once again we were not disappointed. The food was excellent, and we shared a pitcher (1.7 litres) of dark barrel beer. After our bus journey, we were thirsty and hungry—and happy to be back in this town after all these years. Cheers! A well deserved beer after a day of travelling. We strolled around the square and joined a group of people dancing to cumbia and salsa music played by a DJ, a regular event on the plaza that we remembered from our previous visit. It felt good to move to the music and dance. Someone even made a video of us oldsters dancing and told us we were in great shape. We then walked home leisurely. It felt good to be back. The next morning, we brought our washing to a launderette around the corner and bought some essential food for breakfast and dinner at the local market nearby. After a very tasty breakfast with local produce on our sunny terrace we contemplated what to do in the next days and weeks in this town. First of all, we urgently needed a break and fully intended to take it easy, having been on the go non-stop since leaving London ten days earlier. However, before any resting could occur, there were texts to finish and upload—together with carefully selected, relevant photos—to our travel blog. Friends had already started enquiring whether we were “okay” or possibly “lost,” since nothing new had appeared online for several days. No pressure at all! This is where I discovered, again, the limits of my relatively new iPad. While it is brilliant for many things—photos, news, general life administration, and travel due to its conveniently smug little size—it turns out that its very iPad-ness makes it less than ideal for writing a blog on the road. Many editing and photo-editing features simply don’t work. As a result, a significant amount of editing is now generously outsourced to my long-suffering blog companion, Titania, in Munich. Fortunately, she claims to love editing and insists she doesn’t mind. I choose to believe her. Still, Dave, always on the lookout for something computer-related, discovered an Apple Store on the outskirts of Oaxaca and suggested we “just have a look” at what they had on offer. This innocent suggestion, as it turned out, was anything but simple. Google Maps showed us the location and recommended public transport to a stop where the road to Atzompa—a village north of Oaxaca—begins. We were directed, redirected, and generally waved about to various places from where carros (shared taxis) allegedly departed, because apparently buses do not go there. At several points I suggested giving up, taking a proper taxi, or simply going home, but Dave assured me this was all “part of the adventure.” Alright then. Eventually, we found a carro that promised to take us where we wanted to go for 13 Mexican pesos each (£1.08 / €1.24). Three women were already squeezed in the back seat of this elderly Toyota, patiently waiting for the car to fill up so it could leave. Our arrival was greeted with visible relief—at last, the car was complete. Dave and I squeezed into the front beside the driver, each of us occupying approximately one cheek of the seat. My remaining cheek was on the gear stick. Every time the driver needed to change gear, I had to lift my entire body while Dave grabbed my knee and rotated it toward him so the driver could operate the gear stick. Then I sank back down onto it again. Teamwork. Romantic Latino music blared from the radio. The women in the back slept peacefully. We motored on. The journey took longer than expected, and when I checked Google Maps, we were already well past our intended stop and almost in Atzompa. Getting off in the middle of nowhere seemed pointless, so we continued all the way. Just before arriving, a procession of 30 or 40 bright green three-wheeled motorbikes—tuk-tuk-like, flower-decorated, and festive—passed us, coming from Atzompa. It turned out the village was celebrating its 200-year anniversary. The houses and plaza were decorated, and people were gathering in anticipation of festivities. After a short walk through the village and its market, we decided we’d had enough culture for one afternoon and wanted to return to Oaxaca. We consulted Google Maps again, and at that exact moment a tuk-tuk stopped in front of us, its driver asking if he could help. I showed him the map and asked if he could take us to where we wanted to go. “Plaza Bella? No problem.” We climbed in. He dropped off his existing passenger and sped off, cool wind blowing, life suddenly much easier. Twelve minutes later, he stopped in front of a massive shopping centre: Plaza Bella. We paid him 10 pesos each (£0.83 / €0.96) and went off in search of the Apple Store. A ride in a tuk-tuk. Apple did indeed have the MacBook Air Dave had researched online as the best option for me. I tried it and liked it. The young and helpful salesman assured us that Apple, being an international company, offered worldwide warranty. Unfortunately, the laptop was more expensive than in the UK, and the shop would not accept my iPad in exchange—only laptop for laptop. This made the purchase firmly unrealistic. I resigned myself to my iPad, knowing that better options were available once we’re home. Dave, ever hopeful, has already found refurbished ones online at a much friendlier price. We thanked the salesman, who pointed us toward a bus stop with excellent connections back to the centre. It turned out the shopping centre was very well connected. One simply had to know where to look—or what to look for. Thus ended our first of many little adventures in Oaxaca. Over the next few days, we wrote our diaries, read books and explored the town centre, trying to retrace our steps of our previous visit: This included the Church of Santo Domingo, in front of which we had once photographed many happy couples on their wedding day. It was also here, on the top floor of a café, that on a Sunday morning we had observed and photographed a Mexican rock band performing while filming their promotional video. The city seems to be busier, full with locals and tourists; with any more hotels, restaurants, galleries and handicraft markets catering for tourists. We found the lovely hotel where we had stayed last time, La Case del Sotano. It had become a pricy boutique hotel - unaffordable for us if we wanted to stay three weeks in this town. Travelling for almost three months calls for a different approach to accommodation—ideally one that includes a kitchen, if we want to stay solvent. We visited some of the many galleries and handicraft stores. Some offered beautiful items, but at rather high prices, especially when compared to the inexpensive—and often cheaply made—goods sold at street stalls. The sun was burning, so we set out to buy Dave a straw hat with a wider brim—his baseball cap was doing nothing to protect his ears, which were already turning a worrying shade of red. We found a nice one straight away, but it was too expensive. We then tried many other places, all unsuccessfully: the hats were unsuitable for a wide variety of reasons. In the end, we returned to the first, more expensive stall. Dave is now happy. Later, the sun burned my neck as well, so I too bought a wide-brimmed straw hat. Now everyone can tell from a distance that we are tourists. Tired from our walks we rested in many cafés. We were particularly keen to find one café we remembered from our last visit nine years ago. It was set in a beautiful courtyard of a university library, near a building that had been partially burned during student protests over a decade ago and was still boarded up when we last saw it. We searched extensively. No one we asked had any idea what we were talking about. We gave up. The next day, we tried again. This time, a young woman remembered and led us there. It was nearby. We must have walked past it countless times. And there it was: a shady courtyard surrounded by trees and houses, smaller than we remembered, but peaceful and inviting, with tables, chairs, and pictures on the walls. I ordered an iced cappuccino for Dave, who had been dreaming about this very moment since leaving Oaxaca all those years ago. I ordered black tea, only to be told they didn’t serve tea because they were coffee specialists. I settled for a hot chocolate, which coffee specialists apparently still make. Dave’s iced cappuccino arrived—lukewarm, with a few ice cubes floating in it. In the past, it had been with crushed ice and creamy. Sometimes, it’s best to leave dreams untouched. Still, we enjoyed sitting in the quiet courtyard, escaping the bustle of the streets, and—always important—making use of their clean toilets. On our walks through the streets we admired many of the colourful murals, wall paintings, some more artistic, others with a deeper meaning behind it. A campaign for the legalisation of abortion. We also went to various tourist centres to enquire what tours were on offer. Last time we had been in Oaxaca for 5 days and had taken various tours into the neighbouring villages, we visited a Mezcal destillery, learnt how to weave, making carpets, pottery; we visited the archaeological sites of Monte Alban and Mitla as well as the waterfalls of Hierve el Agua. Now we did not want to repeat ourselves but to learn something new. What about a cooking course? I had been had this idea for a while and gently trying to persuade Dave to do one with me. Eventually, he agreed (absolutely no pressure involved whatsoever), and we chose one from the many on offer. “Qué Rico es Oaxaca” is a family-run cooking course. Alfonso, the son, learned to cook from his grandmother and mother and later trained as a professional chef, working in Mexican restaurants around town. These days, his main occupation is running the cooking course for tourists—with some hands-on help from his parents. The six of us participants were picked up at a nearby market, where Alfonso introduced us to the impressive array of spices and chillies used to make mole, the famous Mexican sauce that seems to contain roughly everything. We also stopped at a stall to buy masa, the dough used to make tortillas, a cornerstone of Mexican cuisine. Tortillas can be bought anywhere—at markets or in supermarkets—but, as we were solemnly informed, those made from freshly prepared dough are vastly superior. The dough itself is made from whole dried corn kernels (maíz) soaked in limewater to soften them, then ground on a stone grinder to create a fresh, wet dough. This masa must be used immediately to make tortillas; otherwise, it hardens and becomes brittle. After that, Alfonso took us to his house and the cooking class officially began. We put on our aprons and were each handed a wooden chopping board and a large, very sharp knife. Today, we were told, we would learn to prepare twelve different dishes. But first, Fernando, the father, was given the important job of loosening us up and setting the mood. This was achieved with a shot of mezcal and a few well-practised jokes. Luckily, we had eaten a big breakfast. We were then introduced to the menu and assigned tasks: chopping vegetables and onions, frying rice, roasting plantains, grinding spices, shaping tortilla dough into small balls and pressing them into neat little tortillas, stirring the mole, whisking condensed milk with eggs for dessert, and much more—all under Alfonso’s calm guidance and the watchful eyes of his mother. Everything was in preparation for a three-course meal. In between tasks, Fernando reappeared with yet another bottle of mezcal for tasting, and we also learned how to make margaritas. Dave and I took it easy on the alcohol. Daytime drinking tends to make one sleepy, and given the abundance of large knives, we felt caution was advisable. The food we produced was amazing: guacamole with fried tortillas; tortillas filled with black bean purée and topped with a salad of cabbage, carrots, onions and Oaxacan cheese as a starter. The main course was chicken with mole sauce, served with fried rice and vegetables. Dessert followed—lechesilla (custard) with Oaxacan chocolate. After the meal, there was, of course, another mezcal tasting—three different types this time. At this point, everyone was relaxed, well fed, and still miraculously in possession of all their fingers. Overall, it was a successful cooking class—although I personally could have done with less mezcal and fewer of the occasionally not-so-funny, rather tiresome jokes, which I was also expected to translate for those who didn’t understand Spanish. Nothing sharpens one’s enthusiasm like explaining a mediocre joke after several shots of mezcal. It was interesting meeting the other participants: all younger than us, probably in their late twenties—two from Germany (Stuttgart) and two from the Netherlands (Amsterdam). They told us about the tours they had done or were planning to do. That evening, they were heading back to their hostel for a salsa class, followed by dancing and drinking until the early hours. It sounded exciting. It also sounded utterly exhausting. Compared to them, we felt like boring old farts. Then again, we had done exactly the same things when we were younger—and apparently survived—but right now it held absolutely no appeal whatsoever. Wisdom, or age? Possibly both. On the way home, we found ourselves contemplating more seriously: what exactly did we want from our time in Mexico, and what did we really want to see and experience in Oaxaca? That’s not an easy question and we have not yet found an answer to that. What we definitely don’t want is to be herded around in a tour group by an uninterested guide, pressured into buying things, and taken to restaurants where the guide conveniently earns a commission. Nor do we feel the urge to taste 30 different types of mezcal in the middle of a hot day. We much prefer to explore things ourselves, at our own pace, and on our own terms. More to come later. ——————- Dave: 04th January 2026 We leave Puebla behind today, heading for Oaxaca. The circular bus station feels like an airport, with coaches pulling in nose-first, packed tightly together, constantly arriving and departing. At 1135, 10 minutes before our scheduled departure, the departure board is still blank. Lisa goes to ask a conductor, who points us to our bus. Our luggage is tagged, given a receipt, and we board, seats 1 & 2, the very front seats. At noon, as we pull away, I take out my phone and switch on our heating back home, as London is in the grip of a cold snap, and will get down  to -3C overnight. We’re driving through a parched, barren mountainous wilderness covered in tall, spindly cacti. The steep-sided, two-way mountain road twists its way upward, and it takes our driver some time to choose the right moment to overtake the fully loaded trucks crawling up the steeper sections. Bridges span deep chasms, with dried riverbeds visible far below. In Crete, drivers move onto the hard shoulder to allow faster vehicles to pass and to make room for oncoming traffic. Mexico, it seems, operates much the same system and the slower cars move over to let faster traffic pass.  We arrive in Oaxaca 1710 and the weather is noticeably warmer than Puebla. We take a taxi to our Airbnb, where we’ll be for the next three weeks. Our Airbnb in Puebla was cheap and cheerful, this one is positively luxurious. We’re at the top of the house, and we have a south facing terrace too. There’re plenty of stairs, so its a slog getting our suitcases up the narrow flights of stairs.  It’s dark once we’ve unpacked, and we set off to explore and find a restaurant to eat. Our Airbnb is 4 blocks from the centre of town, the Zocalo, and when we get there it’s lit up with Christmas decorations, and there’s a huge Christmas tree taking pride of place in the centre. We were hungry and thirsty and after a brief circuit of the Zocalo choose restaurant, Terrazza Nova. It was a good choice, the food was excellent and we ordered a 1.7 litre jug of beer. Yes, we were thirsty! After we paid the bill (£35) we crossed the plaza and in one corner a DJ was blasting out music and a large group of people were dancing. We joined them and had a great 15 minutes. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after drinking beer and eating a big meal - frothing up the beer in our tummies! From there we walked it home. 05th January 2026 We must have been tired, as we didn’t wake until 0700. When I opened the curtains the sun was just rising, casting an orange glow over the houses on the far side of the valley. From our balcony the view was superb, with the floodlit towers of the Basilica de Nuestra Señora de la Soledad standing out in the near distance.  We needed supplies before breakfast, so after showering we walked down to the main road. Directly opposite was Mercado IV Centenario, a typical Mexican market spread over a large area and divided into countless small stalls. Each seller offers their own produce, so shoppers choose who they think has the freshest vegetables or meat. Alongside fruit, vegetables and meat, there were stalls selling bread, cakes, eggs, cheese, sweets, even pots and pans. Inside, a café area catered for workers grabbing breakfast before starting their day. If you needed something, you were sure to find it in this market. Back at the flat, I made a three-egg omelette with spring onions and mushrooms. We took breakfast out onto the terrace and ate in warm sunshine beneath the patio umbrella.This was the 13th day of our adventure and we were running out of clothes, so we found a launderette, just around the corner. We dropped off two plastic bags stuffed with dirty washing. It was their first day back after the Christmas holidays and the place was bursting at the seams, so our laundry wouldn’t be ready until after 2000 on Wednesday. The Mercado didn’t sell beer or wine, so we walked to the nearby Soriana Mercado. It was the most chaotic supermarket we’ve ever seen. While I was looking at beer offers, someone walked off with my trolley. I grabbed another and kept a firm hand on this one! Their beer selection was OK, the only wine on offer was overpriced Lambrusco, nor did they stock Lisa’s black tea. We did, however, find a small metal oven dish, which our flat lacked. Back home, we unpacked and spent some time working on our iPads.  Later, we decided to try the Chedraui supermarket, which was some distance away and reachable by local bus. Finding the bus stop wasn’t easy as there were no signs. Our first attempt at flagging down a bus failed, but after Lisa asked a few people we learned about the designated stopping areas for buses. We paid MX$8 (about 33p) each, and got off ten minutes later. The Chedraui supermarket was the complete opposite of Soriana Mercado: clean, organised and well stocked. There was an excellent wine selection, and Lisa was delighted to find Twinings teabags. We also bought a small knife and a potato peeler, as the flat’s knives were blunt. The return journey followed a dual carriageway. Lisa tracked our route via Google Maps on her phone, and we guesstimated where to get off. We learned too that to stop the bus you press a bell by the rear exit. We got off too early and had to walk back via the parallel road, but it wasn’t far. We celebrated our success — wine and teabags at last — by sitting on the terrace watching the sun set. Dinner was boiled potatoes and carrots, with chicken, spring onions and green pepper, baked in our new tin dish. We ate outside with a glass of wine, the warmth of the sun stored in the walls keeping us cosy. London was in the midst of a cold spell. The temperature was -4C and the fountains in Trafalgar Square were frozen over. I set my alarm for 0100 local time, 0700 London time, as I needed to override the timer of our central heating, as it automatically switches itself off at that time. 06th January 2026 Today we set out to visit the MacStore at Plaza Bella, on the north-western outskirts of Oaxaca. Lisa is finding it hard to work on our bilingual blog using her iPad, as the iPad version is far more limited than the full Mac version. Online information suggested several buses passed the mall, so after breakfast we walked to the stop a block from Jardín Morelos. Once there, we discovered none of the buses actually went to the place where we had to go: where the road up to Atzompa starts, and neither drivers nor shopkeepers could help. Eventually, we tried our luck with a shared taxi and struck gold, the driver was heading that way. Three stout Mexican ladies were in the back, so we had to share the front passenger seat. One elbow was sticking out of the window, the other arm was wrapped around Lisa’s legs, so the driver could change gear. It was very cramped, and cost MX$26 (£1.07) for us both.We were dropped in Atzompa, but not the Plaza Bella where we needed to be. Nearby, was a church and a communal area, which was hosting celebrations for the town’s 200th anniversary.  A procession of about 50 of these nicely decorated green tuk-tuks celebrated the village’s 200th anniversary. No, it wasn’t the mescal that made us see more than one. From there, we flagged down a three-wheeled tuk-tuk, who had a passenger inside. Yes, he would take us to the Plaza Bella, the lady inside moved over so we could get in, and off we went. A block later the lady got out, and we rattled along the bumpy back streets, picking up a passenger on the way, before reaching Plaza Bella. The mall was huge and busy. After a Coca-Cola, we found the MacStore where a helpful young lad talked Lisa through the MacBook Air. It was more expensive than in the UK, and she decided to wait and buy one once we got back home. The young lad told us where the nearby bus stop was to get us back into town.  The return bus journey was smooth until we reached town, and then we were snarled up in gridlocked traffic, so like many others we got out and walked the final stretch, between the stationary traffic, enduring the exhaust fumes, until reaching Jardín Morelos 5 minutes later. From there it was a further 5 minute walk thorough the Mercado to our flat.  Back home, we made tea and continued working on the blog. Uploading and placing photos on the English blog took hours and Lisa would have the same again tomorrow, with the German version.  Dinner was oven-baked chicken drumsticks, courgettes and onions with boiled vegetables, eaten on our terrace, which was decidedly cooler than last night. 07th January 2026 We started the day slowly, exhausted after catching up on our blog, now complete up to, and including Puebla. After breakfast, we went in search of the hostel we’d stayed at during our last visit to Oaxaca in late 2016. According to my old diary, it was the Hostal Casa del Sótano on Calle Tinoco y Palacios, and was   only a few blocks from where we were staying now. Fifteen minutes later we were outside the building. A rather snooty young lady, reluctantly, let us into the reception area, where we could see the familiar two-storey courtyard, now transformed into a classy boutique hotel. The restaurant on the first floor was still there, but the new pool, and spa area, were strictly off limits to us. We thanked her and moved on. We wandered along Calle Macedonio Alcalá, and stopped to view Santo Domingo church, which brought back vivid memories of a spectacular wedding we photographed all those years ago, and stopped for a cold drink in a café opposite, admiring the views of the church, just like we did 9 years ago, from the first floor window.  Oaxaca's Templo de Santo Domingo de Guzmán  is a magnificent church and former convent, not a cathedral; it's a stunning example of Baroque architecture famous for its incredibly ornate, gilded interior, particularly the Rosary Chapel, and is one of Oaxaca's most visited historical landmarks. Higher up the street was a trendy market, where I reluctantly bought a straw hat for MX$250 (£10.29) to protect my head and ears from the fierce 30C sun beating down from a cloudless blue sky. Lisa also felt the heat, and shortly after she too bought a broad brimmed straw hat. Sun protection - a requirement of the fierce sun in Oaxaca We failed to find the burnt out building, set alight during a period of student unrest, as we wanted to have a coffee break in a courtyard café opposite that we’d loved back then. Instead of a coffee break, we spent hours wandering the increasingly crowded streets, trying to find this building and courtyard cafe, as we soaked up Oaxaca’s vibrant atmosphere. The Zócalo was still decorated for Christmas, so too the brightly lit huge Christmas tree. An indigenous grandmother with her granddaughter. What does she make of all the tourists in her town? Tired of the heat, we headed back, briefly in the wrong direction (my bad), then bought half a dozen eggs from a corner shop, after finding the food market closed. Back home, we made a brew, and relaxed on the patio, greeting our new neighbours, from Earls Court, London, who’d just arrived. As soon as the sun went down, so too did the temperature. We prepared dinner, oven cooked chicken and veg, together with potatoes and carrots. We opened a bottle of wine and ate our delicious dinner on our patio in our fleece jackets.        08th January 2026 We had an early start, as we needed to go to the market for supplies, and bread rolls for breakfast, as well as pick up our laundry. At 0900 people in the street were wrapped in thick coats and hats, even inside the market it felt cold. Standing in the sunshine was pleasant enough, but in the shade it was decidedly chilly. After 1000 it became more comfortable. To make a change from chicken, we bought a rack of pork ribs from two ladies selling pork. It was about 60cm long, and cost MX$200 (£8.23), enough for four evening meals. We also bought potatoes, courgettes, tomatoes, onions, peppers, carrots from various vegetable sellers, and finally four bread rolls. On the way back we collected our laundry. We had a leisurely breakfast and then relaxed on our terrace until midday, when we set off to wander the streets of central Oaxaca. We found the Bibliotheca Café we’d visited nine years ago, opposite an old stone colonial-style building that once housed a university department. We’d tried to find it yesterday without success, but today we were in luck. Back then there had been student riots, and the university complex had been set on fire. The building had been boarded up, and you could see where the flames had blackened the stonework above the outer windows. To celebrate being back in this wonderful café, we sat outside in its open courtyard and ordered drinks. They didn’t have tea, so Lisa chose hot chocolate, while I ordered an iced cappuccino. I vividly remembered the one I’d had last time — crushed ice, and really ice-cold. This one came with ice cubes and wasn’t quite cold enough. Still, not everything can be perfect. Before leaving the UK, we’d talked about taking a Mexican cooking course. Over our break, Lisa checked what was available and found plenty of options. We booked, and paid MX$3,100 (£129), using our Wise card, for ‘Qué Rico Es, a traditional Oaxacan cooking class. The class is tomorrow at 1030, meeting at the Mercado Sánchez Pascuas car park, next to the big tree on Porfirio Díaz Street. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk from our Airbnb. We then made our way to Macedonio Alcalá, the lively pedestrian street lined with restaurants, bars, and cafés. Most of the buildings are two storeys high, nearly all with covered rooftop terraces. With no particular plan, we simply wandered, taking photos, as the late-afternoon light was perfect, and finished by visiting the Templo de Santo Domingo de Guzmán and its surrounding complex. We checked the maps on our phones, and took a shortcut back to our Airbnb, via narrow cobblestoned back streets. There were plenty of murals painted on the walls, and we stopped to photograph the best ones. Once back, we caught up on our diaries and followed the latest developments in Trump’s megalomaniac, seemingly never-ending march to take over the world. Afterwards, we oven-cooked the pork ribs and vegetables and dined out on our terrace. Adam from our gym had recommended a book, ‘Under the Volcano’, which was set in this part of Mexico. Lisa bought a copy but found it heavy going, and the print too small, and to our surprise discovered the film adaptation on Amazon Prime. The film stars Albert Finney, who plays a former British consul battling severe alcoholism in Mexico. It was an excellent performance by Albert Finney, who played the drunken English consul very convincingly, but it was a very disturbing film. 09th January 2026 Today we had our cooking course, and we planned to leave just after 1000, as it was only a 15-minute walk to our pickup point by the big tree in the Mercado Sánchez Pascuas car park. There were six of us waiting by the big tree at 1030. The instructions could have been clearer, as there were two car parks, both with big trees— one at the front and one at the back. We were waiting at the front, but the meeting point was actually in the rear car park. Alfonso arrived shortly after 1030, greeted us, and then took us across the road to a small mill. There he explained how corn (maize) is processed into masa, which is used to make tortillas, a Mexican staple. We crossed back over the road and entered the market, walking through the large vegetable section to buy our ingredients. With each vegetable Alfonso explained its purpose in the cooking process. He did the same with the different peppers, naming each one, and describing its strength, from mild to red-hot. Alfonso then drove us about 20 minutes to his family home, which he shares with his parents, his father Fernando and his mother. After Alfonso introduced us in the large kitchen, Fernando promptly produced a bottle of mezcal. He filled our glasses — but not his own — and we raised a toast to the next few hours. Fernando was small, squat, and tubby, and I got the impression that Alfonso and his mother had already warned him to keep off the mezcal. We were each given a wooden chopping board and a very sharp knife. Fingers crossed no one would lose a finger, after downing those generous glasses of neat mezcal. Then the work began, starting with slicing vegetables very thinly, and being told which bowl each batch belonged in. After a while we took a break, and out came another bottle of mezcal, together with orange liqueur, lemon juice syrup, and ice. We were shown how to mix the ingredients for a margarita, placing them in a cocktail shaker and giving it a vigorous shake. The rims of our glasses were coated with salt and chilli powder. Another toast followed, and then it was back to chopping before the cooking proper began, with everyone helping at different stages. We made guacamole as a starter, prepared the tortilla toppings ourselves, using maize masa, and cooked the main course of chicken with a delicious Mexican sauce. Even the Mexican dessert, which we all helped make, turned out spot on. To finish, Fernando brought out three different bottles of mezcal for us to taste. After several more toasts a short speech followed — during which the tip box made an appearance. We said our goodbyes to Fernando and his wife, and at 1600 Alfonso drove us back to the supermarket car park. I’m not usually one for touristy activities, but Lisa was keen to try the Mexican recipes (which Alfonso was kind enough to send to our email addresses), when we get back home to London, so for that alone it was worthwhile. That said, I did rather enjoy it — even if a Mexican restaurant still isn’t something I’d cross town for. Also, drinking during the day is something we don’t normally do, nor do we usually eat quite so much. We took a leisurely stroll back through the tourist streets in the hot sunshine. ————————- Lisa: 10th January 2026 On Saturday we set off to our weekly trek to the impressively well-stocked Chedraui supermarket. Armed with fresh eyes—and freshly acquired knowledge of Oaxacan cuisine thanks to our cooking course—we inspected the aisles with the confidence of people who now know their chillis and their moles. Before even entering, however, we were confronted by modern technology. As in all supermarkets here, rucksacks must be locked away to discourage casual shoplifting. But instead of the familiar coin-operated lockers, these are controlled by facial recognition and guided by a female Asian voice speaking English with a heavy accent. As not many people were using these lockers I could not find out whether the face recognition identified us a English speaking foreigners, or whether this English guidance is for everyone. I will pay more attention next time. It took us a moment to find out how the system works. You stand in front of the machine, press a button to request a locker, then present your face to the scanner. For shorter customers there’s even a little step. Once your face is approved, a locker pops open obediently. You stow your bag and close the door. Retrieval is equally futuristic: press “release,” show your face again, and—open sesame—your locker door springs open. We were rather proud of ourselves for mastering the process. Even the security guard, who had followed our efforts with interest, rewarded us with a raised thumb. Well done! After shopping, we wandered through the town centre, photographing beautiful houses and their hidden yet equally beautiful courtyards. We paused to listen to the band of a procession, drifted through several art galleries, and ended up talking with the owner of one newly opened gallery. He is a young Mexican architect who lives and works in New York and is dedicated to sharing Oaxacan culture more widely. Together with his local partner, he has spent five years developing this gallery, which opened just three weeks ago. They travel through the region collecting work by local artists and are now cataloguing the pieces to sell internationally, with the aim of creating a fund to support the development of local artists. We were struck by the quality of the work. Both of us fell for a roughly 70-centimetre jaguar sculpture (not including its tail). The only problem: how to get him home? Hand luggage for the rest of the trip seemed impractical - and the tail would stick out. Still, we wished the gallery every success. Later, we sat on a low wall in front of a church and watched a group of dancers rehearsing on the plaza. Dressed in traditional black and red, they were clearly preparing for a local event—no lights, no audience, just us and a handful of children. Back home, I fried plantains as a starter, followed by pork ribs and vegetables cooked by Dave in the oven. We ate on the terrace, looking out toward the mountains, far removed from the noise and bustle of the streets below, happy to be here. 11th January 2026 The next day, Sunday, we headed to La Merced Market at the other end of town. This is the kind of market that sells absolutely everything: fresh fruit and vegetables, meat, cheese, spices, plastic buckets and bowls, baskets, handicrafts—and, most famously, mole, the legendary Oaxacan sauce. There are seven different types, each with its own colour and personality. We had made a yellowish one in our cooking class and it was excellent. Oaxacan infamous mole sauces ready made to take home. Making mole, however, is famously labour-intensive, so enterprising locals sell it ready-made at the markets. At La Merced it is even attractively packaged for tourists, complete with instructions. This seemed too tempting to ignore. For tonight’s dinner, I chose a black mole and we were excited: something to look forward to in the evening. Another section of the market is devoted entirely to medicinal herbs. Alongside familiar names like camomile and thyme are baskets filled with mysterious mixtures of twigs and leaves. These are meant to be boiled for at least fifteen minutes and then drunk as tea. I’m always fascinated by them, though I still vividly remember the bitter brew a Nicaraguan curandero gave me in the 1980s for stomach trouble. The taste lingered for hours; whether it helped I can’t really say. Small handwritten cards explain what each mixture is good for: digestion, liver and kidney detox, chest infections, bladder issues, incontinence, impotence—and almost anything else you might be suffering from. Dave dismisses all of this as nonsense. I, however, grew up with my mother’s cupboard full of herbal teas for every imaginable ailment, so I remain a believer. I bought a small piece of curcuma root. It looks like a large worm, is red inside, and stains everything yellow. My Myanmar colleagues once recommended it to me for stomach problems (they call it turmeric), and it worked. Here, the woman assured me it also helps against sore throats—perfect timing, as I had developed a cold overnight. Later at home, I persuaded Dave to chew a small piece as he also had a bit of a cold. He wasn’t impressed, and when he later caught sight of his yellow tongue in the mirror, and yellow bristles on his toothbrush, he nearly panicked. What a wimp. On our way home we met a Canadian couple, about our age, and got chatting. They love Mexico—especially Oaxaca—and have been coming here for years. They used to drive their motorhome all the way from Canada, but now, like us, they fly in and get around on local buses. They shared plenty of tips and stories, including watching whale mothers and calves in Baja California, where we’re heading in March. Time flew by. It’s rare to meet like-minded travellers these days, but when it happens, we relish a good natter. They’re heading home in three weeks, and we wished them well. That evening, full of anticipation, I prepared our mole negro, following the instructions on the packet to the letter. We were looking forward to pouring it generously over our freshly grilled pork ribs. One taste was enough. We looked at each other, said nothing, and scraped it straight off our plates—into the toilet. Dinner was infinitely better without it. We concluded that one does not, in fact, have to like everything just because it is Mexican. 12th January 2026 On Monday, 12 January, I spent the entire morning uploading texts and photos to the blog. Just as well, because shortly afterwards the internet went off. According to our landlord, it was a region-wide outage and would “surely be fixed very soon”. We could live with that. Luckily, the electricity stayed on, which felt like winning the lottery, as everything in our lives now requires charging: iPads, iPhones, watches, batteries—existence itself seems to depend on a power socket. With no internet to distract us, we set off for the nearby Central de Abastos Market. It’s huge and well worth a visit. Conveniently, it also sits next to a bus station and the collectivo taxis, so we used the opportunity to investigate where they actually go. This turned out to be an exercise in patience and guesswork. There is no notice board. Instead, you inspect the front of each bus or taxi and hope the destination is written somewhere legible. After some wandering and squinting, we did at least discover services to Atzompa and Plaza Bella, whom we knew already. Navigating transport here clearly requires either time, stamina, or insider knowledge—or ideally all three. The Central de Abastos is said to be the largest market in Oaxaca, and it certainly feels like it. It’s a wholesale market, with huge lorries rolling in, unloading mountains of goods. Strong men hauled enormous sacks of fruit and vegetables on handcarts, pulled by other strong men, all moving at impressive speed. The place buzzed with serious business. We carefully made our way through, took photos, tried not to get run over, and not to be too much in the way of those working, eventually bought fruit and vegetables ourselves.  On the way home, we stopped at our local market where I picked up black beans and fried tortillas, later prepared them as a starter with fried plantains. Sadly, it was too cold and windy to eat outside. The evening temperature was in single digits. Oaxaca can be full of surprises. 13th January 2026 The next day, 13 January, we went early to the local market to buy fresh meat. Early is essential, as most vendors don’t have fridges and the meat is displayed proudly all day long. With the internet still down, we decided to do something cultural and visited the Museum of the Culture of Oaxaca, next to Santo Domingo church. We had been there before and were so impressed that we wanted to see it again. It’s considered one of Mexico’s finest regional museums and covers the history and diverse cultures of Oaxaca, highlighting the continuity between pre-Hispanic and contemporary life. The ticket also included an exhibition of works by the renowned Mexican woodcarver Manuel Jiménez Ramírez. We admired his vividly painted wooden animals before moving on to the main museum, housed in the vast former Santo Domingo monastery. The building alone is breathtaking: endless corridors, countless small rooms, and large windows at the ends offering a view to gardens and mountains beyond. The monks clearly lived very well. Beautiful corridors of the former monastery. We spent two hours wandering through the exhibitions. Some pieces we recognised, others were new, and some we searched for in vain—particularly sections on the Spanish Inquisition and Emiliano Zapata, which had fascinated us on our previous visit. They were gone. Even the staff seemed unaware they had ever existed, although tourist guide books still list them. Disappointing. Overall, the exhibition felt thinner, less challenging—or perhaps we were simply tired. Either way, it reminded us that sometimes it’s better not to return and instead preserve the memory. No Emiliano Zapata in the cultural museum, but the exhibition by the Mexican wood carver Manuel Jimenez Ramirez honours him. The old monastery was freezing, and my throat began to feel like it was on fire—possibly from the dust of the books and other exhibits. I persuaded Dave that we needed to leave and sit on a sunlit stone wall outside to warm up. Revived, we crossed the road to a café and had coffee (Dave) and lemon ginger tea (me) on their roof terrace overlooking the Santo Domingo complex. We had a chat with the lovely young waitress, who told us that on Friday evenings a band plays there—an excellent reason to return before we leave Oaxaca. We didn’t linger long, as the wind picked up again. On the walk home we discovered a bakery selling bread that doesn’t disintegrate into breadcrumbs when cut—a rare and valuable find. We bought two loaves to test. We also stumbled upon another restaurant with a roof terrace; we checked it out and the smell of roasting pork made my mouth water instantly. Another must-visit before departure. Back home, I prepared yet another starter of black beans and tostadas, followed by pork chops with leek and chickpeas from the market. Cooking with the local produce we’d found on our market tours was a pleasure. We always liked to try something new and asked the sellers how to prepare it. And finally, the internet returned. The evening programme was saved. 14th January 2026 The next day, Wednesday, 14 January, the internet behaved impeccably, allowing us to follow our usual morning routine: reading the news, answering emails, and writing our diaries. By the time the sun finally made an appearance on our terrace, it was warm enough to have breakfast on the terrace. Our original plan was to take a colectivo taxi to the market in Etla, a village north of town. However, the weather forecast promised rain and strong winds in the afternoon, so we postponed that adventure until next Wednesday and instead stayed in Oaxaca to explore more of the city’s indoor markets. We thought we knew them from previous visits. We were wrong. They looked noticeably different—remarkably sanitised, even. We started at Mercado Benito Juárez, named after Mexico’s first Indigenous president, a Zapotec born in Oaxaca. Opened in 1894, it is one of the city’s oldest markets. It is generously stocked with fruit and vegetables, chillies, tortillas, tamales, cheese, meat, fish, chocolate, chapulines (fried grasshoppers), gusanos de maguey (agave worms), countless varieties of mezcal, and an impressive selection of traditional drinks. You can also buy hairbrushes, knives, scissors, electronic accessories, leather belts and bags, and traditional handicrafts. In short: everything. This eclectic mix makes it popular with both tourists and locals. There is also a section devoted to herbal medicine, where I studied the handwritten cards with great interest. There appears to be a cure for every ailment known to humanity. Among the herbs stood a statue of an Indigenous man applying green ointment to his face. I have no idea what it was meant to cure, but I suspect it was mainly meant to sell ointment. I opted for the safer option and bought honey for my sore throat. A cure for all ailments in the world can be found here. Directly opposite is the equally famous 20th November Market, named after the street where its building is located. This one is mostly about ready-to-eat food and bread. It is packed with bakeries and small eateries serving Oaxacan classics such as tlayudas—huge tortillas topped with meat or sausage. We wandered past rows of stalls where locals and tourists alike were happily eating. One section was particularly inviting: warm, smoky, and filled with charcoal BBQs where meat and sausages sizzled, accompanied by spicy sauces and grilled onions. Highly tempting. Both markets were impressive and a pleasure to walk through. Every sense was fully engaged. And yet, something was missing. We clearly remembered a vast section devoted to tools and electrical bits, but it had vanished. After some enquiries, we were told it could be found at the Abastos Market, which we had visited the day before. But we had not found anything like that. Reluctantly—but curious—we decided to walk there again, as it wasn’t far. On the way, we passed the Artisania (handicrafts) Market and popped in, only to be disappointed. We had seen far better craftsmanship in small shops around the Zócalo. At the Abastos Market, we entered through a different entrance—and there it was: a sprawling wonderland of tools. Agricultural equipment, car-repair tools, household hardware, electric cables, screws, screwdrivers—name it, they had it. Dave was in paradise. We spent a long time wandering through this section. We even spotted several large metal bowls like the one we had seen a few days earlier, prompting Dave to chase after a pair of legs carrying one, just to get a good photo. We were told these bowls are used for cooking stews—or for scraping pig skin. Versatile objects. How we had missed this entire section on our previous visit remains a mystery. Eventually, thoroughly overwhelmed, we headed home. In a side street we discovered a small shop selling mechanical typewriters in all shapes and sizes. I had to stop and take a photo. In this age of total digitalisation, it seemed extraordinary that anyone would still sell—or buy—a mechanical typewriter. But judging by the thick layer of dust on the plastic covers, business was not exactly booming. The old fashioned typewriter still alive - but business is slow. By the way, the forecasted rain never showed. In fact, since our arrival at Christmas, we’ve seen none—despite the BBC’s persistent warnings to the contrary. 15th January 2026 The next day, Thursday, we hopped on a bus to the village of Zaachila, about 19 kilometres south of Oaxaca City. The ride took 45 minutes and cost a grand total of 20 Mexican pesos for both of us—less than a pound. It happened to be the weekly market day, and the town was buzzing. Farmers and vendors from the surrounding areas come to town to sell their goods, and very few tourists make it this far, so the place has stayed delightfully authentic. The market is enormous—you could easily spend hours wandering through it. A small section is housed inside the market building next to the church, but most of the stalls spill out onto the streets. Some vendors simply lay out their goods on a plastic sheet on the ground, while others set up tables under tarpaulins to shield themselves and their goods from sun or rain. We entered through the livestock section, where live chickens, chicks, cockerels, guinea fowl, turkeys, and even rabbits and guinea pigs were on display for sale. I was fascinated by the scene: one vendor grabbed young chickens and tossed them into a cardboard box one by one with impressive skill, handing the box straight to a customer. Meanwhile, others carried cockerels or turkeys home, feet bound, heads down. Cackling, chatter, and the occasional squawk filled the air. Moving on, the market offered literally everything: hats, clothes, shoes, combs, scissors, flowers, honey, baskets, plastic bowls, tools—you name it. There were tastings of traditional pulque and mezcal, neatly stacked piles of fresh fruit and vegetables, and food stalls where women stirred huge kettles of goat stew over charcoal fires. One kind vendor offered us a taste. The meat was tender and melted in our mouth. Curious, I asked her the secret. She explained that the goat had been cooked underground for over eight hours—the traditional Oaxacan barbacoa style. That means, the marinated meat is wrapped in leaves, buried in a pit that was heated with a large fire, and slow-cooked until perfectly tender and packed with flavour. Tender Goat meat cooked in the ground for 8 hours. Every sense was on overload: the smells, the colours, the sizzling, the chatter. Quite a few musicians, some good, some awful, entertained the market venders and buyers, hoping for a few pesos.  After several hours weaving through the labyrinth of stalls, we were exhausted. A bus ride back to Oaxaca felt like heaven. A fulfilling—but frankly exhausting—day out. I’m fairly certain that for the next few days we’ll need a rest and, at least for a little while, we don’t want to see another market again. 17th January 2026 Yesterday we had a lazy, leisurely day, doing very little apart from shopping at the supermarket and sitting on our terrace. Today, however, we went to Xochimilco, one of the oldest neighbourhoods in Oaxaca. Located in the north of the city, it has a rich history dating back to pre-Hispanic times. Its name comes from Nahuatl and means “place of flowers.” We wandered through cobblestoned streets, admiring the many paintings on walls and houses. Xochimilco has a vibrant atmosphere, with its colourful colonial homes, art galleries and cafés, its old viaduct, and its arches. We can’t get enough of it. We stop for a rest at a cafe with a lovely courtyard and drink Coca Cola. We don’t usually do this, but when it is hot and we are very thirsty and tired, it really helps getting our energy back. We followed the cobbled streets up a hill that offered a beautiful view over parts of Oaxaca and the surrounding mountains. There, we struck up a conversation with a friendly American man. He moved to Xochimilco nine years ago and loves it here—the people, the climate, and the atmosphere of the neighbourhood. He sees no reason to return to the US. Why would he? As he stepped into his lovely house, we wished him all the best for his future in Xochimilco. Next, we visited the General Panteón, an old and traditional cemetery in the east of the city. It was hot, and we had already walked several miles, so we took a bus part of the way and walked the rest from the bus stop. Just before reaching the cemetery, we came across a Volkswagen garage filled with old Beetles. The VW Beetle, produced in Mexico, is still going strong, and we saw many on the roads. The garage owner and his son—who had been a racing driver in a somewhat modified Beetle—proudly showed us their collection and told us its history. I told them that my first car, when I was 18, was a 1957 VW Beetle, and that a few years later I owned a 1959 model. They were clearly impressed, and at the end of our visit they presented me with a small key ring shaped like an old VW speedometer. I will treasure it. We then entered the General Panteón cemetery. Established in 1829 to bury victims of epidemics such as smallpox and cholera, it is now known for its diverse styles of grave architecture, with enormous mausoleums, tombs, and galleries of niche graves. Walking through it is impressive. The cemetery is densely packed, with hardly any space between individual graves, and we were careful not to step on anyone’s resting place. Huge mausoleums are overshadowing smaller plots. Some graves are kitschy, others totally over the top.   We still see colourful garlands and remnants of the Day of the Dead celebrations on 1 November, when families gather to honour the lives of their loved ones. Bottles of rum or beer and cigars lay in front of many graves—offerings to the dead. Needless to say, the bottles were empty. There was nobody apart from us and a few workers in the cemetery. When we wanted to leave all the doors were locked and also the workers were gone. I almost started to panic as I did not want to spend the night in the cementery. Luckily, after a while, Dave found an exit that was still open and the workers were preparing to go home. We quickly left. Afterwards, we took a bus all the way back to our house. We had planned to visit an art exhibition, but after walking more than 10 kilometres that day, we decided to skip it. Tomorrow is another day. ——————————- Dave: 10th January 2026 We’re running low on wine and a few basics, and we also need a decent potato peeler, so after a leisurely breakfast, we take the bus from nearby Avenida José María Morelos to the Chedraui supermarket at the top of Calle Niños Héroes. On the way back we stop at the Mercado Centenario, the market where we buy our meat and vegetables. The afternoon is spent leisurely, catching up on the news and our emails. I set my alarm for 1400 (2000 UK time) so I can remotely switch on our central heating at home — I’ve already checked, and that’s when the temperature drops below freezing tonight in Belsize Park. At 1630 we head into town for a leisurely wander. Along Avenida José María Morelos we stop at a small art exhibition, and spend some time talking with the owner, a young Mexican entrepreneur who splits his life between Oaxaca and New York. Trained as an interior designer, he is now carving out a place for himself in the Mexican art scene. Though the gallery has only been open a few weeks, he already has an impressive client base, including a woman from Arizona who has commissioned him to design her new home, and furnish it with Mexican art. Two terracotta jaguars catch my eye — but not their price tag: MX$10,000 (£412.80) for each. Display of sculls in an art gallery. From there we stroll around the Zócalo, popping into various galleries and taking photos of a slow-moving local wedding procession. It’s led by huge puppets, followed by a very loud band and a long trail of people. Officials close the street ahead of the procession and reopen it once they’ve passed. I notice a security guard on the roof of a nearby building, binoculars trained on the street below. As the sun sets, it cools quickly, so we head back, stopping briefly to watch a group of dancers dressed in traditional clothes performing in the open square in front of a nearby church. Back home, we share a cold beer on the terrace before starting dinner: the last of our pork ribs with a selection of vegetables. Lisa fries one of the two plantains as a starter, and we eat outdoors despite the cool evening. 11th January 2026 We had a lazy start to the day today. It wasn’t as hot as yesterday, with more cloud about and a decent breeze blowing. Rain is possibly in the forecast over the next few days too. We waited until 10:00 before making breakfast, as that’s when the day starts to warm up here in Oaxaca and when the sun finally reaches our terrace. The two people staying next to us, who are from Earl’s Court, are leaving this afternoon to fly back to the UK from Mexico City, so we’ll be getting new neighbours tomorrow. Today, we decided to walk to La Merced, a famous market area at the far end of our local avenue, Avenida José María Morelos. La Merced refers not just to the market, but to one of Oaxaca’s long-established central barrios. It has a strong sense of local community and feels very much lived-in rather than like a polished tourist zone. It offers a good insight into everyday Oaxacan city life. The market opened in 1973, it’s a traditional public market and very popular with locals for daily shopping. Stalls sell fresh fruit and vegetables, meat, bread, spices and household goods, and it’s particularly well known for authentic Oaxacan food. We had a good mooch around and stopped at a stall selling herbs and spices, with shelves lined with jars full of goodness-knows-what. Lisa chatted to the vendor, who confidently claimed she had remedies that could cure every illness under the sun. I was more fascinated by the rows of electricity meters lining the walls of the market, with dozens on each side, each supplying power to individual stalls. The amount of intricate wiring needed to feed such a vast space must be extraordinary. Afterwards we walked back towards home.  Electricity meters supplying the stalls at the Merced Market. There’s a photographic gallery near our Airbnb, so we stopped in. There was only one small room on display, with a handful of old photographs showing people harvesting sugarcane. We asked the man at the door where the rest of the exhibition was. He explained they were preparing a new show and suggested we come back next Sunday when it opens. We continued along a parallel street, and struck up a conversation with a Canadian couple from Saskatchewan, who were just coming out of a small hotel. They shared many of our views and must have been in their eighties. They’re regular visitors to Oaxaca, and used to drive all the way down from Canada in their motorhome. These days they fly instead. They invited us back to show us around their hotel, which they’ve used six or seven times over the years. It was a small, family-run place—nice and cosy—but without facilities for cooking meals. We said our goodbyes and hoped we might run into each other again before they left next Sunday. Back at our place, we wrote a few emails, and by the time we’d finished it was too cold to sit outside with a beer. The sun had gone down and a chill wind had picked up. We cooked and ate the last of our pork ribs indoors and watched another episode of Dark Winds on Netflix. 12th January 2026 We were up early, as we needed to finish writing the latest episode of our blog, inserting photos and adding our own observations. For Lisa this meant double the work, as she also had to translate everything for the German site and then upload the photos again. Not a difficult job, (That’s what you think, mate!! - notes from Lisa) but a time-consuming one. The clouds and breeze kept the temperature hovering around 20C, noticeably cooler than in recent days. Even so, by 1000 it was warm enough to have breakfast on our terrace. Sunshine broke through the clouds, but when it did the sun was fierce, so the sun umbrella was essential. After breakfast we carried on working on the blog until well after midday. We’d decided we wanted to explore some of the surrounding towns and villages on their market days. To do that, we headed south to a nearby bus terminus nestled beside the huge Central de Abastos market. The plan was to visit the terminus first and then explore the market, as we also needed more vegetables and fruit. The bus terminus was confusing and trying to get information was almost impossible, even with Lisa’s Spanish. Perhaps this is because it’s a second-class terminal? It was dirty, poorly run, and several ticket offices had inadequate signage, or no one on duty to ask. Outside the terminus was a collectivo taxi rank, with town and village destinations painted across the windscreens. Once a taxi is full, it sets off. We’d used one once before to get to Atzompa; it was dirt cheap, and not the most comfortable experience. Afterwards we crossed the busy road and entered the covered market that was enormous. In one corner, fully laden trucks were being unloaded, and this was very much a man’s world. Muscle was needed to unload and ferry produce to the countless stalls in this vast space. Despite the chaos, it was well organised and efficient, with no wasted effort. Tall, open-topped trucks stood packed with boxes and sacks of fruit and vegetables. Male muscle stood on top, lifting heavy boxes and dropping them into the waiting arms of male muscle below. More male muscle disappeared into the depths of the trucks, emerging with sacks that were hoisted onto male muscle and carried away. Produce was piled high onto metal trolleys, which male muscle then pushed off—backs bent, sinews straining—towards the vendors. None of this ‘male muscle’ looked over thirty. The male muscle carried and fetched; the wives, mothers, and grannies sold. Yes, Mexico still feels very much like a man’s world. I’ve yet to see a woman driving a bus or a truck. We continued exploring, bought our fruit and vegetables, and took plenty of photos of this frenetic, macho wholesale market. Slowly we made our way back, Once back, we checked through our photos, and caught up on emails. By 1800 a cool breeze had set in, so there was no sitting on the terrace with a cold beer, and it wasn’t pleasant enough to eat outside either. 13th January 2026  When I got up, it was cooler than of late, with some cloud about, but by 1000 it was warm enough to breakfast on our terrace. Afterwards we went to our local market, having run out of meat, and bought pork chops, tomatoes, eggs and some fruit. When we got back around noon the internet was down. The owner tried rebooting the router, without success. We rested for a while before walking into town to visit the Museum of Oaxacan Cultures, next to the Santo Domingo de Guzman church. Admission had risen sharply since our guidebook was printed. Instead of MX$45, we paid MX$420 (£17.38) for us both, including a photo permit. Security was very tight: rucksacks and my camera monopod went into lockers, our bags were checked, and we passed through airport-style scanners. Housed in the former monastery, the museum is one of Mexico’s finest regional collections and needs at least two hours to do it justice. First we visit the fascinating exhibition of Manuel Jimenez, the famous Mexican, wood carver, sculptor and painter and then the museum proper. The greatest treasure is the Mixtec hoard from Tomb 7 at Monte Albán, in Room III (the first on the right upstairs). This dates from the 14th century, when Mixtecs reused an old Zapotec tomb at Monte Albán to bury one of their kings and his sacrificed servants, along with a stash of beautifully worked silver, turquoise, coral, jade, amber, pearls, finely carved bone, crystal goblets, a skull covered in turquoise and a lot of gold. The treasure was discovered in 1932 by Alfonso Caso. Halls I to IV are devoted to the pre-Hispanic period, halls V to VIII to the colonial period, halls IX to XIII to Oaxaca in the independence era and after, and the final room (XIV) to Santo Domingo Monastery itself. At the end of the long corridor past hall IX, glass doors give a view into the beautifully ornate choir of the Templo de Santo Domingo . The last time we were here, the museum dedicated an area to the famous Mexican Emiliano Zapata, even though he wasn’t from Oaxaca. Who was he? Emiliano Zapata (1879–1919) was one of the most important leaders of the Mexican Revolution. A champion of peasants’ and Indigenous communities’ rights, he fought against large landowners and demanded land reform under the slogan “Tierra y Libertad” (Land and Freedom). Zapata led the Liberation Army of the South and issued the Plan de Ayala, calling for the redistribution of land to village communities. He was assassinated in 1919 after being lured into an ambush by government forces, but he remains a powerful symbol of social justice and resistance in Mexico. A photo on the wall is the only reminder of the revolutionary leader Emiliano Zapata in the museum. We reached the end of our tour, but couldn’t find the area dedicated to Zapata, the famous Mexican revolutionary. We asked where he was, and were confusingly told he was not included. The person we asked then shrugged their shoulders, and said, well, they sometimes change the exhibition. Strange, they were unaware, even though guidebooks state there is an area dedicated to him. Nine years ago we vividly remembered the exhibits about him, and still have the photos to prove it. It was cold inside the museum, so we sat on a wall when we came out to warm up. Afterward, we went to a rooftop cafe, opposite the Santo Domingo de Guzman church. We didn’t linger, as there was a chilly wind blowing. On the way back we stopped at a bakery for a baguette, and checked out another rooftop restaurant for future reference. 14th January 2026 I was awake early and up at 0530, spending a few hours writing up the previous day. By 1000 we were breakfasting in the sunshine on our terrace before walking into town to explore Oaxaca’s three famous adjoining markets just south of the Zócalo: Benito Juarez, 20 de Noviembre, and Artesanías (handicraft). Benito Juarez was busy and colourful, selling everything imaginable—from clothes and cookware to food, drinks, and supposed cure-all herbs—while guides shepherded groups of tourists, through the tightly packed stalls, explaining as they went.  Across the road, the 20 de Noviembre market was even livelier, and entirely food-focused. A small area had tables tightly packed together, like sardines. On the other side of this narrow isle were several barbecue pits, each with a chef throwing thin strips of meat onto the hot charcoal grills. It was hot inside the covered market, but the chefs in front of glowing pits, smoke rising from the sizzling meat, didn’t seem to feel the heat.  The tables were crammed with tourists, waiters scurried from pit to table loaded with plates of sizzling meat. Other waiters hovered, pushing menus in our faces as we passed by, enticing us to eat. It certainly was fascinating to push through the mingling masses, feel the heat from the pits, and pass through the smoke and smells from the sizzling meat and sausages. In another aisle, local workers sat elbow to elbow enjoying traditional dishes. Lisa took photos of several vendors and promised to email them copies. The Artesanías market was disappointing, so we continued on to the Central de Abasto.  On the way we stopped at a small café for a short rest and a coffee break. Police were visible on the streets to reassure us tourists that the areas were safe. A woman came into the cafe and sat next to us, her sidearm clearly visible in its holster. She drank her coffee and read her emails. Coffee finished, she left and joined a group of people on the pavement. They were obviously plain cloth policemen, and she their boss. Yes, these tourist markets are a magnet for certain elements of society. The Central de Abasto was by far the most interesting of all the covered markets we’d visited. I could spend days walking around the rabbit warren of narrow alleyways, each piled high with all sorts of goodies. Everything was for sale, from clothes to compressors. We had a good mooch around, and spent some time chatting to someone selling industrial kitchen equipment, utensils and pots and pans. He sold huge metal pans that were big enough to boil a pig in! We headed back, stopping to buy coffee and black beans on the way. The sun was still shining when we returned. I washed Lisa’s sandals, whilst she made a cuppa, and we drank them enjoying the sunshine, sat on the terrace, before working up our diaries. I cooked the last of our pork chops with vegetables. We shared a bottle of wine and ate dinner on our terrace.     15th January 2026 I was up at 0600 to write my diary. It was cooler today, with many more clouds than of late. We were short of food, so after breakfast we walked across the road to our local market, and bought some chicken and a few avocados. When we got back, we set off almost immediately to walk to the Zócalo. Six blocks south is the Villa de Zaachila bus terminus, as we were planning a day trip to the town to wander around their Thursday market. There was already a bus waiting. We boarded and paid the driver MX$20 (84p) for us both. We set off at 1115. Our bus had seen better days. The seats were loose, and we slid around as it negotiated the congested city streets, speed bumps, and potholes. The state of the roads once we left the city were no better, and the heavy traffic reduced our progress to a crawl. Off to our left we could see Oaxaca International Airport in the distance. We arrived at Villa de Zaachila’s central bus station at noon, a journey time of 45 minutes. The Thursday Día de Plaza (tianguis), or outdoor market, is Zaachila’s weekly main event. It attracts people from all over the Valley of Oaxaca, many of whom are Zapotec-speaking people from rural areas. This market tradition dates back to pre-Hispanic times, and has changed very little since then. The market is divided into three sections. The first, known by its Zapotec name Logueguindan, meaning “plaza of the people of the hills,” is mostly dedicated to firewood and charcoal for use during the week. We couldn’t find this section, perhaps we arrived too late. Just outside the bus station was the beginning of the market, and that’s where we started, in the second section, dedicated to the sale of animals such as chickens, chicks, cockerels, turkeys, rabbits, ducks, and guinea pigs, many in cages or tied together by their legs.  We slowly made our way through the crowds, taking photos where possible. Some people were keen to have their photos taken, others not. We then passed into the third part of the market, which was complete sensory overload: the noise, the smells, the bright colours, and the tastes, if you dared. We did, and were offered goat stew from a huge pot. It was delicious. It was busy, very busy, and we were constantly bumping into people or tables, or ducking to avoid the low-hanging cords holding up the colourful tarpaulins above us. Everything was for sale here: fruit, vegetables, food both cooked and for cooking, cheap goods, clothes, and all sorts of handicrafts. Singers and musicians, some good and some awful, mingled among the crowds, playing for small change, especially around the eating areas, and there were plenty of those. We wandered through for what seemed like hours, then decided to find a café for a sit-down. We left the market, and explored the side streets of the town but couldn’t find one. So we returned to the market, found a kiosk, and bought a small bottle of Coca-Cola and a packet of nuts. We sat on a kerb in the sunshine to eat and drink, whilst watching the world pass by. By 1500 the vendors were packing up, so we made our way back to the bus terminus, and set off for the return journey. When we got back, we checked the news, read our emails, and continued with our diaries until it was time to cook dinner: oven-roasted chicken and vegetables. It was far too cold to eat on our terrace. After dinner, we continued watching the series, Dark Winds. 16th January 2026 We had a poor night’s sleep because at 0042 our watches and iPhones suddenly started screeching. It was a government earthquake alert, our second, the first having been in Puebla. The epicentre was again near Acapulco. We didn’t feel anything, but we quickly got dressed and went outside onto the terrace. Dogs were barking in the area as people reacted to the warning on their phones and left their homes. Here are the official Government earthquake alert instructions: When you receive an earthquake warning on your phone, you may only have a few seconds before the shaking begins. Immediate, automated action is critical.  1. Execute the "Drop, Cover, and Hold On" Protocol       The most vital safety action is to protect your head and neck immediately.  Drop: Get down on your hands and knees to prevent being knocked over. Cover: Seek shelter under a sturdy table or desk. If no shelter is nearby, move to an interior wall away from windows, hanging objects, or tall furniture. Hold On: Stay in place and hold onto your shelter until the shaking completely stops.  2. Follow Instructions Based on Your Location If Indoors: Stay inside. Do not run outside or to other rooms, as most injuries occur when people try to move during the shaking. Avoid using elevators. If Outdoors: Move to an open area away from buildings, power lines, streetlights, and trees. If Driving: Pull over safely to a clear area, avoid stopping under bridges or overpasses, and stay inside the vehicle with your seatbelt fastened until the shaking stops.  There was no aftershock, so after ten minutes we went back to bed. I got up at 0630, with Lisa following shortly after. I wore my fleece as I sat with my iPad, because the temperature had dropped to 5°C overnight. Today was an R&R day: rest and relaxation. We had a leisurely morning checking the news while enjoying the sunshine on our terrace. The only task on the agenda was to take the bus to the Chedraui supermarket to buy wine and beer, so at noon we set off. Supermarkets here don’t allow you to wear a rucksack inside, so you have to leave it in a locker. The system this supermarket uses must be cutting edge, as it relies on facial recognition. You stare into a camera and are instructed what to do in what sounds like English, but with a Chinese twist. The camera isn’t positioned low enough, so to accommodate shorter Mexicans there’s a wooden pallet nearby to stand on. Once back, we continued reading and writing beneath the sun umbrella on our terrace. At 1800 we shared a beer outside until 1900, when the sun dropped behind the mountains. We prepared dinner, chicken thigh and drumstick, and dined on the terrace as it was warmer this evening. 17th January 2026 The reason we have a late breakfast is simple: the sun doesn’t reach our terrace table until 1000. That way we sit in the sunshine while we eat. We’d run out of meat, so after breakfast we went to our local market and bought some pork ribs, eggs, and a few courgettes. Afterwards we walked to the Barrio de Xochimilco. It was a slow, gentle uphill stroll, and as we drew closer the roads became narrower and more winding, the facades quirkier, and the views more dramatic. Murals of hummingbirds and historical figures seemed to sprout from the walls of the cobblestone streets. Barrio de Xochimilco is recognised as one of Oaxaca city’s oldest neighbourhoods. It was a Zapotec settlement long before Spanish colonisation. Unlike other neighbourhoods that were gradually absorbed by colonial customs, Xochimilco has preserved its distinct Indigenous cultural and religious traditions to this day. This raises an obvious question: why does this neighbourhood, separated from the nation’s capital by some 300 miles and several mountain chains, share its name with Xochimilco in Mexico City? The answer lies in the Mexica (Aztec) invasion of modern-day Oaxaca in 1486, when Xochimilcan soldiers were brought south and, quite naturally, named the settlement after their own hometown. As part of Oaxaca city’s Historic Centre, Xochimilco is protected under federal law as a historic monument zone. Many of the monuments found here were built during the Spanish period, including the 18th-century San Felipe Aqueduct. We crossed a busy dual carriageway, climbed a flight of stone steps, and emerged onto a street of vividly painted houses, some crowned with cascades of bougainvillea tumbling from the rooftops. We followed the colourful main street, pausing frequently to photograph the murals that covered the walls, while the side streets, by comparison, felt rather bland. Soon we reached an open cobblestoned space, with a foreground of flowers and bougainvillea and, far beyond, cloud-draped mountains. There was a café with a delightful courtyard at the back, and that’s where we stopped for a refreshing cold drink. Afterwards we continued on to the famous aqueduct, walking down a stone staircase to get a better view. Judging by the smell at the bottom, a public toilet would not go amiss. We wandered a few more streets before turning back, as we needed to make our way to our next destination, the Panteón General, better known as the City Cemetery. On our way out, an American struck up a conversation with us. He was from Colorado and had moved here nine years ago. No sooner had he started talking than he turned, said goodbye, and disappeared, like a rabbit down a hole, through a wooden door.   We walked it back to the dual carriageway and took a bus and got off a couple of miles later. From there we walked a few blocks to reach the City Cemetery. On the opposite side of the road to the main entrance to the cemetery was a garage and inside we could see several VW beetles. As we peered in, the owner came out and invited us in. It was a treasure trove of everything VW beetle. In one corner a stock car beetle, complete with roll over cage. In another corner, a beetle hot-rod, in the process of being assembled. Beetle engines in various states of repair littered the floor. We took several photos and had a long chat with the owner, his dad and two apprentice mechanics as Saturday was a working day in this garage. After 30 minutes we crossed the road, and enter the high walled cemetery. The Panteón General (City Cemetery) is unusual and interesting not because it is grand, but because it is lived in.   Families visit regularly to clean graves, repaint names, bring flowers, talk, eat, or simply sit quietly. Death here is part of daily routine rather than a special or ceremonial event.  Graves are highly personal: many are brightly painted, decorated with tiles, religious images, favourite objects, or handwritten messages, and are refreshed and repainted over the years. There is a strong sense of layered history. Some tombs are old and crumbling, others freshly painted and carefully maintained. Walking slowly, you can see evidence of social change, migration, and long family continuity. The sound and atmosphere are distinctive. You may hear sweeping, low conversations, birds, or distant traffic. The cemetery feels calm and domestic rather than solemn or heavy. Most strikingly, it is non-performative. Unlike cemeteries that turn into tourist stages during Day of the Dead, Panteón General feels authentic and uncurated. Visitors are few, and local families are not “on display”. What you encounter is ordinary life continuing in the presence of the dead, quietly and without spectacle . We spent about twenty minutes wandering around this crowded area, a somewhat gaudy mishmash of religious stones and relics. Some graves are completely over the top, and one, resembling a garden shed, wouldn’t have looked out of place in someone’s back garden. There’s a bus stop a block away from the cemetery that takes us all the way back to the stop near our Airbnb. We’re tired and hot, so we’re grateful to let the bus take the strain and carry us home. ———————————————- Dear readers, over the last four weeks we have reported hier so much about our adventures that the blog post can’t take any more text and photos. We will open a part 2 travel blog and will continue there with reporting about our last week in Oaxaca. Please check it out. 2. Puebla 28.12.2025 - 4.1.2026 Informative and interesting facts Puebla, officially Heroica Puebla de Zaragoza , is a historic city and state in central Mexico, located approximately 130 kilometres (80 miles) southeast of Mexico City. It is among the country’s most culturally and architecturally significant regions, renowned for its colonial heritage, distinctive cuisine, and pivotal role in Mexican history. Puebla is the 5th largest city in Mexico with around 1.7 million inhabitants. The state of Puebla has a population of 6.7 million people. Although Puebla is still quite big, but it has a relaxed  atmosphere, different from the bustling capital. Founded in 1531, Puebla grew into an important Spanish colonial city thanks to its location on the route between Veracruz and Mexico City. It’s best known for the Battle of Puebla in 1862, celebrated each year as Cinco de Mayo. The historic city centre, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is famous for its well-preserved colonial buildings, including the richly decorated Capilla del Rosario and colourful Talavera-tiled architecture that mixes Spanish and indigenous styles. Puebla has played a major role in Mexico’s cultural and intellectual history and still has strong traditions of crafts, religious life, and public festivals. It’s also considered one of Mexico’s food capitals, known for dishes like mole poblano, chiles en nogada, and cemitas. Surrounded by valleys and volcanoes, the region has a diverse economy that includes manufacturing, agriculture, tourism, and creative industries. Today, Puebla is a lively university city that blends deep history with modern development. Lisa: 29th December 2025 Puebla is certainly worth visiting. Most tourists stay one or two days, wither as an organised day trip from Mexico City or a stop over on the way to Oaxaca. We decided to take a week to explore the area in more detail and soak in the atmosphere. On Sunday, after a 2 1/2 hour bus ride we arrived safely in Puebla. Our instructions by our Air BnB host Esmeralda were to make our way to the Cafe Me Barrio in the city centre (which she and her sister ran) and pick up the key for our rented studio which was right next door to the cafe where the studio was located. We entered the building through a big wooden entrance door into a very old big house with staircases and several floors. It looked a bit neglected, the upper part of the building was deserted and cordoned off for security reason, we were told. We passed the patio and at the end passed through a passage that was horribly smelling of cat piss and shit, which could not be overcome by the burning incense sticks. We were told an old lady was living there with many (no one knows exactly how many) cats. Finally at the end of the passage there it was: our studio. It lovely, friendly, but tiny. Esmeralda explained, that three years ago she found out that this tiny flat had become available. (Apartments to rent are very scarce.) It was in a desolate state but convenient as right beside the Cafe. She and her father renovated it for a long time and we must say they did a great job. Now she rented it out as an AirBnB studio. The apartment is 1.90m broad and 8.62m long, inclusive bathroom. (Dave measured it with the digital measuring tool on his smart phone). Small, but all is there what you need. Sleeping area, sitting room with a desk and a bench, a fully equipped kitchen with a dining table, stove, microwave and fridge and the bathroom. What more do you want for £26 a night? But even for us, being used to living in a small flat in London, it takes some time and tolerance to get used to two people moving about in this confined place. The windows go out to the dark patio. Our tiny but lovely AirBnB Apartment Esmeralda also pointed out that it hasn’t rained for a long time, therefore there was a water shortage and could we please be considerate in our water usage. No problem. The light in the kitchen is linked to an Alexa, who apparently understands Spanish and English commands, but is still learning. So it takes patience to make her understand that we want her to switch the light on or off. But we are getting there. Puebla is still at 2,200m and the nights are cold, especially in the winter months of December and January. There is no heater in our place, as is in most houses in Mexico. Only in a fancy restaurant we have seen fancy patio heaters between the tables to keep the guests warm. In other places people just have to put an extra sweater on and go to bed early to keep warm. I am writing this diary early in the morning in bed, because it is very cold in the apartment. Later today, when the sun comes out it will be hot in the mid 20s C. However, these big old houses take a long time to warm up. Puebla is famous for its traditional cuisine. There are many cafes, restaurants and a variety of eating places in town. Our host, Esmeralda, gave us many tips where to eat in town. In her cafe we get a 10% discount, which is very nice. We had breakfast there one morning and it was typical Pueblan food, Huevos Santos (fried eggs, tortillas with green and red chilli sauce and some exotic fruit and veges); the other was Chilaquiles Barrocos (fried tortilla with egg and the traditional Pueblan mole, a chocolate with chilli sauce, again with fruit and veges). Yummy breakfast: Chilaquiles Barrocos Big portions, very yummy and certainly a treat, but for everyday in the long run it will get too expensive. When we have the opportunity to cook our own breakfast we will do so. When walking the streets we passed by many restaurants and other eating places. Street food is very popular with locals and tourists. At almost every corner there is someone with a coal stove offering food like churros, tacos, enchiladas, chalupas, molotes, but also hamburgers and saucy sandwiches and many more. Considering the long queues, one wonders if anyone ever cooks at home, if there is so much cheap food available on the street. We were also wondering about the quality of food people are eating, as the supermarkets in town don’t offer any fresh food, such as vegetables, cheese or fruit. However, you can buy such food in many of the markets. We went yesterday to a local farmers market. Mercado El Parral, and were impressed with the quality of food on display. It makes clearly a difference if you stroll through a market to simply look or, like we now, to select and buy your own food. We stocked up on eggs, tortillas, cheese, vegetables and fruit, got chatting with the vendors and got advice what to look out for when buying avocados or papaya, which are ripe enough to eat. We queued at the butcher’s stall and watched the vendor how she skilfully sliced a number of huge chicken breasts into very thin layers for a customer who either had a very big family or a restaurant. Animated, we also bought chicken breast (enough for three days) and when I cooked it in the evening, it was very tasty. The eggs for breakfast, the guacamole made from the avocados and tomatoes and the cheese filled tortillas also tasted very yummy. At the Mercado de Sabores (the market of the great tastes) we walked through the lines of stalls offering mouthwatering delicious freshly cooked food. In between were seats and tables for customers and families who were tucking into their food with great appetite. We decided against it, as we just had bought our chickens and veges, but I bought a bowl of cooked black beans to take away as an addition to our evening meal. We continued walking the streets, and it was fascinating as some streets are dedicated to opticians (even so one cannot see many people wearing glasses), others to sweets, fashion, baby things, stationary; several streets were lined up with shops selling fancy wedding dresses and evening gowns. Other streets were full with plumbing merchants, others with electric parts, computers and mobile phones, next to streets with car repair shops. One of the many shops at sweet street Fancy dresses in the street full of dressing gowns The old and once famous Victoria Market had been renovated recently and behind the beautiful historic facade developed into a modern rather boring shopping centre. Here finally, we could stop for a much needed cappuccino and a herbal tea (hierba buena) a delicious peppermint-like tea for me. The place was full, but quickly two little stools emerged and an old man made space for us on his little table. Soon we got chatting, and he showed us many photos on his  mobile phone on what we urgently had to see in Puebla. At first, I thought, these fabulous pictures were from the internet, but it turned out that they were his and he was a photographer. He also showed me a picture of him with Rigoberta Menchu, the famous Guatemaltecan human rights activist whom I had met personally, and interviewed in the 80s at a human rights conference in Germany. In 1981, she had been exiled and escaped to Mexico and from where she continued to organise resistance to oppression in Guatemala and the struggle for Indigenous rights. The cafe played traditional Mexican songs, some of which I also knew and we were singing along together. Even Dave joined in too. We had a good time, but had to move on. We thanked our new found friend and said goodbye. It is amazing, how friendly Mexican people are, especially once they know we are English and not Americans. Many are ever so helpful, when we seemed to be lost. For example, in Mexico City when buying the Metro card, a woman showed us how to do it and even changed our big bills into more suitable smaller ones. In Puebla, whenever we looked at our map, someone wanted to help to show us the way. It was not always the right direction, but at least they wanted to help. We met one guy, Ricardo, a scientist, who had studied in the UK. He told us at length what we had to see and why it was important. We could not get away from him, but finally we escaped on friendly terms, with his phone number in our pockets, just in case we needed some more help. Dave: 28th December 2025 We left our hotel in Mexico City at noon for the TAPO bus station with an Uber taxi for MX$150 and arrived at 1225. Taxis are not allowed inside the bus station complex, but our drop-off point was only a short walk and with our roller suitcases. At 1300 our bus left. The roads leading out of Mexico City were congested but once outside the only holdups were at the motorway pay booths. The roads were good but bumpy in many places. We arrived at the Puebla bus station at 1530. The taxi fare to our Airbnb, in the very centre of Puebla, was MX$113. As in most big cities in Mexico they operate a grid system of one way streets. The ride into town was good until we reached the centre, then we ground to a halt as the road were gridlocked. With just two blocks to go we got out and rolled our suitcases along the busy uneven pavements to our Airbnb meeting point, the renters sister’s cafe next door. We had a coffee whilst we waited for the owner. 15 minutes later we were given a guided tour. She unlocked the huge wooden door that lead into a long courtyard. At the far were 3 flats. One on the right and a little further our on the left and opposite ours a flight of stairs leading to to another Airbnb. Our flat is 1.9m x 8.62m long, inclusive bathroom. It was a little cramped for us and our 2 suitcases and rucksacks. Nevertheless, we were right in the centre of town and our flat had all the essentials, including a huge flatscreen TV fixed to the wall above the bed. Puebla hadn’t seen rain since October, so water was at precious. She took us back to the courtyard and showed us the water tank and if our water supply ran low then we should switch on the water pump for 15 minutes. She must’ve seen us looking at the wet floor and the incense stick burning from a wooden cabinet on the right. She explained that on the left of the courtyard lived a cat woman. She had several cats and we’re told that we’d never see them, or the cat lady herself. These maybe, but there was no getting around the stench of cat shit and cat piss we had to get pass through to get from the courtyard to our flat. We made a note to wipe our shoes before entering. Formalities over, we went out to explore and find a supermarket for supplies. The centre was very crowded and the roads still gridlocked. Puebla’s Zocola (main square) is the centre of town and beside it is Puebla’s Cathedral. There were a long queue of people snaking out of the main entrance into the Cathedral, out of the main gate and out across the park. A conservative estimate of the length of the queue with be 500 metres.  We were told they were were queueing because of the celebrations of its 38th anniversary of World Heritage inscription. We continued through the crowds into the park and it was like a fairground, with performers entertaining the masses. The Cathedral in afternoon sunshine The Zocola is surrounded by colonial style buildings on whose ground floors were restaurants and shops. We continued around 3 sides, and made our way back via an OXXO supermarket for basic supplies. We dropped of our supplies and set off to a highly recommended typical Mexican restaurant, Antojitos Tomy, which was just around the corner. The place was full and we managed to get a table at the back. The restaurant did not cater for tourists and all the others were locals. The food wasn’t fancy, nor the tables and chairs, but there was plentiful of it, with very spicy sauces. They closed at 2100 and were the last to leave. The menu at Antojitos Tomy 29th December 2025 I got up at 5 o’clock this morning and sat down to write my diary and to catch up on the news and emails. At 1000 we left to have breakfast at the Me Barrio café, the cafe next door. The breakfast was rather fancy and cost mx$320, but we did get a 10% discount. At 1145 we left, together with our rucksacks, to go to a nearby farmers market, the Mercado El Parral. The enclosed market was excellent and sold absolutely everything. We came away with chicken breast, avocado, spring onions, tomatoes, potatoes, courgette and eggs, which should keep us going over the next few days. At the Market El Parral We returned to our compact palace, unloaded our supplies and set off to find the bus station to Cholula, as we want to visit the famous Great Pyramid of Cholula during the next few days.   We had wall to wall sunshine and the temperature had risen to 23C. I’d checked the forecast earlier, took a chance, and for the first time since leaving the UK wore my shorts and sandals. Yes, I also wore my t-shirt, but had my fleece in my rucksack - just in case. We stopped often to check our bearings, on our phones and tourist office map, and during one stop were approached by someone who wanted to help. He was an academic, was very friendly and spoke good English, and for the next 40 minutes offered advice and gave us tips of where to go in Puebla and the surrounding environs. We managed to escape, but our ears were still bleeding as we walked off.  We found the bus station to Cholula and the surrounding area had other bus stations to other places and towns. From there we walked across the main road to Mercado de Sabores to find a cafe. This was a huge indoor ‘U’ shaped area dedicated to eating, but not for a coffee stop. Lisa bought a small takeaway polystyrene pot of black beans for a starter for tonight’s meal.  We walked back towards the Zocalo and at an OXXO supermarket we bought 2 bottles of special offer red wine. Wine shops are difficult to find in Puebla, but the residents must have very bad eyesight as every other shop seemed to be an optician. We came to the Victoria Market, a huge towering imposing structure, and entered. I was surprised as once inside the area was open, the imposing outer was just a facade. I was fascinated by drainpipes for the roof/parapet as they were placed approximately every 2 metres along the entire inner facade. There was a very pleasant small cafe to our left. A mature gentleman was sat on his own at a table and he beckoned us over to share his table. It wasn’t long before he struck up a conversation. Once again we’d met a very friendly person who showed us photos on his phone of the places we must visit whilst we were in Puebla. The photos were good and he bashfully told us he was a photographer. We stayed longer than we’d intended, but, as we’d come to expect, the locals were so friendly and they loved to talk about their country, Mexico, with so much pride. We bade our new friend goodbye, took a quick tour of the market and left to walk back to our Airbnb, via the front of the Cathedral. The Zocola was teeming with people and stalls selling all sorts of goods and the roads were filled with queuing traffic. Almost opposite our Airbnb was a very fancy hotel called Quinta Real. The door was open so we went inside to have a look around. It was impressive as the hotel was built around a courtyard. The entire courtyard was covered and could be opened up electronically. In the centre of the courtyard was a huge Christmas tree, entirely lit by tiny white led lamps. Red and white bunting was strung from the top of the Christmas tree around the entire courtyard. Christmas tree in the covered courtyard of the Hotel Quinta Real We crossed the road and opened the wooden door to our Airbnb, crossed our perfumed courtyard and entered our flat. We spent some time catching up with the news and reading our email over a beer. Whilst I was writing up my diary Lisa fried chicken in a pan with spring onions and courgettes, tortillas filled with cheese and we started off with those delicious black beans that we’d bought in Mercado de Sabores. ———————————————————- Lisa: 30th December 2025 There is so much to do and see in Puebla with its rich history, many churches, famous architecture and culture that we are spoilt for choice. It is cloudy and cold, so it’s best to have a day of museums and church visits. The first museum we visited was the Museo de Automovil Puebla, the Car Museum. Dave’s choice obviously and he, I am sure, will write about it. Afterwards, after a much needed rest for coffee/tea we made our way towards the Zócalo (the main dietary) and started with our tour of the most famous churches. By the way, there are many churches here. The town of Cholula, where we will go tomorrow has 365 churches, one for every day, and amongst Cholula and Puebla they have about 3,000 churches! The Spanish built numerous churches as part of their mission to convert the native population after the conquest. First we visited the Basilica Cathedral of Puebla, right by the Zócalo (the main square). It is one of the most important buildings in the historic centre of Puebla and declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. It was built over a long time but congregated in 1649. It has a stunning architecture, many altars, and rich goldsmithing. What amazed me too, was it had 10 confessionals with open sections for the confessors so there is no privacy when sinners confess their sins. Two were in action at the time of our visit and there was a queue for confession whilst the tourists walked about the church. An open confessional does not offer much privacy for the sinner. Next we visited the Chapel of the Rosary, St. Dominique’s temple, the 8th Wonder of the world. This chapel is covered almost entirely by 24-carat sheets of gold and is seen as a master piece of new Spanish Baroque. It was erected in the 17th century at the time of Viceroyalty with the purpose of showing the magnificence, wealth and abundance of Mexico to Spain and the rest of the world. It was also built with the purpose of teaching the rosary to the indigenous population in the region. The chapel was built using indigenous labour, reflecting colonial power dynamics where native people were compelled to construct grand religious structures for the Spanish under harsh forms of forced labour. The Chapel of the Rosary - a masterpiece but overloaded with gold. Several busloads of tourists marched through the chapel admiring the golden walls and ornaments. We had enough of visiting churches. Despite the Chapel of the Rosary being considered a masterpiece, we felt it was way over the top. The Catholic Church pompously displaying so much gold and richness while many of its worshippers suffer. 31st December 2025 ————- Cholula Pyramid Here some background information The Cholula pyramid is in Cholula, Mexico, about 6 km west of the city of Puebla. It was built over many centuries from around 300 BC by different ancient cultures who amended and added layers on top of the other ones, making it the largest pyramid in the world. The pyramid was an important religious centre, mainly dedicated to the Mesoamerican God of Quetzalcoatl. At the time when the Spanish arrived, the pyramids were long abandoned and covered by earth and grass, looking like a natural hill. The Spanish built their own church (Nuestra Seniora de los Remedios) on top of it without realising there was pyramid beneath it. In the 20th century, archaeologists discovered the pyramid by digging tunnels inside it. Today, the Cholula Pyramid is a mix of ancient indigenous history and cultural history flying how different cultures shaped the same place over time. Source for background information: Chat Gpt and Wikipedia. ——————- Today we went by bus to Cholula to visit the famous pyramids and the church built on top of it. Before we entered the site we had a cup of coffee and a pot of white tea in a nearby pleasant cafe. We had a table on the front window and watched the world go by on the street. The cafe was full with mostly local tourists, many were sitting on tables out on the patio, where gas heaters made sure the customers were kept warm. After that short refreshment we made our way to the sights. We passed by a handicraft market that sold woolly jumpers and ponchos. I was very tempted to buy one and wrap myself in it as it was very cold, 10 degrees at 11 am. But, that’s a no-go as I don’t have any space in my luggage and from the weather forecast I knew it would warm up later up to 23C. I just had to stand the cold a little longer. Many of the tourists visited the church on top of the pyramid. We wanted to see the site of the pyramids first. We marched a long walk towards the site. On the way we saw a path up the hill toward the church and decided to walk up. We had seen a picture of the church on the internet with the Vulcan Popocatepetl in the background and we wanted to replicate that picture ourselves. After a steep climb, and after we got our breath back, we went around the church trying to find the exact place from where the photo was taken. Impossible! We had a view of the Vulkan Malinche to one site, and of the Vulkans Popocatepetl and Itzaccihuatl on the other. But the church could not be matched with any of the Vulkans in the background. The photo must have been taken by drone and two different shots merged together. Such a cheat! We were also disappointed that despite the sky being clear, The tops of all three Vulkans were covered by mist and clouds. View of the Iglesia de Nuestra Senora de los Remedios (Our Lady of Remedies Church) but no volcano in sight There is a nice legend with a love story similar to Romeo and Julia: Iztaccíhuatl was a princess who fell in love with one of her father's warriors, Popocatepetl. The emperor sent Popocatépetl to war in Oaxac, promising him Iztaccíhuatl as his wife when he returned (which Iztaccíhuatl's father presumed he would not). Iztaccíhuatl was falsely told that Popocatépetl had died in battle, and believing the news, she died of grief. When Popocatépetl returned to find his love dead, he took her body to a spot outside Tenochtitlan and kneeled by her grave. The gods covered them with snow and changed them into mountains. After this excursion we headed to the archaeological site of the pyramid. The heat was intense, and we trudged across the wide, shadowless grounds. Only part of the site has been uncovered, revealing how different cultures expanded the pyramid over time, with helpful explanatory posters along the way. We had hoped to visit the exploration tunnels, but they had been closed for five years. After nearly three hours, we were exhausted and left. At the handicraft market, we paused to watch indigenous performers in traditional dress who climbed a 20-meter pole and spiralled down headfirst to the sound of drums and flutes—an unforgettable sight. Flying birdman - upside down It was time to catch a bus back to Puebla, which turned out to be harder than expected. With Google Maps and advice from a café waitress, we walked out of town to where the bus station should have been—only to learn there is no station in Cholula. Instead, you stand by the road and wave a bus down. We tried this for a while without success until a local woman told us we were about 20 meters too far along. At the correct spot, a minibus stopped immediately. I took the last seat while Dave squeezed in awkwardly beside an older woman who made a little space for him, sitting on one cheek only and holding on for dear life, until, at the next stop, somebody got off the bus and a seat finally freed up for him. Today is New Year’s Eve and we wanted to celebrate by going for a meal in a nice restaurant. Finding a nice restaurant was not easy. The ones that I had chosen from the internet, were either closed, had private parties or had a long waiting list. The others were not inviting. Finally we found a restaurant near the theatre district. It was an beautiful colonial building with balconies, though a bit neglected. Beside being a restaurant, it also was a Karaoke Bar. It had a good atmosphere, but there were hardly any customers. We sat on one of the balconies (despite the cold) and ordered food and beers. We enjoyed our stay and hoped that were would be more business for them later on celebrating the New Year. Yet, we could not wait so long. We were extremely tired, went home and went to bed at 9.30pm and slept peacefully into the New Year. 01st January 2026 We woke up refreshed and started to write our diaries. Our colonial house is dark and cold. So when we went out at midday, we were blinded by the sunshine and sat on a bench in the 23C sun to warm up. Heaven! We were happy soaking up the warmth and sun. Later we strolled around the historic centre, taking photographs, sitting on benches in the sunshine, watching the world go by. In search of a cafe that was open on New Year’s Day, we went into the theatre district.  We found a golden statue of a painter and a group of Mexicans posing around it for photos. The theatre cafe was closed, so were many others. We admired the beautiful colourful Colonial houses with little balconies and shops with antiques, handicraft, all but cafes. Dave took a photo of me at a display of angel wings. This will probably be the only time when I will be wearing angel wings, so I wanted to make the best of it.  Finally, around the corner was a little restaurant with a lovely patio. The owner said he had the best selection of Mexican coffee. And he was right, the coffee was excellent and so was the tea. We got chatting and he told us that on Weekend evenings there was Latino life music in the patio of his restaurant. So we will spend our last evening in Pueblo in his restaurant, Rehilete. The owner then brought us samples of Mezcal to taste. Very nice, but strong, and they went straight into my head. We bade our good byes and continued our stroll and came across a flea market. Something for everyone at this flea market It had many interesting things on display: Discs of all the famous rock or Latino music bands, jewellery, precious stones, cameras and lenses, handicraft, tools, and many more, something for everyone. I bought a blue agate stone that, so I as told, is traditionally considered a stone of tranquillity, communication and harmony, which reduces stress and promotes inner peace. That’s exactly what I need! It was getting late and some started packing up already. So we moved on, bought some supplies from a supermarket and went home, 02nd January 2026 I was sitting in bed wrapped up warmly and red the news and my emails on my iPad when Dave’s watch alarm went off at 7.58 am. The warning of a seismic emergency. An earthquake. I quickly jumped to of bed. I could feel the floor move below my feet and I when walking i was swerving around like being drunk. It only lasted about 20 seconds. We went out into the patio where we met our landlady and together we went to the street to meet others and hear what was happening. Most possibly it was already all over. After a while as nothing happened, we went back into our flat to make breakfast. Apparently, a 6.5 magnitude earthquake struck Southern Mexico, near this Pacific coast in the Guerrero state, about 400 km from us, near Acapulco. There were no immediate reports of injuries and damages. - Lucky we! Today, we went to viewing platform in the park Los Fuertes de Loreto. We walked a long way up a hill (our only exercise at the moment) in the burning sun. We stopped at a pharmacy to buy some sun creme. The viewing platform is part of an amusement park and also includes a stadium that was once used as part of the 1968 Olympics. We were mightily disappointed as there was no view, as the surrounding trees had grown into large mighty trees that restricted all views. We could see part of the huge city of Puebla, but no sight of Popocatepetle. There was also a Teleferico, a cable car running between two high towers, advertised that promised great views, but this cable car had been discontinued three years ago until repairs have been completed. We were deeply disappointed and wanted to walk back. I grumpily enquired with one of the drivers of the open hop and hop off tourist busses, he told me he would go higher with his bus to the mirador of Fuertes de Guadalupe. There was a better view. We jumped on the bus and indeed there was a better view of Puebla but still no sight of Popocatepetl. Never mind! We enjoyed our free ride down into town and being driven past by many of the sights that we had passed of foot - now from a different perspective. After that we visited the Museum de la Revolución. The Revolution Museum in Puebla is basically the family house of the Serdan family. It is a big colonial house with a ground floor, upper floor and a huge patio in the middle. The rooms on the ground floor still have original furniture of the family at the time of the event on display, for example, the living room, the bed rooms, the kitchen and the bathrooms. The other rooms show on posters the events leading up to the attack in which the two Serdan brothers were killed and their sister Carmen injured and more information about the political situation of Mexico that lead to the uprising and the beginning of the revolution in 1910. This painting shows the moment when the military stormed the Serdan Residence, Maximo Serdan is killed and his sister Carmen begs the neighbours to help, It was super interesting to get a bit more insight into the political situation, in particular based on the stories of this individual family who were supporters of the opposition leader Madero who was cheated out of winning the elections. They are still considered heroes by the Mexico population today and in Puebla important roads are named after them and monuments keep their memories alive. We were impressed with the exhibition. Dave’s account has more information on the political and historical background of the events. 03rd January 2026 Today’s plan was to go to Atlixco, one of the magic towns of Mexico, about on hour from Puebla by bus. Indeed Atlixco is a lovely town with colourful houses. The painting on the side of the house below is to entice customers into a bar/restaurant. This time, we decided not to walk the town but to take a ride on one of the open deck tour buses to see the most interesting sites and for 150 Mex pesos per person we enjoyed the 90 minute ride. We put our huts and sun cream on as the sun was fierce and off we went. Riding on the upper deck is nice as you see more and from a different perspective than on foot. However, it is also dangerous as many electric cables are hanging deep and we are taller than most Mexicans on the bus. One had to be attentive all the time and we quickly learnt to avoid being decapitated by the cables and trees and bushes by ducking on time. Atlixco is famous for its huge flower display at festivities. Apart from the Christmas lights there were not much flower arrangements to see in town, but the first stop of our tour was to go to one of the many nurseries where they grow and sell plants. Many of our Mexican co-travellers bought plants to take home. The next stop was to a place where they made jewellery from avocado stones. The jewellery was not really my taste but i took time to watch one of the young girls who polished avocado stone pieces in preparation for being made into jewellery. At that place they also sold Mezcal and we were given a taster of it. It was good and strong and the bottle had a scorpion at the bottle, that is said to give strength through its protein. The scorpion at the bottom of the bottle gives it umf. Afterwards we went to a place where a range of huge Christmas decorations for events was on display. It was not really our thing, but quite funny and we posed for photos and enjoyed the ride on the open bus through the streets of Atlixco.  Christmas Mexican style. After that we went for a coffee/tea with a piece of freshly made pan de elote (a cake made of real corn, not corn flour). Yummy! Something new to look out for. Then it was time to take the bus home to Puebla. If we wanted to get away from all the Christmas frenzy this year, we did not succeed. I should have known better, as Mexico, as the other Latin American countries too, are deeply religious and Christmas celebrations are huge. Sparkling Christmas decorations were everywhere. In some shops one could buy man sized Mary and Joseph and a donkey. One shop displayed little baby Jesuses in all sizes and colours.  Take your pick! Something for everyone. Even now, at the beginning of January, men dressed up as wise men (three holy kings) were standing on many plazas, not bringing gifts, but willing to be photographed with kids or anyone who wanted, of course against a little fee. I wondered what Micky Mouse and Elephants had to do with Bethlehem, but who knows. Micky Mouse and Elephants in Bethlehem? Not very wise. Apparently, the feast of the Holy Three Kings is very important. It marks the end of the Christmas season. Children receive presents, parades with lots of sparkling lights and people with sparkling crowns move through the streets of the centre. This will still go on until the 6th January. Personally, I will be pleased when the Christmas frenzy is all over and peace and quiet returns. It was our last evening in Puebla and we went back to the Rehilite Restaurant to have dinner in its lovely patio. The owner recommended as a starter guacamole with chapulines (these are fried grasshoppers) apparently a local delicacy. They were good, so was the rest of the food. In the mean time the band, consisting of two guitar players, had started to play and sing well known Latino music.  The two played very well together, the atmosphere in the patio was good, we enjoyed ourselves. It was a perfect end to our stay in Puebla. Tomorrow we leave for Oaxaca, a 5 hours bus ride. ———- Dave 30th December 2025 As it was cold and cloudy outside we spent the morning researching and working on our blog. It was cold indoors too and we worked wearing our fleeces. In the afternoon we walked the short distance to the Automobile Museum Puebla (Museo del Automóvil Puebla) a museum dedicated to the history and evolution of the automobile, with a focus on classic and vintage cars as well as the social and technological development of automotive culture. The lady at the entrance was surly and not very friendly. When I asked about the discount for seniors I’d found on the internet I received a curt reply. No. The advertised admission price, MX$70, had more that doubled. The special deals for students and children were no more. Also advertised, included in the price of admission, were the wonderful vistas from the rooftop over Puebla and of the distant volcanoes. In reality, if you wanted to go onto the roof, then you needed to buy and extra ticket. Also if you wanted to take photos, even just with your phone, that would cost an extra MX$100 too. We opted for just the basic package.  Founded in 1996, the museum came about from decades of local automotive enthusiasm, going back to the 1960s. Its mission is to showcase the past, present, and future of motoring, highlighting Puebla’s role in Mexico’s automotive development. The museum works with local collectors and clubs to maintain a rotating exhibition of historic vehicles. The museum houses 66 vehicles, ranging from a 19th-century horse-drawn carriage to contemporary cars. Notable pieces include a well-preserved Ford Model T and a rare Opel Kapitän 1939—an Art Deco-style model believed to be unique, as its production plant was destroyed during the Second World War. A 1953 MG TF - a car that dreams are made of. We entered and followed the yellow line through the exhibition. All the vehicles were crammed together and were roped off, so you couldn’t walk around them, there was no space between anyway. There were many old American cars, and many brought back memories, having seen them in the American films from the 1940s and 1950s. What was of particular interest was an old MG TF, and next to it two old Austin Cooper S’s. There was also a racing Ford Ka, which was of particular interest to Lisa, as she had owned the basic model. As we neared the end of our tour there was a lady with a duster, dusting off some exhibits. She’d have quite a task dusting off all these vehicles. We left the museum to explore other sites in the centre of town. We came across a library on our left that was also a cafe, and sat for a coffee in their open courtyard. We didn’t linger as it was rather cold and drafty. Then we went to visit the most famous of the churches in the city. The first was to visit to the Cathedral of Puebla. Puebla Cathedral (Catedral de la Inmaculada Concepción)  was built from 1575 and consecrated in 1649. Located on the Zócalo, it is a Renaissance-style cathedral with Baroque elements, notable for its sober grey stone, twin 69-meter bell towers, and neoclassical main altar by Manuel Tolsá. It is the architectural and spiritual centre of Puebla’s historic, UNESCO-listed city centre. An imposing cathedral, and a very popular one, judging by the number of visitors. Puebla must be a town of sinners as we counted 10 confessional boxes. There were also large yellow footprints leading from the main entrance into the centre of the Cathedral, presumably to form an orderly queue for the confessors. A few blocks away was The Chapel of the Rosary (Capilla del Rosario)  is located inside the Church of Santo Domingo in Puebla, Mexico, and is considered one of the greatest masterpieces of Mexican Baroque art and is often called “the Eighth Wonder of the World.” Gold leaf taken to the extreme It was built from 1650–1690; consecrated in 1690 and dedicated to The Virgin Mary of the Rosary, reflecting Dominican devotion. They made lavish use of 24-carat gold leaf, onyx, marble, and polychrome stucco on the interior. Why it’s famous? The interior is completely covered in intricate gilded decoration with columns, angels, floral motifs, and symbolic imagery all tied to the Rosary. The ceiling represents the heavens, with light and gold creating an overwhelming sense of radiance and movement. It marked a turning point in colonial art, showcasing New Spain’s wealth and artistic ambition. I am not a religious person but this chapel is way over the top. It was built by the indigenous people, who put so much effort into the carving and moulding of such intricate symbols and religious artefacts, and then to smother them with 24-carat gold leaf, beggars believe. The Aztec’s believed that gold was the excrement of the sun, and silver the excrement of the moon, just a worthless by-product. Why did the church place so much emphasis on gold? Throughout central and southern America the Catholic Church is everywhere. The poor indigenous are initiated into the church and give generously, but in doing so are bled dry. It seems hypocritical of the Catholic Church to ask for so much, and yet the Vatican, serving as the spiritual and administrative headquarters for the Roman Catholic Church, own so much wealth. From there we took a leisurely stroll around the Zocalo on our way back home where we cooked dinner. The days are warm, but the nights are cool. Our flat would be great for keeping us cool in the summer months, but at this time of the year it is cold, very cold. 31st December 2025 It’s New Year’s Eve and we’re on our way to Cholula. We have wall to wall sunshine, 11C, and now at 1045 we’re travelling from Puebla’s bus station, on a rather bumpy old bus. The bus journey costs MX$10 Mexican each, about 41p, to travel a distance of about 30 minutes. We got off the bus and had a 15 minute walk to reach the pyramid complex. Before we entered the complex, we went for a coffee in a very nice café. From there we walked around the base of the pyramid to the entrance. We continued around the base until we came to a stone staircase leading up to the church built on top of the pyramid, Nuestra Señora de los Remedios, the Church of Our Lady of Remedies. There were many stone steps leading to the top and in the sunshine it was hot, and the hottest we’d been since arriving in Mexico.  We had downloaded a photo from the internet of the church in the foreground and in the background a volcano. We searched for the location from where the photo had been taken. We couldn’t find it. The photo must’ve been a fake and a combination of two photos, one of the church, and one of the volcano! This is the fake photo used for promotion by the tourist office, After admiring the views of the surrounding volcanos, now shrouded in cloud, and of Puebla in the distance, we walked back down the steps, to the entrance to the archaeological site. It was hot and the sun strong, so we had to wear hats. These sites in Mexico are amazing, but after a while your eyes glaze over and you can’t take in any more. The pyramid archeological excavation site with the church in the background. We reached the end and left the archaeological site and walked the short distance to the craft market, where we had a chat to a photographer and his wife. He was a retired pilot and his wife an AeroMexico attendant. We stayed longer than we wanted, because we photographed a group of traditionally dressed indigenous. There was a 20 metre pole with a wooden frame on the top and four ropes hanging down. Six of the indigenous, one wearing a birds beak and a framework of feathers on each arm, kissed the base of the pole, then climbed the pole, via metal rungs and sat on the wooden frame. Birdman stood on the very top of the pole, between the other five who were sat on the frame, and danced. Whatever you do, don’t look down! Birdman climbed off the top of the pole, then he and three others fastened ropes to their ankles, and hung upside down from the wooden frame. The frame started to slowly turn, and as it did, the rope started to lower, and as the rope got longer, the indigenous radiated outwards until they reached the ground, and when they did the two remaining slid down the ropes. The others of the group, that didn’t go up the pole, milled around the crowd holding out hats for money. We gave: it was an amazing spectacle. After that, we retraced our steps to find a bus that would take us back to Puebla. Later we went out to celebrate New Year’s Eve Mexican style. It was 19:00 when we left to find somewhere to eat. It was cold and we had to wear our fleece jackets. All the restaurants we wanted to go to were full, were closed or had queues of people who’d been told the waiting times were from 30 minutes, which could be up to an hour. We mooched around, but the places we came across didn’t appeal, such as Chinese or Korean restaurants, after all, we were in Mexico, or the many street food and fast food joints. We finally found somewhere, with few customers, but it did have a certain ambiance to it. We went in and were seated on the first floor, with our own balcony overlooking the square below. The beer was good, the food so-so, but edible. After we’d finished we wandered around the streets but the wind had risen and it got even colder, so we went home. 01st January 2026 We left our Airbnb about 12:30, because we spent the morning working on our computers. It was freezing cold inside and when we got outside, we were amazed how warm the sun felt on our bodies, and we spent around 15 minutes sat on a bench warming ourselves up in the 23C heat. We continued with our mooch around the Zocalo, simply taking in the vibes, and retracing our steps over where we’d been over the last few days. It was such a joy walking around in the warm sunshine, finding interesting places to photograph and soaking up the atmosphere. It gets cold at night in Puebla until the sun heats up the land around 11am. It’s tiring mooching around, so we took a coffee and break we decided to have a coffee break and we found a wonderful coffee shop/restaurant called Rehilete. We talked to the owner, who told us they had music in the evenings at the weekend. Our last night in Puebla is Saturday, so we booked a table in the restaurant for 7:30pm. Rehilete may have been small, but it also had a great ambiance and felt right. The owner gave us small glasses Mescal to taste. Even though the glasses were small, the afternoon heat had made us feel a little giddy. We then we wandered around exploring the side streets before we went home. 02nd January 2026 I was up at 0600 and sat at my iPad, catching up with the news and emails then writing my diary. My phone started screeching when it received a seismic alarm call. It was an earthquake warning. Taken from a news site India Today: At 07:58 a 6.3-magnitude earthquake struck Mexico’s Guerrero state on Friday, sending residents rushing out of buildings in panic. Officials said no major damage was reported in Guerrero or the capital Mexico City. We went out on the patio and the owner of our flat advised us to leave our room and go into the street until it was safe to return again. 5 minutes later we got the all clear and we all returned. We left our cold Airbnb at 11.15 and walked to the Zócalo to warm up, sitting on a bench for about 20 minutes. We then walked roughly two miles to the viewing point, the Mirador de los Fuertes. It was very hot on the way and we walked up a steep hill and reached the mirador de los Fuertes, but it was disappointing as the view of the two volcanoes was mostly blocked by trees, and where was the third volcano? Lisa asked one of the many tourist bus drivers where the best place was to take photos of the volcanoes. He told us the bus would still go a bit higher and there was a better view. So we got on his bus, sat on top of the open topped double decker, the bus took us back into town, stopping at various attractions to allow people to take photos. The bus stopped beside the Zocola and we mingled with the others getting off. Something for nothing! No view of the volcanos but a free ride back on the open topped tourist bus. Museo de la Revolucion of Puebla.  Museum of Evolution, Puebla. The house is situated a few blocks away from Puebla’s Zocalo. The Mexican Revolution began on November 18, 1910, at the Puebla home of the Serdán family. Aquiles and Máximo Serdán, their sister Carmen, and a small group of supporters rose up against the dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz, days before the planned national uprising. Discovered after an accidental gunshot alerted authorities, they were surrounded by police. Máximo was killed in the fighting; Aquiles was wounded, hid beneath the house, and was later found, and shot dead. Carmen fought from the balcony, calling on neighbours to join them. Though the revolt failed, it marked the opening of the Revolution. The Serdáns’ motivation lay not only in political ideals (Aquiles was a follower of the opposition leader Madero) but in lived experience. Once prosperous, their family had been ruined by fraud (embezzled by their accountant) and reduced to poverty, shaping Aquiles’s sympathy for the poor. Under Díaz, Mexico’s poor—especially workers and Indigenous peoples—endured extreme exploitation, including forced labour, land seizures, and deadly repression of strikes. In this context, the Serdáns’ sacrifice reflected a broader revolt against injustice in a society where, for many, liberty truly seemed worth more than life. Thanks to: Los Serdán, a booklet by Donato Cordero Vázquez, This painting shows Aquiles Serdan being shot by soldiers after coming out of his hiding place. The bullet holes in the facade of the Serdan family home remain, and are a powerful reminder of the past. 03rd January 2026 Today our destination is Atlixco. We left at 1000 and were glad to get out of our cold flat into the warm sunshine so we could take off our fleece jackets. Last night at the tourist office the friendly staff gave us a map and marked the crossroad junction to wave down minibus 25 that would take us to Atlixco Autobus terminal. We walked there and waited and stopped three minibus 25’s, but each driver said they didn’t go there. 15 minutes later I tried calling an Uber, and as I was at the point of booking, a taxi was passing, and I flagged him down. It cost MX$100. At the bus stop we bought two single tickets for MX$90. Most Mexicans travel by bus, and their bus termini are modern and run efficiently. Within five minutes our bus arrived. No seat allocations, just an orderly queue, and now at 1030 we’re on our way. We got out at the bus terminal and took a stroll around the streets of this busy town. Streets decked out in flowers and colourful Christmas bunting. We took photos, had the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted in a cafe, then walked back to the Zocalo. Flower power in Atlixco. We take a tourist bus around some of the tourist destinations, MX$150 per person. We’re sat on the top deck of an open topped old timer tourist bus. The tour is a bit cheesy. Even so, it nice to be chauffeured around the town. The views from the top are great, but care is needed, as we have to swat away electric cables, branches and various Christmas decorations tied to the tops of poles that the electric cables are strung between. We stop first at a flower nursery called Xalpatlaco. Next we stop again for 15 minutes to visit a producer of cosmetics and jewellery, made from avocado stones. We listen to the inevitable spiel about the wonders of their products and are served thimble sized glasses from a bottle Mezcal that had a scorpion in the bottom of the bottle. We continue, once again pushing branches and cables out of the way, and we get off at what I think is a Christmas Market. However, it’s not a Christmas market as such, but a celebration of Christmas, and it’s geared toward children. It’s also a promotion for the company that supplies the town with their Christmas decorations. Inside are all sorts of Christmas characters, and animals. In one area there’s a theme based on the Mexican’s day of the dead, but with a Christmas twist. We’re inside for about 30 minutes and there was a queue to get in too. From there it’s a short drive back to where we began, the Zócalo. We’re sat in the back seats of the bus and I’m fascinated watching the people sat in front of us duck down and then sit up again, rather like a Mexican wave, to avoid being decapitated by the electric cables and strings of lightbulbs strung across the narrow roads. Duck or die! After our tour we go for a coffee on the Zócalo and are frequently serenaded by ‘guitarists’ and ‘singers’, who you would gladly pay to go away. I checked the temperature at 3pm as we drank our tea and a coffee in the sunshine. The temperature was 27C, and it felt warmer than Puebla, maybe because Atlixco is 400m lower than Puebla’s 2200m. We finished our coffee and had a leisurely stroll through the busy streets to the bus station and took the 1600 bus back to Pueblo. We thought the bus would drop us off at the coach station where we started off from, but it dropped us off at the bus terminus where we arrived from Mexico City, so we had to get a taxi back. Unfortunately there was a long queue, and we a had a 30 minute wait. This was the end of the Christmas holiday period, and there were processions taking place in the centre of Puebla and taxis were at a premium. When our taxi driver was given our destination he refused to take us at first, because he said the centre would be grid-locked. However, Lisa managed to persuade him to take us as far as he could, near to the Centre. We got out of the taxi at the Mercado de Sabores, which we knew well, it was the place where Lisa bought the black beans, but it meant a long walk back to our flat along crowded pavements and grip-locked streets. The Zocalo is absolutely jam-packed with people, out celebrating the end of the holidays and waiting for the processions to begin. Later in the evening we went to the Rehilete Restaurant and ordered beers. The name of the beer was Rivadavia. The music duo arrived and started playing. We sat outside beneath large umbrellas and ordered typical Mexican food and guacamole, with baby grasshoppers. We were told the young ones were the tastiest. The food was good so was the music. A good end of our stay in Puebla. 1. Mexico City 25.-28.12.2025 Lisa: 25th December 2025 After a bumpy but otherwise uneventful flight, we arrived safely at Mexico City International Airport at 3 a.m. on Christmas Day—90 minutes ahead of schedule. Immigration went smoothly, and while we were waiting for our luggage, a female border official passed through with a sniffer dog doing his rounds. The dog stopped in front of a mother feeding her baby a banana. Fixing his gaze on the fruit, the dog sat with quiet optimism, licking his lips and clearly hoping for a bite. For a brief moment, it seemed his professional instincts were at odds with a personal interest. But no banana was offered. He was calmly but firmly led away, reminded of the job he was supposed to be doing. The Uber taxi Took us quickly to our hotel, and while we were waiting for our room to be prepared, we went for a walk at 5 am through the dark, deserted streets of the Roma District. It felt good to move about after being stuck in “Grasshopper class” on the plane for hours. We found a 7/Eleven supermarket open 24 hours and treated ourselves to a much needed cup of coffee and tea. It seems we can no longer outsmart jet lag the way we once did. Tired but stoical, we dragged ourselves for the next few days through Mexico City, determined to absorb the atmosphere of this enormous metropolis whether our bodies agreed or not. It felt good to be back though. The last time we were here was nine years ago, which turned out to be just long enough to forget almost everything. The next few days we spent relearning how this city actually works. We travelled by Metro, Metrobus, and on foot—wandering through the historic centre with its many museums, galleries and photo galleries, getting trapped by the crowds in the busy street markets behind the National Palace, and strolling through the attractive neighbourhoods of Roma and Condesa. We even made a visit to the TAPO bus station to buy tickets to Puebla for Sunday and carried out a full rehearsal run, just to make sure that on the day of our travels both we and our luggage would have a smooth journey and arrive on time. Along the way, we noticed families wearing warm, brightly coloured Christmas jumpers. Of course—it was Christmas, and after all, it is winter here. Night-time temperatures drop to around five degrees, while daytime warmth creep up to 15 at midday and to twenty mid afternoon. To be dressed dressed appropriately is a challenge and requires preparing for something close to all four seasons on the same day. There is no need for us to race around now to take in as many sights as possible as in the next few months we will come back to Mexico City several times - with more time and more relaxed. 27.12.2025: Today was a day when nothing works. First we went to the Café/Library Liberia El Pendulo to listen to their Saturday morning music band, only to hear that today they will play from 11. We could not wait so long and went to the Palacio Nacional to see and photograph Diego Rivera’s murales paintings, only to hear that the tickets for today were sold out. That happened the second time, yesterday was also sold out. The Nacional Palace opens from 10 am, and at 10.30 am there are no more tickets for the day? Ridiculous! There is no online pre booking of tickets. People queue from as early as 7 or 8 am to get tickets. After I calmed down, I spoke again with the ticket lady. Apparently during time of Xmas it is full, from mid January it gets better, but she recommended to come during the week Tuesday until Thursday, as weekends is full again. As the historic centre was crowded, we decided to visit the Museum of Memory and Tolerance. We expected that nowadays not many people would be interested in visiting such a museum, but were proven wrong. Lots of people had the same idea. The exhibition and its content were interesting and thought-provoking. The section on genocides showed in detail the atrocities committed by Nazi Germany against people who were considered to be “different”, in one way or another: Jews and other minorities, physically or mentally disabled people, homosexuals and others. The exhibition clearly demonstrated that those atrocities could only happen because many people either actively participated, remained indifferent, or did not do anything against it. The message of this display: Most people turn their backs on atrocities or are indifferent. Only a few face reality and do something against it. The exhibition also included more recent crimes against humanity and examples of religious, ethnic and other forms of intolerance, including in Armenia, Guatemala, Cambodia, Ex-Yugoslavia, Darfour, Myanmar. It would have been very interesting to learn more about these more recent events, but the information was brief and at this stage our minds were already overwhelmed. Still the exhibition continued. The final section was dedicated to tolerance and diversity. It covered various forms of discrimination, the power of the media and hate speech, and the benefits of diversity. We spent almost four hours in this museum. It was a sobering yet deeply moving exhibition, and we were glad we took the time to visit. On the way home, although our heads were spinning, we visited an interesting photo exhibition in the Centro de Imagen, and learned about “100 years of Leica and its connection with Latin America”. After that we were knackered and went in search of some typical Mexican food and drink to recover from the hours spent plodding around. Cheers! A well deserved beer after a busy day. Dave: 25th December 2025 Our flying time was 12 hours and our scheduled landing time at Mexico City’s T2 was 04:30. The flight was full, the food left a lot to be desired and we landed at 03:00, 90 minutes early. There was a problem with disembarking, which took 30 minutes to fix. They were renovation the airport, so it was a rather messy long walk to immigration. Maybe it was the early hour, but we we’re quickly through. Our suitcases took a little longer. I ordered an Uber cab for 215 pesos (about £9) and 20 minutes later we were dropped off outside our hotel, the Galeria Plaza Reforma. We checked in, and gladly accepted their offer of a room upgrade, which included room access at 07:00 rather than at 15:00, for $US80, about £59. We had just under 2 hours to wait, so we went for a walk around the empty streets to find somewhere to sit down and have a cuppa. The temperature was 10C. There were no cafes open at this time apart from a 24 hour 7/11 shop. They had a coffee machine and hot water, so we took our takeaway cups of tea and coffee back to our nearby hotel, and drank them in the lobby, and waited for our room to be available. The room was cold. I turned up the temperature to no avail, the room got even colder, and I went down to reception to complain. The problem was this was winter in Mexico and the air conditioning of the entire hotel was set to keep the rooms cool not warm. They took pity on us and brought us a large fan heater. Later we left the hotel to take the Metro into town to explore the Zocalo and its surrounding area. We stopped first at a small bakery for a snack and a cuppa. The weather was pleasant with a temperature around 14C, with a forecasted high of 21C later. We continued to the Insurgentes Metro station. We bought our rechargeable Integrated Mobility Cards from an automatic ticket machine. We paid 60 Pesos, of which 15 Pesos go towards the physical card, the rest towards the fare. Each ride costs 5 Pesos and can be used on most of the transport system. These Metro stations are huge, their direction instructions confusing, so it took us a while to understand the system. Among many places we went to the Plaza de la Constitucion, or Zocalo, which was originally built by the conquistadors over the original Aztec city of Tenochtitlan. Today it houses the Metropolitan Cathedral, the National palace, Mexico’s governmental hub, and the surrounding streets are filled with museums and shops. Aztec culture is alive - as a show for the tourists at the Zócalo. I remember the last time we were in Mexico City, almost 9 years ago, we had a coffee over looking the National Palace, in the restaurant at the top of the Best Western Hotel. We decided to return. We took the ornate lift to the top and ordered coffee and tea. Whilst we were waiting I took a photo of Lisa from the same place I took her photo all those years ago. Afterward we walked down the very old and very elegant balustraded staircase, down each floor, into the reception area. View of the Cathedral and the Zócalo. 27th December 2025 We walked to the nearby music bar where a band was supposed to be playing from 10 o’clock. When we got there they said the band would be starting at 11 o’clock.  So we went instead by Metro to the Palace National to buy tickets. We got there at 10:45 and they’d sold out of today’s tickets, so we went to the Museum of Memory and Tolerance. Discounted tickets cost MX$230 for two seniors. Headsets in English were included in the cost of the tickets. The exhibition was informative and visually stimulating, but far too much emphasis placed on Hitler and the Nazis. Other countries’ atrocities were represented, but to a lesser extent. The memory section ends in a room which features an artistic installation of inverted gallows that move every time crimes against humanity occur. It reminds us what is happenings today. For example, every hour 1,484 girls and young people are raped around the world, and at the same time, 1,369 children are enslaved. The gallows move because of our indifference. The display of the gallows is a reminder of the ongoing crimes against humanity whilst most people are indifferent to what is happening. We were tired and our feet hurt, and we needed the loo, so we broke off and took the lift to the cafeteria. We waited 40 minutes for a coffee and a cup of tea, and when it came, I had to send my cappuccino back as the frothy milk on top was a hard lumpy congealed mess. 5 minutes later my replacement cappuccino arrived, together with a jug of milk for Lisa’s tea. It appears their milk machine was throwing a wobbler. We completed our tour, handed back our headsets, collected our rucksacks and left.   Time was running, we were tired of wandering around the Centre and it was now after 4pm, so we decided to give part of the Metro a miss and walk it down to the Balderas Metro station, along the main highway. We came across a free photo exhibition along the main highway, which was called the Centre de Imagen. Parts of it were good, especially the photos taken by Leica camera’s over the years, the rest not so. From there we walked it down to the Metro station and got out at Sevilla, from where it is a nice walk to our hotel. We pondered where to eat, and wandered around the area looking for somewhere that appealed. We came across a crowd of people waiting outside a restaurant, La Casa de Tono. We thought it must be good for so many people where queuing, so we went to have a looksee. The menu looked good and the people we spoke to in the queue said it was worthy of a visit. There was a lady giving out tickets, rather like in the Royal Free when you went to have a blood test, and were given ticket 91. 20 minutes later we were sat at our table.  We ordered two beers and a selection of typical Mexican dishes, enchiladas and quesadillas. They were right, the food was excellent, the tables clean and the service good. Afterwards we returned to our hotel. 28th December 2025 I got up just before 5am and started to write my diary. Then chaos ensued. I must’ve hit the wrong button, and I lost the entire contents of my diary. Both of us tried for hours to get back the latest version I was working on from yesterday. We could get an older version and by copying and pasting notes and remembering what I’d written we managed to cobble together an updated version. We must remember in future to save our documents and upload them to iCloud each time we finish - and to be on the safe side to email them to each other.

Stansted, September 2017 (UK) We were returning from visiting friends in Munich and had landed at Stansted Airport. It was 11 pm, and, as always, at this time, it was busy. Planes from all over Europe were landing just before the night flight ban came into effect. Like us, most of the holidaymakers or weekend travellers returning to London at this time were tired and just wanted to get home and rest. There was a lot of pushing and shoving in the queue for the bus, but it was light-hearted rather than aggressive. National Express Airport Express Bus stop In front of us in the queue, two Irish men in their early 40s made everyone laugh with their jokes. They must have been drinking on board or before boarding at the airport and were now in a good mood and a bit tipsy. They joked and laughed and turned their attention to two young English women gallantly courting them. They helped them with their luggage as they boarded the bus, settled down next to them and tried to get a little kiss as a reward for their help. The two women were quite taken with it and giggled. They seemed to enjoy the harmless flirtation and were having fun. The four of them sat down on the seats in front of us and continued chatting and laughing as the bus pulled away from Stansted Airport. The journey to our stop at Golders Green in north London would only take about an hour at this time of day, so we were relaxed about the charm offensive of the two men and the giggling reactions of the two young women. We braced ourselves for an entertaining and diverting ride. But things turned out differently. A few minutes after the bus had pulled onto the M11 motorway, the older of the two Irishmen (I seem to remember that his friend called him Paddy, from Patrick) received a phone call. Paddy laughed, grinned at the girls and blew them a kiss as he took the call. But then his expression changed abruptly. His face turned ashen, and he shouted into the receiver, "What, can you say that again?" And after a few seconds, "Oh no! Is he dead? He's dead, isn't he? Oh my God, oh my God!" On the bus, all attention was now on him. All conversations fell silent. Everyone wanted to know what had happened. But for the time being, all one could hear from the shocked man was unintelligible mumbling on the phone. Finally, Paddy hung up and desperately called many people one after the other, hoping to find out more. One of the two women on the other side of the aisle, who only a few minutes before had had all his amorous attention, tried to calm him down by touching his arm and shoulder. He angrily pushed her arm away with a brusque " f**k off!" and went back to trying to figure out what had happened. The rest of us were now also really interested in finding out what terrible blow of fate had turned the cheerfully cheeky man into a stunned, frightened and shocked person. "Oh, my God! Oh my God!" was all we could hear from him. Over the next hour of our journey and quite a few phone calls later, we were able to get a rough picture of the event that had so shaken our fellow traveller. As it appeared, Paddy's younger brother had had an accident with a friend on the way home after a Sunday meeting with friends. The friend had been driving. The brother had been seriously injured and taken to a nearby hospital, where some friends and family members were waiting for further news from the doctors who operated on him. So any phone call could reveal whether his little brother was still alive. The passengers held their breath, felt for him and hoped the young man would survive. We could all understand the fear, panic and helplessness that this man was going through at that moment. He kept stammering between calls, "Oh my God!" or pleading with St Mary for help in intermittent prayers. He sobbed loudly and cried again and again, "It's all my fault! Oh my God, it's all my fault!" Witnessing this nightmare without being able to help was hard to bear. The two women next to him were silent and did not even dare to look at him to not upset him again. Everyone on the bus was very sympathetic. No one spoke or laughed. There was a sombre atmosphere on this National Express Airport bus to London. I'm sure some of us wondered, as we did, what the guilt was that Paddy kept talking about. We were glad when we finally arrived at our stop in Golders Green. But the first to rise from his seat was Paddy. He rushed forward but not to get off. Instead, he had spotted among the passengers in the front row a Catholic priest in a soutane, frock and collar, who had fallen asleep peacefully in his seat during the journey. Paddy shook the poor man awake, knelt in front of him and asked for his blessing and forgiveness of his sins. The frightened priest agreed but inquired why. The anguished man only wept inconsolably and murmured between sobs, "It is all my fault, for I have sinned. God has punished me for my sins by taking my little brother away from me. That's why he had this accident and will die - because of me." How terrible! What kind of attitude to life was that, and what guilt did you have to live with when you were convinced that you could be guilty of the death of a loved one through a sinful lifestyle?! At the moment of this absolute emotional low, the desperate Irish man's friend suddenly held up his phone and shouted: "He will live! They just said he's going to pull through!" And through the tears, hope, relief, and the smile returned to the man's face. Finally, as more and more passengers pushed for the exit, Paddy gave way, and we too could leave the bus. On the way home and for a long time afterwards, this scene ran through my mind. I could still hear his desperate loud lament: "It is all my fault, for I have sinned!" (LL) National Express Airport Express

(DE) Berlin, June 1978 It's easy to smile at the old joke about two committed young scouts who take their duty to do a good deed every day too seriously and drag an older woman across the street without realising that she doesn't even want to cross the road. Well, overzealous people like to overshoot the mark. "That couldn't happen to me!" I thought to myself, One evening, however, I was proved wrong. I wanted to do something good, but the good deed turned out differently than I thought. On a warm summer night in June 1978, I was out and about in Berlin-Kreuzberg with a friend from university at around 1 a.m. We had just come out of a pub after a convivial evening and were pushing our bikes to the next intersection to talk a bit more. After that, we would go our separate ways. Then, we saw an older woman slumped on the pavement at the Oranienplatz. She looked as if she had just collapsed. We rushed to her to help her and call an ambulance if necessary. The old woman grabbed her heart and wailed, "Oh, my heart! Oh, my heart!" When we tried to call the ambulance, she resisted vehemently. She lived just around the corner, and once she was home, everything would be fine, so she said. She asked us if we could bring her home. But, of course, it was just around the corner. And who would want to leave a frail, poor woman sitting alone on the street at night? So we set off. We hooked her from both sides and pushed our bikes with the other free hand. The address she gave us, Waldemarstraße, was only five minutes away. We would make it! But our progress was slow because the old woman had to stop and catch her breath again and again and moan: "Oh, my heart! Oh, my heart!" We felt a little uneasy. We would have preferred to call an ambulance, but she insisted she was okay. She just wanted to go home. Finally, after a long 20 minutes, we arrived at her apartment block. "Side wing, third floor," the old woman mumbled. All right, we had dragged her this far. We couldn't leave this frail older woman standing at the front door. Of course, we had to finish our task. Fortunately, The front door was open, so we slowly dragged her to the side wing. However, when we started lifting the older woman up the stairs, we realised it was not so easy after all. Her legs had no strength, and the woman was much heavier than we had thought. We tried pushing and pulling and slowly climbed one step after another—a very sweaty activity. In the narrow stairwell, we noticed that the good woman smelled quite strongly of alcohol and urine. Well, who knows what kind of sad life she has! So we pulled and pushed on. What else could we have done at that point? But eventually, we got stuck. No chance! Nothing worked any more! We were at a loss for what to do. Then I remembered that the pub on the corner was still open. Maybe I could get help from there! No sooner said than done. I left the old woman in the care of my friend and ran to the pub. There, I looked around for possible helpers. They had to be strong and willing to undertake this unusual task. Eventually, I found two young men who agreed to leave their beers behind for a short time under the supervision of their friends and help me get this helpless old woman home. "No problem, lass, we'll get that sorted!" Good-natured and optimistic, they followed me into the stairwell. The old woman greeted them with her oh-my-heart-oh-my-heart wail, which promptly spurred the two helpful men on, and they set to work. But even for these two strong lads, it was not so easy. The woman was hefty and hard to move. So, four of us pushed and pulled, step by step, with short breathers in between. The old, frail woman felt heavier than a 100 kg potato sack. One of the guys had put his shoulder under her rear end to have better leverage to push. As we pushed and pulled again, and he heaved with his shoulder, a long fart escaped the old woman loudly. The young man at her rear almost made the woman fall backwards in shock. We struggled to stop her from falling down the stairs. The narrow stairwell soon filled with a terrible stench. Although we hardly dared to take a deep breath, we giggled to ourselves at this absurd situation. At the same time, we tried to be quiet so as not to wake the neighbours. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we reached the third floor. We breathed a sigh of relief. However, the old woman had another difficulty in store for us. She had no key, she muttered somewhat incomprehensibly. While we were still puzzling over what to do, she tried to reassure us: "They'll let me in, won't they?" That was definitely anything but reassuring. She never mentioned that she lived in the flat with other people. And why was it questionable whether they would let her in? Something was very wrong here! We better kept a low profile from now on. We leaned the frail old woman against the wall, rang the doorbell and quickly ran down to the second floor to watch from our hiding place what would happen now. And really, after a while, we heard noises from inside the flat. A key turned in the lock, and the door was opened a crack. A Turkish woman in a nightgown came out and whined, "No, not again!" But then, resignedly, she pulled the old woman into the flat and closed the door behind her. The four of us looked at each other in dismay. Oh my goodness! What had we done here? Presumably, the old woman had lived in this flat before, which had now been rented to a Turkish family. Maybe the old woman was homeless or in a nursing home from which she sometimes escaped. Whatever the case, she obviously managed to persuade gullible helpers now and then to drag her back to her old home. After all, who would want to leave a frail old woman sitting alone on the street at night? We certainly had to recover from this shock before going home. So, the four of us went back to the pub a bit dazed, irritated, annoyed, with a guilty conscience towards the Turkish family, but also amused. Over a cold beer, we slowly regained our composure and were amazed at the ruthlessness the frail old woman had carried out this action. (LL)

21st October until 5th November 2023 For a long time, we wanted to see Vietnam. Dave had been in 1992, shortly after Vietnam was opened to tourists. Lisa has never been. Finally, we decided on an organised tour by Explore called "Inside Vietnam". We have travelled with the Explore travel company several times before. They are usually well-organised, and so far, we had mostly luck with our fellow travellers. The tour of 15 days is packed with sights and activities, and we will be very busy. We plan to write in this blog about some of our many experiences, and we hope we will have time to do so. If not, don't despair; we will continue and finish the travel blog once we are back home. Below is a map of Vietnam (in red) with the surrounding countries, such as China, Laos, Cambodia and Thailand. Exploring Vietnam: We will start in Hanoi and travel via Halong, Hue and Danang to Hoi An. From there, we will go to Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon), where we will visit the Mekong Delta and the Cu Chi Tunnels, among others. There is a lot to see. But more about that once we are there. Trip Overview: Inside Vietnam Our tour "Inside Vietnam", organised by the tour operator "Explore", offers a varied programme with a variety of activities. It promises trips to spectacular landscapes. We will learn about Vietnam's ancient and modern history and rich culture, as well as its colonial influences. And, of course, Vietnamese food is a theme, as well as meetings with Vietnamese people. We will also visit many memorials or sites of the Vietnam War. Visiting sites associated with the Vietnam War has become a profitable part of the Vietnamese tourism industry. Some call it "dark tourism" and argue that it is voyeuristic and inappropriate for tourists to visit war sites where tragedies took place and for local businesses to make money from it. So the question is: why do people want to visit these sites? More so, why do we want to see these sites? For our generation, the Vietnam War is a special war. It was the first war the US lost, which dramatically changed the perception of America as a superpower. It was also the first war in which the media exposed wartime atrocities and government lies, fundamentally shifting public opinion not only about the war. Out of the confrontation with the horrors and futility of the Vietnam War emerged the anti-war movement of the youth of the time, or rather, the peace movement. "Make Love, not war!" was the anti-war slogan. It is, therefore, fair to say that the Vietnam War and the protests against it have shaped our generation. We want to visit these memorials and war sites to understand what happened in Vietnam at that time. We expect a respectful and informative tour that deals with contemporary history and is not oriented towards sensationalism. Our interest is to use the knowledge and insights about the past also for the assessment or understanding of current events. Some background information on Vietnam The long shape of Vietnam is determined by its natural borders. To the east is the South China Sea, and to the northwest and west are the mountains that separate the country from its neighbours, Laos and Cambodia. Vietnam's long shape is often referred to as the "bamboo with two rice bowls", whereby the two fertile lowland regions, the Red River Delta in the North and the Mekong Delta in the South, are the rice bowls and the thin area in between is the stick of bamboo carrying the two rice bowls. This refers to how goods such as food or water are traditionally carried. Vietnam's Fight for Independence Our guidebook states: "The Chinese, the French, the Japanese and later even the mightiest power on earth, the USA – all staked claims of various kinds on the small nation in Southeast Asia. And all their exertions ultimately ended in defeat and enforced retreat." This means, throughout its history, Vietnam was fighting for its independence from the Chinese, the French, the Japanese and later the US. I wanted to know more about Vietnam's challenging history beyond the infamous Vietnam War. Without wishing to go into too much detail, I summarise here some key issues I found for those interested. In the early 19th Century, Vietnam faced claims to power from two foreign rivals, China and France. In the mid-19th Century, France occupied all of Indochina (Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam). Vietnam was split into three parts: the Colony of Cochichina in the South, the Annamprotectorate in the Centra and Tonkin in the North. In the 20th Century, an anti-colonial movement began, initiated by the educated upper class, whose sons and daughters went to schools in France. During the Second World War, the Japanese occupied the country from 1940 but still tolerated the French administration. Japan finally, in 1945, granted independence to Vietnam. The Japanese disarmed the French colonial army and put Nguyen Emperor Bao Dai in charge to rule under their supervision. At the same time, Ho Chi Minh called for an armed revolt for Vietnam's independence. On 02 September 1945, he proclaimed the nation's independence. The Democratic Republic of Vietnam was born. BaoDai had to surrender, and for the first time, Vietnam held democratic elections in January 1946. The First Indochina War Even though France had officially recognised the independence of Vietnam, they occupied Saigon and Hanoi shortly afterwards. In November 1946, the First Indochina War between France and Vietnam began, which should last several years. Ho Chi Minh's Government was forced underground, and in 1948, the former emperor, Bao Dai, was reinstated by the French as regent of the formally independent state of Vietnam. This basically colonial conflict was heavily overshadowed by the Cold War: China and Russia supported the North with weapons and recognised its Government as legitimate. The Western states sided with France and its marionette leader, Bao Dai. The French army was unsuccessful; in the decisive Battle of Dien Bien Phu in 1954, the Vietnamese People's Army defeated the French troops. At the "Geneva Conference" in Paris in April 1954, the different sides of the war, as well as the neighbouring countries Laos and Cambodia and the four world powers (the US, the Soviet Union, China and Great Britain) met to determine the future of the country. The decision was taken to have a provisional demarcation line at Dang Ha to divide the country up provisionally until an all-Vietnam election planned for July 1956. But Dong Ha became a permanent border for the next 21 years. In the North, under Ho Chi Minh, the communists ruled their separate part of the country from the capital, Hanoi. The urban and rural family businesses were put under state control. Those in power cleansed the North of the country, and alleged traitors were denunciated and executed. As a result, about 1 Million North Vietnamese fled to the South. In addition, the rigorously enforced land reform in 1955/56 increased the insecurity among the population and led to uprisings in the North. In the South, Saigon was proclaimed the Capital of the pro-West Republic of South Vietnam in 1955. The anti-communist and Catholic Ngo Dinh Diem became head of state. He cancelled the planned All-Vietnamese elections in 1956 and declared himself President. South Vietnam and the US never signed the Geneva Conference agreement. The French Army left South Vietnam in 1956. From the mid-50s, the US sent military help and advisors to South Vietnam to resolve the conflict between North and South in favour of the pro-Western South. Meanwhile, the South Vietnamese Government transformed into a dictatorship that targeted Buddhists, other religious groups and political dissidents with ruthless violence. In 1963, Buddhist monks publicly self-immolated, and South Vietnamese students demonstrated in the streets. More information. https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/videos/news/burning-monk-vietnamese-monk-who-immolated-himself-against-ngo-dinh-diem/videoshow/69729654.cms The Vietnam War (the Second Indochina War) The Vietcong (Vietnamese Communists) was a guerrilla organisation in the South and had been part of the resistance since 1956. The South Vietnamese opposition, politically persecuted and driven underground, founded the National Liberation Front (NFL, with support from the Communists in Hanoi. From the early 60s onwards, the US sent increasing numbers of military advisors to South Vietnam as they feared that a Communist victory in Vietnam would cause a domino effect in the neighbouring countries. In 1963, after several failed attempted coups, the military removed Ngo Dinh Diem as President, supported by the CIA and President John F. Kennedy. The so-called Gulf of Tonkin Incident is considered the official cause of the Vietnam War, the Second Indochina War. In August 1964, the US destroyer "Maddox" engaged in a gun battle with two torpedo boats off the North Vietnam coast. Later investigations revealed that the Maddox had been involved in a secret manoeuvre with the South Vietnamese navy. US President Johnson used this incident as a pretext for sending reinforcement troops to South Vietnam and ordering the bombing of North Vietnam, with the approval of Congress. The Americans never officially declared war on North Vietnam. The task force "Operation Rolling Thunder" was the starting point for the US entry into North Vietnam. In March 1965, 25,000 Soldiers went on land in the area of Da Nang. In the following years, their number rose to half a million. The US military aimed to drive with their state-of-the-art weaponry the Communist soldiers out of South Vietnam and defeat the North. Yet, the Vietcong used guerilla tactics against US troops, partly supported by the rural population. The South Vietnam government had lost the sympathy of many farmers due to their repressive governance. To disrupt the support of the Vietcong by the South Vietnamese rural population, many of them were relocated to the cities or fortified villages. The South Vietnamese underground fighters (called Charlie by the Americans) inflicted losses on the American soldiers through landmines, tiger traps, surprise attacks and acts of sabotage. The tunnels of Cu Chi helped the Vietcong to become virtually invisible. These tunnels are today open to the public. During the day, the US troops seemed to prevail, but during the night, the Vietcong fought back and was able to strike severe blows. However, a victory by the Communist guerillas was not possible because of the superiority of the Americans, South Vietnamese and soldiers from other allied nations. To end this military stand-off, the US Army Chief of Staff, General Westmoreland, even called for the use of nuclear weapons. Instead, he ordered Agent Orange, a chemical pesticide containing dioxins, to spread widely over vast areas. The favourite target of these defoliation operations was the so-called Ho Chi Minh Trail, a 16,000km long heavily branched network of trails that partly crossed over to Laos and Cambodia. The US forces also dropped napalm and conventional bombs on these paths to disrupt the military supply from the North to the South. A turning point of the war was the Tet Offensive. On 31 January 1968, the Vietnamese New Year's Day, called Tet, despite the agreed ceasefire, the fighters of Ho Chin Minh and the Vietcong attacked the positions of the American and South Vietnamese forces. Although the Tet Offensive was not a success, as the Vietcong and Ho Chi Minh's fighters suffered severe losses, public opinion in the US on the Vietnam War changed. The news reports proved that the American war propaganda about the near end of the war was all but lies, and the pictures came as a shock. The anti-war movement in America and Western Europe grew exponentially. In the same year, President Johnson announced official peace negotiations that began in May 1968 in Paris; despite the ceasefire, a condition for the talks, only lasted a short while. The End of the War Despite the peace talks and secret negotiations, the war continued for several years with heavy bombings of Hanoi. On the 27th of January 1973, the opponents signed the Paris Peace Accords that ended the war and guaranteed the withdrawal of the US forces. However, a national reconciliation was far away. After the US military troops withdrew, the North Vietnamese Government pushed for victory over the South. In early 1975, they launched a large-scale attack. Thousands of South Vietnamese soldiers fled when the North Vietnamese troops closed on Saigon. President Nguyen stepped down and fled to Great Britain. On the 30th of April 1975, the North Vietnamese and Communist troops marched into Saigon and conquered the presidential palace with no resistance offered by the South Vietnamese troops. The Republic of South Vietnam surrendered unconditionally. The outcome of the war was horrendous. The whole country was bombed to the ground; its infrastructure was destroyed. Hundreds of thousands were injured or disabled. 10 Million homeless refugees and former soldiers strayed around the devastated country. Much of the country's wildlife and its forests were destroyed through the use of 80 million litres of defoliant by the US military. Numerous deformities of newborns in Vietnam can be traced back to the excessive contamination by Agent Orange. Dioxins have a long-term effect on the food chain, and years after the war ended, they are cited as the cause of multiple cancers. Reunification The first Vietnamese elections took place in April 1976 and were won by the Communists. North and South were reunited when, on 2 July 1976, the Socialist Republic of Vietnam (SRV) was founded, with Hanoi as the capital. Ho Chi Minh, who had died in 1969, did not live to see this victory. The reunification was accompanied by a rigorous takeover, restructuring and cleanup of the capitalist South. The country's economy and agriculture were nationalised. Intellectuals and political opponents were persecuted and put in so-called re-education camps. Religious freedom was seriously restricted. The changes were severe and led to the largest flood of refugees at these times. About 2 million people, mainly ethnic Chinese well-to-do business people, for whom there was no place in a communist system, fled Vietnam between 1975 and 1990, mainly as boat people across the China Sea. In foreign political terms, Vietnam's Government moved closer towards the Soviet Union, to the displeasure of the Chinese allies, who stopped their aid in 1978. Present-day Vietnam The country found itself after the war in a difficult situation. Its infrastructure and industry were destroyed; the region had suffered natural catastrophes, huge military costs, inflation and China's decision to stop the aid, all exacerbated by an international embargo, the flight of educated parts of the population and increasing corruption. No wonder the collapse of the Vietnamese economy was imminent. Profound reforms were inevitable. At the Sixth National Party Congress in 1986, far-reaching economic reforms were enacted. The political rulers opted for decentralisation and market economics. However, a consistent implementation did not take place. After another famine in the North at the beginning of 1988, the Government abolished the agricultural cooperatives for good. Farmers were allowed to lease land and sell their goods independently. During the 1990s, a new political generation came to power, replacing the old Communist regime with a "renovation of thinking". Finally, the new constitution of 1992 guaranteed the right to private property. On February 3, 1994, President Bill Clinton ordered the lifting of the US trade embargo on Vietnam. Three years later, in 1997, the Vietnamese Government agreed to pay the debts of the South Vietnamese Government of about $140 million to be allowed to trade with the US. Following this, trade volumes boomed between the two countries. Also, in 1997, Clinton appointed former POW and US Congressman Pete Peterson as the first US Ambassador to Vietnam since 1975. President of the United States, Bill Clinton, made a historic visit to Vietnam in November 2000. He was the first US leader ever to visit Hanoi officially and the first to visit Vietnam since US troops withdrew from the country in 1975. [ Since the substantial economic reforms and the lifting of the US embargo, the country's economy has flourished with a double-figure growth rate. The country turned away from strongly supported heavy industry and again embraced the typical Vietnamese agricultural industries. Vietnam is now one of the biggest exporters of rice worldwide. The country successfully attracted foreign capital because of its enormous oil deposits, liberal laws, and a highly motivated workforce with low wages. In recent years, the economy has shifted from a mainly agricultural focus to a service economy, whereby tourism plays an increasingly significant role. Sources: https://www.britannica.com/event/Vietnam-War https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vietnam_War https://www.history.com/topics/vietnam-war/vietnam-war-history Vietnam. Marco Polo Handbuch. Marco Polo Travel Publishing Ltd. 2019. Here, you can test your knowledge about the Vietnam War: https://www.britannica.com/quiz/pop-quiz-19-things-to-know-about-the-vietnam-war Media coverage changed the war In no other war, the uncensored media coverage had such an impact, entirely different from what the American military strategists had planned. For example, reports about the My Lai Massacre on 16 March 1968 changed public opinion for good. In a 90-minute search and destroy operation, US soldiers killed 504 villagers: elderly, women and children. More information is here . https://www.britannica.com/event/My-Lai-Massacre The pictures of Trang Bang in 1972 had an even more powerful impact on the world's public opinion. Some may remember the photos that showed a naked girl crying as she ran from her village destroyed by napalm bombs. This photo became an icon of the anti-war movement. More information here. https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2015/04/vietnam-war-napalm-girl-photo-today Tim Page was one of the most famous and fearless photographers during the Vietnam War. His exciting book 'Page After Page' where he told his story about his time in Vietnam, has been made into a mini-series called Frankie's House: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0104294/ https://www.theguardian.com/media/gallery/2022/aug/24/tim-page-the-vietnam-war-photographers-career-in-pictures https://www.theguardian.com/world/2022/sep/01/tim-page-obituary Dave was in contact with Tim Page before his first trip to Vietnam in 1992, and Tim gave him some information and recommendations on what to see and visit. Among them were the contact details of a Vietnamese photographer, Mr Hoang Van Cuong, who, in 1992, owned a bar in Saigon called the Cyclo Bar. He was a photographer during the Vietnam War. After the departure of the Americans and the fall of the South, he remained behind with his wife and family. He went into hiding to escape the victorious North Vietnamese as they took over Saigon and persecuted every potential political dissident and certainly those who had worked for the Americans. Hoang Van Cuong survived by becoming a farmer in the Mekong Delta. After nine years, he was captured and sent to the forced labour camps, euphemistically known as 're-education camps'. In 1989, after spending five years in this camp, he was released. Finally, after fourteen years, he was reunited with his wife and family. Fortunately, he had been able to hide the negatives of the photographs that he had taken during the Vietnam War with members of his extended family. These photographs were on show in 1992 in a little gallery on top of his bar. He sold them for US $20 each to supplement his meagre income from his bar. All the famous war photographers at the time visited him, came to his bar and pinned their business cards on the wall of his gallery to offer their former colleague much-needed support. During his visit in 1992, Dave bought two of his photographs, and they are still hanging on the walls of our living room in our flat in London. Dave was there just before Christmas and was told that a week before, Carol Thatcher, the daughter of former Prime Minister Margret Thatcher, was also there and had bought ten of Mr Cuong's photos as Christmas presents for her friends back home. So, when we are in Saigon, we will definitely try and find the Cyclo Bar and hope to see Mr Hoang Van Cuong. Here is a link to the remarkable story of Mr Hoang Van Cuong. https://vivujourneys.com/product/local-legend-mr-hoang-van-cuong-vietnam/ And here we go: Our tour begins In the following, for each day of our tour, we will post the itinerary of our programme outlined by the tour company we are travelling with, Explore!, followed by our personal tales and impressions. Enjoy the trip with us. Day 1: Saturday, 21 October 2023 - Departure The Flight from Heathrow to Saigon, Ho Chi Minh City, was easy peasy. 13 hours flying for a bit more than 10,000 km. We were quite surprised about Vietnam Airlines because the reviews we read were pretty poor. The usually dead boring introduction to the security procedure was funny and caught our attention: They showed a video with flight attendants dancing traditional Vietnamese dances while explaining not to smoke, how to fasten your seatbelt or how to put your oxygen mask or safety vest on. The food was Vietnamese and very good; even so, we had to get used to having chicken noodle soup for breakfast. The alternative, hash brownies, bacon, scrambled eggs and bland bread, seemed not so exciting. The crew were generous with the wine and beer, and you were not lectured after one glass that alcohol is bad for you when flying, as we experienced all too often with British Airways, Virgin Airlines and American Airlines, while we could see that first and business class had an endless stream of Champagne and wine, in real glasses. What a surprise! With all our meals, we head real knives and forks and glasses, unknown for years, travelling in cattle class on other airlines. The selection of movies was interesting, too. You could only choose between Asian and Hollywood busters. I opted for three Vietnamese films (as I could not sleep) that had won many awards, and I was not disappointed. In particular, I liked a film called “The Scent of Green Papaya” about a young Vietnamese girl from the countryside working as a maid in a family in a town. A good introduction to a country that I had never visited before. Day 2: Sunday, 22 October 2023 - Join the tour in Hanoi Arrive in Vietnam's capital, famous for its rich culture, bustling life and colonial influences on their centuries-old architecture. Little lakes dotted around the city are encased by busy streets and secret alleyways waiting to be explored. From Ho Chin Minh City, we had to continue our journey to Hanoi (another 2-hour flight), where we met the rest of the group to start our tour. We are a group of 13, mostly at a similar age as we, from 60 onwards, and as it turned out, with similar interests. We are starting our tour in Hanoi, The "City between the Rivers", as the Vietnamese call their capital. Hanoi is also considered one of the most beautiful cities in Asia, with French charm and typical Vietnamese chaos, we are told. We will see. Although Saigon played a vital role in colonial history and the wars of the last two centuries, Hanoi, located in the Red River Delta and the nearby mountains, is, with its over 4000 years of history, referred to as the cradle of Vietnam. Like no other place in Vietnam, we are told, the various eras characterise Hanoi's atmosphere. Kings, Confucius, colonial rulers, the military, and, more recently, capitalists made their mark on the city's landscape. It houses hundreds of temples and pagodas, many museums, colonial-era facades and modern highrise department stores. There is so much to see, but we have little time. We can only get a glimpse of the sights in the city. Day 3: Monday, 23 October 2023 - Discover the sights of Hanoi, including the Old Quarter This morning, we have a tour of the main sights of Hanoi. Architecturally styled like a French provincial town with tree-lined boulevards and substantial low-built houses, the city is wonderfully nostalgic. Among the interesting sights are the charming One-Pillar Pagoda, the Confucius Temple and the Presidential Palace. Ho Chi Minh himself, a spartan-living and scholarly man, chose not to live in the Presidential Palace; he preferred instead a simple teak stilt house specially built for him on the grounds. This afternoon, we walk through the narrow lanes of the fascinating Old Quarter, where the streets are named after various crafts or specialities: Paper Street, Silk Street, Basket Street and so on. The shops have very narrow frontages but are quite deep; they are known locally as tube shops. On the pavements, food sellers sell noodles, snacks and stir-fries from shoulder panniers. The smell of food mixes with the smell of incense from small temples dotted around. Hanoi is super interesting. There is so much to see and so much to do. First of all, the food is very tasty. Our tour leader, Lan, always finds little restaurants and places for us to eat. On the first evening, he brought a big Coca-Cola bottle full of homemade rice wine made by his father. Very tasty, too, and it certainly loosened everyone up in the group. Our tour leader tells us lots of stories about the Vietnamese way of life. I was very surprised about the small, tall houses all over Hanoi. He explained that the houses and grounds are very expensive. That’s the reason why most of the houses are only 3 meters wide but have several floors above. The houses are also called tube houses because although they are only 3 meters wide, they go far back, sometimes up to 60 meters, including perhaps a workshop, accommodation, courtyards, etc. Each house has a shop on the ground floor where the family sells something. This is another reason for the houses being small because the tax for the businesses is based on the size of the shop front. As the houses are so small, the goods are displayed on the pavement, and selling occurs there too. So it is difficult moving around on pavements, and often you have to go onto the busy streets, risking being run over by the masses of motorbikes. There are many tiny restaurants where people sit on little chairs or stools. We also learnt that only a few people in Vietnam seem to have fridges. Therefore, they go shopping for food a few times a day. In Hanoi, no such thing as a big supermarket exists, but people buy in little shops on the street. That explains why we see so many food stores on the pavement offering vegetables, rice noodles, fish, seafood or meat. The shopkeepers get a delivery of food and prepare it on the pavement for sale. For example, at a butcher’s shop, half a pig was delivered in the morning (on a motorbike), and the female shop owner cut it into pieces for her customers to buy. Business was good, and by midday, the half-pig was gone. No need for a fridge. The roads are full of motorbikes, scooters, bicycles and cars. I am very impressed with the size of the load the motorbikes and bicycles can carry and how they manoeuvre through the traffic. We visit the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum - but only from the outside, as it is closed to visitors on Mondays. Ho Chi Minh was embalmed here - but against his express wishes. He wanted his ashes divided into three parts and kept in three ceramic urns - the three parts were to represent the north, the centre and the south of the country. Opposite the Mausoleum is the National Assembly building, where Ho Chi Minh read out the Declaration of Independence on 2 September 1945. Not far from here is the former Presidential Palace, built from 1900 to 1908 as the residence of the Governor General. Ho Chi Minh did not want to live in the ostentatious building but had a more modest house built by the lake. In summer, when it was too hot, he moved into a small hut on stilts next door. Of course, we also visit sights such as the One Pillar Pagoda and the Temple of Literature, which was the intellectual and spiritual centre of the kingdom for centuries. Photos left to right: Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, Presidential Palace and Literature Temple. After watching the most important sites, such as the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum and the Literature Museum, we explore the French Quarter. Here are many beautiful grand houses built by the French, which now mostly serve as Government buildings or where ambassadors live and embassies are housed. We see many mobile flower stalls where young beautiful women can buy or rent flowers for beautiful photographs, either taken by one of the many professional photographers or a friend or family member. Shortly before 11 a.m., we have to go into a narrow road and sit in a coffee shop. We are excited as we are waiting for the train from Saigon (called the Reunification Express) to come through this very narrow road. This, we were promised, is a special experience. Some of us are sitting on a balcony, and some are downstairs near the tracks, ready with our cameras. Dave has been able to find a special place from where he has the perfect view, but the locals shout at him to go back to the house wall. They even bring out a tiny chair for him to sit on but still warn him to take his leg in because the train would be coming close. And we can already hear him coming long before we see him. But then we can see him. A huge tall train is coming at high speed towards us. We press our bodies against the wall. Dave quickly brings in his knees as the long train approaches and passes by so close - it’s almost claustrophobic. But very exciting. Here is Dave's video clip of the impressive Reunification Express: Afterwards, we have lunch at the cafe, where we watched the train from. It’s all well organised and businesslike. The train passes through about four times a day. The rest of the day and night, the railway track is empty, and families use it to put the dinner table out for the whole family and enjoy their meal. Luckily they know the timetable so they can relax. We then walk for hours around the Old Quarter. This is a traditional old town with interesting architecture and many shops and markets. There are streets dedicated to selling silk, jewellery, baskets, shoes, soaps, paper, tin products, bamboo goods, food etc. It is fascinating wandering around the streets and taking in the sights and smells. Later on, we go on a rickshaw tour around the old town. The rickshaws are like bicycles, powered by men with strong legs. This is a lazy way of getting to know the city, but after many kilometres of walking, we enjoy being lazy. Some of us even nod off. At five pm, we have tickets booked for the water puppet show. Masses of people visit these shows, which are offered five times a day. A group of musicians and singers present traditional songs that accompany tales of traditional life in Vietnam about water buffalos, dragons, fishermen, rice farmers, etc. It’s lots of fun when the dragons spy water and the fish fly around and out of water. The puppets are handled behind a screen by a group of people who are standing up to their hips in the water. They move the puppets across the water with long bamboo poles and strings. Very impressive. I can only hope the water is warm or they have Neoprene suits on. We had another delicious dinner in a small restaurant. Our guide selects places where the Vietnamese people go. They usually look unassuming, and we would possibly not choose to go there. We have not yet seen a tourist restaurant from the inside. Good so! Yummy! Day 4: Tuesday, 24 October 2023 - Free time in Hanoi, then drive to Halong Bay We have some free time in Hanoi this morning, perhaps to visit some of the many museums or Ho Chi Minh's austere mausoleum, which resembles Lenin's in Moscow. Afterwards, we drive out towards the iconic Halong Bay in the Gulf of Tonkin. Thousands of jagged limestone islands rise out of the jade-green waters like the hairy scales of a submerged dragon. In fact, Halong means: 'Where the dragon descends to the sea'. As legend has it, the rugged seascape was created by the pounding tail of a dragon as he ran from the mountains into the sea, carving the islands in his wake. Hanoi Hilton - the infamous Hanoi Prison (Maison Centrale) This morning is free for exploring. We are going to the Hanoi Hilton. This is not a luxurious Hotel, but the infamous local Prison Hoa Lo in Hanoi, sarcastically called Hanoi Hilton by the American prisoners of war who, mostly pilots and flight technicians, were captured and detained when their planes were shot down. The most famous of them was John McCain, who later became a Democratic Senator but recently died. Donald Trump famously said of John McCain he was a loser because he was caught. McCain was captured and tortured and kept in this prison for five years until his release and that of all American prisoners of war after the Paris Peace Accords was signed on 27th January 1973. The prison was originally built in 1896 by the French Colonisers. It was one of the largest and fortified prisons in Indochina at that time. It was handed over to the Vietnamese authorities in 1954 when the French left. A large part of the prison museum is dedicated to the history and poor and appalling conditions under which the French kept dissenting Vietnamese inmates in the first half of the 20th Century. The American pilots prisoners of war are returned to the US. Another part is devoted to the American Vietnam War and the life of American prisoners in Hoa Lo Prison from 1964 to 1973. The exhibition is eager to show how well the Vietnamese treated the captivated American soldiers. The photos show they were given good food and allowed to exercise and play basketball and baseball, celebrate Christmas and receive food parcels from their families. This is somehow contradicted by reports from American soldiers of torture and interrogation we read before coming to Vietnam. The prisoners were also shown films to educate them about the Vietnam country and the people they had been fighting against. When the prisoners were finally released, they were given new clothes and a bag full of presents. All is there to see in the many photos. What impressed me most was the part in the exhibition on the reconciliation process between the two countries, the US and Vietnam, after the war. Photos document the visits of US Presidents and diplomats and the efforts of reconciliation on the side of the US to make good for some of the damage they had done to the country, for example, through the use of Agent Orange. Also, many American soldiers had come back to visit the prison, reflect on their part in the war and beg forgiveness. The visit was certainly worthwhile and thought-provoking. The US Ambassador in Vietnam, Peterson, and Senator McCain visit Hoa Lo Prison. More information on https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hỏa_Lò_Prison And https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Hanoi_Hilton_(film) In the afternoon, we made our way by bus to Ha Long, at the seaside. On the way, we stopped at a rice and vegetable plot, watching how the farm workers work the land. In the evening, we went out for dinner. This time, our tour guide, determined to show us as many typical Vietnamese dishes as possible, ordered a hot pot for ten people. This is a big metal bowl with soup on a little gas cooker placed in the middle of our huge table. Then, all sorts of ingredients were placed around the hot pot: slices of beef and pork, various sorts of vegetables, tofu, and scampi, which were still alive and tried to jump off the plate. Our guide manned the hot pot and poured into the soup one plate full of goodies after the other. Each took a few minutes to boil; then he dished them out on our plates to eat. Very delicious! It was just a bit awkward watching when he threw the living scampi into the pot, and some tried to jump out to escape the boiling broth. Still, I have to say they tasted really good. Hot pot with live scampi Day 5: Wednesday, 25 October 2023 - Cruise Halong Bay; from Hanoi overnight train to Hué This morning, we enjoy the romantic scenery of Halong Bay on a cruise amongst the islands. We'll have the chance to stop at a grotto beneath towering cliffs and perhaps visit a beach. It is interesting to see the curious assortment of tourist boats, traditional junks and wooden sampans gliding through the waters. We enjoy a seafood lunch on board the boat before returning to a hotel in Hanoi to freshen up before boarding the Reunification Express to Hué. In the morning, we went on a boat cruise around Halong Bay. We were stunned by the beautiful bay, where over 1900 little islands stick out of the water. They all have different shapes and are called according to their form, such as chicken island, pig island, and turtle island. On one of the islands, Ti-Top, we stopped and walked up to a viewing point at the top from where we had a fascinating view. Afterwards, we visited a huge cave called Hang Sung Sat and admired the many impressive stalactites. This UNESCO World Heritage Site, Ha Long Bay, is one of the most popular tourist destinations in Vietnam, attracting millions of visitors each year. In recent years, the number of tourists visiting Halong Bay has increased dramatically, making it one of the most visited attractions in the country. The Bay is particularly popular with tourists from nearby China. While in 2010, 1.6 million visitors came to Ha Long Bay, in 2022, the total number of visitors has been about 11.5 million. - Sadly, with all the negative side effects. Along the beach and all over the town, many high-rise hotels and apartment blocks were built that, in our view, spoil the view of the beautiful bay. It was time to get back to Hanoi, but we stopped shortly at a pearl farm and learned how pearls are grown inside oysters by means of a kind of artificial insemination. Interesting. They also had a big shop with many beautiful pearl necklaces, rings and earrings on show. Unfortunately, a bit too pricy for us. Then, we quickly had to rush back to Hanoi to catch our night train to Hue. Day 6: Thursday, 26 October 2023 - In Hué; boat along Perfume River to Thien Mu Pagoda We arrive in Hué, one of the great cultural and religious centres of Vietnam, a quietly impressive place. The Perfume River divides the city in two and has been the inspiration for poets and painters for many centuries. This afternoon, we will take a trip by boat along the Perfume River from Hué to the Thien Mu Pagoda. This serene temple is the oldest in Hué and also the symbol of the city. We arrived in Hue at 10.30 in the morning after a 13 ½ hour train journey. The journey was okay. We had cabins with bunk beds for four people. Blankets and pillows were provided, but I was glad about my own thin silk sleeping bag as you never know how freshly washed these blankets were. I was surprised that I could sleep at all. The constant rattling of the old train seemed to have lulled me into sleep. Luckily, some of the boys in our group managed to get a few beers, which they shared with the group and which also helped send us to sleep. Each train carriage had two toilets. However, one needed to get used to operating the flush as the handle had gone and instead, a metal pin had to be pulled, switched and pressed to operate the flush. It required skill and patience, and I got it after a while, but not many passengers could be bothered. As a result, soon the smell was overwhelming. Beside each toilet was also a niche with a sink with soap and a towel to freshen up. In the morning, trolleys came through that offered breakfast, stale bread with undefined sauces. We preferred to nibble on our rice crackers, which we had brought with us and enjoyed sipping a hot cup of tea and slowly waking up, looking forward to our next adventure. Hue, the Imperial City, now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, was once the capital of Vietnam between 1802 and 1945, ruled by the Nguyen Dynasty until Ho Chi Minh’s communist government took over and set up the capital in Hanoi. Hue is a gold mine for those interested in the cultural history of Vietnam. Hue Imperial City comprises the Forbidden Purple City, royal tombs, pagodas, temples, royal quarters, a library and a museum. Fortunately, many of its tombs, pagodas and castles survived the violent wars. Once we arrived in Hue, we took one of the dragon boats that go along the Perfume River. Through lovely scenery, the boat brought us to the famous Thien Mu Pagoda, the oldest pagoda in Hue, built in 1601. It is surrounded by a wonderfully maintained garden with many flowers and plants. The Pagoda also is known because it became a hotbed of anti-government protests against President Ngo Dinh Diem’s hard rule against Buddhists. A devoted Catholic, Ngo favoured Catholics and discriminated against Buddhists, for example, in public service, in the army and when distributing government aid. In the summer of 1963, the army killed nine Buddhists. Protests were held across the country, and the Thien Mu Pagoda became a major meeting place for the Buddhist movement and was often a place of protests. The Thien Mu Pagoda was the home monastery of Buddhist monk Tich Quang Duc, who shocked the world when he set himself on fire in Saigon in 1963 in protest against the persecution of Buddhists by the South Vietnamese government. In the garden of the Pagoda, the vehicle that drove Thich Quang Duc to Saigon in June 1963 is kept along with a picture of the burning monk (see photos above). For lunch, our tour guide had planned a special treat for us. For centuries, the Royal Family employed their special cooks who prepared the most amazing dishes for them. Our tour guide organised for us to have lunch cooked by a family that had for generations cooked for the royal family. We entered the citadel to get to their home. And a royal meal it was indeed. This was the best meal we had in Vietnam and perhaps the best ever. Our royal lunch consists of spring rolls, marigolds , rice, tofu, fried fish, green papaya salad , pineapple and m any more delicacies. Besides our hosts, the royal chefs. In the evening, Dave and I walked through Hue in search of a specific bar, which Dave had found on the internet, the DMZ Bar, for Demilitarised Zone. The bar was founded in 1994 as a place for war veterans and war-curious travellers to meet and take tours to the demilitarised zone that divided North and South Vietnam during the war. The DMZ was located just north of Hue and was a place of many battles. We found the bar, had a drink there, and Dave bought a T-shirt with a map of the DMZ on the back. We had a lovely talk with one of the waiters, a young student of journalism. (In Vietnam, many restaurants and shops employ students to work as there are no government grants, and the young people have to find work to maintain themselves through their studies.) He shyly approached us, whether we wouldn’t mind talking to him. He wanted to practice his English. He had many questions about our travels, our experiences and our life experiences. We also discussed the importance of good journalism and the professional ethics of a journalist. We explain our opinion that a journalist must have a backbone and report truthfully. He agrees but admits that this is not always possible in a country like Vietnam. Day 7: Friday, 27 October 2023 - In Hué, visit the Imperial Citadel; free afternoon This morning, we appreciate Hué's fascinating history with a visit to the Imperial Citadel. Located on the left bank is the river; this palace was built by the Nguyen dynasty, Vietnam's ruling emperors from the early 1800s to 1945. The Citadel has formal moats and impressive ramparts that were constructed by 20,000 men and was a copy of the Forbidden City in Beijing. Although most of the inner part of the city was totally destroyed during the month-long Tet Offensive in 1968, the vast outer walls and the west wing remain an eloquent reminder of the palace's former glory. The remainder of the day is free perhaps to explore some of the outlying Tombs of the Emperors . We spend the morning exploring the Citadel and strolling about the grounds and gardens of the palace. Unfortunately, the palace is being renovated, so we are unable to see the inside of the palace. More information on the h istory of this interesting place is here to find: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imperial_City_of_Hue In the afternoon, after an opulent lunch at a monastery (veggies only), we visited a village where they produce incense sticks. We learn how to make them and can practice making sticks with cinnamon, lemongrass, and jasmine smells. At the incense workshop, I learned how to make incense sticks. Dave has a rest between the many colourful, lovely-smelling sticks. The rest of the group continued afterwards to explore some of the Tombs of the Emperor further afield. We gave this a miss and decided to go back to Hue to explore the city, enjoy a cup of coffee in one of the many nice cafes and watch the world go by. Day 8: Saturday, 28 October 2023 - Scenic drive via Danang to Hoi An We enjoy a scenic drive across the spectacular Col des Nuages, otherwise known as the Hai Van Pass, observing rural scenes of thatched, wooden houses and lime-green rice paddies as well as enjoying panoramic sea views. Pausing in Danang, once the centre of the Kingdom of Champa (2nd century AD - 1720), we visit the Cham Museum, home to a fine collection of Cham sculptures. Our next stop is at the nearby five peaks of the Marble Mountains, said to represent the five elements of water, wood, fire, gold and earth. Naturally formed grottoes have been transformed into heavily carved Buddhist sanctuaries. A short distance from the mountains, we find the white sands of My Khe Beach (nicknamed China Beach by American troops)- an ideal spot for a brief rest. Finally, we reach our destination - the UNESCO World Heritage town of Hoi An. Today is a day of travelling. So we simply sit back and relax and enjoy the beautiful landscape passing by on our way to Da Nang. We are mightily surprised by the beauty of the area and the flash greens surrounding us, knowing full well that 50 years ago, during the American war, this all had been destroyed by Agent Orange and other chemical weapons. Amazing how nature recuperates itself. Drive towards Da Nang Bay Once we arrived in Da Nang Bay, we walked along China Beach and visited the Cham sculptures in the famous Cham Museum. After that, we drove on to explore the Marble Mountains and some beautiful pagodas and temples. Exhibition of Cham sculptures in the Cham Museum in Da Nang The China Beach and the Marble Mountains Day 9: Sunday, 29 October 2023 - Free day to explore Hoi An; optional visit to My Lai The historic merchant town of Hoi An had become one of the busiest international trading ports of Southeast Asia by the 17th and 18th centuries. First colonised by the Portuguese in the 16th Century, it still retains its medieval charm today, with many of its old buildings superbly preserved. The day is free to explore at leisure. You may choose to visit the Japanese Bridge or some of the Chinese temples and meeting halls in the Old Town. There are many shops, bars and restaurants in this charming town, and it is a great place to buy souvenirs, have clothing tailored, or simply watch the world go by in a riverside café. You may wish to take an optional excursion out to the site of the My Lai village massacre memorial. The massacre was a significant turning point in the American War, and the horrific story is told through a very emotive exhibition of photography. Another option would be to take a fishing trip out to the Thu Bon River Delta, where we learn how to fish using a traditional cast net. Travelling out by boat, we meet local fishermen and try our hand at cast net fishing as well as trying the bamboo winches used to haul in the huge drop nets from the river. We also have a chance to go out in a Vietnamese 'basket boat' - a circular boat constructed from bamboo that takes a little practice to row! Hoi An is a lovely town, now a UNESCO World Heritage Site . There is so much to see and so much to do. Most of the group decided to go out by boat along the river, learn how to make baskets boats, how to fish and also go for a bicycle ride. We took the op portunity to visit the village of My Lai, and together with another couple, the four of us undertook the five-hour return trip by minibus to visit the site of the massacre. When we reach My Lai, we are the only visitors apart from a small group of Scandinavian tourists. Inside the reception is a small photo exhibition giving information on the massacre. Some photos are well-known around the world. We can also see models of the village and its houses before and after they were destroyed. Accounts of some US soldiers are also on display of how they tried to interfere to stop the atrocities committed by their fellow soldiers. A video explains the development of the museum, which was set up by one of the survivors decades after the massacre. He is shown in one of the pictures below with an umbrella against the background of graves. The video also presents eyewitnesses and survivors as they visit the museum and tell their experiences. There is a touching and tense scene in the film when a former US soldier revisits My Lai years after and is confronted with the atrocities he and his fellow soldiers have committed. In a nearby temple, the names of the 504 people who were killed that day are written on a huge plaque. Outside, we can see the ruins where the houses once stood, and small plaques give the names and ages of those killed in this family. One house has been restored to demonstrate how the families in this village lived. The entrance to an artillery shelter can be seen. A big tree has a plaque saying that it had survived and witnessed everything that was going on. My Lai Massacre: The name of My Lai is probably familiar to many, even those with only a basic knowledge of the Vietnam War. The village has tragically become infamous through the brutal action of the US Army on 16 March 1968, going down in history as the My Lai Massacre. Here is a link to more information on the My Lai Massacre by Britannica . https://www.britannica.com/event/My-Lai-Massacre Dave's comments on My Lai: My Lai was the place, and 16th March 1968 was the date of what would forever become known as the infamous My Lai massacre, where U.S. soldiers killed 504 civilians. The victims included men, women, children and infants. Some of the women were gang-raped, and their bodies mutilated. It became the largest publicized massacre of civilians by U.S. forces in the 20th century. Twenty-six soldiers were charged with criminal offences, but only Lieutenant Willian Calley, a platoon leader, was convicted. He was found guilty of murdering 22 villagers and was originally given a life sentence. He served only three-and-a-half years under house arrest after U.S. President Richard Nixon commuted his sentence. I visited the My Lai memorial site 31 years ago, and it was a deeply disturbing experience as it was on my second visit. Certain elements of the memorial site have changed over the years. The museum had grown bigger, as did the trees and shrubs within the memorial site. The drainage ditch is still there, and what remains of the homesteads. The small plaques giving the names and ages of the victims who were killed remain. As we drove away, I felt a feeling of sadness, for there were only a handful of other people visiting the site, and I was expecting there to be a lot more visitors. The Vietnam War, called the American War by the Vietnamese, came to an abrupt end on 30th April 1975. That was when North Vietnamese tanks rolled through the gates of the Presidential Palace in Saigon, effectively ending the Vietnam War. That was 48 years ago, and our generation remembers that war vividly as it was on the T.V. news most nights. The younger generation can read all about the Vietnam/American War in history books. Today’s generation can watch the latest conflicts and wars in real time on 24-hour T.V. news channels and social media. Alas, our generation is also becoming part of history. To lift up our sombre mood after this experience, on our return, we stroll through the beautiful town of Hoi An. We walk along the river, admiring the traditional houses, the temples and the many lanterns and balloons which give the town a romantic atmosphere, particularly at night. Day 10: Monday, 30 October 2023 - Visit ancient My Son; free afternoon in Hoi An A further day is spent based in this lovely historic town. This morning, we take an excursion to the holiest and most evocative of Vietnam's Cham sites, My Son. The Chams were dynastic lords who rejected the authority of China in 2AD and established their own kingdom. Although they benefited from strong sea links with the rest of Southeast Asia, the kingdom's interior could not supply sufficient food for a strong military force. For 1,000 years, they managed to stave off attacks by the Vietnamese and Chinese before being overcome by the Vietnamese in the 15th Century. The track that leads to the site is slow and bumpy through wooded hills, but the site is certainly impressive, with several groupings of Cham temples to be visited. Nowhere are the fine masonry skills of the Chams more evident than at My Son, despite the fact that much of the site was bombed in the 1960s. The afternoon is free to enjoy Hoi An further. A cookery class at one of Hoi An's restaurants is a popular choice, as is the lantern-making workshop where you can learn how to make the ubiquitous lanterns in Hoi An. The beach is only a short drive by taxi alternative . Alternatively , a boat trip on the river as the late afternoon sun lights up the riverfront is a treat. Today is my birthday!! And a special one, too. 70 years young. I can't believe it. Age is just a number, and I don't feel anywhere near that. (yet!) Anyway, we wanted to celebrate this special occasion in style by going to Vietnam. And here we are. We decide to have a leisurely morning. We drop out of the scheduled trip to explore the Vietnam Cham temples, an hour's drive outside of Hoi An. Instead, we want to explore more sites of beautiful Hoi An. Unfortunately, it is raining, but that does not bother us. The hotel gives us big umbrellas, and off we go. The rain is warm anyway. This time, we want to discover Hoi An by day. We walk along the river, admire the traditional houses and visit some temples. Hoi An was once an important Southeast Asian trading port from the 15th-19th centuries. Miraculously, the city was spared the bombings during the American war, and the old charming yellow-painted houses and buildings have been preserved. We observe some tourists and locals as they get on with whatever they are doing. When we stroll through the market, the rainwater is dripping from the makeshift tarpaulins to cover the stalls. The market traders and their customers go about their business undaunted. But we have enough of the rainwater dripping on our necks, and to escape the rain, we visit a few of the many clothes shops. In Hoi An, you see someone with a sewing machine in almost every house. The town is known for its skilled tailors who offer to make clothes for you within a day. I decide against it as time is tight but buy myself a birthday present, a nice thin top that does not take up too much space in my luggage. We also visit some museums, such as the cultural and folklore museums. I was particularly interested in the Museum of Traditional Medicine. Traditional Medicine in Vietnam has a long-standing history. It is influenced by traditional Chinese medicine but differs as it uses primarily herbs and plants, either fresh or dried, and does not use complex concoctions like Chinese medicine, so we are told. The museum is housed in a typical old Hoi An building with traditional architecture. The rooms of the front building are reconstructed as the traditional medicine shop in Hoi An, including the areas with cabinets for herbal medicine, the place for pulse diagnosis and the waiting area for the patients. The courtyard is a place for drying herbs and preserving medicines. In the rear building, some methods of processing herbal medicines are presented. The rooms on the upper floor display and introduce traditional Vietnamese medicine, tools, equipment and information. The museum is interesting, and I could have spent some more time there, but now it's time to go home. The rest of the group will be back soon, and the tour leader has asked Dave to make sure that we are back in the hotel by 12 midday. I wonder why? At 12.30 we get a phone call saying they would be late for another half hour. Finally, they arrive, and I am presented with a birthday song, a card, flowers and a lovely cake and congratulated on my special day. Most of the group had already wished me happy birthday at breakfast, but there can never be enough gratulations and good wishes. I dish out the cake to all of us, and it tastes delicious. I am happy with my birthday celebration. Only later, I was told that there was a bit of a hiccup. Not my birthday cake! Apparently, our tour leader mixed up the birthdays. He sang Happy Birthday, dear James , on the bus, but no one joined in the singing because it was not James's birthday, but mine. Shortly before coming back, he told one group member they had to stop by a bakery to pick up the cake he had ordered for James for his birthday. My birthday cake His jaw dropped when he noticed he had ordered a birthday cake for the wrong person and with the wrong name on it. My birthday cake did not have a name, but I did wonder why some in the group had red fingers. Some had carefully scraped away James's name. To make up for it, the guide wanted to go and find a bunch of flowers for me. That explains the delay. What a lovely story. I will never forget this birthday. It was a running joke throughout the rest of the tour. Cooking class The birthday celebrations continue. Later in the afternoon, we have a cooking class, and the host greets us with a round of delicious homemade rice wine to toast to my health. How nice! Thank you! Eleven of our group have opted for this cooking class run by the famous Chef Hung Nguyen and his team. And now we are ready to learn how to cook some very tasty Vietnamese dishes. Each person has a stove in front of them. The ingredients for each dish are measured and prepared. The Masterchef explains the ingredients and shows us how to prepare and cook the dish. Afterwards, it is our turn, and he and his assistants supervise, meaning they help us to cook the dish. It is enjoyable, but no matter how hard we try, the dish never looks as good as when the professional chefs do it. Still, it tastes very nice. We start by learning how to cook a Vietnamese fried rice pancake, then grilled fish in banana leaf, and after that, green papaya salad with chicken and vegetable spring rolls. After preparing each dish, we eat it immediately at our table. This way, we are not kept too hungry, having to wait until the end of the cooking session. At the end of the cooking class, Chef Hung handed us a little booklet with the recipes for the dishes we learned to cook. This was a great experience, and we certainly will try to cook this at home. We thank our chef and his assistants and make our way through the ongoing heavy rain. The plan was to finish the day with a round of birthday drinks in a nice bar, but given the heavy rain and the many deep poodles of rainwater, we decide to postpone the drinks to another day and make our way home. Despite the umbrellas, we arrive at the hotel wet through and hope everything will dry out until we have to move on the next morning. Day 11: Tuesday, 31 October 2023 - Fly to Ho Chi Minh City; drive to Mekong Delta After a short drive to Danang Airport, we fly to Ho Chi Minh City, from where we drive further south to Ben Tre in the Mekong Delta. Surrounded by lush and fertile land, the area is home to small villages and swaying coconut palms. We take a local ferry to a nearby village, which we explore by trishaw. Later, we board sampans, which are small Chinese wooden boats, and cruise along the narrow canals that shoot off the main vein of the Mekong River. After lunch at a local house, we have some free time to explore the area further. Finally, we return to Ben Tre by boat, where we spend the night in a local homestay with shared facilities and dorm-style accommodation. At 5 o'clock, we receive a wake-up call from the hotel reception. We are already awake as we must be packed and ready in the lobby at 5.15 am. Our bus brings us to the Da Nang Airport, one hour away, to catch our early flight to Ho Chi Minh City. While waiting at the airport, we unwrap our packed breakfast given by the hotel. However, used to their usually excellent and abundant breakfast, we are somehow disappointed when we only find stale bread, a boiled egg and a banana. Never mind. The delicious hot tea from one of the coffee shops and a few leftover rice crackers make up for it. At Ho Chi Minh Airport, our bus brings us to the Mekong Delta. The journey takes 2 ½ hours. The Mekong Delta is the region in southwestern Vietnam where the long Mekong River that originates in Tibet flows into the South China Sea. It does so through a network of many distributary channels or rivers, small and large, forming many small and bigger islands. The Mekong Delta is an essential source of agriculture and aquaculture for the country, but the size of the land area covered by water depends on the season. Many islands and agricultural sites are flooded by increasing floods resulting from rising sea levels due to climate change. Plans are underway in many areas to erect a system of dykes to help stem the floods. Our destination is the district of Ben Tre. On the riverbank, we enter a long boat and travel down the Mekong River, passing by many small islands and waterways until we come to a small island called Xa Tam Hiep. Here will be our homestay for this night. We cruise around the island, and my heart sinks. It looks pretty desolate. The tide regularly makes the river swell, and many parts of the island are under water. To help the constant flooding, here also a dam is currently being built on parts of the island. There are cranes and machinery everywhere. The island is isolated, and so are the islanders. There is a ferry service to the mainland a few times a day, but the last one is at 5.30 pm. In an emergency, arranging transport may be tricky, particularly when it rains heavily. We are going by boat down the Mekong River. Constant flooding on the islands, photo re. The school is on another, bigger island, and pupils must take the ferry to get to school. On these small islands, there are few work opportunities. Some families grow vegetables, or bananas or coconuts. No wonder many islanders leave the Mekong Delta for the bigger cities for work. Only recently, some families developed business ideas, like homestay for the few tourists that pass by for a day or two, like the family we are staying with. Another family markets jelly they make from green leaves they grow in their garden. We watched the process of making and tasted the result sweetened with sugar syrup. Not bad. It's called Green Grass Jelly and is supposed to be very healthy, cleansing the body. Green Jelly production, made from green leaves We learn that the islanders also make the best use of the plentiful coconuts that grow on the island. In a manufacturing plant, we watched the extraction of various products from coconuts. For example, the water from the green coconut is used for drinking, and the flesh from the ripe coconut is used for extracting coconut milk and making coconut bake (a mass of soya beans with coconut flesh steamed in banana leaves for 20 minutes. The shell is used for ornaments and handicrafts or for burning on the cooking stove. Small shell pieces are put into the fishing nets to ensure the fish swim and eat in a freshly cleansed environment before being caught. The ash of shells burnt in a giant oven can be used as fertiliser or marketed for medicinal purposes. Amazing, nothing is wasted. Coconut production: nothing is wasted Transport on the island Given the desolate situation we found when first approaching the small island, we are surprised when we arrive at our homestay. The house is a big wooden family home surrounded by a big garden on the river bank. Here, we could rest and enjoy the river view and the sunset by sitting on easy chairs on the bank of the river. The itinerary promised a dormitory-style homestay, and we expected to sleep either in bunk beds or, as we did once in the North of Thailand, all of us sleeping on the floor of a room above the pigs and other pets of the village and having to wash in rainwater from a barrel. Not this time! We had lovely modern equipped single and double rooms with big beds and access to a small patio which housed the washing basin, an outdoor shower and a toilet. Toilets and showers were separated from the room with a clear glass front. So one could have a full few of the other person having a shower or sitting on the toilet unless you preferred to use a curtain to ensure more privacy. Before we crawl to bed under our mosquito nets at night, we find two little frogs on the floor who have somehow made their way into our room. David heroically grabs them and returns them to the garden where they belong. Our lovely homestay The family feeds us fantastic meals. At lunchtime, we have a big fried fish, Tilapia. We are shown how to eat this fish: wrapping bits of fish with herbs, salads, and other ingredients into rice paper. As usual, this is followed by various dishes, including vegetable soup, rice, and veggies and finished with a selection of fresh fruit. Before the evening meal, we are invited to another cooking class in the family's kitchen. We learned to prepare spring rolls for our dinner, a different type than those we made in Hoi An. I find a few big glass jars in the corner of the kitchen with fruit or vegetables or flowers soaked in rice wine. We are given a taster of one of them. It is hibiscus flowers soaked for three months in rice wine. It looks like red wine and tastes good. One could get used to it. Dave finally gets his red 333 beer, which he had sought during our whole trip. He is disappointed as it does not taste as well as he remembered it from 31 years ago. Our local tour guide, the son of our host family, confirmed that the ingredients for this beer had changed some years ago, and it was no longer as tasty. At least this confirmed that Dave's memory might have been correct. The rest of the evening meal consists, as usual, of at least another six delicious dishes, including sweet vegetable soup, chicken with lemongrass, and a few vegetables and rice. Yummy. Once again, delicious food and drinks After that, we rest and digest on the veranda, listen to the noises of the wildlife in the garden and watch the stars. The loud karaoke noise we heard early evening from the next-door neighbour had stopped long ago. The agreement in the community is to keep the noise down from 6.30 pm onwards to avoid disturbing the neighbours. I am impressed. Day 12: Wednesday, 01 November 2023 - Mekong Delta cruise, then drive to Ho Chi Minh City. We spend the morning exploring the canals of the Mekong Delta, meeting some hard-working locals, perhaps with time to see coconut processing and trading. We also have options to walk or cycle along the canal to explore further. Later on, we drive back to Ho Chi Minh City. Next morning, we have freshly baked French-style baguette, Omelett real coffee and green tea, banana bread and some sticky jelly-type cakes for breakfast. Although convinced we would not be hungry again after the opulent dinner, we grab it with great appetite. Afterwards, it is time to go. We say thank you and goodbye to our welcoming hosts and local guide and wish them all the best for their homestay business. We then go for another boat ride to explore the coconut production line and finally go back by boat to the mainland, where our bus waits to take us back to Ho Chi Minh City. From the bus, I admire the innovations of the many motorcyclists on the highways and in the city to carry their heavy loads. Apart from us, there are several other Explore! Tours in Vietnam at the same time. Sometimes, we encounter them. For example, in the Mekong Delta, we met a tour group which we called the 'Foodies'. Their tour is dedicated to exploring Vietnamese food. They go to the markets in various Vietnamese regions, buy the typical food and then learn how to cook it. It sounds like an exciting tour; perhaps we should have done that. Next time? But sometimes, they must get up very early in the morning to go to the markets to get fresh produce. On the train to Hue and Hoi An, we came across some people on an Explore! Cycling tour. This also sounds interesting, as it means travelling at a different speed and enjoying more of the landscape. However, pedalling wildly in this heat may not be so much fun. Dave's additional comments on Saigon December 1992 was my last time in Vietnam, and almost 31 years is a long time. Back then, Vietnam had only recently opened its border, and the group I was travelling with was one of the first tourist groups allowed in. You could travel to Vietnam after the Vietnam War ended in 1976, but there were few tourists as the tourism infrastructure was almost non-existent back then. It took another ten years, from 1986 to the early 90s, for tourism to become a significant part of Vietnam’s economy. Few tourists were coming to Vietnam, but in the early 1990s, all that changed when the Government changed the visa entry requirements, which made the arrival process easier for international visitors. That was when everything changed: the country opened up to the world, and the evolution of the tourism infrastructure took off. Only 1,351,000 foreign tourists visited Vietnam in 1995. But from then on, the visitor numbers were rising fast, reaching more th an 18 Million vi sitors in 2019. Unfortunately, through the impact of the COVID-19 pandemic and its worldwide related travel restrictions, Vietnam's tourist numbers, as that of every other country, dropped sharply but are rising again. In 2022, almost 3.7 Million visitors came to Vietnam. Tourists coming to Vietnam spend around US$117 per day, so tourism is a major generator of income. My first impression of Saigon was how big it had become. The cyclists of 1992 had been replaced by motorcycles and scooters, and traffic congestion is a significant problem, especially during the morning and evening rush hours. Red traffic lights are frequently ignored. Shop owners rent pavement spaces outside their shops so people can park their scooters or motorcycles. Traffic congestion is so bad that scooters and motorcyclists use the pavements as shortcuts to avoid the stationary traffic queues at junctions. I once saw a car driving along the pavement, but of course, that’s against the law! Crossing any road was a nightmare until you adopted the Vietnamese way. You simply walk out into the traffic, and the cars, scooters and motorcyclists drive around you magically. Try that anywhere else; you’d be hooted at and frequently cursed. The famous Rex Hotel is still there. We sat in the rooftop garden bar, situated on the 5th floor and ordered two ‘Five O’Clock Follies’. This drink is history-laden, as the cocktail list informs: “ During the war, the U.S. Military held daily press briefings in the Rex Hotel bar. These affairs grew increasingly raucous as the gap between the war’s grim reality and official military accounts widened. Reporters nicknamed the briefings ‘The Five O’Clock Follies’, an afternoon ritual in which journalists, military officers, diplomats and spies could all enjoy a few cocktails, take in the sunset and watch the returning bombers. These days, the bombers are gone, but the stunning sunsets remain, and nowadays, the ‘Five O’Clock Follies’ come in Collins glasses, with ice, plenty of vodka, rum and Midori. ” The Rex is now surrounded by skyscrapers, which block out the view of the sunset and the airport, which is just under 5 miles/8 km away. We visit the Rex rooftop bar and cheer with one of these Five O'Clock Follies cocktails to all the famous people who stayed here, among them the infamous Graham Greene, a spy turned novelist. Day 13: Thursday, 02 November 2023 - In Ho Chi Minh City, explore Old Saigon and discover the 'Secret Weapons Bunker.' This morning, we walk around the central sights of Old Saigon, now District 1 of Ho Chi Minh City. We see the Notre Dame Cathedral, the GPO building, and some of the old French Colonial hotels such as The Rex. We then drive to the Independence Palace (renamed the Reunification Hall) and the graphic War Remnants Museum. This afternoon, we will experience a different side of Ho Chi Minh City, away from the major sights, where we take a walk through Old Saigon's back alleys. We make our way to District 3 and turn off the main thoroughfare and into the maze of narrow streets of this bustling district. Our walk takes us past ramshackle shopfronts, through local markets selling anything from colourful fruit to bootleg DVDs, and past houses, churches and schools, all squeezed into the small buildings that line the narrow alleys. It's a fascinating inter-connected community here that is a stones-throw from the city centre, yet feels a far cry from the modern buildings and throngs of tourists. We stop at a local stall for a traditional Vietnamese coffee (brewed coffee served sweet with condensed milk) where we can also sample 'Banh Mi' - a Vietnamese take on the humble French baguette - freshly baked and packed with a combo of traditional and more exotic, aromatic ingredients. The walk ends in the so-called 'secret weapons' bunker'. A small, unassuming 'tube house' nestled in a quiet neighbourhood hides a trap door in the floor, concealing a basement stocked full of rifles, grenades and ammunition. The bunker played a key role in the TET Offensive of 1968; it was the base from which the Viet Cong's "Team 5" launched their assault, and its location was only revealed after the end of the war. We have some time to explore the house and bunker, filled with decommissioned weapons and photographs, news clippings and memorabilia from wartime. We are on our feet early in the morning as we have a packed programme. So much to see, so much to do. So little time. We walk around Old Saigon's sites (now Ho Chi Minh City). We cannot see or visit the Notre Dame Cathedral, as it is currently under wraps because of essential renovation. But the opposite building, The Old Post Office , is open, and we admire the original red telephone boxes and feel as if we have gone back in time. From a massive picture on the wall, Ho Chi Minh watches people buying stamps, postcards and posting letters. While the rest of the group looks around the post office tourist shop for souvenirs, we hurridly search and find the nearby infamous old US American Embassy , which was the scene of several significant events during the Vietnam War, most notably the Viet Cong attack during the Tet Offensive that turned American public opinion against the war and the helicopter evacuations during the fall of Saigon on the 29th/30th April 1975 after which the embassy closed permanently. The building is still there, but it is no longer the embassy but the US American Consulate General. The new US Embassy is located in the capital, Hanoi. After that, we visit the Independence Palace , now also called the Reunification Palace, which was the residence and workplace of the President of the Republic of Vietnam (South Vietnam). On the 30th of April, a North Vietnamese Army tank crashed through the gate, Viet Cong declared the liberation of the South of Vietnam, effectively ending the Vietnam War or, as the Vietnamese say, the American War. Nowadays, the Palace is a museum where visitors can see the former President's office, the cabinet room, and his private chambers. In the basement, the former war room, communications rooms with ancient computers, and the shelter bedroom for the President are on display. On the roof of the building is a viewing platform over Ho Chi Minh City. At the side of it is a Viet Cong helicopter parked on the heliport in memory of the liberation day. A picture of the Viet Cong fighter pilot who bombed the Palace on this day is proudly displayed on the wall. Next, we visit the War Remnants Museum. Formerly, it was called the Museum of American Atrocities of War and Aggression. In 1995, in a more conciliatory move, it became the War Remnants Museum. It displays captured tanks, helicopters, fighter jets, ammunition and other relics of the Vietnam War. Several photo exhibitions inform on some of the atrocities committed by the American Army from a Vietnamese Communist Republic point of view. For example, American soldiers are seen mistreating and killing local Vietnamese people and disrespecting their corpses; jets are seen spraying Agent Orange and other chemical defoliant sprays as well as Napalm over the fields and villages; photos depict massacres, such as that of the village My Lai that we had visited. Thanks to one particular US Army photographer, Ronald Haeberle, the atrocities during this massacre on the 16th March 1968 became known to the American and worldwide public. He kept a second private camera and accomplished getting these horrific pictures published a year later in his home town's local newspaper on 20th November 1969 and 5th December 1969 in LIFE magazine. Once known to the public, his pictures contributed to a change in public opinion on the Vietnam War and fuelled massive protests worldwide against this war. One corner of the exhibition room is dedicated to the many war photographers who lost their lives in the line of duty during the Vietnam War. This special exhibition has been put together only recently by a group of photographers in honour of their colleagues, instigated by Tim Page. One whole floor is devoted to the effects and aftereffects of the use of Agent Orange and other chemical defoliant spray and Napalm. The display of the atrocities is terrible to see, and the atmosphere amongst the visitors is gloomy, but seeing the photos of the victims of these dangerous chemicals is stomach-turning. Severely deformed children born years and even decades after the war, both in Vietnam and the US, of the GIs who had handled these chemicals … I turn the camera off. I can't bear photographing voyeuristically such horror. Back on the bus, the group is in a sombre mood, and we find it hard to understand what human beings are capable of doing to other human beings. However, on reflection, we learn from history that we don't learn from history, as we can see in the current ongoing conflict in the Middle East. We still have another stop on our Ho Chi Minh sightseeing tour. We get to know part of the defence measures by the Viet Cong against the American Soldiers. We visit a so-called 'secret weapon's bunker'. Long after the war, it became public knowledge (and a site for tourists) that some of the unassuming houses in quiet neighbourhoods had in their basements concealed bunkers where they stocked rifles, grenades and ammunition for the Viet Cong. We have the opportunity to visit such a house, explore the bunker and get an insight into this kind of warfare by the Viet Cong. Additional information - The War Remnants Museum https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/War_Remnants_Museum https://www.lonelyplanet.com/vietnam/ho-chi-minh-city/attractions/war-remnants-museum/a/poi-sig/403144/357884 - The Dangers of Agent Orange and its Impacts on Vietnam On August 10, 1961, the US Army began chemical warfare in Vietnam. For ten years, from 1961 to 1971, the US army sprayed 80 million litres of toxic chemicals, 61% of which was Agent Orange, on one-quarter of Vietnam's southern region. Agent Orange caused great harm to people and the natural environment in Vietnam. Ecosystems have been damaged and cannot be restored. Generations of Vietnamese people have suffered physical and mental anguish due to Agent Orange. The Vietnamese Government has made overcoming the consequences of Agent Orange an urgent, long-term issue. There are three major Dioxin hot spots in Vietnam, including the Da Nang Air Base in Central Vietnam, Bien Hoa Airbase in Bien Hoa City (25 km from Ho Chi Minh City), and Phu Cat Airbase in Qui Nhơn in Southern Vietnam. The Vietnam Red Cross estimates that three million Vietnamese have been affected by dioxin, including at least 150,000 children born after the war with severe congenital disabilities, referring to the toxic chemical in Agent Orange. Hundreds of thousands of US soldiers were also exposed. Here is an article by a researcher in 2016 into the ongoing harm of unexploded bombs and chemical weapons from the Vietnam War. The Vietnam War is over, but the bombs remain. https://vietnaminsider.vn/the-vietnam-war-is-over-the-bombs-remain/ ------ Starting to say goodbye This is our last evening together as a group because eight people will continue their Explore tour tomorrow afternoon by exploring Cambodia for another week. After the visit to the CuChi Tunnels, the bus will drive them to the Cambodian border. So we have to commence saying goodbye. It was a good group; we blended well, had similar interests, exciting chats, and lots of fun. We will certainly miss them. Over the next two days, only the five of us will be left, which will feel very strange. After a lovely dinner, our tour guide shows us the nightlife of Ho Chi Minh City. Walking along Bar Street, we admire the many clubs and restaurants with women, boys and ladyboys dancing outside to attract visitors. Wow! We are mightily impressed, but it is too loud for us ‘old folks’. So we escape to a quiet corner where we can sit outside a bar, enjoying a drink and watching the world go by. Day 14: Friday, 03 November 2023 - From Ho Chi Minh City, visit Cu Chi Tunnels This morning, we take a short drive out of the city to the infamous Cu Chi Tunnels, which formed an incredible underground command base for 10,000 Viet Cong troops and were a major part of the 1968 Tet Offensive. The site is a fascinating insight into the resourcefulness of the Vietnamese. There is the opportunity to crawl through a small specially adapted section of the tunnels should you wish to sample the claustrophobic conditions in which the Viet Cong lived. Returning to Ho Chi Minh City, the remainder of the afternoon is free. Dave’s comments Cu Chi tunnels. It takes us a couple of hours in our coach to drive from our hotel in Saigon to the Cu Chi tunnel complex, a distance of only 30 km. The roads are congested with rush hour traffic streaming into the centre, just as they were 31 years ago, the only difference being that today the roads are better. The Cu Chi tunnels were started in the 1940s, and it took over 2½ decades to build a dense network of tunnels. They were mainly used for communication between villages during the war against the French. In 1941, Ho Chi Minh and other communist leaders created the Việt Minh. The years between 1940 and 1946 saw the rise of the communist-led Việt Minh insurgents, whose objective was independence from France. Whilst the Viet Minh were primarily a political organisation to drum up support for Vietnamese independence, the Viet Cong were exclusively a military force operating in the South. The name Viet Cong comes from the phrase "cong san Viet Nam," meaning Vietnamese communist. In the 1960s, the Viet Cong repaired and extended the Cu Chi tunnels and used them as a means for infiltrating intelligence agents and sabotage teams into the heart of Saigon. At its height, this area had over 200km of tunnels, some reaching the Cambodian border. To give you an idea of the tunnel complex, it took one man one day to advance a tunnel one cubic metre. The Viet Cong lived in these tunnels; they had to do to survive the bombardment above. Deep within the tunnels were hospitals and complex command centres, kitchens, a hospital, and workshops to make weapons and repair shoes; everything needed to survive for months underground. These tunnels were booby-trapped with simple but deadly metal spikes and poisoned bamboo spears to kill and maim the American GIs, who were known as the tunnel rats, for they crawled through the tunnel complex hunting down the Viet Cong. The Viet Cong won its first military victory against South Vietnamese forces in January 1963. On 8th March 1965, 3,500 United States Marines came ashore at Da Nang as the first wave of US combat troops into South Vietnam, adding to the 25,000 US military advisers already in place. This was the start of the Vietnam War, or as the Vietnamese would have it, the American War. In the 1970s, the Americans said that the 420 sq km of the Cu Chi district was 'the most bombed, shelled, gassed defoliated and generally devastated area in the history of warfare'. Much of this area was sprayed with Agent Orange – the most toxic substance known to man – which turned the jungle into a barren wilderness. I checked my notes from my previous visit. " The soil is poor, and nothing seems to grow properly. This poor growth is reflected in the washed-out colours of the sparse eucalyptus groves that have since been replanted ." What a difference 31 years makes! Now, the eucalyptus groves are lush, green and dense. The tall surrounding trees produce a thick canopy above, offering shade from the intense sun. The Cu Chi tunnel site has become a victim of its success. As we turned off the main road, we entered a vast parking area, which reminded me of a motorway service station – and just as busy. People were getting into and out of coaches and crowds milling about; gift shops everywhere, and a large toilet area. Lan, our guide, ushered us together, and we set off to tour the site. We followed a trail of tourist groups of every nationality, first into an underground area showing poor-quality videos on wide-screen televisions. We were then led around the site, whilst in the distance was the constant sound of gunfire. The tour's highlight was a crawl through a few hundred metres of tunnel that had been enlarged for the tourists. The tunnel had also been sanitised because the last time, the air was stale as I crawled through clouds of dust kicked up by the person in front. There were also bats flying out of the cross-tunnel passages. This time, some of our group didn't go because of their size or claustrophobia. We crawled through the tunnel on all fours and exited up a ladder. In the distance, there was a shooting range where tourists, for a price, could fire round after round of Vietnam war-era weaponry. Next to the shooting range was a huge cafeteria. Afterwards, we made our way back to the car park. Here it was, where we said goodbye to some of our fellow travellers as they were being driven to the nearby Cambodian border to meet their Cambodian guide for the next part of their adventure. The rest of us were transferred to a smaller coach and taken back to our hotel in Saigon. More information on the Cu Chi Tunnels: https://www.history.com/topics/vietnam-war/cu-chi-tunnels https://www.tnktravel.com/blogs/vietnam-blogs/7-amazing-factors-of-cu-chi-tunnels/ https://listverse.com/2017/05/14/top-10-ingenious-features-of-the-cu-chi-tunnels/?utm_source=email&utm_medium=Social&utm_campaign=SocialWarfare Day 15: Saturday, 04 November 2023 - Tour ends in Ho Chi Minh City The trip ends after breakfast at our hotel in Ho Chi Minh City. We use the last few hours to explore Saigon City and the river and take the lift to the viewing platform of the Saigon Skydeck. Now, it's almost time to go home. In retrospect Did we like the tour? Did we like Vietnam? Definitely! The tour was very well organised. It was packed with varying and exciting activities. We have seen and learned a lot in a very short time. Sometimes it was a rollercoaster of a programme, but we loved it. Dave and I are experienced individual travellers, well used to planning and organising our trips to our own liking and at our own speed. However, sometimes, it is good to sit back, relax, and let someone else do the planning and organising. We were a bit anxious that the tight schedule would not leave enough space for exploring the country on your own, according to your own interests - but there was enough flexibility to fit in all of our interests. We were also apprehensive that the group might be full of moaning minnies who constantly complain and annoy everyone or bellyache about everything. We were lucky here, too. We had a great group, good-humoured and ready for adventures. We simply got on well with each other. It is no coincidence that we sought to visit areas related to the Vietnam War. I guess this is typical for politically thinking people from our generation. In our youth, we marched against the Vietnam War and became part of the anti-war movement. We were brought up with images and photographs about the atrocities of the War. We watched excellent anti-war films such as Platoon, Apocalypse Now, Good Morning Vietnam and The Quiet American. We came well prepared and well informed (about the War) to Vietnam, eager to learn even more about it by visiting the sites. And it is good for Vietnam to keep up the memories and remind future generations of the atrocities. As the Vietnamese say, we forgive, but we don't forget. What we also learned is that Vietnam has moved on. The War was almost 50 years, at least two generations ago, their (great) grandparent's time. The younger people are no longer interested in talking about the War. They have their own interests and issues to deal with. Unfortunately, time was too short for us to get an in-depth understanding of what dreams, worries, cultural or economic development the Vietnamese population is now going through. But we can see and feel the country's vibrant atmosphere and enormous progress. Vietnam has a very young population. According to the 2019 Census, 21% of the population (20.4 million) are young people aged 10-24. This explains the willingness for economic progress and development. Looking at the many high-rising buildings and the many production lines of products sold to Western countries, it is easy to forget that Vietnam is a communist country. We free and individualistic thinking Westerners may not understand or approve of many things, such as the one-party system or state control in many areas of life. However, Vietnam has proven that it is going its own way. The best examples of this are the redistribution of agricultural farmland into private ownership in the '90s, the embracing of business and trade with other countries, as well as the increasing tourism, which has helped turn the country's economy around. Vietnam people are tolerant of other countries and cultures, so we are told. What they want in return is for other countries to be tolerant towards them, meaning accepting that they are doing things in a different way, the Vietnamese way. We can fully understand and endorse that. We've come to the end of our Vietnam adventure. We wonder what will come next. Lisa and Dave

(UK) My father, born in 1912, was raised in a small coal-mining village in the South Wales Valleys. The pit provided a “job for life” for nearly all working men at that time, but not my dad, who loved mechanics, especially motorcars and bikes. Thus, he left his boyhood village to work for Morris Motors in Cowley, Oxfordshire. He lived in a tent. My mum, born in 1915, who lived in a neighbouring Welsh village, moved to Oxford in her Twenties. She met him there in a pub and joined him after he found a more suitable mode of accommodation! Later, they moved to Croydon as dad worked in the “Ford Dagenham” factory in East London. They got married in Croydon. My mother holds me in her arms in front of our cottage. Straight after the war, they decided to move to Devon. Dad went first. He found a garage to rent and a remote cottage on Crown Land for fourteen shillings a week. It was our family home for the next fifteen years. My sister was born there in 1947, and I followed in 1950. But before that, my father arrived home with a beautiful Welsh Collie pup named Gyp - loyal, intelligent … mum’s dog. Memories of my childhood home in Devon. My childhood home, Middlecombe Cottage, sat between Upper and Lower Combe Farm, an old gamekeeper's cottage long neglected and vacated when my father stumbled across it. It offered an escape from grimy, bombed-out post-war Croydon. The Ford factory in Dagenham was duly swapped for a village garage. My childhood home, Middlecombe Cottage My mother cried when she saw the dilapidated and unloved cottage - what was he thinking of? Not her, obviously. She stalked off to Exmouth to get some shopping, and my father cleaned the old range in her absence to ease her shock when she saw the state of the place! And she felt better after a cup of tea. Together, they whitewashed the walls inside and out, scrubbed the floorboards upstairs and the stone floors downstairs and added a lean-to, which housed a copper boiler, a mangle and an inside toilet. Modernised a little, but still primitive even then. Walkers stopped to admire Snow White's cottage with pink roses trailing around the garden gate. The brook that ran alongside the cottage was full of watercress and wild iris. My memories are of swallows nesting in the thatch, barn owls swooping in and out of the roof space, bats at dusk, and the lone blackbird singing at the top of the apple tree to mark the end of the day; hedgerows packed with primroses, violets, miniature daffodils, foxgloves and snowdrops, bluebell woods, windfall apples in abundance, blackberries heavy with juice, mushrooms in fairy rings, cuckoos and lambs in spring, robins in winter. We fished for sticklebacks in ice-cold flowing water, played in haybarns and made dens in woods. Our old Welsh collie stood guard over us, neither needing nor wanting affection, whilst our semi-feral cats brought headless rabbits to lay at my mother’s feet - "good boy" she would say, turning a paler shade of white. I remember random things - my grandparents visiting in summer, which meant day trips to Brixham, Torquay, Paignton Zoo, the Christmas pantomime in Exeter, and queueing to see the ‘Ten Commandments’, eating a knickerbocker glory in a milk bar, the outdoor saltwater swimming pool in Exmouth, palm trees along the promenade; the floods of 1959, Myxomatosis in wild rabbits, a hornet’s nest under the eaves, being scared riding home on my bike in the dark until I saw Gyp’s eyes reflected in my headlamp and I knew I was safe; real candles on the Christmas tree, apples sitting on newspaper under our beds, coconut matting that never wore out, smocked dresses, liberty bodices and saving our church collection money for the chewing gum machine. I recall, too, the smell of green soap, roast dinners, apple pie and scones on Sunday, honeysuckle on a warm day, cow pats on a hot day, steamed pudding on a cold day. We were happy and healthy, but we secretly envied the children in the village who played out on the street and had a bathroom, hot water from a tap and could run to the shop. A five-minute walk to school for them, an hour for us in all winds and weathers - a disparity that became an excuse to tease us. Dripping wet clothes, chapped legs, frozen hands, muddy boots. No cars stood at the school gate; there were no lifts to be given, and a visitor to our home was a rare event. We were too isolated for children to come and play. We caught glimpses of televisions as we dawdled past windows, telephones ringing, and electric lights turned on and off at the flick of a switch. If you had asked us, we would have swapped, at least for a couple of days a week. I think mum often felt that way too - hanging washing out at six in the morning, followed by those unforgiving flat irons that could burn your best clothes in an instant. She was always cooking, bottling, and pickling to keep up with the vast amounts of fruit and vegetables that thrived in the rich red soil and along with a variety of flowers, a small but steady income was made at the garden gate. That is, if the foxhunt didn't run amok through our lovingly tended garden, for the cottage and land belonged to the Crown. No apologies from the gentry on horseback, fox or no fox. No fox, we hoped just to spoil their fun. In the evenings, mum would sit on the front step, a cup of tea in her hand, Gyp by her side and listen to the blackbird, a quiet, contented moment, and then she would dutifully darn socks to death and knit beige cardigans because "beige went with everything". My sister and I would sit on the stairs and strain our ears to pick up the lines of The Navy Lark and Hancock's Half Hour. Mum laughing, needles clicking. We wished she could find time to play with us, just to sit with us with love, but her life was work, and work her life. One day, she was scrubbing the kitchen floor and thought, "If only I could earn ten bob a week" - a series of physically demanding jobs followed. My father, too, worked all hours in the garage and around the cottage - DIY and gardening, infinitum. This was a version of “the good life” on the back of hard graft. Back to the Welsh Roots It turned out, according to mum, that the richer people are, the less likely they are to pay their bills. The garage suffered and eventually went bankrupt. A shared Welsh heritage drew mum and dad back to their roots - this time to Swansea. The Ford Motor factory had been taken over by Prestcold Refrigerators, where dad secured a job at a managerial level. We lived in a 3rd-floor flat overlooking the sea - Mum hated it for a long time. She found it hard to settle in a flat after the cottage; as much as it was bloody hard work for her, it was a huge wrench to leave it. In particular, she hated the washing line, which was a pulley between a small back window and a rock face opposite - it hurt her back when she leaned out of the window. She wasn’t too happy about the four flights of stairs either! We all found it difficult to adjust in our own different ways. But to my sister and I, it was just an adventure - electricity, hot water, a bathroom, a school bus, neighbours and friends! We never returned to Devon. A postcard from the 1920s showing the Osborne Hotel in the Langland and Rotherslade Bay in the middle, and our flat is to the far right. We left Devon when I was ten, and I have never felt the urge to return to country life - for me, it's nice to visit, but not to live there. Memories are enough. (JH)

Travelling can be very romantic, awakening a thirst for adventure and holiday feelings. Nowadays, you buy a ticket online at home and are on your way. You arrive at your destination on time, as planned, relatively relaxed and safe. How nice! Or rather: "How nice it would be!" In all the decades I have frequently flown within Europe and to other continents, this expectation of a traveller has usually been fulfilled. And if there were any problems, the airline or travel provider felt responsible for helping the passengers. Today, as I recently learnt on my return flight from Berlin to London, you can expect neither safety nor care. It was a bitter experience and not the only one of its kind. Deutsche Bahn - beware of the unexpected! It all started in Berlin on the way to Berlin-Brandenburg Airport (BER). On the advice of my Berlin friends, I opted for the regional train as the fastest and most reliable means of public transport to BER on the outskirts of Berlin. The problem-free journey was already over at Zoo station. The platform information board informed travellers that there could be longer delays at Zoo station and between Ostkreuz and Frankfurter Allee stations due to signal faults. A difficult-to-understand loudspeaker announcement confirmed this information every two minutes. I had no idea where the voice on the loudspeaker had its office or where I could have asked someone at the station for more detailed information. I didn't want to waste time looking for information. The phrase "could" was vague, but I didn't want to risk getting stranded somewhere in the middle of the route and only being able to wave goodbye to my flight. So a quick decision had to be made. On my last visit to Berlin, I travelled to the airport by underground and bus, much to the amazement of my Berlin friends, because the underground stops at many stations and therefore makes slow progress. The bus frequency from the Rudow terminus to the airport is pretty poor. If you're unlucky, you must wait a long time for a connection. Nevertheless, the underground seemed to be the safest form of public transport in this situation, transporting hundreds of thousands of passengers daily without breaking down. Once I was in Rudow and no bus turned up, I could always take a taxi. Now, of course, my local knowledge from decades of living in Berlin and regular visits to the city came in handy.  I packed my trolley and raced off: first down into the basement to the U9 underground line to Berliner Straße, then changed to the U7 to the Rudow terminus. No problem for someone who knows the area and doesn't have to search long for tracks, routes, and directions! The connections worked, and I got a seat despite the rush hour. The journey passed quickly, and when I came back out of the underground and onto the street after 45 minutes, an airport bus was just pulling up, and I reached it with some legwork. We reached the airport within 15 minutes. The whole journey took an hour. That's how long the regional train would have taken. I was proud of myself and took my successful problem-solving strategy as a good omen for the rest of my journey home to London. But I was wrong. Berlin Brandenburg Airport - a service desolation It was 7 pm. My flight was due to depart at 9 pm. So I had plenty of time. The newly built Berlin Brandenburg Airport has nothing in common with the convenience or the touch of luxury of other airports such as London Heathrow, New York, or even Munich. This airport has never really been able to shed the desolate image of the old East Berlin Schönefeld Airport. It feels more like a railway station: functional, a fast transit area for passengers with only the bare essentials. There are no cosy cafés or seating areas that invite you to relax and make the wait more bearable. But I wasn't planning to stay here for long anyway. However, I would have liked to buy a snack for the journey or a souvenir for my husband, David. However, the only supermarket was more of a kiosk and had nothing worthwhile to offer. Too bad, David, no German sausages this time! So I went straight to the security checkpoint with my hand luggage. The machine promptly recognised my boarding pass on my mobile phone, and the barrier opened in "open sesame" style. I walked through and joined the queue of waiting passengers at the security checkpoint. Security staff and passengers - a relationship reduced to functionality The staff were well organised, and we moved quickly. In front of me, a very busy man kept talking loudly on his mobile phone. He didn't stop talking as he packed his suitcase, watch, keys, change, laptop, jacket, liquids, etc., into the designated boxes on the conveyor belt with the help of a security officer. Even when he stood in the scanner and was patted down by another security guard, he continued his conversation undeterred. Unbelievably rude! I commented to the security officer while he was helping me with my hand luggage. He shrugged his shoulders and said I was the first person to speak to him today. Excuse me? Yes, most passengers wouldn't even glance at him and were far too busy with themselves. This shocked me, and I also felt guilty for often not making eye contact with the security staff. I resolved to be more attentive in future and exchange a few friendly words with them. I started to wonder. Is this lack of communication and interaction, even rudeness, down to us travellers? Are we focused on ourselves and our journey and snootily or indifferently ignore the people who provide services along the way? Do we no longer see the staff who usher us through long queues as people but as technical cogs in the airport operation? That would be pretty shameful. On the other hand, I have often experienced that I didn't feel like a human being during the security process before departure. Security officers and passport control officers frequently have an aura of aloofness or display authoritarian behaviour. Is it the boredom of watching the long queue of travellers pass by day in, day out and doing a monotonous job? Or envy? Or insecurity and pressure? The job requires extreme concentration to avoid any potential security risks. Every passenger must be seen as a possible risk. Is the rigid behaviour and barked instructions, as well as the detachment of the security officers, supposed to have an intimidating effect like the authority of the officials?  I remember with horror an experience at New Orleans airport when our luggage was thrown onto the conveyor belt for scanning, and my husband David tried to help the security officer. Still, the officer reacted extremely nervously, pointed a machine gun at David and called for backup. On the other hand, how good it feels when security officers smile, say a friendly word, or make a funny remark. It loosens up the intimidating atmosphere and makes it more people-friendly. When the man at the scanner at Munich airport wished me bon appétit after the grilled chicken legs that my mum had packed for me appeared on his screen, it lifted the mood immensely. Yes, even when an extremely precarious incident at Hamburg airport was resolved, the security staff and I were able to laugh heartily about the mistake. The scanner at the security checkpoint had raised the alarm because it suspected explosives in my hand luggage. Armed riot police rushed over and inspected the hand luggage under the strictest security precautions. The suspicious object was shrink-wrapped sausages that I had bought as a souvenir for my husband at the Edeka supermarket at the airport. Fortunately, we were all able to see the joke after this scene. Both parties probably suffer from the crowds. The security staff have to process the endless queues of passengers every day. The passengers are annoyed by the exhausting queuing in a crowd of strangers and just want to get through the checks and then be left in peace. This is indeed not a pleasant aspect of travelling.    After the security check, I didn't find anything inviting in the duty-free area of BER either, so I went straight to the border control and finally to my boarding gate to wait for the boarding instructions. I still had an hour to spare. Lack of Information at the airport You wouldn't believe how many information channels one has to keep open when flying from Berlin to London. My husband David and I are very well versed in this area, so I was sometimes better informed by him sitting at his computer at home in London than by British Airways via mobile phone app or the BER airport staff. And woe betide anyone who doesn't have an internet-enabled mobile phone or doesn't know how to use it! This evening, the situation was as follows: Time passed, the specified time for boarding passed, and nothing happened. David informed me at 8.30 pm that, according to the Heathrow departure list, my plane was half an hour late. Interesting. We passengers on the ground in Berlin were not informed of this. Shortly before 9 pm, a loudspeaker told us that the arrival of the aircraft from London, on which we would be flying back, would be delayed by around 20 minutes due to thunderstorms over Europe. As soon as it had landed and been cleared, we could board. Okay, so at least we knew and waited patiently. Time passed. No further information was forthcoming. Dave texted at 8.37 pm to say that he had fired up the barbecue and was grilling chicken legs that would be waiting for me at home. Nice. I was looking forward to it. I also learnt from David that our plane had already landed and that it wouldn't be long before we would leave. My British Airways app informed me by mobile phone at 9.10 pm that our flight would depart at 9.20 pm with a slight delay. Shortly afterwards, we were called to board. By 9.30 pm, I was strapped into seat 29b, in the penultimate row with little legroom where the budget passengers were accommodated. I was looking forward to departure and the chicken drumsticks that awaited me. The flight was packed to the last seat, and my trolley was in the overhead compartment in row 24, so I made a mental note not to forget it when I disembarked. Today, I wanted to treat myself to a small bottle of sparkling wine, as my visit to Berlin was great. However, after studying the BA menu, I decided against it. I didn't want to pay £8 for a 200ml sip of bubbly. I thought the price was outrageous. I could have that cheaper at home in no time. I texted Dave to put a bottle of red wine in the fridge because, in the current heatwave, our attic flat was about 32 degrees, and that was definitely too warm for red wine. I could see through the small window that it had started to rain. A friend wrote to tell me that her open-air concert in Berlin had been cancelled due to heavy rain. Fortunately, we were sitting on the plane in the dry.  Aircraft traffic jam on the runway Shortly before 10 pm (an hour late), we took off. We taxied to the runway and joined the queue of waiting aircraft, ready to take off - and waited. Then, the flight captain informed us that the Berlin airport authorities had stopped the ground staff from working for safety reasons due to the heavy thunderstorms. But, as soon as it was possible, they would resume handling the aircraft. Okay? As far as we could see from our window, it was only drizzling, and only a few flashes of lightning could be seen in the distance. Perhaps this safety measure was a little over the top, but the experts would know what they were doing. And so we continued to wait. After a while (I still had Internet), I checked the tube connection home from Heathrow Airport, given the increasing delay. The quickest was the new Elizabeth Line, which ran until just after midnight. The last tube from Tottenham Court Road Station, where I had to change to get home on the Northern Line, left at 12.34 am. That could be tight. If not, I would have to take the night bus home. Dave sent me the relevant night bus connections on my mobile phone. It would take me about 2 ½-3 hours to get home, and I wouldn't be home before 3.30 am. Dave had better put the chicken in the fridge. A taxi was too expensive for me. It probably cost over £100, which was money better spent elsewhere. Dave suggested I stay at Heathrow Airport and try to find a bench to sleep on, as the first tube would leave at 5.09 am. That would be safer than getting into a dodgy mini-cab. Good idea. I could go along with that. It certainly wouldn't be comfortable, but I could do it once. In the meantime, the plane was getting hotter and hotter because the air conditioning doesn't work when the aircraft is stationary. The flight attendants, who didn't have any more information than we did, handed out water and pretzels to cool us down and appease us. Then, an unsettling thought occurred to me: the night flight ban in London! We Londoners are glad no flights are allowed between midnight and 6 am. However, landing at Heathrow would no longer be possible if we couldn't take off in the next 10 minutes. Dave, who was in London, obviously had the same idea because he had done some research and sent me the relevant information. In 1962, the UK government imposed restrictions on night flights at Heathrow, stating that no aircraft could land or take off between 11.30 pm and 6.00 am. This rule is still in place today, but with the addition, the rule can be extended in exceptional circumstances. I reassured myself and my seat neighbour, who had shown a keen interest in my WhatsApp exchange with Dave the whole time. I was convinced that the airport authorities would make an exception, as British Airways was the national airline and would undoubtedly have priority when landing, I argued. This thought reassured my seatmate and me somewhat until I remembered that a friend had recently been stuck in London because her flight was delayed and Berlin airport closed at midnight. My online search confirmed a night flight ban in Berlin from midnight to 5 am with a flexibility of 30 minutes. It was now just before midnight. I firmly believed that the airport authority would follow common sense and be flexible enough to keep the airport open until all the waiting planes departed. Airport closure - what now? But my firm belief moved neither mountains nor our plane into the air! The captain told us we couldn't take off because the airport had closed. There were 20 aircraft ahead of us in the queue, which would now have to be processed back before us. He hoped that he would be able to reach ground staff who would let us out of the aircraft and unload our luggage. He would inform us as soon as he had more information. What now? Wait! And hope! But for what? The passengers around us became nervous and restless. Many complained and voiced their displeasure loudly. The captain told us that the Italian football team that had played in Berlin in the Europa Cup was also stuck in the queue on the plane in front of us. Later, I heard that the FC Bayern Munich team had also been stranded at BER that evening. How reassuring. So, we were not alone in this predicament.  Finally, we passengers received an email from British Airways informing us that the flight had been delayed and could no longer take off today. Well, that was no longer news. However, British Airways would cover reasonable hotel costs, up to £20 for food and drink and up to £25 for telephone costs. We would receive another email the following day telling us the new departure time of our flight. So now it was official that we were stranded. At first, I didn't know what to make of it. But I quickly concluded that this was probably the better option. I wasn't too keen on the prospect of taking a 2½ - 3-hour journey on three different night buses in London or spending a sleepless night on one of the cold and hard metal benches at Heathrow Airport. But now I was faced with the problem of finding a bed for the night from the aircraft. British Airways offered no assistance in this regard. At this time of night, I couldn't possibly wake my friends, with whom I had spent the last three nights, from their sleep. A hotel near the airport was the best option. This would also have the advantage that I would be quickly accommodated tonight and ready for departure at BER on short notice the next morning. Around me, widespread horror gradually set in as everyone realised the implications of this news. Some people went into hyperactivity; others were paralysed or collapsed. Two rows in front of us, a woman had a severe asthma attack and a stewardess attended to her. My seat neighbour to my right was booking a hotel near the airport on his mobile phone. Good idea! I should do that straight away. I asked him for the name of his hotel and set about booking there too. Unfortunately, only the booking details for the next day or night appeared on my display. The app didn't offer the option to book for the current night. I wouldn't find out the reason until later.  My neighbour to my left was luckier, and she quickly booked a room for both of us in another hotel, paid with her credit card and received the booking confirmation. Wonderful! We were saved! We had a place to sleep. We were relieved. Shortly afterwards, I received a WhatsApp message from a friend in Berlin enquiring whether I had landed safely in London. I wrote to her about our situation. She was shocked and offered to get in the car immediately and pick me up. I thanked her, saying it wasn't necessary as we had just booked a hotel at the airport, which would be paid for by BA. I later regretted this careless cancellation. But then, I didn't know how the night would turn out. I informed David of the latest developments and told him he could eat the chicken himself or put it in the fridge. He could go to sleep with peace of mind. I would contact him in the morning and keep him up to date. He was reassured and thought that was the best option.  Stranded in the chaos at BER airport However, there were still a lot of planes ahead of us, and it was foreseeable that it would take a while before the ground staff released us from the overheated aircraft. There were 180 passengers on our plane, and with 20 jets, at least 3,600 passengers were to be processed and their luggage to be unloaded. (Good thing I only had hand luggage!) Our plane was at the very back of the queue. These masses were later all in front of us at the border control as we had to re-enter Germany from no man's land; this was unavoidable. Many passengers didn't understand the logic because, in their opinion, they hadn't left Germany yet and were grumbling under their breath, arguing amongst themselves and quarrelling with the passport control officers. Small children were screaming. Hundreds of people sat on the ground, tired and at a loss as to what to do. Some were crying, and others looked exhausted, angry, and disappointed. I felt particularly sorry for the families with children who now had to look for somewhere to stay. No sign of British Airways or the Berlin airport staff could have given us help and support. We were entirely on our own. At passport control, the effects of Brexit became clear once again. As a German citizen, I could simply go to one of the almost empty electronic checkpoints reserved for EU citizens, while most people had to join the long queue for non-EU citizens. I waited on the other side too, but for my neighbour, as we had a joint hotel booking. I could have loyally stayed with her and used her passport control desk, but I wanted to enjoy one benefit of Brexit for once and not wait in a crowd of frustrated people for a while. She suggested that I go ahead to the hotel, but I thought it was better to get through this situation together. I waited and tried to remember her face, as we hardly knew each other. Finally, after 45 minutes, she emerged as one of the last passengers. We recognised each other immediately and, relieved that we only had hand luggage, pushed past the crowds of people waiting for their suitcases on the conveyor belt at baggage reclaim. We, on the other hand, eagerly joined the taxi queue. There was almost a brawl when a few people tried to jump the queue. The nerves were on edge. (Not) a bed for the night? The hotel was nearby, and after a 15-minute drive, we arrived at 1.30 am. We joined the long queue that stretched out into the street. Hundreds of stranded people were ahead of us. But we were relaxed and looking forward to our hotel bed because, luckily, we had our hotel booking and confirmation. But then we heard a rumour that all room bookings made after midnight were null and void. The hotel was full. People had been turned away. Excuse me? I couldn't believe it. Determined, I walked past the long queue to enquire at reception in person. What I was told shook my confidence in the reliability of digitalisation: Booking.com had made a mistake. The portal should not have accepted bookings for that night after midnight. The booking had, therefore, been accepted for the next night. The hotel was full. He could not help us. We would have to contact Booking.com directly to get our money refunded. But that was the least of our worries at this point. Where were we supposed to go at this time of night? Everyone who had booked after midnight was turned away and had to look for another hotel. That was most of them. We had booked at 00:07. So it affected us too. I tried to negotiate with the stressed man at reception. I asked if there wasn't a spare cupboard somewhere that he could let us use. Unfortunately, no. Hundreds of people surrounded the poor man, many with children, who urgently sought somewhere to stay. He was utterly overwhelmed and felt the concentrated anger and disappointment. We sat in the hotel lobby and tried to find a hotel for the two of us. My neighbour and new friend called the hotel where she had spent the previous night but to no avail. They were fully booked. Then we searched the Internet. But you could only book online and therefore only for the next night because you can't explain to a programme that you are stranded at the airport after midnight and now have no accommodation for that night. You can only explain that to a person, and you will need a telephone number. However, most hotels could only be booked via online booking agencies, and we couldn't find a telephone number on the hotels' websites either. If telephone numbers were given, they were 0801 numbers from call centres in the USA. They would have been just as helpful in solving the acute problem as the online agencies. That is, not at all! Gradually, a paralysing tiredness set in and suppressed the rising panic. I just wanted to lay my tired head down somewhere and was about to make myself comfortable in the lobby and sleep, hoping not to be kicked out before 5 am. One phone number - one person - one solution! At the Hilton, a real person finally answers. But then I thought about which hotel names I knew. I lived in Berlin for 20 years and never stayed in a hotel. Even on my frequent visits, I stayed with friends. But I couldn't help but think of the name of some classic, well-known hotel! Hilton! Surely Berlin had a Hilton Hotel? I googled Hilton - and lo and behold, I found a phone number. A real person on the phone said that two rooms were still available and promised to hold them for us for the next 45 minutes. Wonderful! All tiredness was gone. We rushed onto the street, and an Uber taxi took us to the city centre. At 03:30, we checked into the Hilton Hotel on Mohrenstrasse. Shortly afterwards, at 04:00, I sat contentedly in my freshly made-up bed in my hotel room, having showered with the Hilton's fragrant shower gel and used their wonderfully scented body lotion, and savoured my mini bottle of red wine, which I had bought earlier from a vending machine in the lobby as a nightcap to calm my nerves. I set the alarm for 06:30 to check whether an email from British Airways with the new flight details had arrived and fell into a deep sleep. I received an email at 06:30 announcing the new departure time at 14:55, which meant I could turn over and go back to sleep. Breakfast in the Hilton - a moment of relaxation in the chaos. At 10 am, I met my new friend and fellow sufferer for breakfast. With a view of the historic building of the German Cathedral on Gendarmenmarkt, we enjoyed a sumptuous breakfast and even treated ourselves to a glass of sparkling wine to celebrate this extraordinary experience. That's how you can endure it! We were reconciled to the situation. I made myself another sandwich to take with me. An emergency supply - just in case! We took a taxi back to BER airport at noon and were pleased that we would soon be home.  Back at the airport - chaos and a lack of crisis management The airport was full of stranded people from the previous day, many lying on the floor, surrounded by their luggage. Children were either running around or crying. Many passengers had not found a hotel for the night and, therefore, had to spend the night sleeping on the floor at the airport. Even those lucky enough to have spent the night in a hotel bed were now again faced with confusion and uncertainty. Our flight did not appear at all on the electronic departure board. We began to doubt whether the information in the British Airways email was correct. However, no one from the airline or BER was here to inform us about the next steps. Some passengers had had a new boarding pass issued at the check-in counter but afterwards realised that yesterday's date had been given. They queued up again at the check-in counter to correct this mistake and get a boarding pass with today's date.  Others returned from security disappointed. They had been turned away because they had tried to check in with their boarding passes from the previous day. We were at a loss. None of these efforts had cleared the way to the gate. Had we been booked on a ghost flight that would never come? Or had we simply been forgotten? I saw no point in joining the long queue at the check-in desk and suggested that we go together to the less busy business class desk and put some pressure on there. Seven people, prepared and determined not to be turned away, marched towards the counter. This made an impression. The friendly gentleman at the counter explained that using yesterday's boarding passes was correct. He had just passed the relevant instructions to the security staff by telephone. They should now let us through without any problems. We wanted to believe him but remained sceptical. And promptly, our boarding pass didn't work at the security gate. But one of the officers took us aside, " I see, you're the stranded people from yesterday!" checked our boarding passes and passports and let us through. Phew! It takes understanding people to solve specific problems! This hurdle had already been cleared. Next, we went through security and then on to our gate. It was supposed to be the same as yesterday, C17. Indeed, at gate 17, London Heathrow was on the display board, with our flight number and the departure time of 2.55 pm. We sat there and waited. Our small group had grown in the meantime. We increasingly recognised yesterday's fellow sufferers, and they joined us. Our departure time of 2:55 pm had long since passed when someone happened to see information flash up on the display board. Our flight was leaving in 10 minutes from another gate. Nobody had told us. Full of panic, we ran with our hand luggage. I quickly gulped down my far too hot tea, as I didn't have a hand free to hold the cup, and dashed off. We didn't want to miss our flight under any circumstances. When we arrived at gate C12, out of breath, more familiar faces from the previous day were waiting. The information board correctly displayed the flight number, departure time 2:55 pm, and destination, London Heathrow, but there was no sign of any British Airways aircraft or BER staff.  We sat in an ever-growing group and waited for what would come. The mood fluctuated between hope, despair, anger, hysteria and gallows humour. We didn't even dare go to the toilet for fear of missing important information or our flight. Finally, a young lady from the ground staff at Berlin Airport arrived. Our hopes for information were bitterly disappointed as she knew nothing about our flight. Instead, she asked us for the information we had received from British Airways by email so that she could pass it on to other passengers. We hadn't received any communication from British Airways since the 6.30 am email and the BA app was silent. It was complete chaos. The departure board informed us of three British Airways flights from Berlin to London Heathrow that afternoon. But there was no mention of our flight. Many flights are delayed but ours is not even listed. Have we been forgotten? Had we been forgotten? Long after our scheduled departure time had passed, the BA app finally popped up on my mobile phone and informed me that our flight would be leaving at 17:00. However, there was no sign on the ground that this was reliable information. Dave contacted me from London to ask if he should take the sea bass out of the freezer for a BBQ that evening. After our experience yesterday, I was cautious and suggested we do the BBQ with fish the following day and leave the fish in the freezer. We finally got some information: our flight was due to leave at 6:00 pm. At 6:15 pm, we finally boarded the plane, fastened our seatbelts, and the aircraft joined the queue of waiting planes to the runway. The captain informed us that yesterday's crew had exceeded their working hours due to the waiting time and had stood down. He and his crew had received a call at 7 am this morning that they were to fly to Berlin as passengers on an aircraft and fly our plane back. They had just arrived at BER airport and immediately took over the aircraft. As we had already drunk the water and eaten the pretzels yesterday, there were no more supplies. But we would be leaving soon and would be home soon. That wasn't a problem for us. We were grateful to the captain. At last, there was someone who signalled that he was looking after us. At last, someone was talking to us, and we finally found out what was happening. And I was okay because I still had my bread roll from the Hilton Hotel. And sure enough, at 7:30 pm, our plane took off. We cheered and clapped. The passengers talked animatedly about how they had got on. New friendships had been forged. I was also glad I had found my young seat neighbour, and she was happy to have my support. The adventure had been more bearable as we could support and distract each other as a team of two. The flight attendants, endeavouring to calm the passengers' tempers, now offered various drinks free of charge. So now I could have my glass of champagne after all. I found that I deserved it. Shortly after 8 pm, we landed at Heathrow after a 1 ½ hour flight (1 hour time difference). At 10 pm, I was sitting at home with Dave on our roof terrace, celebrating my return with a glass of wine and enjoying the chicken drumsticks that Dave had saved for me from the day before. (LL.)  How does such chaos come about, and why is it not managed by those responsible? This experience stayed with me for a long time. Why did it all happen, and why couldn't it be better organised? Thunderstorms are nothing new. What was so special about this thunderstorm, which I hadn't experienced as being so severe? Were the health and safety regulations too rigid, was the bureaucracy at Berlin Airport too strict or the staff too inflexible? Were the flight communications between London and Berlin or European air traffic control in Brussels overwhelmed by a thunderstorm? Was it impossible to act in a crisis in the age of digitalisation? Obviously, computers can only solve standard problems. It would have taken competent people to manage the crisis situation. Entitlement to cost compensation instead of help and support The rights of passengers if a flight is cancelled or delayed are explicitly posted at every flight counter. They are also available on the Internet. Passengers are informed under which circumstances they are entitled to compensation or reimbursement, under which conditions they can book a replacement flight, and where they can find a form to get any costs incurred reimbursed. 'We will do everything we can to help get your travel plans back on track'  is what you can read on the British Airways website. This is all very laudable, but it doesn't work in the end. My BA app offered me no help, not even information on what I could have done at that moment in that place to handle the crisis well. Passenger rights after a crisis are all well and good, but concrete support and helpful actions are needed in a crisis. As a customer, I expect airlines and airports to be prepared for these crises, which are not exactly unique and extremely rare. There should be crisis plans and people in charge who implement these plans and offer support to stranded passengers. Instead, it seems that airlines and airports expect every passenger travelling by air to draw up their own contingency plans and carry them along; that every passenger knows where they can turn to, beyond the airline and airport company, and where they can obtain information. Because their contract partners do not really feel obliged to do so.   But basic information should be made available, such as lists of hotels near the airport with telephone numbers, information about local shops and shops at the airport or nearby that are open to provide basic supplies for passengers in the event of a crisis, e.g. drinking water, food, nappies and food for babies, medicines, etc. In my opinion, publicising passengers' rights seems to be a minimal mandatory exercise, as is often the case with several health and safety regulations. The main thing is that a sign has been put up saying that the floor is wet and there is a risk of slipping. If someone does slip and break a leg, it's their problem. The organisation is not at fault! The organisation cannot be held legally liable for not fulfilling its duty of care. However, the customer or passer-by must be shown a safe way to avoid danger. And the person stranded at an airport must also be offered an option for the excessively long waiting time, as in our case. Not my problem It seems that nobody took responsibility for this situation and tried to solve the problem, neither the ground staff at Berlin Airport, British Airways, Booking.com, nor the airport hotel we had booked with. Nobody felt responsible. The receptionist at the overcrowded hotel who turned us away didn't see it as his problem. He shrugged his shoulders. Sorry. It certainly wasn't the first time someone had to book a hotel in the middle of the night. The system could not respond and accept a booking for the night after midnight. Many of the big hotels advertise 24-hour reception. So why can't you phone these hotels to explain the emergency situation to someone and either get a bed for the night or at least help find one?  It looked to me like British Airways had made it easy for themselves. In their email, they informed the passengers of the delay and offered to pay for any reasonable costs incurred. That's it! Duty fulfilled! The airline no longer felt responsible for solving the problem; that was the responsibility of the passengers. They should take care themselves of by finding a hotel or somewhere to sleep. This was not a problem for the locals, who went home and slept in their own beds. But the majority of the passengers were tourists or visitors. They were strangers in Berlin, had no home there and didn't know how to organise accommodation quickly at this time of night. They were left alone with their despair and panic by their contractual partner, British Airways. There was no crisis intervention by airline representatives or BER staff; at least, I didn't see anyone. Those whose job was to organise a new flight for the next day failed hopelessly and acted unprofessionally. The email from British Airways at 6:30 pm informed us of the new departure time at 2:55 pm. But, as we later learnt from the pilot, the captain and his crew had only been told at 7 am (1/2 hour after the email to all passengers) that they were to fly from London to Berlin as passengers and fly the plane and passengers back to Heathrow. They only arrived at Berlin airport shortly before 6 pm. It should already have been evident in the morning that a departure time of 2:55 pm could not be adhered to. Why wasn't a crew informed during the night when the take-off had to be postponed to the next day, or at least a later and realistic departure time scheduled? Were we passengers to be kept waiting or kept busy? If it had been evident earlier that the flight could not take off until the evening, some passengers would have had the opportunity to book alternative flights to keep their urgent appointments. Like the woman in the row behind me, for example, who was desperate because she was stuck at Berlin airport all day with her daughter and couldn't get to London in time to attend the official farewell of her retiring husband. Another woman missed a long-planned hospital appointment. Others, like my seat neighbour on the right, could not meet their work commitments, had to notify colleagues, delegate tasks, postpone appointments and worry about their jobs, to name a few cases. A contract is a contract British Airways and the airport are responsible for the passengers. Purchasing a flight ticket creates a contract to which both parties are bound. The tickets are expensive enough and include airport duty. But nobody at the airport felt responsible or made any effort to help. The young woman at the boarding gate, a ground staff employee at Berlin Airport, was unaware of the situation. So she did the obvious thing for her: she asked the passengers about their knowledge so that she could pass it on to other passengers. That was probably the maximum she could do on her own initiative. Otherwise, she was perhaps waiting for instructions from higher up. It seemed to me that she was not even annoyed about her lack of knowledge of the situation and the fact that she could not help the passengers. I wonder whether this was her failing or whether she resigned herself to the fact that such situations are part of her everyday working life. Because there's nothing you can do anyway? Because that's just the way it is? Because nobody knows who is responsible for what anymore? Because even as a staff member you can no longer avoid the digital communication channels? Because you can't get any sensible answers beyond standard questions? Empathy replaced by indifference I am an experienced traveller and am not easily flustered. I'm used to solving problems and usually take challenges in my stride. But what about those passengers who are not so experienced? I have seen many desperate and panicked people during these hours. What about those who don't have an internet-enabled mobile phone or a BA app? Who can't be informed of the new flight time via email? What about people with mobility problems or children travelling alone? How can you leave vulnerable and needy people to their own devices in a crisis and expect them to manage somehow and sleep at the airport if necessary? Where is the pride of the employees who want to handle passengers, their customers, competently and safely and get them from A to B? It is a strange development in which interpersonal relationships seem lost. Empathy seems to have been replaced by indifference; an indifference to the fears and concerns of passengers and an indifference to the inability of airlines and airports to adequately manage a crisis and solve problems.  In the age of digitalisation, are we so used to the computer taking care of everything? Is no one aware that software programs can optimise standard processes but that the problem-solving skills of competent and experienced people are needed for exceptional cases? Can no one imagine that a sympathetic contact person is extremely helpful and comforting in a crisis? Or are we so convinced of the infallibility of computer-aided organisation that we have handed over responsibility for solving problems to this seemingly higher intelligence? And suppose this higher intelligence has no solution. In that case, we humans feel incapable of finding a solution, do not want to exceed our competencies and pass the responsibility and blame for the failure unapologetically on to the technology. We are not to blame, we are not responsible, and we are not sorry. Well, the romance of travelling is truly gone. PS I got my money back for the hotel from British Airways. But I didn't get any compensation because the reason for the delay was a thunderstorm - a natural event (an act of God) for which no one can be held responsible. (LL.)   Lufthansa at Munich Airport treated its passengers stranded on two flights on 3 to 4 August 2024 due to 'technical irregularities' and 'operational reasons' similarly rigorously. The airline announced that the Munich hotels were fully booked due to the tens of thousands of fans who had come to Munich for the Adele concerts. Passengers reported in the Süddeutsche Zeitung that the service desks were closed after this announcement to passengers. Luggage was not returned to stranded passengers for the weekend while they waited. New departure times were not communicated, but - at least - blankets were distributed to passengers. No further comment is necessary. Source: https://www.sueddeutsche.de/muenchen/muenchen-lufthansa-fluege-ausgefallen-hotels-adele-lux.BjuTYccNKfjKyT1fdaTGGW

Dear Readers, We could not update our travel blog during our travels because of technical issues and the internet. Now we are back home and have updated and completed our blog in a new document called part 2.  https://www.rememberrelatereflect.com/en/post/epic-trip-to-australia-part-2 As so often, we want to escape the wet and miserable winter in the UK and the annoyingly overly soppy Christmas festivities, seek the sun and the heat, and stay away from the madness of the world. This year, we decided on a faraway destination neither of us has ever been to before: Australia. We have given ourselves two months off to go on what we like to think of as an epic trip to the other side of the world. The plan is to leave on Christmas Eve and fly to Australia via Hong Kong. We will spend three days in Hong Kong. We then continue to Melbourne, where we will spend a further three days and celebrate the coming of the year 2025. On New Year's Day, we fly to Tasmania, where we will pick up our motorhome and set off to explore the island's beautiful nature, wildlife, and extraordinary history. (After all, many of the convicts sent from Britain in the 19th century to serve their sentences in Australia ended up here.) After that, we will fly back to Melbourne, pick up another campervan, and explore some of the State of Victoria's National Parks as we travel along the famous Great Ocean Road. We will then drive to New South Wales and the Blue Mountains before finishing in Sydney, where we will stay for our final three days. From there, we fly home via Hong Kong. This is our rough plan, which I am sure we, or circumstances, will change. We shall wait and see where we end up and what we experience. Time will tell. If you want, you can join us on our adventure by visiting this travel blog from time to time. Hopefully, you will enjoy our blog as, hopefully, we enjoy our travels. We read many books to plan and organise our adventure. However, we must have an open mind and, more importantly, be flexible to not miss out on unplanned opportunities and adventures that we may come across. Notice to our readers: In order to safe luggage space we decided to take our iPads with us, rather than the bigger laptops. Unfortunately, the editing on our iPads isn’t fully compatible with the software of the blog. Therefore, to fully edit and upload the amount of pictures that we would love to show you, our readers, we will have to wait until we are back in London. Then you will be able to appreciate literally the fuller pictures of our travels. We apologise for this little hiccup but do our best with the photos we can upload. If we cant’t get a decent internet for the rest of our trip, then we won't be able to upload any more texts and photos while we're on the road. Don't worry, we'll catch up on that as soon as we're back in London. Tasmania travel 1.-31. January 2025 3.6 South Tasmania 24th to the 31st January 2025 Sorry guys for the delay in posting. But we were the last 6 days without internet in the South East of Australia. More about this later. Now back to our last days in Tasmania. After a week on the east coast we continued our journey south to complete the circle of our Tasmanian trip. We passed by Maria Island, which is very popular with tourists because of its expressive landscape and wildlife and would have been well worth visiting. However, we can’t stop everywhere - and our time is running out. Our next stop was Port Arthur. Port Arthur is a historic site located on the Tasman Peninsula in Tasmania. It is  renowned for its significance as a 19th-century penal settlement. Established in 1830, it served as a convict colony for hardened criminals and is now a UNESCO World Heritage-listed site, offering insights into Australia's colonial history. Visitors can explore the haunting ruins, including the penitentiary, guard tower, and church, as well as take guided tours to learn about the lives of convicts and the harsh conditions they endured. Port Arthur is a poignant reminder of Australia's convict past and a major tourist destination for those interested in the history of forced migration of convicts by the British Empire. Port Arthur Convict Colony About 12.500 convicts served their sentences here between 1830 and 1877. Exhibits at the visitor centre highlight that Port Arthur was more than just a prison. It was home to convicts, military and civilians and their families. The militaries and civilian officers were tasked with security and administration of the settlement. The convicts worked in many industries and produced goods and services for local use and to be taken to Hobart to be sold. For example, convicts worked in wood workshops, making everything from broom handles to renowned boat building. In particular, the boat building at Port Arthur became a successful industry because of the low salaries the convicts received and their boat building skills. Other workshops included shoemakers and blacksmiths. The site contained more than 30 historic buildings, many of them now ruins. Some were nicely renovated with beautiful gardens. These were mostly the sites where the military and civilian officers and their families had lived. Of the penitentiary only the outside walls remained, parts of the house was destroyed by a fire, others by neglect. Still one can see amongst the ruins the tiny cells where the convicts were held. A 20 minute cruise showed visitors around the peninsula, giving them the opportunity to see Port Arthur from the sea but also to see the “Isle of Death”,  the cemetery where convicts and soldiers and civilian workers were buried. Between 1833 and 1877 around 1199 people were buried at this settlement’s cemetery. The convicts did usually not get a gravestone. Another island is “Point Puer”. This was the boys’ prison. It operated from 1834 - 1849 and was the first juvenile reformatory in the whole British Empire. The new idea was to separate young offenders from the older convicts, to protect them from criminal influence of the older and hardened convicts. Most of the boys were aged between 14 and 17, the youngest were just 9 years old. One needs to know that at that time the legal age for prosecution was seven. Point Puer was known for its strict discipline and harsh punishment. Many of the boys also received an education and some were given the opportunity of trade training, i.e. as wood worker, shoemaker or blacksmith. The Penitentiary The hospital, of which only the outer walls were left, had two wings, housing six wards, a provision store, a kitchen with baking oven, a morgue and a waste collection room. Convicts and soldiers were treated on separate wards, while civilians and their families were usually treated at home. A plaque about Dr. Thomas Coke Brownell describes well the work of the physician at that time. “When Dr. Brownell returned to Port Arthur for his second round of medical service in 1840, his family had grown to 11. He and Elizabeth, at that stage had nine children. This stint lasted 15 months and he described it as ‘arduous and extensive’. With more than 1000 convicts at Port Arthur, the doctor was also medically responsible for the 600 boys at Point Puer, 340 convicts working the Coal Mine, not to mention the military personnel, civilian officers and their families. In 1842, he recorded having treated over 13,000 cases.” In more recent time the historical site became infamous for the ‘Port Arthur Massacre’, which refers to a tragic mass shooting that occurred on April 28–29, 1996, on the very site. It was one of the deadliest mass shootings in modern Australian history and a pivotal event that led to major reforms in Australia’s gun laws. A 28-year-old man, Martin Bryant, armed with semi-automatic rifles, opened fire at the Port Arthur historic site, killing 35 people and injuring 23 others. The attack spanned two days, with Bryant fleeing the scene and later taking hostages at a nearby guesthouse before being captured. The massacre prompted the Australian government, led by Prime Minister John Howard, to enact strict ‘National Firearms Legislation’ (the 1996 National Firearms Agreement). This included, a ban on semi-automatic and automatic weapons. Mandatory buybacks of prohibited firearms and uniform licensing and registration requirements nationwide. The reforms greatly reduced gun-related violence in Australia and are often cited globally as a model for effective gun control.  A memorial garden has been created at the Port Arthur site to remember its victims. We walked around the site for about four hours. Then we were exhausted. The experience was bleak, not helped by the cold and windy weather and dark clouds that contributed to an atmosphere of misery in this place. We needed a break and something to cheer us up. The best way to do this, was to visit the Tasmanian devils and kangaroos in the nearby Tasmanian Unzoo. ———— What is an Unzoo? The concept of an "Unzoo," pioneered in 2005 by zoo designers John Cole and Ray Mendez, reimagines traditional zoos by prioritising animal dignity and natural habitats over human-centric entertainment. Unlike conventional zoos with cages and enclosures, Unzoos remove or conceal barriers, allowing animals—both resident and wild—to roam freely in immersive environments while visitors engage in ethical, educational encounters with wildlife. The first intentional Unzoo, launched in 2007 on Tasmania’s Tasman Peninsula by Cole and the Hamilton family, focuses on conserving endangered Tasmanian devils and serves as a global model for blending conservation, ecotourism, and habitat restoration. By emphasising animal autonomy, natural coexistence, and transformative visitor experiences, the Unzoo challenges traditional zoo ethics, advocating for a future where humans collaborate with nature rather than confine it. ————- The Tasmanian Unzoo was very relaxed. They used this vast land of wild forest where these animals live and make it a pleasant and safe environment for the animals. Instead of organised tours for visitors you simply join one of their rangers in their work and they share their knowledge of working with these wild animals. We were lucky. We joined Dominique in his work around the place and he had a lot of experience, in particular of working with Tasmanian devils and their behaviour. We learnt, that Tasmanian Devils are almost blind and if they are frightened, they retreat into a dark safe place, in this case a round metal container. Our visit coincided with their mating season. That meant that the male devils are tense and aggressive. Dominique teased one of the devils by holding his booted foot close to him, and the devil, thinking this could be a rival male devil, started to bite the boot. This happened to Dominique although he has known this little devil since he was a baby and feeds him everyday, but, as said before, the mating season changes attitudes. A Tasmanian Devil Wombat Pademelon We then went over to the kangaroos and pademelons. They were lazily dozing in the grass or eating carrots. One of the females had a little one in her pouch, but all we could see was one leg sticking out. All the time we were there, the little one did not show its face. Then we learnt how to feed the birds. Dominique rang a bell indicating to the birds that it was dinner time. He poured a handful of bird seeds into our palms and we had not to wait long until the first green rosellas came and sat on our palms, picking the seeds out of our hands. Dominique also tried to attract the yellow bellied sea eagles by trapping a big tuna fishtail into a tree trunk. Only seagulls came, but the fishtail was too heavy for them to carry away. Dominique told us, that the tide was out, making the local small penguins easily visible. The sea eagles would then fly down and pick the penguins up with their claws, as they love to feed on them as they are full of proteins. Emu Dominique was originally from Seattle. He came to Tasmania 24 years ago and started working with a variety of wild animals, he loved the animals so much that he stayed. During COVID he was trapped on the East Coast at a Tasmanian Devil Conservation Centre. That’s were he learnt most of his knowledge about the Tassie devils. He has found his dream job working in the Unzoo and is devoted to this life working with and looking after these wild animals. And his enthusiasm rubbed off onto us. Whilst listening to him we lost track of time and before we knew it, it was closing time. We thanked him, wished him well for the future, then drove back to our camp. Hobart and the South On Sunday 26th January, we drove towards Hobart and the surrounding area. We only had five days left in Tasmania and wanted to see as much as possible. There are no campsites in the city of Hobart, so we stayed at a small campsite in the village of Snug, a 30 minute drive south of Hobart, the Snug Beach and Caravan Park. From there we could either go by local bus to Hobart or make use of their park and ride scheme into the capital. At the same time, we were well placed to explore the beautiful southern peninsulas. Snug is located opposite Bruny Island. We had originally planned to visit this island, which is well known for it spectacular scenery and gourmet local produce. It is separated from the main island of Tasmania by a channel, the D’Entre Casteaux, and can be reached only by ferry. It is home to a small population of people who prefer to live with nature, near beaches and forests. Bruny Island is divided into North and South and interconnected by a narrow passage of road surrounded by the sea. We were looking forward to this visit and were deeply disappointed when we were told by Apollo, our camper van rental company, that using a ferry with our camper van was forbidden. At least, now we could use the opportunity to drive along the costal road and see a glimpse of Bruny Island. At one of our photo stops, we met a friendly farmer. He told us that there was no need to go to Bruny Island as this stretch of land we were travelling on would be the same beautiful landscape. The only difference was that Bruny Island was full of tourists and expensive shops. He encouraged us to follow the coastal road all along and assured us it was all paved road and suitable for our camper van, and to enjoy the views of the channel but also visit the nice little villages and towns. After our friendly chat we thanked him for his recommendations. And that’s what we did. We greatly enjoyed our trip along the coast and drove through apple orchards, lovely fishing villages, drove along the river Huon and golden fields with rolls of hay that had just been harvested. We stopped for a welcome coffee break in a wonderful village, called Cygnet. The cafe we stopped at even had its own apple and pear orchard in the back garden which we were encouraged to walk through. In Franklin, one of the fishing villages, we spoke to a friendly guy called John, who was from Victoria. The reason he was in Franklin was that he and his friends took part in the bi-annual small boat race from Franklin to Hobart, along the river Huon. Everyone was very excited. Some had come from as far away as Perth to take part in this event. John told us, he originally came from Devon, in England. His parents came to Australia in the 1960s on the £10 Pom Ticket from England. He was 10 years old, and had a free passage to Australia as children travelled for free. In the 1960s, the 10 pound Pom tickets were a way for British citizens to travel to Australia for a reduced fare, instead of £110 (in comparison, an average annual salary in Britain in the 60s was £350). The scheme was part of the Assisted Passage Migration Scheme, which ran from 1945-1982, and was intended to increase Australia’s population with skilled workers for its growing economy. People taking part in the scheme were expected to stay at least a few years in Australia. Between 1945 and 1972, over a million migrants came to Australia under this scheme. It was most popular in 1969, when over 800.000 migrants came over. Some migrants returned home after a few years and were called by the Australians the “whinging poms”. The next day, Monday, 27th January was a national holiday (on Sunday 26th had been Australia Day). So it was free to park anywhere in the city of Hobart and we took advantage of this and took the camper into town. Hobart, the capital of Tasmania, is a historic city nestled at the base of Mount Wellington (Kunanyi), offering stunning natural landscapes and outdoor activities like hiking and mountain biking. Known for its colonial architecture and waterfront charm, it features the iconic Salamanca Square, with its many galleries, cafes, restaurants and shops in historic sandstone warehouses. There is a lot to see and do in Hobart. We strolled along the waterfront and the Salamanca Warehouses and the historic houses of Battery Point. Then we visited the MONA (Museum of Old and New Art). To reach the museum you take a scenic 25-minutes ferry ride from Brook Street Pier (the ferry itself features a pink cow carpet and a wine bar). The museum is Australia’s most provocative private museum. Founded by eccentric millionaire David Walsh in 2011, it blends ancient artefacts with avant-garde contemporary art, focusing on themes like sex, death, and existentialism. The museum is built on the cliffside beside the Derwent River and its subterranean, bunker-like structure is as striking as its contents. MONA ditches traditional labels in favour of its downloadable "O" app, which offers cryptic commentary. Known for bold installations (such a digestion machine or vulva casts), it hosts edgy festivals and has transformed Hobart into a global arts hub. A rebellious mix of art, architecture, and irreverence, MONA defies museum norms and has become a must-visit destination and transformed Hobart into a global arts destination, boosting Tasmania’s tourism and economy. We wandered around its many floors, found some of the art excellent, most weird, some questionable. Whether you love it or hate it, MONA is a must-visit museum for its audacity, innovation and refusal to play by the rules. We then took the opportunity of the glorious sunshine and good views and drove up the torturous road to reach the viewing platforms at the very top of Mount Wellington. Mount Wellington towers over Hobart, and is an iconic natural landmark and a must-visit destination. Its elevation is 1,271m and offers panoramic views of Hobart, the Derwent River, and Southern Tasmania. Its indigenous name is Kunanyi (Palawa kano language), reflecting its deep cultural significance to the Tasmanian Aboriginal people. View of Hobart from the viewing areas of Mount Wellington The drive with the camper van to the top was 20 km and took 45 minutes. It was at times a bit hairy because the road was narrow, steep and very curvy. And also the people coming down meeting the people coming up had its moments. It was beautiful at the top, but then we had the same nail-biting drive down again. We were very lucky with the weather, because on the next day, 28th January, it was cold, windy and cloudy. In the morning the temperature was 14C, but felt like 8C. We went back to Hobart, this time making use of Hobart’s park and ride scheme. We booked ourselves on one of the Hop-on-Hop-off City Loop double decker buses to explore the city’s sites. Very few people braved sitting on the open top deck because of the wind and the occasional showers, most of us huddled below deck, trying to keep warm. Although we got off on a few occasions to visit a particular site, like the Cascade Brewery or the Female Factory, it was a lazy, but enjoyable, way to get to know the key sites of Hobart. When we drove back to our campsite, we could see a bushfire in the mountains behind our campsite. Smoke from the bushfire was so dense, it blocked out the sunlight and the high wind blew the smoke over our campsite. Many fire engines passed along the main road heading to the source of the fire. Helicopters and seaplanes were constantly flying above us, bringing water to douse the flames. The fire continued burning all night and into the next day. It is the height of the summer in Tasmania and for the last few days everybody was told that the Government had banned fires, such as BBQs, because of the danger of bushfires. Bushfires - a constant threat In the remaining days we checked out the places that we wanted to visit, such as the animal sanctuary Bonorong in Brighton. At other times we just drove around, taking in the wonderful sites of the peninsulas south of Hobart, travelling along roads that hugged the shoreline. Now, on our last night, we have to clean the camper van, pack our bags as tomorrow we have to return the camper van to the rental company and fly back to Melbourne. In the last month we got accustomed to our life in the camper van. There are a few mistakes which you only make once, for example, hitting the shower button in the tiny bathroom while sitting on the toilet and getting drenched, or opening the camper door early in the morning without switching the alarm button off and waking up the whole campsite by the alarm. We also frequently hit our head on the upper shelfs until Dave stuck tea towels on them and fixed them with sticky tape. That helped a bit. It takes time to get accustomed to the small space in the cabin and one needs to carefully coordinate moving around. Otherwise, we loved it. It is great to have your own space and the freedom of the open road. We look forward to the next part of our holiday, the day after tomorrow, when we pick up our next camper van in Melbourne. Bye bye Tasmania. We drove 3800km in Tasmania in a month. Tasmania is a small island (as big as Ireland) and has a spectacular range of climates from rain forest to arid bushland, from mountain tops to wonderful golden beaches and deep-blue coves. On a sad note, Tasmania is the roadkill capital of the world. And because of this, certain species of wildlife are in danger of becoming extinct. That why it is important to support conservation projects as it is they, and not the Government, who do the vital work and most people who work in these conservation centres are volunteers and give their time freely. 3.5 East Coast. 17th to 24th January 2025 On Friday 17th January in the morning we undertook the long journey from Longford to the East Coast. Instead of the shorter route via the A3, which only takes about two hours, we took the scenic route via Lilydale, where we visited a lavender farm, tasted lavender tea and learnt how lavender is grown and their oil extracted. Then we passed by Scottsdale and did a detour to the Legerwood Memorial Carvings. This consists of a few trees whose branches were carved into people in memory of those local Tasmanians that fought and were killed in WWI. Earlier, in Scottsdale town we found a smaller carved tree in memory of local Tasmanians who have fought and died in the Vietnam war. In other places before too, we came across war memorials that honoured those Tasmanians that died in wars, be it the WWI, WWII, Korean War, Vietnam war, Golf War I and II. We wondered why people from remote Tasmania were involved, and lost so many of its people, in so many wars throughout the world. Was it their loyalty to the British Empire? The road was long and twisty, the landscape beautiful, varying from verdant forests and lush green pastures up in the mountains to arid dusty straw-coloured plains. Photographing does not do it justice, so we gave up. We passed by the town of Derby, that is nowadays a paradise for mountain bikers, as is the whole area. As time was running we skipped visiting the Pyengana Dairy, famous for green hills and its cheese making, as well as the St Colombia Waterfalls and the Pub in the Paddock where they feed local beer to their pigs. Perhaps we will find time to come back later. Now its time to visit the East Cost. We planned to stay for a week in this area. The East Coast of Tasmania with its classic seaside towns and peaceful hinterland villages has been a holiday destination for Tasmanians and mainland Australians for generations. It stretches from the Iarapuna area in the North (which includes Bay of Fires) to Orford in the South and is renowned for its excluded beaches, breathtaking national parks, fresh seafood and cellar doors (wine yards) with sweeping views. The East Coast counts various National Parks to its area, including the Freycinet National Park in the South, best known for its Wineglass Bay. We stayed for four nights at the St Helens Holiday Park. St Helens is the largest town on the east coast. It’s considered a great base for exploring the north east’s natural beauty and is just a few kilometres away from the beautiful Binalong Bay and the Bay of Fires. We arrived at our next campsite in St. Helens, at the Big4 St. Helens Holiday Park by mid afternoon. Once we’d checked-in and settled (meaning marking our spot by putting our chairs and table out) we set off again to explore the area nearby and perhaps find some fish to cook for tonight. Unfortunately, the crayfish shack is already closed and we continued driving in glorious sunshine beside Georges Bay onto a peninsula which leads to St. Helens Pt. There we admired the blue sea and met some brave Tasmanian families with children swimming and splashing in the cold water. The air was fresh too, about 18 degrees and very windy. Tasmanians are obviously used to. They laughed when we asked if they don’t feel cold, just a bit. We drove back home via a supermarket where we were able to get some local squid for tonight’s dinner. Yummy. Yummy squid! 18th January 2025 The next morning it was overcast but later the sun came out. First we went back to the  Bay of Fires Lobster fish shack where you can buy fish and seafood straight from the boat. We bought a whole lobster (for 54 AUD) and a big slab of Gummy shark fish that should last us for the next few day’s dinners. Altogether it cost us 75 AUD (£37.50), a feast of three dinners for both of us. Freshly caught, cooked and ready to eat! Yummy! There is a lot what one can do to explore Tasmania’s most colourful coastline: Cruising along the Bay of Fires or go on any of the many organised walking tours offered, including a four day/ three night guided walk through the bush. If you come in the right season, you can jump on a game fishing charter for deep sea adventures hunting marlin, albacore tuna and yellowfin tuna. Divers can explore underwater caves and colourful sea life. The area has also excellent mountain biking tracks, with a series of trails, including an epic 42 km wilderness trail from the mountain to the sea. We decided to do our own thing. We drove along the Binalong Bay with its great views of the Bay of Fires, which is known for its extraordinary, clear blue seas, brilliant white beaches, and the striking orange lichen covered boulders. The Bay of Fires, set between Eddystone Point in the North and Binalong Bay in the South, has stunning views and secluded beaches. Binalong Bay was busy with tourists and there were many cars on the road but hardly any parking spaces to get to the beaches. So we drove along the Bay of Fires, on twisty roads through forest and bush and stopped at various viewing points; we strolled along deserted beaches, we clambered onto rocky, lichen-covered headlands, stopped to take photographs and took in the wonderful landscape, that changed at every twist in the road. How did Bay of Fires get its name? Historians came up with various versions to this question. Some say, the bay was given its name in 1773 by captain Tobias Furneaux in the ship Adventure, who saw the fires of aboriginal people burning on the beaches. Others say, the name came from the orange lichen-covered rocks that glow bright in the sunshine. On the next day in the afternoon, we drove along St. George’s Bay and decided to walk to the other side of the peninsula to Beer Barrel Beach, 45 minutes each way. What we thought was an easy stroll along the beach led us through rough bushy landscape away from the beach. I was pretty scared that we would come across snakes, as we were told that all snakes in Tasmania are poisonous, but bravely walked behind Dave, stamping my feet to scare any snakes away. After more than 20 minutes walking along a small path through jungle and bush, we decided it was better to walk back and instead find a walk along the beach in the sunshine. Luckily we did not find any snakes. Walking through thick bush. Back on the waterfront, we met a woman on a jetty, fishing with her dog at her side. She had already caught two baby squids. We got chatting. She was local and used to go fishing with her Mum, who’d just recently passed away. So she continued fishing in memory of her. She told us that a few years ago she had to go to Melbourne, and as her mother did not feel well, she took her with her to get examined by a doctor in Melbourne. For months, she’d been complaining about pain but the doctors in Tasmania did not find anything wrong. In Melbourne, she was quickly diagnosed with terminal cancer, there was nothing they could do anymore for her. The daughter was angry and bitterly disappointed by the Tasmanian health care system and warned us, to be careful, not to get ill or have an accident here in Tasmania, as the health care was really bad. When we drove back we had an interesting encounter of a different type. Here is Dave’s report about it: As I drove back to the campsite I passed a police car waiting to come out of a side street. He followed me for many kilometres and kept his distance and when I slowed down, so did he. I could only assume, he’d already decided that he wanted to nick me and would follow me until I did something wrong. And when I did, then he could officially stop me and check my papers. We came to the end of the road and I turned right onto the main road. As soon as I did, he switched on his blue lights, drove up close behind and I stopped. He got out of his car and said to me “You can’t stop here, mate” and I said “But you wanted me to stop.” He said ”Drive on to a car park one kilometer ahead”. So I did. The reason for the stop? He said, I had pulled out dangerously in front of a car and made him brake so hard, he almost had to stop. That’s not what happened, but as a Brit you cannot argue with an Australian policeman. My licence was taken and checked and I was breathalyzed. Then I had to wait whilst the results came back. The test came back negative and I was given a caution. He said: “Don’t forget, you are in a camper van and they are longer than cars.” “Thank you, officer”. And - our camper van is the same size as a Ford Transit. I think, I’ll cover the Britz Camper Van rental decals from the sides and the back of our camper van. In other words, these rental camper vans stand out like a sore thumb as they are often driven by people that are not used to drive camper vans. So police treat them as an easy target, and just wait for the opportunity to pounce if somebody, who is not used to driving such a vehicle, makes a mistake, or they had been visiting a winery or distillery for tasting. Thanks God we had not taken up any of the many offers of wine and whiskey tasting. Our next stop along the East Coast was Coles Bay, a tiny seaside community, next to the granite peaks of the Hazards mountain range. The town is an ideal place for exploring the nearby Freycinet National Park and its abundant wildlife, including Tasmanian pademelons and wallabies (little kangaroo types), and echidnas (hedgehog like but bigger creatures). We stayed at the Iluka on Freycinet Holiday Park for 3 nights. Again, there is lots to do and see at Coles Bay and the Freycinet National Park. Coles Bay is the Gateway to the Freycinet Peninsula, which offers pristine beaches, coastal and mountain walks and native wildlife. Tours offer fishing, boating and rock climbing activities and the famous Wineglass Bay Cruise. It cruises for five hours along the spectacular coastline of Freycinet National Park, from Coles to Wineglass Bay and secluded beaches on the other side of the Freycinet National Park, that can only be reached by water, helicopter or a full day bush walk. The cruise was tempting as it promises spectacular views of the National Park and especially the Wineglass Bay and also of its remarkable wildlife, such as dolphins and whales, sea eagles and cormorants. However, the last few days were extremely windy and reports of people having been seasick on the cruise were putting us off. However, the humpback whales and dolphins have already started their migration north a few weeks ago, so there was even less chance of spotting and photographing wildlife. So we decided to save ourselves 300 AUD (£150) each for seats on the upper deck (with nibbles and drinks) and put it to better use, i.e. eating the widely praised local seafood. Instead, we explored the Freycinet National Park on foot. We walked to the Wine Glass Lookout Point and took photos of the stunning views of the bay and the surrounding mountains.  During the next few days, we also walked some of the other walks in the National Park and to secluded but reachable beaches, for example on Honeymoon Bay and Muirs Beach and to the Cape Tourville Lighthouse. View of Wineglass Bay at the Freycinet National Park Muirs Beach Walk to the Wineglass Bay Viewing Point Walk in the Freycinet National Park Wineglass Bay At the Cape Tourville Lighthouse we met a delightful couple from Belgium, Sita and Class, both nurses in the Emergency Department in their home town. They had finished the day before a tough climb up the Amos Mountain. In parts they had to climb on their hands and knees at it was scary and dangerous coming down the mountain as they did not have good walking shoes. They were lucky they made it down without too many scratches on their hands and knees. They’d decided to take a year out to tour around Australia. They started in October last year in Perth, where they bought a Nissan Patrol and modified it  to their own specifications, with a kitchen and fridge and a clam tent on top where they sleep. We had a long chat about life and travel on the road and wished them well for the rest of their trip. Once they were gone and all the other cars had left the car park too, a little Kangaroo appeared between the bushes eating grass and was not in the slightest bothered by us taking photographs. (But it sneezed twice into Dave’s face). Bless you!! We greatly enjoyed the stunning landscape, despite the heavy gusty wind and a temperature of 17C during the day at sunshine, which cooled down at night to 12C. And this is their summer!! Thankfully our camper van has central heating which Dave usually switches on at 6 am. We felt for our poor neighbours sleeping under canvas. When reading the tourist guides, the amount of tours throughout Tasmania to explore the local winery’s and whiskey distilleries and breweries is enormous; tour guides proud themselves of the gourmet cuisine in exclusive restaurants, promising a larger than life gastronomic experience. Especially, in the holiday paradise along the East Coast. However, that’s not what we found. Well, we did not do the wineries and distilleries or breweries as we were driving (and good thing we hadn’t when we were stopped by the police). The few gourmet restaurants we found were remote and rather expensive, even more expensive than London prices. That would okay if we were only for a week in Tasmania, which is what most tourists here do; but we are travelling for two months and have to budget. Other restaurants we found, were mostly mediocre and not worth their money. Anyway, we are both very good cooks and love cooking in our little camper van. So we were looking forward to buying fresh seafood and preparing it ourselves. But even that is a problem. We were so much looking forward to the East Coast having read the mouth watering reports of the abundance of fresh seafood you can find there. Unfortunately, that’s not what we found along this coast. There were very few, if at all, places to buy fresh fish, be it at fish shacks on the bays or in the shops, apart from the big supermarkets in big towns. For example, the only fish we found in the two general stores in Coles Bay was frozen fish fingers. Most of the fish caught in these areas either go directly abroad or to mainland Australia, or to the local fancy gourmet restaurants. Luckily, in the Coles Bay area, we found a place, 15 km outside of town, Freycinet Marina Farm, a small simple restaurant, which also sold seafood to take away for reasonable prices. We shared a platter of 12 fresh oysters to eat in their lovely place, and also bought 12 juicy king prawns and a bowl of scallops, which they carefully packed for us so we could take home and  cook for our dinner later. What did all this come to? 80 AUD (£40).  For that price you couldn’t even get two plates of breaded king prawns at the Lobster Shack Restaurant in Bicheno, where presumably the batter was so thick, that when you removed it, you were left with only shrimps left to eat. When we’d passed by the Lobster Shack Restaurant one afternoon to check it out, the place was full of tourists eating and drinking big plates full of breaded prawns, lobsters, oysters and fish and chips. We enjoyed our home cooked seafood and fish dishes and always find, the Luger-Lowe Restaurant is the best!! 3.4. Launceston Area and Tamar Valley 14-17 January 2025 14th January 2025 From Stanley we drove along the North coast on the A2 Bass Hwy. We stopped shortly in Devonport at the “Strait off the boat” fishmonger to stock up again on gummy (shark fish) and tiger prawns for tonight’s dinner and, after a delicious lunch with fish bites and fries, (in England we call this fish and chips) continued to Launceston though the Tamar Valley, the famous wine growing area. It took us until mid afternoon to arrive at our Caravan Park in Longford, which is a 20 minute drive south of Launceston. Our camping place was close to the river and there was a bench beside the river, a lovely spot, where we would sit and relax watching the river flowing past. A peaceful place on the river Once we settled in, we drove out again to explore Launceston, which is the second largest city in Tasmania after Hobart, and the third oldest in whole Australia, dating back to 1806. It presents itself as a cultural hub with its museums and art galleries. Launceston is also proud of its thriving food and drink scene, with its many restaurants and pubs, showcasing the wines from the nearby Tamar Valley Wine Region and the local craft beer. The city has been named the UNESCO City of Gastronomy.  We drove into town trying to find a petrol station before we run out of diesel and a place to park, which both became a difficult task because of the heavy rush-hour traffic and the confusing one way street system. Finally, we were successful and could even leave our van at the petrol station while exploring the town. We walked towards the river Tamar passing by the Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery (QVMAG) and the Royal Park. The town felt very busy, hot and windy and we decided, as there was so much more to see in this area, to concentrate on smaller towns and historical places. 15th January 2025 The next day we drove to Ross, a small town about a 50 minute drive from our base in Longford. We were interested to learn more about the history of this place. Like most of Tasmania, Ross was built on the back of convict labour. An example is the beautiful sandstone Ross Bridge  dating back to 1836, Tasmania’s second oldest bridge. The bridge is adorned with 186 enigmatic carvings that include people, animals and other motifs. The work was deemed of such high quality that the two convict stone masons, James Colbert and Daniel Herbert, overseeing the work, gained their freedom for their efforts. Ross Bridge built by convicts A plaque reports on the history of Ross and the building of the bridge. At the time of 1821, the town was little more than an inn by a crude bridge crossing over the Macquarie River. The area had been under military guard since 1812 to protect travellers and local settlers from attacks from bushrangers. With time, more settlers moved into town and more facilities and improvements were needed. So, a convict work gang was established to labour on the construction of public buildings, including the Ross Bridge. After the building work was completed in Ross the convict work gang of 40 men were moved to other areas for work, and the building where they lived was converted into the Female House of Correction and Hiring Depot . This new institution was designed to perform three main functions. As a “lying-in hospital” for pregnant convicts, with a nursery for newborn infants; as a “house of correction” for convicts on probation and for convicts who had committed offences while in the colony; as a “hiring depot”. Convict women would be hired out to landowners in the Ross and Campbell Town area for domestic service. The Ross Female Factory operated only or seven years, from March 1848 until the last convicts left in January 1855. More information here: Commonly called ”Female Factories”, the correct title for such establishments for female convicts was “House of Correction” as the name implies these establishments were a means of improving the habits of women. The methods used to reform convicted women changed over time. Prior to 1820, flogging and the iron collar had been used as punishment, but were replaced by solitary confinement and classification. Women were separated into three classifications, crime, second class and assignment class. This class system allowed the authorities to keep more hardened criminals separate from the minor offenders, and those awaiting assignment. Crime class women worked at the washtub or a similar hard labor; second class women worked at the lighter tasks of spinning, weaving or sewing; whilst the assignment class was charged with cooking and cleaning and were available for assignments to settlers in the surrounding area. After a female convict had served her six months probation period in crime class, she was made a pass-holder, meaning that she could leave the factory to work within the community, usually as a servant in one form or another. Farm servants, housemates, kitchen mates, nursemaids, or laundresses. Women who were not assigned, remained working in the factory. When a woman had served about 2/3 of her sentence and had not committed any more offences, she was eligible for a ticket of leave, which gave her greater freedom of employment. If a woman with a ticket of leave continued on the path of good behaviour, she could apply for a conditional pardon, which would remove the restrictions of her movement throughout the colony. This could be followed by an absolute pardon which was the final stage before a woman regained her freedom. The Ross Female Factory was designed to cater for up to 25 inmates. The first women arrived at the station in March 1848. Most of the female convicts at Ross were in the late teens or early 20s. The common reason for the transportation from England to Van Diemen's Land was stealing. Many prisoners were transported for a first or second offence and it was quite common for an offender to receive a seven year sentence for petty theft, such as stealing a handful of potatoes or onions at the time of the great hunger in Ireland and very poor living conditions in England. Female convicts with families were forced in all but few cases to leave their children in England, with relatives or in the hands of charitable institutions. Once transported to the penal colonies, very few convicts ever saw the native land again. Many female convicts were either pregnant while committing their crime and came over whilst pregnant, others became pregnant in the colony. Some may have been forced into sex, others volunteered sexual favours for protection. Getting pregnant while in the female factory was considered a crime punished by extension of their time in prison. The Ross Female Factory was similar to that in Brixton, London at that time. There were up to 40 children in the nurseries at the Ross Female Factory at any one time. The children spent day and night in the same room with only the nurses for company. After weaning,  there was little contact between mothers and babies. The mother had to serve a six months sentence in the crime class section as punishment for the immoral act of becoming pregnant out of wedlock. Despite poor living conditions, only 62 children died in the six years that the factory was operational. Of the 62 deaths recorded between 1848 and 1854, many were attributed to diseases of malnutrition or poor diet. 15 cases were ascribed to diarrhoea, of which six cases occurred during a four week period in 1852. Severe malnutrition, and feebleness were also common causes of infant death, as were congenital syphilis, catarrh, and lung related disease. However, the loss of a child due to these diseases was not only suffered by the convict women at these stations as staff of the factory also lost children. Source: Summary of information displayed at the Ross Female Factory exhibition and publications by the Female Factories Research Centre in Hobart. Little is left of the Ross Female Factory except for the recently renovated house that was used by the overseers and their families. The house now hosts an exhibition to tell the story of the female convicts. Ross was not the only place were female convicts were held in prison. Female factories were also in Launceston, Hobart and other places around the country. The Female Convict Research Centre in Hobart has also painstakingly researched the female convicts’ history and collected testimonies and evidence from descendants of some of these women to provide an insight into their life as convicts in the female factories in Van Diemen’s Land. Before coming to Tasmania, I became aware of their publications. For more information contact https://femaleconvicts.org.au 16th January 2025 The next day we visited the Tamar Valley, the beautiful area along the river Tamar, best known for their many vineyards growing wine that thrives in a cool climate. As we were overwhelmed with the amount of information on things to do in this area, we consulted a visitor centre in Exeter. We were very lucky as we meet a lovely older lady that enthusiastically recommended us some highlights to visit in the area. We diligently followed her advice and were not disappointed. First we visited one of the many vineyards that offer wine tasting, or as they call it “they open their cellar” which she recommended as it was very close to the Highway and on our way. (She did not tell us that her daughter was working there - also a very nice young lady). We strolled around the vineyard and admired their sun flooded terrace with a view over their vineyards. As it was mid morning and we were travelling in our camper, we declined their wine tasting offer and moved on to other places called Beaconsfield and George Town to explore more of Tasmanian’s history there. Here are a few of Dave’s observations of these places. Beaconsfield is a former gold mining town in the Tamar Valley. In March 1879 the governor of the town renamed it Beaconsfield, after the British prime minister Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield. Before then, the town was known as Brandy Creek and was probably deemed an unsuitable name because it suggested intemperance. It became Tasmania's richest settlement when gold fever took hold in 1887. In 2006 the town made headlines when the mine collapsed and two miners were trapped underground. Of the 17 people who were in the mine at the time, 14 escaped immediately following the collapse. One miner, Larry Knight, was killed while the remaining two, Brant Webb and Todd Russell were found alive on the sixth day by miners Pat Ball and Steve Saltmarsh. Webb and Russell were rescued on the 9th of May 2006, two weeks after being trapped nearly one kilometre below the surface. A model of the working conditions in the mine displayed at the Beaconsfield Mine and Heritage Centre The mine closed many years ago, and beside it is now the Beaconsfield Mine And Heritage Centre.  The centre is a collection of experiences that allow you to enjoy and appreciate the history of the town and the Tamar Valley. It’s a place where you can lose yourself in history, play with treasures from the past, be entertained by interactive displays and live a different story around every corner, with buttons to press, levers to pull and tunnels to crawl through.There’s also a fascinating exhibition devoted to the rescue of the two miners. We had a good natter to Tony, originally from Birmingham, with his fantastic bushy silvery beard, who worked there as a volunteer. Tony from Birmingham works at volunteer at the Beaconsfield Mine and Heritage Centre We spent almost two hours wandering around the museum and the mine itself. The museum was such an interesting place and was also a treasure trove of memorabilia from yesteryear. In the background we could here songs sung by George Formby and Vera Lynn to accompany this particular period of history of the museum. The cost of entry to this most interesting museum? 15 AUD, including oldsters discount. Bass and Flinders Maritime Museum  is situated in Georg Town, on the eastern side of the Tamar River. The entry fee was a discounted 10AUD. We were the only people in this small maritime museum. One of the two assistants must’ve taken a shine to us, because she gave us a guided tour and in particular around the replica ‘Norfolk’, which proudly takes pride of place in the museum. This is a replica of the original Norfolk which took years of dedication and donations to build. On the 200 year anniversary, in 1998, a group of dedicated sailors, movers and shakers re-enacted the voyage that Bass and Flinders undertook in 1798 in this very sloop, which defined Van Diemen’s Land as an island separate from mainland Australia. The inside of the Norfolk is so small and seemed to be all sharp edges and corners. I can only imagine how it must’ve felt like to have been inside during stormy weather. How could such a small boat survive the roaring 40s of the Northwest Corner? No wonder they needed surgeons on such voyages! A replica of the Norfolk Fraternising with the Crew Who were Bass and Flinders? George Bass was born in 1771 in Aswarby, Lincolnshire, England. He graduated as a surgeon at the age of 18 years (after a two year apprenticeship) and joined the navy. Matthew Flinders was born in 1774 in Donington, Lincolnshire, England. He served as a midshipman in HMS Providence with William Bligh, (best known for the Mutiny of HMS Bounty in 1789, when the ship was under his command). Flinders and Bass will always be remembered as the first circumnavigators of Tasmania, then known as Van Damien’s Land, proving the existence of the strait and, as a consequence, that Van Damien’s Land was indeed an island, separate from what is now known as Australia. Flinders himself was one of the greatest maritime explorers the world has ever known, particularly as he was not yet 30 years of age. The stretch of water between Australia and Tasmania was named after George Bass, after he and Matthew Flinders sailed across it while circumnavigating Van Diemen’s Land, now named Tasmania, in the 25 ton sloop ‘Norfolk’ in 1798-99. At Flinders recommendation, the governor of New South Wales, John Hunter, in 1800 named the stretch of water between the mainland and Van Diemen’s Land, Bass’s Straits. In 1798 it became known as Bass Strait. Bass Highway is also named after him. ———— After our dip into Tasmania’s history, we returned happily to our campsite where we sat on our riverside bench drinking cold beer in the sinking sun with ducks as companions, the only wildlife on offer on this campsite. 3.3. The North and North-West Coast Friday, 10th January 2025: Our next destination is Stanley, from there we want to explore the North and North-West area. Glad to be on the road again! Whilst we have started our journey by flying into Hobart in the south of Tasmania from Melbourne, many people start from Devonport in the north, having crossed Bass Strait on the ferry boat Spirit of Tasmania from mainland Australia. We bypassed Devonport and drove along the coastal Bass Highway, stocking up at a Woolworth supermarket in Burnie, a port town overlooking the Bass Strait. Then we continued to Stanley, where we had booked our next campsite, the Stanley Caravan Park. We are booked in for 4 nights  as there is much to see and explore in the area. The first thing we noted was that it was very windy. I refused to come out of the camper because the cold wind was so strong. In the afternoon, however, the wind calmed down and we went for a walk to explore. The campsite is located directly on the beach, so we strolled along it, visited the local lobster shop/restaurant to see what they had on offer and at what prices. Then we walked up the hill into town. Like many places in Tasmania, the North and North-West have an impressive history, which is worthwhile researching. More about that later. Stanley is the original headquarters of the famous Van Diemen’s Land Company. It retained its historic village atmosphere with its magnificent Georgian and Victorian cottages and beautiful long beaches. Stanley boasts the world’s freshest air and the cleanest water. It is settled beside, what the local people call, the Nut, a big volcanic flat-topped mountain, which is almost surrounded by sea and rises 152 metres from Bass Strait. We walked passed Stanley’s many well preserved colourful cottages. For example, Lyons Cottage, a colonial-style house, built in the mid 19th century as accommodation for the Darwin Cable Company management staff and their families. The cottage was the birthplace and childhood home of Joseph Lyons, a former premier of Tasmania (1923-1928) and Tasmania’s first prime minister of Australia (1932-1939), who became one of Australia’s most popular prime ministers. We were walking on hallowed ground. Lyons Cottage, birthplace of Joseph Lyons, Former Premier of Tasmania Afterwards, we admired some of the lovely cafes, pubs, the post office and several shops before it was time to go back to the campsite. Enjoying the beautiful houses in Stanley We just managed to finish our dinner, when the wind sprung up once again and continued all night. I woke up at 1am because something was intermittently knocking against the camper van. I tried to figure out where the noise came from. Dave was asleep and I did not want to disturb him. I tried to sleep but with the banging noise there was no chance. Finally, at 3am Dave also woke, wondering what that noise was. He then climbed out of the van to check but could not find anything loose. We went back and, depending on the wind direction, the banging noise continued. Perhaps it was the air conditioning unit on the roof? But how should we get up there in a howling gale the middle of the night without a ladder? Dave hung his head out of the van to watch and listen. Then he noticed that the cover above the plug where the electricity cable was connected was flapping in the wind. We could not disconnect the electricity cable, so what else could we do to fix this? Armed with some tea towels and plastic bags and string Dave went out again into the storm to try to fix it. It worked. We could get back to sleep. But now, in addition to the howling wind, we also heard the local wildlife, like wombats, barking. Finally, we both fell into a deep sleep. Saturday, 11th January 2025 The next morning was a household day. Making use of the campsite’s facilities, we washed and tried our clothes. At the washroom we had a chat with our neighbour, Gail. She was from Victoria and when she retired she bought a camper van and since then travels and continues to travel around Australia, mostly on her own, but sometimes one of her grown-up daughters joins her for a few days or a week. One of them has just visited her but went back yesterday to Melbourne as she had to go back to work. That’s why Gail was washing a few duvet covers. She is a feisty lady, down to earth and not easily scared by anything. I bet that’s the attitude you need when travelling on your own through the Australian outback with a camper van. After our chat and whilst the washing was drying we wrote our diaries in our camper and had lunch - inside as the wind continued to howl. In the afternoon, we walked out of town to visit Highfield House. This is an estate that had been built at the early 1800 for the manager and his family. Also on the estate was the barracks for the convicts.  The house had been lovingly renovated and had great views over the bay, the Nut and of Stanley itself. Nowadays, it is a museum shedding light onto the dark history of the life’s of convicts and the indigenous people of this area. Of the convicts’ barracks only a few ruins remain. After a long steep 45 minutes uphill walk, we arrived at the estate, but were told that the house was closed today as they were hosting a wedding. What a shame, we had walked all that way for nothing. Hopefully, we can find time to come back again. We walked around the area to get a glimpse of the barracks, but were put off by the many flies that appeared from nowhere. Our rucksacks were full with hundreds of flies. In panic, I noticed that about 40 of them had descended on my wounded knee. Disgusted I waved them away. Nasty flies everywhere Dave tried to make a picture of a very old tree and tried to pull away a bush that was in the way of his intended intended. Suddenly, he shouted out and kept up. He had not noticed the electric fence that prevents people from entering the estate and the sheep from escaping. He got an electric shock and won’t be doing that again. Beautiful ancient tree We watched the happy wedding couple being photographed with a stunning backdrop of the bay and the Nut, and then we made our way back to the campground. We enjoyed a refreshing beer sitting at our table in the sunshine, guarded from the wind by a tall hedge. The plan was to prepare our meal early and continue writing up our diaries in the camper afterwards. However, Gail, our neighbour, joined us with a big glass of Scotch in her hand. We started chatting. Two hours later, and rather cold, we hurried inside the van, quickly prepared our dinner. Then it was time to go for a walk along the beach promenade just after sunset, to get a glimpse of the little penguins, that we were told clamber up the rocks out of the sea and strut along the beach promenade at dusk. The night before we missed them. This evening we were determined to wait until we finally saw them. A little later we saw two little penguins, about 30cm tall, waddling along, not disturbed in the least by people watching them. Unfortunately, it was dark and they were difficult to photograph. Yet we managed to get a few pictures of the little fellows. After a long wait a little penguin poses for Dave Sunday, 12th January 2025 Today we wanted to do the famous Tarkine Drive into the Wilderness of the Northwest of Tasmania. But before we got started, I noticed that I could not close one of the drawers were the pots and pans are kept. Without them safely stored away, we could not move the camper. Dave’s screwdriver toolkit came into action and he took out all the three drawers and fixed the loosened screws, then put the drawers back again. Problem fixed. That’s the problem with rented vans. Those renting them don’t care, neither do those who are suppose to maintain them. If it was ours, we (Dave) would have kept it spotless and well maintained. After the camper was ready to do, we drove the short distance to Smithton, where the Tarkine Drive starts. It is a drive through the dramatic and breathtaking wilderness of Tasmania’s Tarkine region, the greatest expanse of cool temperate rainforest in Australia and the second largest in the world. The tourist information promised us that “we would experience unique fauna and flora, globally significant rainforests, wild river landscapes and dramatic coastlines. This scenic drive is full of walks, lookouts, sites and picnic spots for you to explore.” Some people spend a few days and stay in remote campsites, others do day trips to different areas, or, like we, do the run in one day, which will take about 4-6 hours. The tourist map we were given showed 22 sites worth exploring and we looked forward to this. Yet soon we become aware of the short-comings of travelling with a camper van in Tasmania. Most of the sites are off road and remote and can only be reached via an unpaved road for which a 4x4 vehicle is needed. Here is the difference between tourists from other parts of the world and Tasmanians. Tasmanians, and many Australians too, prefer the big 4x4 pickup trucks with twin-axled caravans in tow, rather then the lower ground clearance of camper vans like ours. And, as we could see clearly, that’s what you need if you want to explore such interesting remote areas. Okay, we have to make do with what we’ve got and could only visit the more easily accessible sites, such as the Julius River picnic place, where we stopped and went for a lovely walk into the rainforest alongside a stream. Walk along the Julius River into the rainforest We enjoyed driving along the road, admiring the huge trees and the stunning rainforest landscape as we passed by. There were very few vehicles on the road and hardly any wildlife to see, apart from a large kangaroo that jumped in front of our van into the road. Luckily, Dave reacted quickly and we did not hit it. To add to our frustration, we couldn’t even make it to the Edge of the World, which is the most western part of Tasmania with its supposedly exhilarating views of the Western Tarkine coastline, as it was not accessible to our van with its low ground clearance. Never mind, a short distance later we managed to drive along a road that lead to some private houses and enjoyed the view from there. It is stunning, but not really beautiful, as the sea is very rough in this part of the world because of the constant heavy wind and storms. The beach and the rocks were rugged and littered with huge logs and other debris. Obviously, there must have been a storm at sea, no doubt as a result of the famous roaring 40s. (See Dave’s text below). The Tarkine Drive ends at Marrawah and we overcame our misgivings of not having seen more of this stunning wilderness, sat on the veranda of the Marrawah Inn drinking the best cappuccino and English breakfast tea that we had had for a long time. The Marrawah Inn - the best capuchino Apart from that one kangaroo and the occasional roadkill, we had not seen any wildlife, although many signs on the road remind drivers to be aware of the Tasmanian Devils that spring out of the forest onto the road between dusk and dawn. On the way back we went into Woolworths in Smithtons to buy some lemons for our tasty fish dinner tonight. A woman heard me complaining to Dave about the high prices of the little lemons on offer. She agreed and offered to give us a few lemons from her lemon tree in her garden. Perplexed I agreed and she gave me her home address, which was not very far from the supermarket. After we finished our shopping, we passed by and there she was waiting for us with four lovely fresh lemons straight from her tree. We thanked her, wished her and her husband well and drove off. When we returned to our campsite, Gail was gone and instead we were surrounded by three new neighbours with huge 4x4 pickup trucks and tall caravans. They took over the place we felt we had no space at all in our little van. Luckily, we had the better view of the beach. Our new neighbours were from Victoria and Melbourne and presumably had come over on the Spirit of Tasmania ferry. I shudder to think what that might have cost them. Monday 13th January 2025: This day we went up to the Nut, a big volcanic mountain with a history. The Nut’s story is that over 13 million years ago, lava shot through the Earths’s surface, cooled and formed basalt. It had been given several names over time, but the name The Nut has stuck. The Nut - a volcánic flat-topped mountain One can take the chairlift or climb up the steep hill. Once on the top, a windswept plateau of hardy shrubs, there is a circular walk of 2.5km with lookouts and stunning views of 360 degrees of Stanley, the neighbouring area and the surrounding ocean. It was worthwhile getting up to the top. We walked around enjoying the views and searching for wildlife. A few wombats appeared shortly, but hid away in the dark shades of the bushes. Great views from one of the many Nut lookouts There are also signs informing that short tailed shearwater birds migrate to the Nut each year and breed a single chick in the burrows that are all around us. After laying her egg, the mum spends two weeks feeding at sea while dad incubates the egg. When she returns they take turns to incubate for a total of 53 days. The chick hatches around the third week of January. Both parents fish during the day and return at night to feed their chick by regurgitation. The chick gets big and fat and after a few weeks the parents leave and the chick has to fight for survival by itself. Now it has to learn to fly and by doing so, uses up half of its body fat; once it can fly it has to learn how to hunt for food. Learning by doing, interesting parenting concept. Afterwards, we drove to Woolnorth, the most north-western part of Tarkine, a very remote area, known for its windy and grim climate and the history of the Aborigines. Because of the wind they are now many wind turbines on Cape Grim making full use of the roaring 40s. We came as far as Woolnorth, then the rough road was unsuitable for our camper to continue. We then wanted to enquire about tours in the area at the Woolnorth visitor centre, but were informed that they only offer one tour per day and that’s in the morning, and that had passed already. Unfortunately, today was our last day. Even so, we used the opportunity to learn more about the history of this area in their remote unmanned information centre. Aspects of Tasmania’s rich history: Beside its beautiful and impressive landscape, Tasmania also has an interesting, often dark, history, with regards to colonialism, the treatment of the indigenous people and the use of convict labour to help build the infrastructure of the infant country. Everywhere in the country one is being made aware of its history. We try to collect and include some information in our blog, but our time, space and knowledge is limited. In the rough and windy North-West at Woolnorth and Cape Grim, we came across some information on the roaring wind and its effect on the landscape and its people, whose content is summarised below. The roaring 40s wind that hits the hilly coast line at Woolnorth: Constant westerly winds sweep around the earth's high southerly latitudes. Sometimes they whisper - more often they roar. Since the days of tall masted square-riggers, sailors have called these winds the roaring 40’s. The hilly coastline of Woolnorth in northern Tasmania is the first land the winds have touched since they whistled past the crags of Cape Horn, in southern Chile, 20,000 km away. Once, their restless energy, filled white sails and drove the great grain ships western. Today these wonderful winds spin the slender turbine blades of Hydro Tasmania’s Woolnorth wind farm. In 1642 the Dutch explorer, Abel Tasman, claimed the land for the Netherlands (he never set foot on the island) and named the land ‘Van Diemen’s Land’ after the governor of the Dutch East Indies, Anthony van Diemen.The island was part of the colony of New South Wales from 1803, but became a separate colony in 1825. In 1824 eleven influential English bankers, politicians and businessmen formed the Van Diemen’s Land Company, aiming to benefit from government land grants and the ready availability of labour, by establishing a fine wool industry in Britain's far-flung colony. In 1825, King George IV, granted the newly formed company 25,000 acres of land (later extended to 350,000 acres) under a Royal Charter that has survived to this present day. Seeing the opportunity to open up and settle new regions, Governor George Arthur insisted that the VDL Company select land ‘beyond the ramparts of the unknown’ in the far northwest.They selected 20,000 acres at Circular Head and another 100,000 acres at Woolnorth on the far northwestern tip of the island. It was still not enough for the large flocks of fine wool sheep they planned to establish. Time was running out. The first shipload of indentured servants and livestock were already on the high seas, and the decision had to be made. With no other choice available, Circular Head (now called the Nut) was picked as the site of the VDL Co’s first settlement. The sheep sent to graze at Hampshire Hills and Surrey Hills found only poor quality native grass lands. Bitter cold and predatory thylacines, Tasmanian tigers, were common in this area during the second half of the 19th century and the early 1900s and they attacked the sheep. Woolnorth employed a full time trapper to eradicate them. Of the 5500 sheep taken there, only a few hundred survived. It was a financial disaster for VDL Co.  One interesting fact from those bygone days. Van Diemen’s Land didn’t have gorse bushes. Modern day Tasmanian has Gorse bushed in abundance. Why - because the sheep they brought over from England had gorse seeds in their woollen coats. The British Government transported about 76,000 convicts to Van Diemen’s Land between 1804 and 1853. The island was a penal colony for English convicts and the name came to evoke the brutality of convict transportation and ethnic conflict with the Aboriginal people. Later, the name was changed to Tasmania, to shake off the association with its dark history. Source: Information at Visitor Centre Woolnorth. After an informative day we enjoy the sunset over Sawyer Bay Tuesday, 14 January 2025 Our days in Stanley were over and we were heading to our next stop in the midlands, the area of Launceston. Still, before we left the North-West behind, we visited the Highfield Estate one more time to get some more information on the history of what was then known as Van Diemen’s Land. Highfield House was very influential in the development of the area, the use of convicts to establish the Estate and the treatment of Aboriginal people. More details below. Highfield House with stunning views of the Nut with an intriging story The Story of Highfield The story of Highfield is one of colonial expansion, commercial opportunism and cultural arrogance. It is also about extraordinary human endeavour and courage in the face of the unknown. Highfield was established in 1827 as the headquarters of the Van Diemen’s Land Company (VDL) and became a government house in this part of the colony. The company was established in Britain as a financial venture into fine wool production, which had become a lucrative business in the colony. Hopeful of receiving a large fertile land grant near Port Sorrel, the company was optimistic. However, by the time their agents arrived in the colony, the growing settlement had taken up the easily available land and only land much further west was all that was on offer. Early expeditions had found little to praise in the windy and rough far North-West. Edward Curr is the central character of the Highfield story. In 1826, at 27 years of age, he was made the Chief Agent for the Company and Magistrate of the North-West, which gave him a lot of power. He was called the Potentate of the North because the Company’s extensive holdings were perceived as a powerful and privileged colony within a colony. Expectations and views of the country In the following years, the Van Diemen’s Company employed many settlers that came out here for a number of years as contractors to help establish the Colony, earn a lot of money and gain prestige. Many of them were bitterly disappointed upon arrival. Instead of comfortable houses as they had been used to in England, here they had to live in tents, wooden huts amongst the surrounding mountains. Some were sent to a less cultivated settlement and all were displeased. Even more so, when they found out they were not paid in English currency. The country was dismissed as ugly by many of the early settlers, and the forests were considered as gloomy, monotonous, and melancholy. The Convicts The convicts were essential to the success of the company. Many of the convicts were highly skilled builders and were responsible for the construction of Highfield and its surrounding buildings. Irrespective of their skills, the convicts were not paid for their labours, but worked under a system that was basically slavery. Curr praised the work of his convicts. However, he has also been accused by some historians of being brutal. Curr employed a flogger and the flogging raid under his authority was double that of the rest of the Colony. Curr was described as a man who controlled his convicts and indentured servants with an iron hand, authorising twice as much punishment as anyone else in the colony at the time. Most recently, some historians have argued that his near absolute power enabled him to turn a blind eye or possibly even sanction violence towards the Tasmanian Aboriginal people. Some even accuse him of genocide. The convict barracks were built in 1834 and housed 40 convicts, who helped to build Highfield Estate. This number rose to 80 before convict transportation ceased in 1853. The Tasmanian Aborigines The Tasmanian Aboriginal  people, the indigenous people of Tasmania, have preserved the culture of a millennia through storytelling. What is known has been handed down for generations through stories, myths and memories. It has also been pieced together from the observations in the journals and diaries of European explorers, visitors and settlers, and in the official recordings of the colonial authorities. For tens of thousands of years, this once heavily wooded terrain with its abundance of food, had been home to aboriginal people. Less than 10 years before Highfield House was built, few white people had set foot on this land. In the 19th Century, the far Northwest became a haven for aborigines who had been pushed out of the settled area. However, between 1824 and 1831, the aboriginal population was all but destroyed. Some say they died mostly from disease, others believe that many had been murdered in what had become known as the black war. Of the thousands that were estimated to be living on the island when white men arrived, only 200 were exiled to the islands in Bass Strait by the colonial government in 1834. Some historians believe that Edward Curr and the men under his authority played a significant role in the Aboriginal demise. Source: Exhibition Highfield House We found much more interesting information at the exhibition in Highfield House which, of course, we cannot include in our blog. They include the life stories of convicts and aboriginal people working here as well as comments and tales by visitors to the house. All carefully written up in ledgers to preserve the rich history of the early development of this part of Van Diemen’s Land. 3.2. Gowrie Park and Cradle Mountains Dave’s Part : 07 January 2025 Another 5C night and it is freezing cold in our camper van. Even beneath our own duvets. In the morning at 06:30 I switch on our heating. We write our diaries while drinking cups of tea and coffee and just after 08:00 go for a shower in the communal block. We have to leave the site by 10:00. We say good bye to our nosy neighbours, unplug and drive off. Our next site is Gowrie Park Caravan. On the way we stop at Woolworths to get more corn on the cob husks, chicken breasts and a writing pad for Lisa. We stop in Sheffield and have a walk about. Nice town. We meet a man walking his Lama on the Main Street. We drive to Gowrie Park. It is a small site but has all the facilities including WiFi. Mole Creek was nearby, where Trowunna Wildlife Park is situated. It’s (allegedly) the worlds largest and longest running Tasmanian Devil breeding programme. It closed at 17:00, so we decided to drive there. We arrived at 16:00, which gave us an hour inside. Quoting from their website.   Trowunna is a privately owned wildlife sanctuary where native Tasmanian fauna and flora thrive. Trowunna started caring for Tasmania’s native animals in 1979 and it continues to be at the forefront of conservation and education in the state. The Sanctuary is currently involved in five separate conservation breeding programs that will ensure the survival of these threatened and endangered species. The Sanctuary has 70 acres of natural habitat to wander around and enjoy with free ranging Kangaroos and waterfowl to hand feed along the way. We have wildlife interactions to suit everyone! Our free, daily interactive tours are family friendly and are included in the price of your entry fee. If something more in-depth is your thing, then maybe our 1-2 hour VIP tours or a 4-hour Trowunna experience would be more suitable. Trowunna has been at the heart of Tasmanian wildlife conservation and education since 1979. The Sanctuary was instrumental in the establishment of the Save The Devil program and the training of keepers from around the world necessary for the devils care. We were very impressed by our visit, and the people we met, who looked after the animals, were 100% dedicated to the welfare of these animals. Two Tasmanian Devils faced each other off, their faces close. They opened their mouths wide, displaying huge fangs and then gave the most blood-curdling screams. We thought they were fighting, but the keepers said the were merely talking to each other. If that was the case, then I’d hate to be close-by when the fought! I was most impressed too by the kangaroos. One in particular posed for me, together with her baby in her pouch, who I swear popped it’s head out and gave me smile too! Yesss!!!! Tasmanian Devil Kangaroo mum with baby We drove back and had a cold beer outside and later dined on our delicious Fajitas sitting outside at our table in the sunshine, looking up at the surrounding peaks. We enjoyed a bottle of wine and then went to bed. 08 January 2025 Another chilly night and we breakfasted in the campervan. We drove to Cradle mountain information centre info park. The road was very hilly and twisty and it took us 45 minutes. We paid our entrance fee of 35 AUD each, no discount for oldsters. However, the passes are valid for 72 hours. We took the 20 minute shuttle bus ride to the end and got off at Dove Lake. Cradle Mountain-Lake Saint Clair National Park is a rugged 1262 square-km area of mountains, river gorges, lakes, tarns and wild alpine moorland and are part of the World Heritage-listed Tasmanian Wilderness. You're in an alpine region here, where weather can change rapidly. Within an hour you can experience burning sun, high winds, heavy rain and snow, so you must wear appropriate clothing. We had gusty winds and it was very hot, so we carried extra water and a waterproofs in our rucksacks, just in case and of course Factor 50+ suncream. We took the popular three-hour Dove Lake circuit, as did many others. This undulating 6.5km track wove its way through rainforests, small lakeside beaches and all beneath the towering peaks of Cradle Mountain itself. Cradle Mountain Visitors are well catered in this well organised park and many of the shorter trails are covered with all-weather boardwalks that course through the landscape. There’s also a convenient hop-on hop-off shuttle bus service to take you around the various parts, Ranger Station, Snake Hill, Ronny Creek and Dove Lake and is the easiest way to explore the best of the parks shorter walks. For the more adventurous, there are several longer walks, something like eight or nine hours and are more suited to Alpine walkers and there are many mountain refuges for those who wish to spent the night in the mountains. Dove Lake with Cradle Mountain Tasmanian Aborigines were in this area 35,000 years ago, but there are few signs of their indigenous heritage. There’s an abundance of wildlife in the mountains. The endangered Tasmanian Devil, spotted tailed quoll. Wombats are everyone’s favourites and we saw several around Ronny Creek. They’re gentle creatures, unlike the scary Tasmanian Devils. Afterwards we took the bus back to the Visitors Centre, walked to our camper van in the car park and then another 45-minute drive home along the steep twisty mountain roads. Twisty roads towards Cradle Mountain We worked on our photos, diary and blog, before having a well deserved cold beer and later cooking dinner, the other half of our fajitas and tortillas, but before our sumptuous meal, we had our first course: micro-waved corn on the cob husk. We switch on the heater as it is going to be another cold night. My knee was sore after the walk. 09 January 2025 Problems uploading photos from iPhones to iPad. The same problems uploading text and photos onto the blog. It’s a late start because of the technical problems and then we need to drive to Sheffield to buy a new kettle as the old one kept blowing the main fuse. We contacted Apollo road support department about the kettle and they said we can spend up to 20 AUD for buying a new kettle. In the whole of the town of Sheffield they only have one kettle, and that cost us 26 AUD. We can discuss these 6 AUD with the help desk later. From Sheffield we drove directed to Cradle Mountain because, as I said before our passes are valid for 72 hours. This time we took a shorter 2 hours walk, which took us a lot longer because we were constantly stopping to take photographs.  Lisa fell and landed in wombat shit. An hour later she fell again and gushed her knee. Not her day. We got back to Gowrie Park at 19:30. Lisa showered and then we fixed her knee and then we cooked mainly vegetable for dinner from the Aussies who gave us what they had left over as they were going back to Sidney in the evening. First they had to drop off the camper van in Launceston and from there it was only a 1 1/2 hours flight. For them this was classed a long weekend. The evening was calm and warm and pleasant and we sat outside at our table drinking a bottle of wine, watching the setting sun, which is 21:45. We went back into the van, watched a few music videos, and went to bed, again with the heater on. The next day we moved on. Our next campsite was Stanley. ———- Lisa’s part: 7th January 2025: Our next site was Gowrie Caravan Park in the Gowrie Park Wilderness Village. It’s only about 1 1/2 hours drive away into the mountains. We had enough time until checking in to the new place, so we took it easy. We stopped in Sheffield, a small town that had nothing in common with the industrial city in the UK of the same name. It is a sleepy town with great charm. Someone must have had a sense for history and community here, so I thought at first, as many of the walls were painted with historic cultural events, such as thanksgiving day for the community, or individual influential citizens, such as the blacksmith, or a policeman who directed a mountain rescue when 21 students were caught in a sudden and terrible blizzard up in the Cradle Mountains in 1971. Then I learnt that since the mid 1980s the town holds an annual mural painting competition that invites all artists to participate and to submit paintings for a given historical theme. From the submissions, nine artists are selected that will come to Sheffield in November for a week to transform their designs onto full-sized murals. Great idea. Wall Painting in Sheffield We strolled through the streets and admired the murals and the old fashioned wooden houses with their verandas and porches. The local shops didn’t stock anything of interest to us, so we drove onwards to the caravan park. Again, the campsite was not aware of our reservation, even so we had booked and fully paid via Camps Australia - and I had proof of it. But, again, it wasn’t a problem. The ever so friendly owner said she would take it up with the Camps Australia agency. They seemed to work on different systems, and communication between the campsites and agencies seemed not to work well. She said, she would discuss this with her fellow park site owners at their next meeting, as it was a problem for all of them. This was a lovely small campsite with a clean kitchen, bathroom and toilet and wifi facilities in the communal area. After we took over and marked our assigned site with our table and chairs, we drove out again to make the best of the afternoon as time was running. We went to the Trowunna Wildlife Park in Mole Creek, about 30 minutes drive away. This wildlife rescue and rehabilitation sanctuary takes on insured or orphaned wild animals and cares for them. We had just missed feeding time at 15:00, but that didn’t matter as usually many curious tourists want to see the animals. Now many of them had moved on and we had the place almost for ourselves. Guided by the friendly guy at reception we went straight to the area of the famous Tasmanian Devils. Some were hiding from the sun in their little huts or behind bushes, others came out playing or even splashing in a little water filled trough that served them for drinking and bathing. Tasmanian Devils look cute, they have little red ears (hence the name Devils). Some of them were fighting and screaming loudly at each other, which seems to be their form of communication and to make a stand. They were difficult to photograph as they didn’t want to pose and constantly moved about. Still, we were able to get a few decent shots. Little Tasmanian Devil We then moved on to the Kangaroos. They are dozy little fellows. They sit in a group and stare at you, with both hands in front of them and hardly move. When they moved, they hopped away with their short front feet and long back legs. Funny looking creatures. One of them had recently had a young one, that was still sitting in her pouch. Sometimes you could see the head hanging out, the next moment a foot or hand. No prams needed here. Hello my name is Dave, and what is yours? We also saw a little wombat; they look a bit like teddy bears. Once he saw us standing there together with a group of Argentinian tourists, he walked away into his little hut and we saw him putting a little blanket over his head. He obviously wanted to be left in peace and was in no mood to pose for tourists. Fair enough. Then, unfortunately, time was up. The sanctuary closed at 17:00. We contemplated coming back another day, but there was so much more to see and to do in this area and we only had 3 days. At the campsite we cooked chicken, added vegetables and some of the frozen corn on the cob and made some fajitas. We had found a fajitas kit in the supermarket. This is a quick way to make a very tasty meal: Fry chicken in a pan, add vegetables, and the spicy tomato sauce provided with the packet, warm up the provided tortillas and wrap the chicken in it. Ready and very yummy. 8th January 2025: The next morning was glorious sunshine and blue sky. We drove to the Cradle Mountains Visitor Centre, the entry to Tasmania’s iconic national park in the heart of the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area. The Cradle Mountain is Tasmania’s most visited natural attraction, located in the northern part of the Cradle Mountain-Lake St. Clair National Park. From the Visitor Centre, shuttle busses are running every 10 minutes to various parts of the Cradle Mountain area where one can take a range of walks from easy, moderate to difficult, 30 minutes to 6 hours; something for everyone’s abilities and liking. Also, the famous Overland Track starts here. We decided on a 6.5 km circular walk around the Dove Lake with an excellent view of the iconic Cradle Mountain in the background. We hoped Dave’s knee would sustains 3 hours of bush walking without too much of climbing. So far, his knee has held up very well, but we should not overdo it.  Dove Lake on Cradle Mountain The walk leads around a deep blue lake and runs partly on boardwalks, passes by little bays and beaches and lookout points. After about 45 minutes we left the crowds of people behind, who prefer to congregate near the beaches. The area was beautiful with the mountains in the background. We moved along well maintained boardwalks over marshy and boggy grounds. They are covered with chicken wire to prevent slipping in wintery wet and icy conditions. We were impressed and took lots of photos. The weather was perfect, sunshine, blue sky, but a cool wind kept the temperature cool at about 20 degrees. We took our time to enjoy our surroundings, then we headed back via shuttle bus to the visitor centre and then drove back to the campsite. Boardwalk across marshy ad boggy grounds Back at the campsite we tried, again, to upload text and photos onto the blog, but this was a difficult and lengthy process. Because of the bad wifi signal, uploading one photo took about 15 minutes and lots of patience. In between the website frequently froze and I needed to wait again… Once again I noticed how spoilt we have become. We have all the technology at home on our big computers and a fast internet connection. Everything works quickly and efficiently at home, alas, not here. We continued the next morning and managed to upload and finalise our latest blog entry. 9th January 2025: Then we went back to the Cradle Mountains, as our tickets were valid for 72 hours. Today Dave’s knee was playing up and we wanted to take it easy. We decided on an easy two hour walk from Dove Lake via Lake Lilla back to the Cradle Mountain Visitor Centre. We were delighted at the beautiful landscape we encountered on this path, with the added bonus of far less people walking here. Of course, it would have been great to ascend to the top of Cradle Mountain to enjoy the view from the top. Although we are quite fit, we decided this 6 hour steep walk was a little too difficult for us, considering our age, Dave’s knee and the fact that we had to come down again. We were better off taking more moderate walks, and indeed we greatly enjoyed them. Enjoying the beautiful scenery Whilst we were walking, I spotted a bus on the horizon, wondering what it was doing in the area, and promptly stumbled over a step on the boardwalk, which I had not seen as I was concentrating on the bus. I tried to hold my balance, but then felt that sinking feeling as I fell backwards into the ditch and landed between the soft bushes, still holding my camera high so that it did not get damaged - never mind my body, that can heal - until Dave came and rescued the camera. I scrambled out of the bushes back onto the boardwalk. I was lucky that I did not land in the wet and soggy part of the marshy ground, but Dave noticed that my backside was covered in Wombat poo. Oh dear. Dave tried to clean it off as best he could and told me to look where I was going. Yes, I did, but there was this bus… Never mind! The camera was okay, that was the main thing. We continued our walk. This time, I had my eyes focussing more on my feet and tried to train myself to stop walking when I saw something interesting in the distance. This is Wombat land, as we could see on the piles of poo on the boardwalk and, as I had so recently experienced, on the marshy ground. We tried to see any of the little wombats, either in the trees or on the ground, but without success. Only towards the end of our walk, we passed a group of people staring down the boardwalk trying to see a little wombat beneath and photograph it. The lovely creature looked like a teddy bear and was not disturbed at all by the people staring at him but stoically continued eating grass. It was most annoying, however, that the people nearest to the wombat, hogged their places and did not make space for others to have a good look as well. What inconsiderate people! Dave jumped down from the boardwalk, which nobody else dared, and got a good photograph of him this way. We moved on. Let me in peace, I am hungry I was still muttering about the selfishness of some people, when someone in front of me shouted that they was a wombat in the field. I looked up, walked towards her, but got my heel caught on the chicken wire, tried to balance but fell on my knees, still holding the camera up to keep it safe. Then I looked at the damage on my knee. The sharp chicken wire had gashed my right knee. There was blood running down my leg. What a fool I had been, once again. At least the camera was okay. The knee would heal. Dave washed the dirty wound and the blood off with water from my water bottle. Then I dried it with a tissue and held it tight to stop the blood and limped towards the nearby shuttle bus stop as I saw a bus coming, which took us back to the visitor centre. It looked worse than it was. Back in the van, we cleaned the wound with alcohol wipes and put the biggest plaster on it that we could find in our first aid kit. That’s it. Falling twice on one day. That’s a bit much and avoidable. I felt stupid and I really must be more careful next time. Back at the campsite, I cooked dinner. For some reason, the fridge must have stopped working and all the frozen vegetables which we had bought in Miena, had thawed. So I made a big stew, and although Dave likes eating vegetables, he always likes some kind of meat with it. Luckily, in the supermarket I had found Cabanos sausages and used this to spice up the stew. Very yummy and a very happy Dave. We ate outside, enjoying the evening sunshine and gazing up at the surrounding mountains. One thing with campsites is that you always meet people. We met quite a few, some are reserved and keep themselves to themselves; others are chatty, and quite a few overbearing. If you don’t want to socialise, then you better stay in your camper because people walk passed and start a conversation, sometimes its a short greeting, sometimes it can take hours. On this campsite, while we were breakfasting in the sunshine, a couple from Sydney came over with a box of goodies and asked whether we wanted some of them as they were flying back in the evening. We greatly accepted, as they contained exactly what we needed to stock up anyway, such as, olive oil spray, garlic paste, toilet rolls, bin liners, peanut butter spread, carrots, chocolate peanuts. All much appreciated. They were nice people, about 30 years old and both were teachers. Next to us was a couple from France. She, originally from Niger, now living in Strasbourg with her two grown-up children. He was working in New Caledonia, a small island in the South Pacific off the coast of Eastern Australia. He had a six year contract and was halfway through it. They try to meet twice a year, once in France and once they make holiday somewhere in the South Pacific. We got to know her quite well and chatted about life and politics and put the world to rights. A very nice lady, she invited us to visit her in Strasbourg. He was a nice chap too but rather shy and did not speak good English. On the other side of our camper was a German couple. They rented a campsite BBQ kit (20 AUD), which is a plastic container full of logs with a metal bucket to be used either as BBQ basket or sit around when it got cold. They used it to sit around the burning logs to keep warm and were looking at a screen, Life TV as they laughingly told us. He had a drone and was watching remotely a platypus in a nearby lake on the camera of their drone. Then a beep informed them that the battery was low and the drone automatically returned to the place where it started from. This couple, from Stuttgart, were travelling through Australia for 2 months with a big camper van. They were only in Tasmania for 2 weeks. They were going back to mainland Australia in two days time. The next day we moved on to the North of Tasmania to a small town called Stanley and the remote area of the Northwest. 3.1. On New Year’s Day,  we have arrived safely in Tasmania. We stayed at a travel lodge near the Airports, close by to Apollo where we picked up the Camper van the next morning. Here is an excerpt from Dave’s diary of the following days, Jan 2-5, followed by some impressions of mine. There might be some repetitions, but we don’t have the time to fully sync our writings. Dave: 02 January 2025 We breakfasted at 08:30 and left at 09:00 by hotel taxi to our campervan pick up location within the airport complex. We joined a queue of people waiting to pickup their campervans. When we reached the head of the queue our checkin guy told us they were so busy that there was no time to show us around our vehicle and to download their app as all the information was on the app. Our first camping site is Wayatinah Lakeside Caravan Park. I drive and our first stop is to a supermarket in New Norfolk. No need to refuel as we start off with a full tank. 30 minutes later we’re in parking spot number 17. Dave is happy driving our camper van We spend the rest of the afternoon sorting and placing our gear and shopping inside our campervan. We had thought about getting a bigger campervan, as we thought this one might be a bit too small, but we managed to fit everything inside. Even if we had wanted to upgrade we could only do so after mid January as they were all fully booked out until then. We put our corn-on-the-cob starter in the microwave, delicious and cooked our chicken drumsticks in the frying pan and they were equally delicious. We ate outside at our picnic table and chairs, but as soon as the sun dropped down behind the surrounding trees, it started to get chilly, so we went inside and finished our drinks in the comfort of or campervan. Our first meal cooked in the camper 03 January 2025 We woke at 08:00 and we were feeling cold. What must it be like for those on the site sleeping in tents? The temperature dropped to around 4C last night, thank goodness we asked for a second duvet. I worked out the controls of our air conditioning unit and changed the setting over to heating. We felt warm once again. After breakfasting on bread and beans, we went to explore our campsite to find the places, such as where to empty our toilet and waste water. We were admiring a very expensive looking camper that looks the business, which is owned by the people who own the site. He was standing nearby and told us that in the winter season last year they travelled up to Northern Australia and covered 12,000 kms and spent 4,000 AUD on fuel, about £2,000. No half measures for these Tasmanians! He also pointed out where we could empty our toilet cassette and to run our wastewater hose into the trees in front of our campervan. We needed more water and they don’t sell it on our campsite. When we drove from Hobart we passed signs pointing to a small farm down a dirt track that sold chicken and duck eggs, honey and veggies. We disconnected our power cable to our campervan and drove back there to see what they had on offer, maybe they sold water too. The place looked rather rundown and when we parked up we were  met by the owner, Paul, whose was originally from Dortmund. His wife was somewhere inside one of the many ramshackle buildings dotted around the place. We had a long conversation with him and he showed us his two Scottish cows, goats, four alpacas, plus a new born and his many geese, ducks and chickens. He worked part-time in a nearby animal rescue centre and was a conservationist. He’s well known and people bring him their unwanted, or sick animals as he’ll look after them until they die naturally. He told us he lives off the land, has no contact with the outside world, nor had a TV, computer or smartphone. One afternoon he took his wife for an ice-cream treat. When they entered the shop a boy of about 12 years old was robbing the shop and threatening the owner with a knife. He walked up to the boy, thumped him in the face and took the knife of him. He lifted him off the ground by his throat and told him if he ever caught him doing that again he’d kill him. No messing about with this guy! However, he didn’t have water, but we did buy 12 eggs off of him before we drove back. Lisa made an omelette, and out of the 12 eggs and 6 were bad. I told Lisa to drive back and complain! For dinner we cooked our Fajita’s with the the two remaining chicken drumsticks that we cooked last night and they were delicious. The weather was perfect and we sat outside eating our Fajitas and drinking our tins of Tasmanian beer until the sun dropped behind the trees and when it did we washed up and retired inside our campervan to drink our bottle of wine and catchup on the news. I checked the weather forecast to see the nighttime temperature in Belsize Park. It would be -3C, so I remotely switched on our central heating system for a few hours. Life is good, 04 January 2025 Another 5C overnight temperature last night and this time, instead of sleeping across the width of our campervan, we slept lengthways and that seemed to work better, although the fridge was rather noisy during the night, until I turned the thermostat up a little inside the fridge. Yummy breakfast in the van while outside it is still cold. After breakfast we went for a short walk through the trees beside the lake and got bitten by mosquitoes. We still needed water, so we disconnected the power cable, switched off the gas bottle and drove back to Ouse, the small town where we stopped to buy water on the way here. We took the opportunity to input the addresses of the next few campsites we’d be staying at into our TomTom on the way back and as we drove back clouds appeared. The campers in the pitch next to us said that it would rain tomorrow, as that’s what usually happens after a few warm days. Tomorrow we’re driving off to Quamby Corner in the central highlands, which is a two hour drive away. The campers next to us are 6 families. They know each other for years and meet at this site every year. They’re seated on chairs in a big circle, drinking beer and wine in the grassy area In front of their tents. All their kids are their too and they’re having a karaoke session between cycling around the ground. They invite us over and we sit with them for a while drinking our wine and chewing over the fat and it was surprising to see how many of the men were from England and had married Tasmanian women. Too personal to ask under what circumstances. 05 January 2025 We left our Wayatinah campsite, but before I needed to empty our toilet cassette in their dump station and to drain our dirty water tank. I emptied our waste water tank and then drained the toilet cassette, but had difficulty afterwards sliding it back in. I finally managed it but Lisa complained of the smell and of the millions of flies now in our campervan and toilet/shower unit. When I looked inside the toilet, the slider that closes the toilet after ‘an event’ hadn’t close and that was the problem. All I could do was to take the cassette out, to wash the outside of it and once dry put it inside our toilet/shower unit because we needed to get to our next campsite, Quamby Corner Caravan Park, situated in Quamby Brook in the Golden Valley. We tapped in the address into our TomTom and set off northwards along the A10 and then branch off right onto the B11. For some reason our TomTom told us to turn around when possible. We checked our map and could see there was a road, so we followed our map. We reach the B11 and continue along the A10, as we want to see the famous Derwent Bridge. However, there’s nothing much to see, so we continue to Lake St Clair. There’s a famous Overland Trekking route that starts at Cradle Mountain and takes 5 days and 6 nights to trek down to the end of the trail in Cynthia Bay in Lake St Claire. This is were we make a toilet stop at the visitors/information centre at end of this trail, where I try once again to fix the faulty cassette without success. We continue back the way we’d just driven and turn left onto the B11. After 3 km, the sealed road turns into a gravel road. Ahead I could see a sealed road, so I continued and after a further 3km it was back to the gravel road. When we picked up the campervan we had strict instructions that the campervan must not drive on unsealed roads. However, we could drive for short distances, up to 12 km, on unsealed road in order to  reach a campsite. If we did drive on unsealed roads we’d be uninsured and besides all their campers had a trackers, so they could easily track our journey. We have no alternative but to turn around and drive back. The only other road available to us meant driving south, passing our Wayatinah campsite and continuing all the way down to Hamilton. From there turned left onto the B110 to Bothwell, then left onto the A5 to our Quamby Corner Caravan Park in Quamby Brook, via Miena and the Great Lake. This was a 250 km detour and took almost 3 hours. This was Sunday and there was a store in Miena, where we wanted to buy food and drink for tonight. As we were approaching Miena, the clouds were getting darker. Instead of a  biggish town there were only a few houses dotted on both sides of the road before we turned left and followed the signs to the main store and gas station. We parked up and went into the store expecting a good selection of fresh fruit and veg and we were disappointed, they had none of it, nor did they have a loaf of break or a bottle of water. We come away with a bag of frozen sweetcorn, peas and a two packets of frozen lasagne. They have a selection of tins and a small tin of tuna cost. 4 AUD, about £2 - seems they can charge what they want as there appears to be no competition. What they do have are chips and sausages to take away, which they cooked in the back room and there was a queue waiting to buy them. Nearby was a hotel and bar, so we went to see if they sell alcohol. We entered and here were a couple of people in the bar sitting with their pints watching television. We asked the barman if he sells alcohol to take away. Yes, he’d be happy to sell us a bottle of red wine. What would be the price? Between 65-80 AUD (£32 to £40). No thanks, we’d rather drink our beer. We needed to refuel and as I was refuelling it started to rain, thankfully the gas station was covered. We drove off and shortly after it stoped raining and the clouds gave way to a blue sky. We arrived at Quamby Corner caravan park at 17:30 anxious that we might be too late. The lady, who greeted us in the farm house, couldn’t find our booking, even though we had paid the 50% deposit. No worries there were places and after we paid the final 50% we’re given our plot number. We parked and placed our table and chairs on the grass beside in the warm wonderful sunshine. There’s a big Woolworths supermarket in Deloraine that’s open until 21:00, so we immediately drove there to restock our supplies. It was a 20-minute drive away and when we get there its a very nice a largish tourists town. It has a car park big enough for our van. We bought our supplies, they even had sweetcorn husks too. After that we drove across town to a bottle store and what a great selection they had too and it’s run by a great guy from Bali. We drove back and we prepared dinner, a starter of fresh sweetcorn husks in the microwave followed by and ten tiger prawns with sourdough bread. Lisa’s still feeling shitty and suffering from a heavy cold. I was tired too as I’ve been driving for 7.5 hrs and by 22:00 we’re both fast asleep. A well deserved rest after 3.5 hours of driving Lisa: In order to get used to our Camper van in a relaxed manner, we booked ourselves into a quiet campsite, Wayatinah Caravan Park, on a lovely lake, the Wayatinah Lagoon. I had insisted that we should rent the smallest Camper (5.50m long and 2m wide) as I also wanted to drive it on the narrow and curvy roads of Tasmania. When we saw it at pick up, we got worried, not only if we were able to fit everything in, but also if we were able to get along in such a confined space of 6 square meters of living space inclusive kitchen and toilet, table and seats converted into a bed at night, during the next month without getting on each others throat. Amazing how much space there is in this tiny camper There is room in the smallest hut. It took careful planning to fit everything into the over head luggage and under seat compartments and we were surprised how much space there actually was. One has to be very tidy and immediately put away things and remember where you put it. We also had to learn how to switch on electricity, lock onto water supply, how to pack things and lock all compartments so that not everything would bounced about when driving, how to disconnect everything before driving off etc. It definitely was a steep learning curve. As Dave mentioned, at pickup there was no time for introduction, and we were given an app to download. However, with a very infrequent internet connection in the mountains and none in the remote areas, such an app is more or less useless. Experience is what is asked for. Experienced campers amongst our readers will only laugh at the challenges we are facing. But we are learning fast. Everything is packed away and works. Now its time to relax. Dave writing up his diary. On our last evening in Wayatinah, we were invited to sit with our neighbours around a log fire. They were a group of over 20 people, including lots of children. They were Tasmanians, long-time friends, who for the last 10 years, spent four days over the first weekend in the New Year together camping in Wayatinah. The had great fun together, grilling Marshmallows on the campfire  after dinner and the evening finished with a kind of Karoke for the kids. The next morning they would pack up their tents and go home, as on Monday they had to go back to work. This reminded me of our Regensburger friends, who every year spend a long weekend together in a hut in the Bavarian Mountains having a great time. A few times we were able to join them and had great fun. After three nights, on Sunday, the 5th January, once we had stocked up and learnt the basics, we were ready to go and made our way to the next campsite, the Quamby Corner Caravan Park. This is only a short drive away, 1hour 45 minutes. We had an easy day ahead of us. - So we thought. Before leaving the campsite we thought we better empty the toilet canister, for the first time. We still have to learn how to do that without splattering the stinking brew on to our shoes and socks. We were relieved when the toilet canister slotted in again. Well done, so we thought. Only later, we were wondering about the awful smell in our camper. We investigated and realised that although the compartment was slotted in correctly, the leaver that closed the toilet when slotted in to prevent the smell getting into the van was broken. Dave tried and tried to see whether he could repair it, without success. In the meantime we had a swarm of flies flying around us and inside the van. We had no other option than to take the whole unit out, close it, to prevent the smell getting out, and put it inside the shower unit, out of our way. The emergency phone number of our rental company did not respond, either because it was a Sunday, or as we later found out because with our UK phones we needed to dial the AUS phone code. Anyway, the smell was in check, on the next campsite we had hot showers and toilets available. We were not in a situation of crisis. We continued our drive and wondered why our TomTom navigator constantly wanted to send us back on a different road that would be a much longer way. However, the google map on my smartphone had sent us the shortest way. We decided to believe Google map and continued. We went for a little detour over the Derwent bridge to visit the lovely Lake St. Clair. It is here where the famous Overland Track, a 65 km hike, six nights, five days through beautiful mountain landscape, rainforests and alpine moors, from near the Cradle Mountain ends. We saw quite a few people with big rucksacks who looked pretty exhausted. No one smiled. I wonder why. We had decided to give this walk a miss as we had our camper van. A short rest at the beautiful Lake St. Clair. We then continued our journey. However, after about 10 minutes, our trip went off the good A10 road and we entered B11, which was an unpaved dirt road. We remembered that one of the rules and regulations that we were told at pick up, was, never drive the vehicle on unpaved, unsealed roads, although a maximum of 12 km were allowed to get to a remote campsite. The reason given as, that the weather in Tasmania was so unpredictable that strong rain or snow would make unpaved roads dangerous and unsafe to pass. If we did that, our insurance would be invalid. We were also informed that the van had a tracker. Now we understood what our TomTom had wanted to warn us about. What should be done? I suggested that perhaps it was  only for a few miles and then we would get onto a paved road again. We tried but after 10 minutes of rough road we turned the van around. That was crazy. Why were we not told which roads were unpaved roads? None of the maps distinguished between paved and unpaved roads. Now the only alternative we had, was going back and try the other road A 10, passing our last nights campsite and almost back to where we had picked up our camper van in Hobart and then take the A 5 towards North. This was a detour of more than 3 hours. We were furious. What a waste of our time. But it was our own fault, we should have trusted our TomTom. So we went all the way back and then up joining the A5. Now we got worried whether we soon would run out of diesel as there are very few petrol stations in Tasmania. We found one and stopped for refuelling. There was only a machine and it asked me how many litres of diesel I wanted to purchase. How should I know? We just wanted to fill up. I had no idea how many litres we needed to fill up. If I purchased too few I had to purchase again and again; if I purchased too many we overpaid. We decided we better buy our Diesel at a manned petrol station so that we would be able to get help if needed. We continued and whilst Dave drove I studied our van handbook and found out it had a fuel capacity of 80 litres. That was not bad, that would allow us many more km until we ran out of fuel. We also found out from our clever van, that so far we had driven 360 km and had still diesel for another 440 km in the tank. Okay, no panic. On our way we drove through highland landscape and passed yellow gorse growing along the road, herds of sheep and cows. Dave is reminded of driving in Cornwall in the 70s. We arrived in Miena, which is a small hamlet right in the middle of the Central Plateau. It is here were the guidebooks recommend to get basic supplies as there are not many shops in the area. The place was empty, a few shacks, a hotel and a bar. The general store did not have much of supplies. No bread, no vegetable, no meat or chicken, only frozen goods and a few tins. Dave asked whether they had some fish, as there are many lakes in the area. The woman said, yes, many, but you have to go to the lake and catch them yourself. The shop owners were not allowed to sell fish as all fish in the country belong to the King. At least we were able to fill up with diesel. While I waited for Dave to fill up the car, I had a chat with an elderly lady from Queensland waiting for her french fries. She told me, she (79) was on holiday with her 86 year old sister driving around the Midlands of Tasmania in a rented car and staying in Hotels. They enjoyed the journey very much but travelling was no longer easy as there was so much to learn how to get about, such as using your smart phone for everything. In the meantime, the clouds have turned black, and it had started to rain. The atmosphere was moody. We continued our journey and drove long distances without seeing another car or a house or a village. We passed through dense forest with lots of white dead trees and logs. It looked spooky. Perhaps a fire had destroyed them? The rain stopped and we finally arrived at our destination, the Quamby Corner Caravan Park situated in Quamby Brook in the Golden Valley. After check-in, we hurried off again to get some supplies from Woolworths in Delorraine, a nice little town about 20 minutes drive away. We were relieved to be out of the remote area, amongst friendly people and able to stock up with supplies. Finally, we arrived at the Quamby Corner Caravan Park The next morning, after we enjoyed the hot showers at the campsite and had a lovely breakfast in the sunshine, we called the road assistance team and explained our problem. They sent us to a repair shop in Deloraine to get the toilet problem fixed. We happily drove there, only to find out that the shop was still closed until 13th January because the owner is on holiday. Good for him, bad for us. We phoned again Road Assistance. This time they suggested another repair shop in Devonport, 70 km away, on the coast, but phoned them for us to make sure the shop is open. It was and they expected us. We drove the 70 km, hoping that the journey would all be on paved roads. The mechanic, Jamie. quickly diagnosed the toilet cassette to be broken and sold us a new one for 350 AUD, that is £170. While Dave inserted the cassette, the Jamie brought me the old one to take with me. In panic I looked at him and have nightmares that we have to have this stinky beast in the living room of our camper van for the rest of our Tasmanian journey. I asked the mechanic what I should do with the old cassette, he said nothing but brought a carton, put the cassette into it, and through it in his bin. Problem solved. I was much relieved. The new toilet cassette slotted in but the internal slot which is connected to the leaver on the toilet did not fit. Dave asked Jamie the mechanic to have a look. He only shrugged his shoulders and said there is nothing he could do. For major repairs like that, we needed to bring the van back to Hobart where we had picked it up. Nice. Very helpful. Dave, however, did not give up and inspected closer and found out the leaver needed to be turned around 180 degrees. He did it and it worked. Well done, Dave! We had a fully functioning toilet again. The holiday was saved. At least for now. Who knows what else would come along our way. We took the opportunity that we were on the coast and bought some fresh Tasmanian Gummy fish (a type of shark) and tiger prawns for our dinner tonight and headed back to our campsite for a well deserved cup of tea and rest. We had spent a full day solving our toilet problem. Problem solved. Holiday saved. At present, we don’t have any internet, or only intermittent, and this situation will not improve in the next few weeks. Also, we have not seen any wildlife, apart from lots of roadkill, flies, mosquitos, cows, sheep and a few birds, one of them with blue heads, but they were too quick for us to have a closer look. The Quamby campsite, so we are told by our neighbours, is full of migrant workers. That explains the busy morning activities in the shower room and kitchen. Many, mostly single men, are sleeping in a tent, which is a cheap accommodation, and travel to work where there is need for workforce, mostly seasonal work. That explains the signs we saw when travelling along the road that said: workers wanted. Our neighbours are two friends, Maureen and Jim, who have been on the road for many years. Maureen told me, when she retired at 64, she realised that on her meagre pension as a single woman she would not be able to live and afford the rent. So she bought herself a camper van and started travelling Australia. That was 20 years ago. Now she is 84. She met Jim, along the way. He also has a camper van and from time to time they travel together. Mostly that means, they stay in a campsite for months, sitting all day in front of their vans, relaxing. Jim looks bored and approaches everyone coming new into the camp, like we. They said they are happy here as this area is so beautiful. But when we asked them what they can recommend what we can do and explore in the area, they said they don’t know as they are always in the campsite. I can imagine that must get boring with time. But everyone to themselves. Some long-term campers on the site made their caravans home from home. Quambie Corner to Gowrie Park 7.-9.January 2025 Last night the temperature was down to 7 degrees. It was freezing cold in the van. In the morning we switched the heating on and slowly thawed up. Today we are driving off to Gowrie Park, which is close to the famous and beautiful Cradle Mountain. Gowrie Park is high up in the mountain, I guess it will get even colder at nights. Perhaps it is a good idea to have the heating on during the night? Melbourne 29.12.2024 The flying time to Melbourne is about 9 hours, and Australia is 3 hours in front of Hong Kong. That means we are now 11 hours in front of London, 10 of Munich or Berlin. Unfortunately, the inflight meals left a lot to be desired, the vegetarian version was even worse, so on the return flight I will go back to the standard food, at least that will taste of something other than plastic. Having said that, Dave complained about his rubbery sausage and bacon breakfast. We managed a little sleep despite the surrounding crying babies. We landed at 07:10 and took it easy as we had lots of time to kill until we would check into our hotel. We had applied for e-visas so our passage through passport control was easy. We went to the Skybus desk and booked return tickets into the Southern Cross Skybus terminal. The journey on a double-decker bus was fast and took less than 30 minutes. The check-in time for our hotel was not until 14:00, so at 09:00 we were killing time by sitting in a Movenpick cafe, near the Southern Cross terminal, drinking coffee and tea. I was glad we were inside because even though the sun was shining out of a clear-blue sky, it was chilly in the shade and a cold wind was blowing, so I quickly had to put on my fleece. We thought Australia would be hot in the height of summer. However, even out of the shade we could feel the power of the sun, so the suncream is a must and so is Dave’s hat. We put the time to good use and wrote up our travel blog. Three hours and several cups of tea and coffee later we left and took two trams within the City free Tram zone, to the Ibis Hotel on Thierry Street. Melbourne has an extensive and efficient tram system which in the inner city is free of charge. During the next few days we would often sit in the tram for a free ride around Melbourne to get an overview of the city. It must have been our lucky day as we were allowed to check into our hotel an hour before earlier, and after a bit of chit chat with the receptionist we got an upgrade from a room on the 3rd to one on the 9th floor. The room was pleasant and suited us well as our home for the next three nights. After a short rest we left to explore the nearby famous Queen Victoria Market. Unfortunately, the market was about to close, so we just strode though quickly to get an overview and an impression and promised ourselves to return another day. We hopped on the free city circular tram to explore the city. The tram was full but we did manage to get a seat, although we couldn’t see much. After 15 minutes, however, the tram driver told us that, as it’s Sunday, this tram will terminate at 17:00, in 5 minutes time. We ended up at the Waterfront City Docklands shopping mall, where we went for a mooch about. Most of the shops were full of kiddies toys and catered only for children, which was self evident by the amount of families walking around. We then found an interesting shop with a photo exhibition but the guy was just locking up his photo shop. We had a natter to him about photos and world affairs. He was an interesting guy. He had been working for years in London and when he returned to Australia, he and his partner hosted the famous world press photography exhibition in Melbourne. We then headed back to the city by another tram. We got off at Flinders Street Station and went walkabout into Chinatown to find a restaurant. We found a branch of Tim Ho Wan, the restaurant that was so highly recommended in Hong Kong by the newly wed couple, and went there to eat. It was almost as good but this time we didn’t have one of their expensive bottles of beer. They have a strange custom here. There’s a 10% service charge added to your bill at weekends and an extra 15% added for public holidays. This can get costly. Afterward we headed off back to our hotel and on the way looked out for a supermarket so we could by snacks, beer and wine - and sun creme. We found one but discovered they didn’t sell alcohol. If you want to buy alcohol, you had to go to a bottle shop, which only sells alcohol. This system was explained to us by a very friendly guy who assured us there were plenty of alcohol shops everywhere and they were open all hours. The Australians are very friendly, easy to chat to and we enjoyed their relaxed manner. Nothing seems to be a problem that cannot be solved. We also enjoyed the cosmopolitan culture of Melbourne. We are surprised that so many people from different countries and cultures live here. But of course, Asia is just around the corner. Presumably, many came for work or study and brought their families or are here as tourists. The many Asian restaurants are very popular, and we almost feel transported back to Hong Kong. Back home at the hotel, we finally were so tired that we, despite our jet lag, which had caused us a few sleepless nights so far, had a good night sleep. 30 December 2024 The next morning we had a lazy start to the day and went for brunch in a nearby cafe, which was Japanese as we soon found out. The food was very tasty. Dave had a bowl full of smoked Kaiser meet (smoked pork ribs) with various vegetables in noodle soup, I had vegetable tempura (vegetables in batter, fried) with Avocado creme and salad. The portions were huge, and we both would have been happy with only half of it. We paid a reasonable price of 57 AUD, that is £ 28.50 for the two of us, including tea and coffee. Afterward we walked down Elizabeth Street to digest our food, and to Dave’s delight we found a computer shop and a camera shop next door. We made our way to Bourke Street Mall to Meyr’s department store, where we, together with loads of others, mostly children, pressed our noses against the department store window at displays of animated animals in the jungle. Kaiser Meat with vegetable in noodle soup From there we made our way to AC/DC Lane, which is dedicated to the band, as that’s where they have started out. There was even a concrete figure of Bon Scott, AC/DC’s original singer, bursting through the brickwork. He died from the effects of alcohol poisoning in Camden in 1980, just down the road from where we live. Dave soaks up the atmosphere and pays hommage to AC/DC We were sitting on a bench in AC/DC Lane soaking up the atmosphere and to give our feet a welcome rest, when we were approached by an 80 year old Canadian guy. We had a natter and he told us he had come on a cruise ship from Canada and was visiting his son who lived in Melbourne. He also said that the importance of travelling is not only about seeing the places listed in the guide book but about meeting like-minded people. Now he too was here to see where AC/DC had started out and he pointed out that our generation had it all, the best music, the best of time. We couldn’t agree more and wished him well as he hurried away to catch up with his family who had already moved on. We continued on our walk and paid homage to the classic rock pub called the Cherry bar, which was originally located in AC/DC Lane. However, it was moved to a new site in 2020, a few blocks away from AC/DC Lane. This area around AC/DC Lane, Hosier Lane and Duckboard Street is also well known for having the City’s most eye-popping street art. This may have been so some time ago, but now most of the pictures have faded, the paint peeling off and many of the paintings have been smeared with spray paint and tip pen. Is this a local Banksy on the wall? Around the corner of AC/DC Lane was a painting of Malcolm Young, the recently deceased founding member and lead guitarist of the band. It says, “C’mon Saint Peter, how many bloody more times you gonna make me play Hell’s Bells before you let me through the gates, mate?”. Next we walked to Federation Square, which is the cultural heart of the City to visit the aborigine museum called Koorie Heritage Trust. Unfortunately, we got there at 5pm, just as it was closing. Okay, we’ll return tomorrow. On the bridge leading over the Yarra river we admired the Skyline of Melbourne’s Business District. From here, boats offer river cruises, but we decided to cross the Yarra river and have a stroll on the Southbank Promenade, the waterfront, passing by the many art galleries, bars and restaurants where people sat outside taking in the city skyline. View of Melbourne’s Riverside and Business District We made our way to Melbourne’s famous Skydeck, a viewing platform on the 88th floor. The lift takes 38 seconds to reach the top, travelling at 9 metres a second. It cost 64.73 AUD, around £32, for us both, even with our elders discount. Expensive, yes, but well worth the money. The 360 degree views of the city skyline, the world famous cricket stadium, the docks and the distant hills on the horizon are stupendous. We spent almost two hours on the platform before returning to earth. View of Melbourne’s Skyline from the Skydeck We were told that the next day, New Year’s Eve, the platform was closed because there was a private party. Can you imagine, the view of all the fire works  around Melbourne? We shutter to think how much the entry tickets were for this special VIP New Year’s Eve event. On the way home, we had dinner at a Malaysian restaurant, called Sarawak Kitchen, which was just around the corner of our hotel. Dave had a bowl of roasted pork Sarawak (noodle soup) and I had one with vegetables and soya meat. Both were delicious, but far too much food, we could not finish it. Again we walked home feeling bloated. 31.12.2024 The next morning we were up earlier and went to the ancient Queen Victoria Market for breakfast. The Vic Market with its more than 600 stalls is known as the largest out-door market in the southern hemisphere. The market was busy, full with people doing their shopping or like us just looking. I bought a cheese and ham panini at one of the many stalls, which was big enough for us to share, and we enjoyed it sitting outside in the sunshine. We sat and watched the world go by. We were surprised that Melbourne appeared to be populated by many overweight, obese people, men, women and children. But on the other hand, it was understandable considering the huge portions of food served in restaurants and the amount of places offering delicious calorific food, cakes and sugary drinks. Then we mingled with hundreds of customers and onlookers to explore the market. In the deli hall, the stalls have plenty of gourmet food on display, such as olives, cheeses, dips, sausages ham, wine, truffles oil and kangaroo biltong. I was fascinated by a stall that offers spices and tea from all over the world. I was just about to buy a German herbal tea, when I saw the prices, 6.5 AUD for 10 grams of tea. They also had apple cake spices and mulled wine spices even gingerbread spices (Lebkuchengewuerz) that cost 2.40 AUD for 10 grams. (This was approximate £1.20 or 1.45 Euros). I thought, I better wait until the next time I am in Germany. A Deli Stall inside Queen Victoria Market The vendors are very relaxed and don’t mind us taking pictures and are happy to chat. I spoke to Don, an Italian guy, who came with his brother 15 years ago to Melbourne and owns a stall offering Italian delicatessen. We took some photos of him and his brother and I promised to email them to him, which I did. Next door was a Polish stall, followed by Greek and Turkish food stalls. After that we entered the area of fishmongers and were surprised by the amount and size of the lobsters and oysters on display, beside octopus, squid, salmon and the most amazing exotic fish we had ever seen. Wide eyed we walked also through the meet market which had the biggest steaks we have ever seen. No wonder, people are so well nourished. Every kind of fresh meat, such as beef, pork, lamb, quicken, goose, quail were on display. Mouthwatering Seafood on Display We were sorry to miss the famous Night-market here at Queen Victoria Market with its vibrant atmosphere and a rotating weekly line-up of live music and entertainment. Unfortunately, that’s on Wednesday’s only but we are leaving on Tuesday. After a while, we had enough of food and taking pictures of it and made our way by tram to Flinders Station. This station was built in 1854, and it is Australia’s first train station that ran the distance of 2.5 miles from Flinders Street to Sandridge, which is now known as Port Melbourne. We were surprised to see so many well known names of English cities on the platform departure board. But why not, as so many people originated from England and presumably wanted their home towns to be remembered. Finally we moved over to the culture centre on Federation Square, just across Flinders Street Station and headed to the Koorie Heritage Trust. This time they were open, but sadly did not offer their famous tours over the holiday period. Instead, we visited their very interesting exhibition of Aboriginal art installations and watched some videos of artists explaining the history of their art. Aboriginal Paintings The area around Federation Square was partly cordoned off because of the New Years Eve’s celebrations later with lots of music and fireworks. We heard, this was the place to be to celebrate the incoming New Year. There are many celebrations going on around Melbourne but many of them were already fully booked. Also, the public traffic, like trams and buses, in much of the city centre was to be greatly reduced due to the celebrations. So we decided to spend our New Year’s Eve in Federation Square, at least it was not too far to walk home afterwards in case there we could not get a tram. We wanted to have a drink at the Imperial, the oldest pub in Melbourne, (at Imperial Hotel, 2-8 Bourke St). They offered a New Year’s Eve Rooftop Party, in two sittings, from 19:00 until 01:00, entry fees for sitting one and two, from 150 AUD + booking fee. They had a few tickets left for 198.90 AUD, which also included canapés and drinks, such as beer and wine, life music until 22:00 and then a DJ until 01:00. Sorry mate, we have other plans. There is so much more to see. That means, we have to go there the next day for coffee, our last chance to admire the views from their roof top. So we made our way towards Federation Square, equipped with a nice bottle of wine, as we had no means to keep sparkling wine cold until midnight. The streets and pavements in the centre were full with masses of people having a good time and many of them moving towards Fed Square. The inner centre was cordoned off with lots of security staff around. A loudspeaker frequently informed us that Melbourne Centre is an alcohol free zone. To keep everyone safe, no drinking was allowed in public, only in bars, restaurants or at home. When detected, alcohol would be confiscated and the perpetrators fined heavily. What? Strange customs. We could not believe that. We just wanted to see the fireworks and listen to the music and sipping from our bottle of wine. What should we do now? All the bars would be full and going home only to drink our wine was no option. We wondered off to little side streets. Everywhere we encountered lots of people and lots of security. We came across some light shows and music on other squares and watched them for a while and moved on. Light shows and music to celebrate New Years Eve in Melbourne Inner City In a small side streets we saw one couple leaving a bar and quickly went in. And really they had space for us. There we sat, sipped our  20 AUD glasses of wine and made them last for two hours, whilst our own bottle was resting in the rucksack. We had to drink it afterwards in our hotel room as the following day we were flying out to Tasmania. We were disappointed not to be able to see the firework by the river but we managed to see the funny side of the situation we found ourselves in on another strange New Year’s Eve. Self-explanatory Finally, 1/2 hour before midnight we decided to leave the bar and to walk towards home. There was no way to see any fireworks in the city centre as the high rise buildings were blocking any views. We needed to head towards some open area. We remembered that the neighbours in our hotel, a couple from Indonesia, had told us they would go to Flagstaff Gardens, an area near our hotel on the other side of the Queen Victoria Market. Perhaps we could see some fireworks there? We headed towards the gardens. Masses of people passed us on their way to the Fed Square, all happy and many of them were tipsy. They must have been drinking at home before they came out. Good idea, as alcohol in the tummy could not be confiscated. We also noticed a few heavily drank people staggering around or lying on the streets. A tram passed by full of people, some looked very drunk. Was the alcohol ban because of heavy drinking behaviour of the population, or was the heavy drinking behaviour because of the alcohol ban? Who knows. Time was running and we just managed to get to the Queen Victoria Market car park, not far from Flagstaff Gardens, when people started to count down the seconds to midnight and then the fireworks began. We turned around and from the rooftops of the sky scrapers we could see a wonderful display of fireworks. We found ourselves amongst lots of happy people celebrating and welcoming in the New Year. Another good thing was, we didn’t have far to walk home. Fire works over Flagstaff Gardens, Melbourne Hong Kong Our flight was uneventful apart from a group of Australians who celebrated loudly all night; nobody could sleep but nobody complained. At least we got our revenge when they woke up the next morning with a hangover, looking rather pale. Serves them right. Anyway we arrived quickly and safely at our hotel, the Harbour Grand Kowloon, Hong Kong. Before we left the UK, we did some research to find the cheapest way to get around the transport system of Hong Kong. We bought ourselves Octopus cards from the mass transport system desk in Hong Kong airport. The added bonus was that senior citizens, 65+, travel at half price. What a bargain.    The travel book says that Hong Kong weather can be unpredictable. And they were right. Even though it’s the dry season, the weather was hazy and overcast. Such a pity as our room had a fantastic panoramic view over the bay. At least it was not raining, For our last day, the sun came out just after sunrise and we had blue skies until the sun went down. As our flight was at 19.05, we had a full day to explore of Hong Kong. It felt cold. That means there was no need to unpack my smart summer dresses. They remained in my suitcase for our three days in Melbourne. In the meantime, rather than striding elegantly through Hong Kong in my frocks, I wore my usual multilayered warm, travel clothes. Who cares? As long as they were warm and comfortable. We have always travelled light. Dave’s trolley weighed 14 kilos (mostly cables and chargers), mine was 15 kilos. I had to repack a few times to fit it all in. That means we simply have to regularly wash and wear our clothes. My rucksack weighed 8 kilos, Dave’s 13 kg, The reason that they were so heavy was, that our expensive camera gear, smart phones, iPads, battery packs, headphones etc, needed to be hand luggage. Hong Kong is a vast place. Thanks to our Octopus travel card we explored the area extensively. Our hotel was in Kowloon, opposite Hong Kong island. We took the Hung Hom Ferry from the pier beside our hotel and crossed Victoria Harbour to North Point Ferry Pier. From there we boarded one of the ancient double-decker trams that rattle along the north shore of Hong Kong Island between Kennedy town and Causeway Bay. We passed between the majestic downtown skyscrapers that make the skyscrapers of the City of London look like toy-town. We liked the mix of the old and new and especially the hightech super-modern architecture. We couldn’t stop taking photographs. As some are so tall you need a super-wide lens to do them justice. The mighty Skycrapers of Hong Kong Tired but happy touring by Trancar through Hong Kong The Tramcar System in Hong Kong was established in 1904 Afterwards we explored Hong Kong Island on foot, which is like a rabbit warren of alleyways and side streets. Sometimes it’s impossible to cross some busy roads so they have a system of overhead and underground walkways. Some of the overhead walkways are covered, no doubt due to the heavy monsoon rains. Some of these overground and underground walkways are interconnected with huge shopping malls, often incorporating tube stations. We returned to the mainland, across Victoria Harbour, by the famous ancient Star Ferry and what an impressive view we had of the skyscrapers of the mainland and Hong Kong Island. Once we were back in Kowloon, we took the tube up to Prince Edward Station and walked back down along the busy Nathan Road with its many colourful shops. On the way we explored various markets: The Goldfish Market (where some shops sell little water filled plastic bags of various species of fish), the perfumed Flower Market, the Lady’s Market (where I bought a day rucksack and a little bag for my smartphone) and the Yuen Po Bird Market. Unfortunately for Dave, we couldn’t find any computer or camera markets and shops, unlike, the last time he was here in 1991. Thanks to the internet and online trading this market does no longer exist. We were also told, that many businesses had relocated from Hong Kong to Mainland China. Later on we pottered through the famous Temple Street Night Market with colourful lanterns strung across the market. We were particularly fascinated by the range of street food stalls offering everything from sweet or savoury snacks and local specialities, to various exotic seafood dishes. It all looked delicious but as we have just started our travels and are not yet accustomed to the local food we are still very careful of what and where we eat, especially as we still have more long flights ahead of us. Enjoying the excellent food in Hong Kong We quickly got to know the tube system and were impressed by its efficiency and cleanliness. When entering the tube carriage white and green arrows indicate where people should enter or leave the carriage. The tube map in the carriage lights up the individual stations, indicating in red the next stops, and in orange, where the interchanges are. It is pretty busy, and like the rest of the world, people are fixated by their smartphone screens. Unlike in Bogota or Medellin, Colombia, where young people immediately jumped up to offer oldsters a seat, here nobody gives a damn. We guess they are all so tired from working and besides, we don’t look particularly. Having been used to the streets of London, it made a pleasant surprise to see how clean the streets and pavements were. One day we saw a team of street cleaners hosing down the pavement, with one of them holding a large board to protect the shop windows and the pedestrians from getting drenched. If one wanted to escape the Christmas razzmatazz, like we do, then Hong Kong definitely is the wrong place to be. Christmas decorations and lights of the finest and most kitschy type are displayed everywhere and the tunes of We wish you a merry Christmas and George Michael’s Last Christmas, songs that we just recently sang soulfully with our choir at the Actors Church in Covent Garden, irritate the ears. Masses of people, mostly families with children, are out on the streets, celebrating and admiring the decorations and lights, especially along the harbour frontage. We wanted to see the statue of the famous Bruce Lee which according to our map was somewhere along the Avenue of Stars beside the harbour. It was almost impossible to make our way through a never ending crowd of slow-moving people. Now we know what it is like to be sardines in a tin. However, we discovered the crowds had gathered to watch the daily evening musical laser light show from the top of the skyscrapers on the other side of Victoria harbour. The Lightshow on the Harbour Visiting Bruce Lee We met some very friendly people in Hong Kong. For example, we had coffee in a little restaurant and a young couple approached us. They had only been married for a month and saw us taking photos of each other and they wondered, would they do the same when they were older. We got on really well. They recommended a nice restaurant, which we tried out the next day and the food was excellent. She was a nurse and offered to help us if we had any health problems on our travels in Hong Kong. Nice people and a nice offer, but we wondered, do we really look that old? I hope not. Later, another guy approached us as we were looking on our maps for somewhere for dinner. He led us to one of his favourite restaurants as it was on his way home. His English was good and he told us he had worked in Canada for a while. The food at this place was also excellent and at very reasonable prices. On our last day, the clouds disappeared and the sun came out and with it a little bit of warmth, but not in the shade. We went up Victoria Peak via the Peak Tram, which has been taking tourists to the top since 1888 and is classed as the ultimate Hong Kong experience, to take in the vast panoramic views of Hong Kong and Victoria Harbour and Hong Kong’s distant southern beaches.  We returned via the Peak Tram and walked towards the touristic Lan Kwai Fong area. We came across an interesting small cafe so we decided on a coffee break. I asked the guy sitting next to us whose food looked appealing, what he was eating and we ordered the same. We got chatting, his English was perfect and it turned out that he had recently worked in the financial City of London for a year. He recommended a few interesting places nearby to visit, like the Tai Kwan, the former Central Police Headquarters and Victoria Prison which are now museums. We left together and as he lived nearby he volunteered to drop us off at the famous Central Mid-Levels Elevator, the largest public elevator in the world. It is built on a steep hill, depending on the times of the day, the elevator goes up or comes down. Beside it are stone stairs. It is very convenient for the locals going to and from work. But first we did a tour of the police and prison museums. Then we continued to the elevator itself and took it to the very top level. It is not a continuous elevator but consists of several elevators from the bottom area of Central up to Soho because of the road system. During the morning commute time, the elevators go downhill and then change direction around lunchtime to go uphill. Genius system. Just like most of the outdoor walkways these too are covered to protect against the inclement weather. On the back down we took the stairs and explored the little side streets around mid-level and Soho with its many cafes, restaurants and bars. This is the heart of the business area and many of the Asian financial movers and shakers live in the area. View of the sunrise from our hotel room Admiring the view of Hong Kong’s skyline from the Peak Skyline of Hong Kong Enjoying the sunshine on the Harbour As the weather was so nice we took time out to take even more photographs. Time was running and with a heavy heart we decided to head back to our hotel to collect our luggage and take a taxi to the airport for our night flight to Melbourne. Did we like Hong Kong and would be go back? Most certainly! There is so much to see and do and, although we gave ourselves 3 days, this really wasn’t long enough to explore in-depth. There is far more to see including the surrounding islands including Macau. But now we are looking forward to continue our journey.

Migration – the most abused word of the 2010s and 2020s (DE) It was 1967 or 1968. As a representative of the ASTA (General Student Committee) of what wa s then the Munich University of Applied Sciences, I attended a conference of the SDS (Socialist German Student Union), to which we both belonged, together with the ASTA chairman. This conference in Frankfurt addressed the challenges of overcoming traditional university structures, the freedom of teaching, and the future problems that capitalism would pose. A predictable development In a discussion paper at the time, I referred to the early capitalist structures of global colonialism and the centuries-long exploitation, plundering, humiliation and enslavement of the peoples of the entire so-called Third World. Nena's anti-war song '99 Luftballons" (balloons) is a parable about the trivial causes that lead to serious developments. This series of articles will analyse this by using examples. In a few decades at the latest, these peoples would rise – they were already awakening in Africa, Asia, and South America, indeed everywhere on earth – and demand what was rightfully theirs. And big business and the capitalist states would build walls and use weapons to protect their stolen goods. I didn't have to be a prophet to make this statement; progressive economists and sociologists had already come to similar conclusions at the time. Just over 20 years later, in the 1990s, the then-Federal Government, under Helmut Kohl, felt compelled to reconsider the wording of Article 16 of the German Constitution, which states, ‘Politically persecuted persons enjoy the right of asylum.’ This was preceded in 1992 by a doubling of asylum applications to 440,000 compared to the previous year. At that time, most asylum seekers were war refugees from the former Eastern Bloc state of Yugoslavia and people from Romania who wanted to escape the sometimes bloody uprisings and internal conflicts. Only 4.3 per cent of them were granted asylum. In 1993, a two-thirds majority of the CDU/CSU, SPD and FDP in the Bundestag, accompanied by large street protests, voted in favour of amending the Basic Law. Article 16a severely restricted the right to asylum through the third-country rule. In order not to completely violate the Geneva Refugee Convention, which Germany had also signed (‘Everyone has the right to seek and enjoy asylum from persecution in other countries.’ Article 14/1), a legal regulation on the right of asylum was passed, known as ‘small asylum’. During this period, the word ‘migration’ became a buzzword. Migration – what a hot topic in the 2020s! Once again! It often seems as if everyone has the only true solution to the supposed global catastrophe of migration in their pocket. Individuals, racists and philanthropists, parties and interest groups, NGOs, even entire states and confederations are arguing about the right way to deal with this modern mass migration, which is actually a human migration. Today, 50 years after my words as a student in the late 1960s, it is clear that the rich, industrialised nations of Europe and North America have largely ignored this vision of a logical, predictable global refugee movement. Politically and economically, the focus remained on exploitation. Now they want to combat the phenomenon of human migration, which they themselves have conjured up, by all possible means, including inhumane and illegal ones, and they are prepared to suspend values such as human rights. Prevention and obstruction of refugee aid North African countries such as Libya, which are known for human rights violations, are being paid to prevent refugees from reaching Europe. Lebanon, itself a country on the brink of collapse, also received millions in the run-up to the 2024 European elections to protect Europe from migrants. Thousands of people die crossing the Mediterranean, partly because the Mediterranean coastal states, contrary to international maritime law, obstruct or even prevent sea rescue operations in such cases and even criminalise sea rescuers. For example, terrible conditions are reported from refugee camps in Greece. Refugees are turned away at Europe's external borders or sent back in so-called illegal push-backs. People froze to death at the border between Poland and Belarus. Human rights, human dignity and humanity, which were once agreed upon, are being ignored and marginalised bit by bit. Although some politicians have come to the revolutionary realisation that the causes of migration must be combatted in the countries of origin, this has not prevented the German government from reducing development aid. Instead of helping, physical, psychological and rhetorical barriers are erected. It is probably largely unknown that over a third of the ‘refugee-related expenditure’ declared in the federal budget is for ‘combating the causes of flight’. These funds are charged to the refugees, rather than being viewed more fairly as compensation for previously neglected, forward-looking investments in their countries of origin. Human rights As a reminder, here are two texts that were agreed upon more than 70 years ago after the horrors of World War II to create a more humane world: UN Declaration of Human Rights 1948: All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood (...) Article 1 of the Basic Law (GG) of the Federal Republic of Germany, 1949: Human dignity is inviolable. Respecting and protecting them is the obligation of all state power. The German people, therefore, declare their commitment to inviolable and inalienable human rights as the foundation of every human community, of peace and justice in the world. Historical background to today's migration Migration in Europe is a self-inflicted phenomenon caused by the great-grandfathers, grandfathers and fathers of those nations that are now complaining the loudest: the former colonial powers. (Link 1: http://planet-wissen.de →Colonialism – Europe's colonies) In the first half of the 20th century, the independence movements in the European colonies ensured that the price-performance ratio was no longer favourable for the colonial rulers. The investments required to maintain power far exceeded the profits that the colonial powers made from exploiting the indigenous population. The colonies were granted supposed political independence without regard for existing historical structures and related ethnic groups. This arbitrariness was one of the causes of later conflicts, expulsions and flight. Political independence was quickly followed by economic dependence. Instead of colonial states, international corporations from the former colonial powers and, since the early 20th century, also from the USA, took over the lucrative production facilities through a more sophisticated form of exploitation, modernised them, and continued to exploit the former colonies. (Link 2: https://www.geo.de/wissen/folgen-des-kolonialismus--wunden--die-nicht-verheilen-30178912.html ). The trade relations between European global players and their former colonies have always been one-sided. Raw materials are extracted or purchased at a low cost in the former colonies. Parts of production are carried out using cheap labour in the former colonies, or low prices are paid for products! Production equipment is sold to the former colonies at very high European prices! That is the business model! In the process, the companies have also helped shape the political landscape and social climate. Local oligarchs, dictators, corrupt politicians, tribal leaders and violent military leaders, often in dual roles, guaranteed the companies freedom of action and were protected by the companies in return. In addition to economic hardship, local armed conflicts, including devastating wars in the so-called Third World, caused additional oppression, displacement, hunger and death. In summary, the proletariat remains impoverished today, while the rich have only become wealthier. Global wealth gap The five wealthiest men in the world doubled their wealth between 2020 and 2025, while nearly five billion people fell into poverty during the same period. Excluding emerging economies such as China, India, Brazil, etc., where a new middle class is slowly emerging but where large sections of the population still live in extreme poverty, around 5 billion people are living in severe economic and social hardship. This contrasts with just under 1 billion people in the G7 countries, who generate around 45% of the total gross national income (known as gross national product until 1999) worldwide. But poverty is by no means unknown in the G7 countries either. (Link 3: www.oxfam.de/ueber-uns/publikationen/bericht-soziale-ungleichheit-2024 ) The 5 billion underprivileged people are not, as is often claimed, less hard-working than those in the G7 countries. These people, if they have work at all, do not go home after an 8-hour working day. They work 12 hours, even up to 16 hours a day, to earn enough not to live, but to survive. This work is done by women, men and children. This is the price that people in the ‘Third World’ pay so that people in rich countries can buy a T-shirt for €2.49! In a nutshell, this means: Our wealth is based on the poverty and exploitation of the Third World. Causes of migration We are the ones responsible for the poverty of the so-called Third World! Shifting this responsibility away is common practice among industrialised countries with their political bodies (parties, governments) and capital (national and global corporations). What could be more understandable than searching for something new, something different, when one's homeland no longer offers the possibility of survival because oppression, persecution (recognised grounds for asylum under Article 16a of the German Constitution), war (only subsidiary protection!!!), lack of prospects, shortages and hunger (not recognised grounds for asylum!!!)... are a daily reality? Since the modification of Article 16 of the German Constitution in 1993, these reasons are no longer grounds for asylum, even though this contradicts the right to human dignity and physical integrity. It is desperation that drives these people to flee! Or do European leaders such as Olaf Scholz, Friedrich Merz, Markus Söder, Georgia Meloni or Keir Starmer believe that people in Tunisia or France would board a dilapidated boat because of the financial support they can expect to receive? Germany currently provides €460 per month in maintenance, Italy gives €40 via a payment card, and the United Kingdom pays £210 to recognised asylum seekers. And for that, all these people are supposed to set off across the Mediterranean or the English Channel in rickety boats, with a high chance of drowning in the sea?! The reason they are putting their lives at risk is: - Slave labour (textile production partly through child labour, e.g. Bangladesh, Cambodia; workers held like prisoners in cobalt and copper mining, e.g. DR Congo, etc.) and oppression by corporations with the help of corrupt politicians (Link 4: https://www.bpb.de/themen/migration-integration/kurzdossiers/265328/die-wahre-fluechtlingskrise-flucht-und-vertreibung-in-afrika ) - Wars , from which arms manufacturers profit (e.g. shares in the arms manufacturer Rheinmetall have risen by over 670% in the last three years as a result of global warfare, the dividend for shareholders rose from €2.00 in 2021 to €5.70 in 2024 and is forecast to reach €8.10 in 2025) - Poverty caused by exploitation and unfair trade agreements dictated by rich countries due to their capital power. - Destruction of livelihoods through overexploitation of nature (deforestation of the Amazon rainforest, Central Africa, Borneo; overfishing in all the world's oceans) and climate change, mainly caused by the industrialised nations of the global North. Billions of people are deprived of even the most basic means of subsistence to which they are entitled under universal human rights. (Link 6: https://www.bpb.de/kurz-knapp/lexika/politiklexikon/17842/menschenrechte/ ). This contrasts with a few million privileged individuals. 0.9% of the world's population owns 43.9% of the world's wealth. (Link 7: https://de.statista.com/infografik/1824/reichtumsverteilung-weltweit/ ). These privileged individuals, the capitalists, elites, and the wealthy, as well as their allies in government, are, of course, well aware of this imbalance and are not without concern about it. To avoid any misunderstanding: they are not concerned about the injustice; they are concerned that the billions of underprivileged people will become aware of the imbalance and realise that they are actually in the majority. There are now two strategies in our time to protect and save the capitalist economic system. Isolation and propaganda as the means of choice To protect against refugees from underprivileged countries, the countries of the Third World, isolation (e.g. illegal border controls and rejections by the German Home Office) is being used. This is, of course, a policy of burying one's head in the sand. Or what are we to think of a resident whose house is surrounded by a burning forest and who believes that closing the shutters will solve the problem? But any other solution could disrupt the system. To save themselves from their own underprivileged citizens in industrialised nations, such as workers, the unemployed, pensioners, etc., they resort to propaganda against refugees. The underprivileged are manipulated and used to declare isolationism as the will of the people. To achieve this, it is necessary to have opinion leaders in the media and, with their help, to beat the propaganda drum loudly. The real causes of grievances are obscured, attention is diverted from solvable economic and political problems, and migrants are made scapegoats. At this point, I would like to address some typical propaganda statements and their questionable truthfulness, and in particular, expose five populist claims that are falling on fertile ground among conservative and right-wing party members and sympathisers, right up to confirmed right-wing extremist nationalist fascists. Propaganda lies 1 to 5: 1. ‘Migration is the mother of all problems,’ Horst Seehofer once said at an internal CSU conference, for example. That is a lie! The truth is: Super-wealth is the father of all problems! The super-rich benefit from numerous tax advantages, resulting in a lower tax burden compared to that of normal earners. Taxation on billionaire fortunes has been significantly reduced since 1996. Tax avoidance through ‘aggressive tax planning’, such as shifting profits to tax havens, is widespread. The top tax rate in Germany for earned income is 42%, while capital gains are generally taxed at a rate of only 25%. The super-rich benefit from low corporate taxes, flat-rate taxation of capital gains, tax exemptions on real estate purchases and other assets, and no social security contributions on high incomes. In Germany, this particularly affects the 249 billionaires counted in 2024. 2. ‘Germany must know who is in the country and be able to decide for itself who is allowed to be here, ’ demanded Christian Lindner (FDP) as a member of the traffic light coalition government (2021 to 2024), according to the Stuttgarter Zeitung. He should have been aware that this simple and comprehensible statement violates applicable law. That is why we must disagree: No, Mr Lindner! The truth is: European and international law have long established that persecuted, disenfranchised and threatened people must be granted protection and all human rights. This populist demand by former Finance Minister Lindner, which is superficially appealing, is explosive, as it calls into question the fundamental rights enshrined in the Constitution, and thus also democracy and European unity. He is lighting the fuse with which nationalists and fascists in Germany and Europe want to weaken further and ultimately destroy the fragile unity of Europe. 3. Migrants are worsening the employment situation for Germans , claimed Sahra Wagenknecht, founder of the ‘Bündnis Sahra Wagenknecht’ (BSW). This claim is based on the assumption that immigrants increase competitive pressure in the labour market, which would lower wage levels. She thus perpetuates a narrative similar to that of politicians from the AfD, FDP, CDU and CSU, who rant about immigration into the German social welfare system, namely that migrants are taking something away from German citizens. The truth is: Most economists view increased immigration as a positive development. The vast majority of refugees are not allowed to work for six months due to a completely incomprehensible law and are therefore dependent on state transfer payments. (Link 8: https://www.bmas.de/DE/Arbeit/Migration-und-Arbeit/Flucht-und-Aysl/Arbeitsmarktzugang-fuer-Gefluechtete/arbeitsmarktzugang-fuer-gefluechtete-art.html ) When they do find work, they are mainly employed in sectors with particularly poor pay and have no control over their wage level (fixed minimum wage). It will not work to recruit skilled workers if Germany shows its ugly side in its refugee policy. Racism is a locational disadvantage. Migrants are much younger than the average population – and those who are young today will generally receive less in old age than they have paid in over their lifetime,’ as labour market researcher Herbert Brüchner explains. This generates additional profit for the community. 4. Migration intensifies competition for affordable housing , much to the detriment of those affected by poverty, claimed presenter Markus Lanz. Rising rents are the result, as Lanz emphasises. The truth is that: Rents do not rise as if by magic. Rather, it is landlords – whether housing cooperatives, private real estate companies or private landlords – who are profiting from the high demand. A particularly glaring example of exploiting the housing shortage to generate profits was seen during the ‘refugee crisis’ of 2015/16: In view of the housing shortage, wealthy individuals bought dilapidated properties (disused barracks, old hotels) and rented them out to the federal government, states and municipalities as initial reception facilities and asylum accommodation at exorbitant prices. Refugees account for only a small part of these accommodation costs – it is the rent sharks who are making a killing at the expense of taxpayers. In 2022, more than 40,000 flats in Berlin and 1.9 million flats throughout Germany were vacant. Nothing is being done about this. That the federal government is lagging far behind in social housing construction, which is also causing shortages. In 2023, it subsidised 49,430 social housing units, compared to a target of 100,000. According to the Social Housing Alliance, there is a shortfall of 910,000 units. 5. Human rights must be subordinated to or even sacrificed for the sake of the strategy of isolation towards refugees , according to arguments put forward by academics in the debate. Constance law professor Daniel Thym is undermining our constitutional state and democracy under the guise of scientific rigour. With his inhumane theories, he also relativises the principles of the constitutional state from a legal perspective, and thus also undermines the inviolability of human rights. Here are some of his statements: In asylum policy, ‘we must also talk about human rights.’ (FAZ) ‘For a change in the system (meaning the treatment of asylum seekers, namely the denial of fundamental rights), we have only one option left: we must apply human rights less strictly.’ (Der Spiegel) Then, revealing his true colours, he says elsewhere: ‘We must be honest with ourselves: we are thoroughly selfish. On a global scale, we are all rich. ... And we don't want to share this wealth with everyone.’ (RND) And he agrees with Hans-Eckard Sommer, President of the Federal Office for Migration and Refugees, who, according to Thym, stands ‘in the “democratic centre” in the sense of the free democratic basic order’ with his demand for the abolition of the fundamental right to asylum. (FAZ) The truth is: Daniel Thym's statements contradict all established legal and moral principles, as do those of Hans-Eckard Sommer. It seems that the Federal Office for Migration and Refugees has put the fox in charge of the henhouse. In Thym's case, his increasingly sharp criticism of prevailing legal practice is of particular interest, as he serves as the local spokesperson for the Research Institute for Social Cohesion (FGZ), which is based at eleven universities and devotes specific attention to its research on the criteria of ‘democratic cohesion’. Three FGZ scholars – Stephan Lessenich, professor of social theory and social research; Sina Arnold, research assistant at the Centre for Research on Anti-Semitism; and Maren Möhring, professor of comparative cultural and social history of modern Europe – disagree with him as follows: “However, a society committed to the principle of democracy cannot apply human rights selectively or only when it suits its interests – otherwise, its cohesion becomes an exclusive event that cannot be secured by legal force alone... Clearly, social majorities are receptive to such ideas of a supposed solution to the crisis. However, those who propagate them should at least refrain from selling them as common sense and a conservative act of recalibrating human dignity. The ‘system change’ should be called what it is: the further tightening of a migration policy that walks over dead bodies." (TAZ, 25 April 2026) Only a few progressive media outlets are critically commenting on such efforts to tighten asylum law further and pursue migration policies that go beyond humanity and the law. The mainstream press tends to remain discreetly silent on the issue. Behind this lies either secret sympathy for the right-wing scene, approval of the current government's policies, or a lack of civil courage. The root of all problems is not migration, but capitalism! As we have seen, all these myths and narratives, lies and half-truths ultimately deliberately obscure the fact that the problems are not caused by refugees and migrants, but by the prevailing capitalist system, i.e. by the beneficiaries and supporters of the system, such as companies and corporations, private profit-oriented landlords, elites such as opinion leaders in the media and in science and academia, and people with political responsibility in the legislative and executive branches. Not to be forgotten are the super-rich, e.g. the 249 billionaires in Germany. In 2024, there were 23 more than in the previous year. They contribute the least to the social fabric of our state, because they can evade fair participation through tax and business actions alone. Who can even imagine what 1 billion actually means? To illustrate this gigantic accumulation of money and possessions and to get an idea of what 1 billion is, here is an example: if someone has 1 million euros, we consider them to be ‘rich’, but 1 billion? For people who already consider themselves rich if they have £1,000 or £10,000 in the bank, their imagination is not sufficient to comprehend these dimensions. Distances are perhaps easier to imagine: 1 million millimetres is 10 km, which is just enough to get you beyond the city limits of Hamburg, for example. 1 billion millimetres is the distance from Hamburg to Vienna, or 1,000 kilometres, or to put it another way: 1,000 kilometres is 1 million metres. 1 billion metres, on the other hand, is 1 million kilometres. That is about 3 times the distance from the Earth to the Moon. Then imagine 1 billion euros! Just to illustrate the dimensions! Reality versus bias and hate speech! Right-wing conservative media outlets, such as the newspapers published by Axel Springer Verlag, explicitly incite hatred against migrants, refugees and, last but not least, the poor, the unemployed and welfare recipients (the owner, Mathias Döpfner, is a multiple billionaire) consider it unworthy of reporting when, for example, on the morning of 1 January 2025, thousands of Muslim youths from the Ahmadiyya Muslim Jamaat volunteer to clean up New Year's Eve rubbish in around 300 locations in Germany. This expression of Muslims' solidarity with Germany was hardly mentioned in the public debate. The attack by a suspected right-wing extremist in Magdeburg was also quickly deemed uninteresting by many media outlets and political parties, unlike it would have been if the perpetrator had had a migrant background. These media outlets pander to the confirmed right-wing extremist spectrum – the AfD and its sympathisers – and pave the way for incitement against migrants, the poor and the underprivileged. In contrast, the millions of examples of successful integration are hardly mentioned. Rejections based on populism? The latest escalation (2025) in the migration debate was caused by the Federal Interior Minister Alexander Dobrindt (CSU) just one week after taking office. Despite legal concerns in Germany and the EU, the Federal Interior Minister ordered increased border controls and rejections at the borders. At this point, it is worth talking not only about morality, humanity and the law, or even about possible savings and cuts in the social sector, schools, kindergartens, social welfare and the cultural sector, which are supposed to serve as financing, but also about a cost-benefit analysis! 1,200 new federal police officers were deployed to the borders. Approximately 12,000 to 13,000 officers are now deployed, most of them in salary grades A7 – A8, which means €3,000 gross (?) per month. This measure therefore costs the state, i.e. the taxpayer, €36 to €39 million per month. And then let’s take a look at the benefits achieved: In the first week of increased controls, Minister Dobrindt proudly announced a 45 per cent increase in rejections. A look at the specific figures: A total of 739 people were rejected in the first week. In the previous week, the figure was 511. With the help of additional staff, 228 more people per week were turned away. Extrapolated over the month, that would be approximately 1,000 people. This required the deployment of an additional 1,200 civil servants for this purpose. Labour costs alone amounted to approximately €3.6 million, not including administrative costs and technical expenses, which can be estimated at least the same amount again. What a great success! Each additional rejection costs the taxpayer at least €3,600 per month, probably even more than double that amount. This money is not an investment that would lead to any solution to problems such as the shortage of skilled workers. There is no constructive approach whatsoever! Now, one might come up with the idea and ask: Yes, but what would these 1,000 people cost us per month if they stayed in the country? The following applies here: No one can make such a cost-benefit calculation because no one knows what potential people have if they are treated constructively, and ways of integrating them are created. Quite apart from ethics and morals. The costs roughly estimated above are primarily an administrative expense imposed by the state. The value of a human being, of humanity, cannot be assessed in monetary terms on an ethical level. It is not permissible to compare or offset any costs. Seeing only a monetary value in human beings is capitalism at its worst. According to the latest final court ruling, rejections may be unlawful and may give rise to a claim for damages (Administrative Court of Berlin 6 L 191/25 of 02.06.2023). Germany needs migration! All those with a phobia of migrants should take note of a comment by Professor Monika Schnitzer, LMU Munich, Chair of the German Council of Economic Experts: As a measure against the shortage of skilled workers, economist Schnitzer proposes more immigration. The new Skilled Workers Act (of 23 June 2023) is already a step in the right direction, but the Federal Republic as a whole is not making as much progress ‘as we could and should’... ‘Germany needs 1.5 million immigrants a year if we want to maintain the number of workers, taking into account the considerable emigration of 400,000 new citizens each year,’ said the economist on 2 July 2023 in the Süddeutsche Zeitung newspaper. Germany urgently needs a culture of welcome, adds Schnitzer, who has headed the German Council of Economic Experts since October 2022. The Skilled Immigration Act passed by the Bundestag needs to be expanded: ‘For example, immigration offices should not deter immigrants, but offer them services,’ she suggests. ‘We should not require foreign skilled workers to be able to speak German for every job. Instead, we should ensure that the employees of the immigration office can speak English.’ She points to the truly urgent issues of our time and implies that the migration debate serves as a distraction for politicians who are responsible to avoid and obscure precisely these unresolved real problems! To address the shortage of skilled workers, Germany needs to invest more in children, for example, Schnitzer continues. ‘It's a sad reflection on our society that one in four fourth-graders cannot read properly,’ she criticises. In addition, companies need to keep older employees happy so that they don't retire early, the economist explains. Schnitzer criticises the lack of investment in infrastructure, the country's lagging behind in digitalisation and its late start on climate protection, among other things. This list of failures could go on and on, including pension and care financing, health insurance reform, etc. – all areas that could be addressed through positive management of migration (language support, early career support, social integration, human recognition, and so much more). Political strategy: right-wing slogans to prevent a shift to the right! While economists, industry, social scientists and the service sector agree that without massive immigration, nothing will really work in our country soon, the majority of German politicians know nothing better than to parrot the extreme right like a broken record: Restrict migration! Restrict migration! What is their motive? They hope to win back voters for the conservative parties who have drifted to the far right. Instead of encouraging Germans to think by confronting them with reality, they are mimicking the xenophobic attitudes of right-wing parties, thereby bringing this ideology into the political mainstream. Finally, here is an example of how irrational the whole debate has become: The state of Lower Saxony sent a delegation of business and political leaders to Colombia from 1 to 5 July 2025 to recruit workers in the fields of nursing, life sciences, electronics, skilled trades, gardening and landscaping. At the same time, the Federal Republic of Germany is planning to deport around 1,600 Colombians who fled the Colombian civil war, most of whom are qualified in the areas described above and learned German here in a very short time. (TAZ vom 24.06.2023) To paraphrase a famous slogan from the migration debate of the 1990s, one feels compelled to exclaim once again: Dear migrants, don't leave us alone with the Germans! Conclusion: The reality is that Germany does not have a migration problem, but rather a humanity problem, and appears incapable of identifying the necessities and addressing their solution. (HeiN)

-Munich 1945 to 1953- (DE) "For God's sake! That can't be! It's gone! Just gone!" I, a mere six-year-old, was standing on Guldeinstraße in the Schwanthalerhöhe district of Munich on a freezing cold winter's day in 1946 and was terribly frightened. The food stamp my grandmother gave me to buy a quarter of a pound of sugar at the supermarket in Astallerstraße had disappeared on the way. Stunned, I stared at my clammy fingers, which had held on to this precious stamp as tightly as they could, and now it had disappeared. What a disaster! Such a tiny part could easily get lost. My grandma and I frantically searched the snow-covered road for the tiny stamp. Our chances of finding it were not good. But we were lucky; we found it in the snow slush. Relieved, we carried the small, completely soaked, but precious scrap of paper home. My grandma ironed it until it was flat and dry so that we could set off again to get hold of some sugar.   This anecdote is typical of the post-war period from 1945 onwards. The supply situation was disastrous, especially for the inhabitants of the cities. There was hardly any production in Germany, and transport routes such as railway tracks, roads and bridges had largely been destroyed by targeted bombing. Even inner-city streets were often barely recognisable under all the rubble. Peanut butter from the black market - pure madness! When all supplies were used up at the end of 1946, the daily requirement of an average adult was rationed to a meagre 1550 kilocalories. In 1947, it was often only 800 to 1000 kilocalories. If there was nothing left, nothing could be distributed. The allocation of food vouchers corresponded to this measure. Too much to die and too little to live on, as the saying goes.  With the introduction of the war economy by the National Socialists, food was rationed from 1939, and food stamps were issued. Even after the war, the occupying powers and the regional German administrations retained this supply system. It was only finally abolished in 1953. Until then, food stamps were issued alongside the DM even after the currency reform in 1948. Like most other families in our neighbourhood, inflation was an almost insurmountable problem for us. My father was not among the 25 per cent unemployed in those first post-war years. He immediately got a job at the post office. But his wages were almost worthless. A pound of butter cost 360 Reichsmarks, a pound of bread 190 RM and a kilo of coffee could cost between 500 and 1100 RM. Who had that kind of money? Very few people could pay these prices, which were charged on the strictly forbidden black market. According to official statistics, the average salary in 1947 was around RM 1,833 monthly. Of course, the unemployed had even less at their disposal. Therefore, other ways of obtaining food had to be found, namely the so-called hoarding trips. This involved the urban population going to the surrounding villages to exchange expendable items such as jewellery, silverware, paintings, etc., for potatoes, eggs or other foodstuffs. Those who had nothing of value had to resort to begging. I don't know whether my parents also went on such trips, for example, to the Stauchbäuerin in Warngau. But I know that my father and I once ran a black-market business together. One day, given the daily shortage, a camera seemed dispensable to my father, so we both made our way to Hackerbrücke. In some of the Reichsbahn railway carriages, one could find Americans with whom the people of Munich could barter. Similar black markets existed all over Munich, for example, at the Viktualienmarkt or Sendlinger Tor.  Many people hoped to obtain cigarettes such as Lucky Strike or Chesterfield from the GIs at Hackerbrücke. The cigarette currency was a very well-functioning means of payment in the post-war period. If you had cigarettes, you could exchange almost anything for them. Cigarettes were definitely more valuable than money or other goods. I can't say whether my father received cigarettes for his camera because, as a little boy of six, I wasn't interested in that. The powdered milk we packed and the food tins were more appealing to me. And if I had known how good peanut butter tasted, my excitement on the way home would have been even greater.  But this delicacy, which, according to the label, was called "peanut butter", was utterly unknown to us. The whole family tasted this strange spread with some suspicion. But what can I say? It was a divine treat! We all ate it, wholly enraptured by the delicious flavour, and even today when I receive peanut butter as a gift from my daughter, I enjoy eating it and reliving my childhood memories. Hunger is the best cook! My life had changed fundamentally in the summer of 1945. I don't know why my parents brought me to live with my grandmother at Guldeinstraße 41 for a few months at that time. But I assume my mother wanted to stay at the Stauchhof with my two-year-old sister until my father made our flat on the third floor at Gollierstraße 36 habitable again.  Guldeinstreet in 2011 Gollierstreet 36 (2011) Typical blocks of flats in Schwanthalerhöhe Also, I was six years old at the end of the war in 1945 and was due to start school in September. As my parents were planning to return to Munich, enrolling me in our neighbourhood school immediately made sense. I went to the Ridler school, although the Bergmannschule would have been closer. But this school had been so severely destroyed during the war that it could not open for the time being.  I can't remember my first day at school, and I don't recall the lessons, the teachers or my class, but I can still clearly picture the blue tubs and containers in which the school meals were delivered. We spooned up mushy pea soup or chewy porridge with a chocolate flavour. Unforgettable! I liked both. After all, hunger is the best cook. But my grandma was definitely a magician in post-war cuisine. From the few ingredients that were available to her due to the food stamps, she made her own delicious "odrahde Wichspfeiferl" (today we call them "Schupfnudeln") with home-made sauerkraut, and home-made broad noodles were also on the menu. These were my favourite dishes. I didn't have to go hungry. I was fortunate at that time.  These post-war years until the currency reform in 1948 have gone down in history as years of cold and hunger in Germany, especially in the cities. However, my family managed to ensure that I didn't feel the general lack of essential supplies as a child. Memories of hunger do not overshadow my memories of this time. But perhaps it's also because of my nature that the glass is always half full rather than half empty for me.  I still remember the warming rooms in the neighbourhood in my childhood because there wasn't enough fuel for the wood and coal stoves. At least we were lucky to live in an undamaged flat. It could get uncomfortably cold there, but we were always better protected. But what could the people do who didn't have a flat, who had only made a makeshift home in the rubble? They could only protect themselves from freezing to death in the warming rooms.  There was also hardly any fuel for public facilities such as schools, so pupils were asked to bring a few coals to school if possible.  In addition, the winter of 1946/47 was the longest and coldest of the 20th century. From November 1946 to March 1947, Germany literally froze over. Even shipping routes became impassable, and stored potatoes, Germany's most important staple food, froze in their crates. The post-war period in Germany, particularly in big cities like Munich, was a terrible time, and many people couldn't survive the hunger and cold.  However, I was lucky that my family was complete and healthy and had not been bombed out. Only my grandfather had been mistreated in the Dachau concentration camp and was only released to die in 1943, and my uncle on my mother's side was killed in the last days of the war. Both my father, whose war injury had not left any long-term damage and who was not a prisoner of war, and my mother soon found a job. He worked as a parcel courier at the post office, and she was a clerk at a retail company. My parents didn't have big salaries, but they had work and, therefore, a certain degree of security. Childhood in the rubble  I can't remember why my father was at home in the Guldeinstraße that afternoon and not at work. But I still clearly remember tripping during the Fangermandl game and hitting my head on a manhole cover. The wound just above the eye in my right eyebrow was bleeding profusely, and I was unsurprisingly upset. At the time, people didn't have any medication or bandages at home, nor was there an emergency telephone number that could have been used to call paramedics or an ambulance. Apart from that, there was no rescue service as we know it today. So my father carried me on his shoulders all the way, more than three kilometres, from Guldeinstraße to the clinic on Nussbaumstraße, where my wound was stitched and bandaged. The scar is still visible today. I was a typical boy of Schwanthalerhöhe! Little Sabine, about four years old, was also running around, playing with the children in our street, and was less lucky than me. She was run over by a lorry in front of us and died instantly. I didn't see the moment of the accident, but I saw Sabine lying under the twin rear tyres of the lorry. She was dead. Nobody could explain how the accident had happened. There were few cars on the road at the time. Maybe that's why she hadn't recognised the lorry as a danger. It was a mystery. All the residents of the neighbourhood, but especially those in Guldeinstraße, where the accident had happened, were in shock for a long time.  Looking back, I only realise today that we children of the post-war period lived quite dangerously. The playgrounds of my entire childhood were backyards, streets, and the surrounding ruins. There were adventures to be had there.  We searched through the ruins and rubble for pieces of brass or copper, for which we got a few pennies from the ironmonger and tugged at the cables, never suspecting what might be lurking under the rubble at the other end. Possibly an unexploded bomb! Well, and of course, we also did some dangerous nonsense. There was a camp nearby made of planks nailed together. We didn't know what it had once been used for. Maybe it was a shooting range because we found a lot of cartridges in it. If we had also found a suitable weapon, an accident would certainly have happened. But as it was, we found another way to ensure it went off. We dug the cartridges we had collected into the ground and set them alight. We were very impressed by our heroic deed.  Parents in our neighbourhood at that time were not overprotective. The adults reminded the children to watch out for this and that, to leave this and that alone, and then left them to their own devices or in the care of their older siblings. Nothing happened to my sister and me. We were lucky or perhaps protected because my working parents hired a domestic help to look after my sister and me before and after school or kindergarten. Sometimes, she would send me to the Bürgerheim pub at Bergmannstraße 33 to buy a single "American cigarette" for 30 pfennigs. She allowed herself this luxury.  The Bürgerheim pub still exists today. In the post-war period, it was an important meeting place for the residents of Schwanthalerhöhe. Not only was a warming centre set up there, but even after the currency reform, cheap food such as lung ragout with potatoes was still available for ration stamps. This is a mixture of innards such as sour lung and pork belly.  Currency reform 1948  Speaking of currency reform. The currency reform on 21 June 1948 put an end to the economic and everyday chaos of inflation, black markets and shortages. The changes were almost immediately visible in the shop windows. Where there had been nothing before, overnight, there suddenly was bread and sausage and fabrics and clothes and the like.  The new currency - Deutsche Mark (DM -1948) The shopkeepers had hoarded goods so they could sell them from the cut-off date for good money. All those who didn't own anything in kind only had the one-time 40 DM allowance per family member. Savings were exchanged for RM 100 at DM 6.50. A huge loss. In the end, savers were among the losers.  On the eve of the currency reform, you could no longer buy anything for Reichsmark, and everyone realised it wasn't worth hoarding the worthless money.  My friends and I have this fact to thank for our very special miracle of the currency reform.   We were about nine years old and already realised that the adults were in a frenzy because the currency reform would finally become a reality. The term meant very little to us, only that there would be different money.  Of course, we didn't realise the significance of such a currency changeover in everyday life, and, to be honest, we didn't care. But what made us euphoric on Saturday, 19 June 1948, was that people gave us money. Just like that. Unbelievable!  On this memorable day, we suddenly owned 20 Reichsmarks. What a wealth! Naturally, we wanted to use it to afford an otherwise unaffordable pleasure. We decided to take the tram to the zoo. That alone was an event in itself. From there, we walked to Lake Hinterbrühl.  77 years later at Hinterbrühler See We imagined how we would pompously and boastfully rent a boat from the local boat lender, Mr Wagner, and pay generously with our own money. Then, like we thought rich people tend to do, we would sail across the lake and simply do nothing. All the way to the boat rental, we talked about what it would be like and how surprised the boat lender would look. We didn't quite understand why Mr Wagner didn't want our money. He waved us off and said that we could keep our worthless money. Our dream of making big payments and cruising around like rich people was over.  But our disappointment was limited because the good man took pity on us and let us travel on his wooden boat for free. In our imagination, we were no longer rich people but wild pirates on the seven seas. There was something about that!  Post-war children and their little happiness  Our wishes were very modest. We children considered ourselves lucky if we had saved up 10 pennies to buy a Stranitze with dried apple peel from the grocery shop "Decker" on the corner of Kazmair and Ganghoferstraße on our way to school.  The term "Stranitze" is no longer known today. These are triangular bags made from newspaper. Today, this type of bag, although no longer made from newspaper, is still used, for example for roasted almonds,  In the late 1940s and early 1950s, wafer crumbs with leftover chocolate were an absolute luxury—one bag for 35 pfennigs. We could only afford that very rarely and only if we pooled our money.  What a lucky coincidence that the large "Limmer" bakery was in the neighbouring house. The bakery was located in the rear building, and we, the children from Gollierstraße, found it very interesting to see how the large sacks of flour were unloaded from the delivery lorries and lifted by a small crane attached to the front of the building.  And we hoped that baker Limmer would appear in the courtyard and ask us if we had already sweated today. We always eagerly answered affirmatively because if we said we had sweated, we were given pretzels. We never asked ourselves what was behind this question. The main thing was that we got a pretzel! The "Pfanni dumpling"  From 1947, the exhibition centre, bordered by Theresienwiese to the east, Ganghoferstraße to the west, Heimeranstraße to the north and Pfeufer and Radlkoferstraße to the south, was once again home to exhibitions of all kinds. Of course, we children would have been very interested to see and taste everything there was to see and taste, but we didn't have the money for the entry fee. I can't remember exactly which food fair it was and what year it was in the 1940s, but we were determined to get inside. There was bound to be something delicious to taste. And we made extensive preparations to ensure that we would succeed.  Before the opening, we loosened some planks from the fencing at a suitable spot in Heimeranstraße so that they only hung from a nail at the top. We could then push them aside if necessary and quickly slip through. Once we were on the site, everything was straightforward. We walked unnoticed to the lighthouse in front of Hall 7 and waited for the inspector to make his rounds at the entrance. We naturally mingled with the visitors, looked at the goods on offer and were magically drawn to the Pfanni stand. Why? There was something to try.  We didn't know then that we were about to enjoy a historic innovation in the food industry and ready-made products - the Pfanni dumpling.  In 1949, Werner Eckart set up the Pfanni factory in the Munich district of Berg am Laim near the Ostbahnhof railway station and added the "Urknödel" (original dumpling) to his range of dried potato products. Pfanni also presented this "Urknödel" to an astonished audience at a food fair or the Munich Central Agricultural Festival in 1949. I can't say for sure. The decades-long triumph of this ready-made product is well known.  We children of the post-war period certainly appreciated that we were allowed to try these little dumplings with tomato sauce at the trade fair stand. It was a real treat!  It was certainly worthwhile for Pfanni to treat us children so generously because we were the customers of the future. In any case, I have enjoyed eating Pfanni dumplings all my life, but with roast pork and not with tomato sauce.  Many years later, while working as a parcel carrier, I got to know the managing director of Pfanni-Werke, Dr Lange, and told him about our illegal visit to the trade fair and the dumpling feast. I am only now honouring his request to write this story down. I first had to learn to type on a typewriter and then on a keyboard. But better late than never!  Neckache Row at the cinema However, we couldn't scam our way into one of the cinemas in Schwanthalerhöhe as we could at the fair, so we kids had to beg our parents for some money. None of us were given regular pocket money.  The Merkur cinema at Gollierstraße 24, which opened in 1927 and closed in 1962, was the most popular. I can still remember the silent film "Goldrausch" (Gold Rush) (1925) with Charlie Chaplin and "Das große Treiben" (The Overlanders) (1946). But of course, we boys were particularly impressed by the westerns starring the American actor Tom Mix (*1880 to +1940).  Tom Mix, the cowboy with style and a big heart, also appeared in German cinemas in the 1920s, and his films were very popular. The cinema-goers of the 20s and us boys of the 40s liked the dramatic and adventurous stories of the Wild West hero, which were humorously told on the screen in black and white and mostly silent.  As children, we always took seats in the so-called "neckache row" in the cinema when we had the 85 pfennigs entrance fee together. These were the cheapest seats in the very front row. We had to bend our heads way back to see the whole screen. After a while, you would get neckache, hence the name "neckache row". In those days, when nobody had a television but at most a radio, going to the cinema was a very welcome form of entertainment. Back then, several cinemas in our neighbourhood were within walking distance. In addition to the "Merkur", we could also go to the "Westend", the "Ganghofer" and the "Eden", as long as we had somehow managed to raise the 85 pfennigs entrance fee.  Swimming in the "Dante"  There was no outdoor pool in our neighbourhood. To go swimming, we children had to go to the "Dantebad" in the Gern district. That was a good four kilometres away, about an hour's walk, and then, tired from swimming and romping around, an hour back again. There was a tram connection, but we saved ourselves the 20 pennies for the tram because otherwise, we wouldn't have had enough money for the entry fee to the Dante.  We only travelled to the Dantebad by car once, which was an adventure. A neighbour, Mr Schindlauer, offered us a lift to the outdoor pool in the back of his Ford lorry with a wood-gas engine. We were thrilled and sat excitedly on the back of the lorry. It was the first car journey of our lives. The day of our first holy communion and our first traveling by car In 1948, on the day of our holy communion, we were allowed to go by car again. My friend Fritzl, who lived in the same house as me, Annerl from the neighbouring house and I were invited by the baker Limmer to celebrate the day by driving with him to Lake Starnberg in his English "Austin Traveller", a kind of estate car. We sat in amazement on the wooden loading area. What an experience! Such a great car and so fast!  But as the journey progressed, Annerl got quieter and quieter and huddled in her corner. She felt sick from the rocking on the rather bumpy road to Starnberg. At that time, there was still no sign of a motorway for miles around. Annerl wasn't feeling well at all and had to vomit. Of course, that wasn't how Mr Limmer had imagined it. But he took it in his stride. But we children all agreed that the trip had been fantastic. Despite Annerl's sickness! The first Wies'n  Yes, we children from Schwanthalerhöhe lived in modest circumstances, but I have fond memories of those years as a school child. Everything was an adventure. Many things were experienced for the first time. After all, we war children had been young children at a time when the world around us was getting darker and poorer. In the post-war period, new doors and paths were opening. And many things were also "for the first time - again!" for the adults.  The first "Wiesn" (Oktoberfest on the Theresienwiese) after the war took place in September 1949. For me and all the other 10-year-olds, it was the first Oktoberfest of our lives because no Oktoberfest had been held from 1939 to 1949. It was a tremendous event.  Business-minded as we were, we pushed the carousel at the Stibor children's carousel for 10 pennies an hour and then jumped on and went for a ride. This ride still ran without a motor. We had to use our own strength to get it going. What luck for us!  We could afford the 20 pfennigs entrance fee for the Devil's Wheel with our money earned. You were allowed to ride for as long as you wanted; of course, we made the most of it. It was great fun. This cult ride is still trendy at the Oktoberfest today.  When we got hungry, we went to the chicken roastery and begged for the chopped- off chicken offcuts we were given to nibble on.  That was our world, and the Theresienwiese, which is so world-famous today because of the Oktoberfest, was part of it. I learnt to ride a bike there, for example. It was an ideal place for it. It was a vast square where nothing was happening most of the time except during the two weeks of the Oktoberfest.   My father had assembled a bike for me from parts of old bikes, and now I was learning how to ride on the Theresienwiese. There was no obstacle in sight, just a vast empty space. Some distance away, an elderly couple strolled unsuspectingly across the area. But as part of my cycling exercises, I rode right between the man's legs from behind. I was utterly baffled about how this could have happened, and the man was understandably very annoyed. He called me a stupid idiot and barked at me unnecessarily, asking if I couldn't have been more careful. If I could have, I would have done so immediately, but I was distracted by balancing and pedalling!  Schwanthalerhöhe or Westend, a working-class neighbourhood Schwanthalerhöhe, also known as Westend, was created at the end of the 19th century. Although initially planned as a residential suburb of Munich, it developed into a densely populated working-class neighbourhood. This was because many industrial companies were established along the railway line, which meant work for the people. The accommodation offered by private landlords to workers and their families in the rear buildings and courtyards was dark, small, damp and unhealthy. Water had to be fetched in the hallway, and there was one toilet for several tenants in the stairwell.  When the workers joined to form co-operatives and built their own apartment blocks, living conditions improved somewhat. The standards of the co-operative flats were basic, but at least they were no longer run-down neighbourhoods. Social tensions repeatedly led to a high crime level, and the Westend and Schwanthalerhöhe neighbourhoods were known as the "broken glass district" and "robbers' quarter".  I don't know whether our neighbourhood also had a bad reputation in the 1940s and early 1950s. Children aren't interested in such things. We weren't aware that there were no villas in our neighbourhood but rather run-down apartment blocks with peeling plaster. And compared to the ruins that existed for quite a while after the end of the war, every block of flats looked lovely.  Of all the possible crimes committed in a "robbers' neighbourhood", I can only remember one. A murder in our street, at Gollierstraße 36!  A woman who lived on the ground floor was found murdered. For the adults who discussed this case heatedly, it was because this married woman went to another man who lived in the neighbourhood whenever her husband wasn't at home. It was a complete mystery to us children why she would be murdered because she was visiting someone. The whole thing was very mysterious!  Nevertheless, we weren't afraid of a murderer in our street. We instinctively believed that this crime had nothing to do with us children.  We soon forgot all about it. It wasn't that exciting after all.  Our family gradually moved away from Schwanthalerhöhe. At the end of the 1940s, we moved with my grandmother to a larger flat at Maistraße 4 in Ludwigsvorstadt. For me, this meant moving to Tumblingerschule. In 1951, my father got us a flat in the post office block at Ruffinistraße 9 in Nymphenburg-Neuhausen. I had to go to a new school again, the Renata School. But I always made friends quickly, and many children lived in our block of flats. So it was no problem to make friends.  In 1953, after the 8th grade, I started my professional life at the age of 14. I did an apprenticeship as a carpenter in Kazmairstraße. So, every morning, I returned to my old home on Schwanthalerhöhe or in the Westend, whatever you want to call it.  What happened to me then is another story. (HB)