When you drive through Xico Viejo, Veracruz, a small town 25 miles from Xalapa, you would swear you had stepped back in time and into an “John Wayne western.  The narrow streets are tough to navigate with horses and burros tied to hitching posts along both sides. The trucks you see are reminiscent of small-town Anywhere, 60 years ago. There are caballeros with cigarettes hanging from their mouths, and a sombrero pulled down so low you can barely see their eyes watching your every move.  You can easily imagine them saying (if they spoke English), “You ain’t from around here, are ya?”

I am the only non-Mexican for miles so the stares and pointing almost becomes a frenzy in this tiny pueblo. Xico is known to have witches at night that chase young lovers. Maybe my wild red hair was thought to belong to a witch that came out a little early.

We were lucky to have a wonderful tour guide, a sister of R2’s amigo.  She was happy to show off the region and we drove to the spectacular, Cascada de Texolo waterfalls, where the 1984 Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner movie, Romancing the Stone, was filmed.

On route, we navigated winding roads with our windows open to savor the aroma of the coffee beans growing in the region.  Along the way, little children would try to entice us to buy their handmade trinkets, or their homemade coffee liquor, similar to Kuala.

We were impressed at the height and beauty of the waterfalls.  R2 and I were somewhat apprehensive to cross the bridge that would take us to the site.  It had been there since the early 1900s and looked like it had missed the last 50 years of structural maintenance. Fortunately, we decided to throw our fates to the wind, and as a result, hiked around the falls for a few hours.  At one point, we joined the locals and enjoyed splashing around in the cool stream under one of the smaller waterfalls.

There was only one restaurant in the area and you had to ascend even higher to reach this hidden gem.  We all wondered how they managed to supply provisions to the top of the mountain since it was not accessible by a motorized vehicle. The only explanation was burros laden with packs on their backs. We didn’t head to that eatery, though, because our guide had other plans for us.  She recommended a trout farm far up in the mountains that served fresh fish, cooked to your liking.

The wonderful Nissan “ghetto” rental navigated pot holes, boulders and steep cliffs like a trooper.  We followed a 1970s rusted beetle slowly up the mountain not sure we would complete this trek with all our hubcaps. We passed rustic haciendas and rancheros on their horses, but the best thing we passed was a small donkey tied to the fence that pointed us in the right direction.  As if by some mind-force he showed us the way to the farm but not with his eyes, his legs, or even his tail, for that matter.  We will refer to his skills as “Periscope Directions.” His periscope literally stood at full attention, shifted to the left and seemed to say to us, “Continue that way, weary travelers.”  While Chelli didn’t speak any English, we all knew what the donkey was telling us and our stomachs ached with laughter.

We finally reached the trout farm, and my comfort level flew out the window.  The restaurant was a small building with smoke billowing from the kitchen.  It was really for locals who had made the trip, with or without the burrito’s help, but that has never stopped us before.

The trout were crowded in small streams so they were easy pickings for lunch. The only fishermen were two-nine year old boys that were catching the fish with a net, plopping them on a bloodied table and bashing their brains out.  They gutted the fish, threw the innards to the dogs and ran the pieces to their mama in the restaurant.  R2 kept stressing, “Don’t look.” He is a lover of nearly alive sashimi so the fish frenzy didn’t seem to bother him in the least.

As R2 and our guide snacked on fried fish tails and the occasional eyeball, I wondered where the nearest mercado was for a bag of papitas and a cool cervesa. You can take the city slicker outta the city, but you can’t take the city outta this Canadian gal!

Read more about Layna’s world travels at http://laynainasia.blogspot.com

[singlepic id=530 w=300 h=225 float=left]Try as I may, I cannot pinpoint my favorite “neck of the woods” in Mexico. I have traveled throughout eleven states, to many pueblos, colonial cities and, of course, the astonishing beaches. I have melted at the remarkable beauty of the turquoise Caribbean waters, toured the Sea of Cortes in Baja, jumped waves in the Pacific and frolicked in the blue-green Gulf of Mexico.  All of these regions of Mexico are unique and enchanting.

My husband and I are seriously flirting with the notion of living in Mexico, once this Asian stint we are on is over.  Our dilemma, we can’t pin down the one location to put down roots.  That isn’t necessarily a bad problem to have, and I know we will live it up while searching for that perfect spot to finally call “nuestra casa.” [singlepic id=531 w=300 h=225 float=right]

For the exorbitant amount we shell out in rent each month in Singapore, we could live in a massive villa with the help included.  Our needs are not so extravagant, and we know, from experience, living comfortably in Mexico is an easily attainable reality, where as living in Asia, it is beyond our means.

The tourists that think Mexico is just sun, sand and beach are missing plenty from this amazing country. I hate to admit it, but I was one of them until I married R2.  My love affair with Mexico began for me when I was still a teenager. Like many foreigners, I would fly to a beach, hang out for a couple of weeks and return to Canada with a glorious tan, a wicked tequila hangover and an immediate need for a liver transplant upon return.

[singlepic id=532 w=320 h=240 float=left]I was extraordinarily lucky that R2 saved me from this total misapprehension of his country, by introducing me to grutas (grottos), volcanoes, canyons, pueblos and pyramids, some of which are among the designated thirty plus “UNESCO Heritage” sites in the country.

When is the last time you saw a tree (El Arbol del Tule) that spans 33 feet in diameter, is over 2,000 years old, and thought to be the oldest tree in the world today?  Have you taken the time to meander through Las Grutas de Cacahuamilpa? These grottos are famous for their incomparable beauty and have fascinating stalactite and stalagmite formations that go on for miles making it one of the largest cave networks in the world.

[singlepic id=534 w=300 h=225 float=right]But, even better than the tour sites, are the people of Mexico. Of the 22 countries in which I have traveled, I have never found a people of any other culture that can match the friendliness, courtesy and kind consideration that I have found in this country.  While initially, the people are shy of us, they warm up quickly once they realize how much we love to be in their country.  R2 is frequently not recognized as a Mexican, perhaps because he has traveled the world so much and hasn’t lived there for almost two decades. But, when people realize he is “one of them,” they ask where he is from and want to know all about him, as if they are welcoming the “prodigal” son home.

[singlepic id=529 w=320 h=240 float=left]We will continue to research our home-away-from-home from the island known as “The Little Red Dot”,   And, while we have beaches, tropical palms and endless summers, there are many things about Singapore that are NOT Mexico. So, when I go to the beach here, I long for the perfect playas and the clear Caribbean ocean in Tulum.  When I see the Buddhist shrines and temples, I miss the churches of Puebla. When I stop for some roadside food at a hawker station in Singy, I yearn for a taco stand that serves up hot and spicy fish tacos on the way to Cuernavaca.

Until we return, we will continue to fly our Canadian and Mexican banderas (flags) from our penthouse balcony, so we can show our pride in our missing homelands.

Read more about Layna’s world travels at http://laynainasia.blogspot.com

Her work is featured on a National blogging website called Not A Tourist Singapore, and she is currently writing travel articles for Canadian newspapers.

While Layna travels the world with her husband and currently resides in Singapore, she and R2 always dream of coming “home” to Mexico, sooner rather than later. Recently, she gave up the corporate life so she concentrate on her writing. Layna writes a successful, humorous blog about the trials and tribulations of living in Asia at Layna in Asia. 

See Mexico through Layna’s eyes. Her wonderful, self-deprecating sense of humor lends comical irony to her writings and makes them all an enjoyable read!

While the stories I read in the media sadden and discourage me, hearing about what is happening in his own country must be heartbreaking for my R2. Please don’t for a second think we take the tragedies lightly and our hearts go out to the families of the people whose lives are forever changed from this senseless brutality.

The purpose of this story is to demonstrate the kindness we have experienced from one side of Mexico to the other, no matter where we go, no matter how many times the policia stop us, no matter what type of trouble we manage to get ourselves into.

R2 is a VIP owner of a splashy condo but even this posh place makes him antsy. He can’t sit for long and is always thinking of things to do. We were in Ixtapa, Guerrero, probably under a palapa when he said, “Vámonos,” to me. I tried to ignore him but I knew that look. He wanted to “do” something.

Normally we are somewhat prepared for a road trip, but this time we spontaneously jumped into our rental and decided to drive to a little secluded beach I had researched called Troncones. The only thing I had was a bikini and a coverup which I was wearing, and of course, what every person needs on the beach – high heels. We had no phone, a little cash, a camera and just a couple of towels to throw on the playa.

The Infamous Cover-up & Heels!

Now, when I say rental car, I don’t mean just any rental car. To this day, I believe this particular car was swapped for the weekend by the teenage brother of the rental car dude. It had no horn, the side mirror was cloudy with caked-on grime, and the rear view mirror was duct taped. What was also missing was gas but that minor detail escaped our notice as the gas gauge was broken.

Along the drive, we stopped in a pueblo, had some great grub and continued on our merry way. We enjoyed our brief time at Troncones, but it was time to head back for our daily “tequila on the deck and watch the sunset” ritual. We were scooting down a steep hill in this jalopy when R2 states, “There is something wrong with the car.” I knew by the tone of his voice, he was dead serious. I whipped around to make sure we weren’t going to be rear ended.

“Ah, hell no, I am not getting in that truck,” I think to myself. Luckily, another car pulled up at the same time. R2 spoke with this hombre chiquito (tiny man) and told me to hop in – we were out of gas, in a rental car we had just picked up. The hombre’s car was equally tiny, and yet he managed to secure two bikes to the roof. His wife was in the front and two sleeping kids were in the cramped backseat. How we managed to get our long legs in, I will never know, but I do know, I was holding a hot, sweaty niño in my arms. The man drove for miles but nothing was open. We were in the middle of nowhere. As he drove, he kept turning to talk to R2, forgetting to watch the road. This was entertainment for them and a great story to tell. We could hear it all now, “Stupid tourists forgetting to put gasolina in the car!”

Finally we came upon a station – thanks to God. Oh, but wait….they don’t have a gas can? The man, his wife and R2 start rifling through the trash looking for pop bottles. Now, I don’t know much about cars but isn’t sugar in the gas tank a bad thing? Meanwhile the kid wakes up and starts to play with the radio, blasting it and taking the car out of gear. I try, desperately to remember how to say “stop it,” in Spanish as I feel the car start to roll. All I manage is “no no” in Spanish, which is pretty much “no no” in English, as I reef on the emergency brake.

They find the bottles, fill a few and we are on the road back to our car. Not so fast…we have to get past the Mexican Army who has created a roadblock near the gas station. Of course, we have no passport or marriage certificate in the bikini. Why is this red-headed gringa with a bunch of Mexicans? R2 told me to slump down in the car, as if there was any room to slump. I am holding two, two-liter bottles of gasolina between my feet, trying to not slosh gas everywhere and he wants me to scootch down. Canada has got talent!

We locate the abandoned car, the man wedges a branch to open the tank far enough so R2 can pour the gas, which he managed to douse himself with, we gave the man a hundred pesos for his trouble, and we were on our way. You will be happy to know, we still managed to have our nightly Paloma on the deck and watch the colourful sunset (after R2 showered off the gasoline).

The moral of this story is…ALWAYS CHECK YOUR GAS TANK IN MEXICO…It is not the renters’ practice to fill them up when returned.

Dear people:

Don’t fear Mexico and the fear-mongering propaganda about the eighth largest nation. Most of the people are kind and generous. Be cautious, be smart and remember, you are a visitor in their country. There is far more to do in this wondrous place than get blindly drunk and insult these hard-working people.

One day we will get back to a place we both love, one day the drug cartels and the government corruption will subside. Until we return it is up to YOU to continue our love affair with Mexico!