Boobies!

No, for once it's not just an immature, attention-grabbing headline, there are literally boobies everywhere here and you can talk about them quite freely and whimsically with those around you. When I say here, I mean the Galapagos Islands: the undisputed capital of booby birds, amongst a myriad of other amazing animalia.

There are few words to describe the feeling of finally seeing this wondrous little archipelago sitting off the South American west coast. The very word Galapagos is in everyone's vocabulary due to endless documentaries, yet this strange place for most of us always seems too distant or exotic or expensive a place to ever venture to. Certainly, it is all of those things, but there is no substitution for it on Earth. This is the naturalist's nirvana, the holy grail of animal curiosities, a circus of the eccentricities of natural selection; the birthplace of Charles Darwin's Theory of Evolution.

The Galapagos Islands have been thrust up from the abyssal depths of the Pacific over a tectonic hot spot. Like clouds trailing from a mountain peak, the islands formed from volcanic activity in the west of the chain and as they gradually slide eastwards towards the Andes they begin to erode and sink in the sea. Each island has one of many names depending on who thinks they saw it first and each offers a different state of fertility and nutrients for supporting life. As a result the fauna and flora at each island have evolved in many strange ways to suit the conditions.

Perhaps most importantly, and certainly most interestingly from a tourist point-of-view, the wildlife here has essentially developed without significant human interaction or, as is the case for many species, any form of predators whatsoever either. It is fair to say that, barring domesticated and captive animals, Galapagos is home to the largest variety of animals that will not run away from you.

In fact it is almost hilarious seeing sea lions sleeping on boats in the harbours and lazing around on the streets of the townships. They don't bother anyone and people just walk by within a foot of them. It's a bizarre and almost unbelievable state of social symbiosis. The marine iguanas are even more comical, they emerge from the sea to bask in the sun on every footpath by the water. Here they lie, spread-legged, eyes closed with a sage-like expression, snorting the odd bit of salt from their noses as tourists are forced to tippy toe around them. Humans may have built the few towns in Galapagos, but the animals most certainly have blended in rather well.

Further in land you can see brightly coloured land iguanas and probably the most iconic of Galapagos creature: the giant Galapagos tortoises. These massive things waddle haphazardly in the highland cloud forests, chewing grass and blocking roads. They stare at you quizzically as you walk by and then continue with their non-stop buffet. They really don't have the slightest care about anything in the world.

This innocent and pure interaction extends beneath the waves where creatures of the depths will happily swim right alongside you looking at you in a sense of child-like puzzlement. Sea turtles will glide with you, chowing on sea grass; penguins will bob and dive and swirl around you; sea lions will swim right at you and perform a last minute right angle turn followed by a series of spins and rolls. The sea lions are absolute attention seekers and easily the most curious and playful of all, they will reciprocate your turns and twists in the water and derive immense satisfaction from bursting through any bubbles you form. There actually seems to be a genuine sadness on their part when you leave; their little heads will poke above the water watching you depart. We must be very strange and funny looking sea lions to them and wholesomely entertaining.

The sea lions' curiosity somewhat hilariously makes them a threat to some other animals. They will sometimes hold a marine iguana in their mouth and play with it underwater and watch it swim around, unaware of the fact that lizards need to breathe too, drowning them accidentally.

Enough about sea lions though, let's talk about boobies some more as it really is so liberating to finally have some poetic license to throw this word around without being overly crass. There are three types of boobies on Galapagos; the blue-footed, red-footed and Nazca. All of them are extremely adept at fishing by diving and watching them plummet from above into the ocean in big groups is a true spectacle.

However, the mating ritual of the blue-footed booby is what really stands them apart from their fellow boobies. In such a ritual the male and the female will perform a strange back and forth dance with one another for an indeterminate amount of time, if the female is happy with the male's dance move repertoire he will then be tasked with the responsibility of finding for her the perfect rock. Not just any rock will do. She knows what she wants and when the male brings back a rock and places it on her foot she will assess the rock for some minutes; judging its size, weight, colour striations and overall 'rock-ness'. If she likes it, she will place the rock where the nest should be made. If the rock isn't up to scratch, she will kick it to the curb. The male will then have to find another new rock and try again. As you walk around the boobies you will see many a frustrated male analysing rocks on the ground.

Draw parallels to diamond rings and modern love as you will.

It is entirely possible to just visit the Galapagos and see some of it through a number of day trips, but the best way to see more of the harder to get to islands is via an extended multiple day cruise. We're not talking luxury liner here though so you can abandon any misconceptions of luxury. The 'Guantanamera', slowest ship of the seven seas, was the humble host of our fourteen strong group of adventurous souls. All aboard had made the conscious, though largely budget driven, decision to brave these wild seas in one of the smallest boats plying these waters to see the farthest reaches of this wonderland. Maybe some amongst you are hardy sailors with years of watery journeys under your salty caps, but for those of you who aren't, this is what it's like aboard a little boat for many days in exposed waters...

Firstly, you can forget about meaningful REM sleep. You will feel every wave as the boat bottoms out over each crest and listen to every creak and groan of the boat structure for early warning signs of collapse. Some folk had sleeping pills which seemed to work, although they still had tales of loose objects falling on them and waking them. If it isn't strapped down, it ain't stayin' where you put it.

Secondly, get used to walking like a 3am drunk. There is no such thing as a sure foot fall. You will be stumbling, clambering, grasping for purchase points as you navigate around the boat. Inevitably you end up moving in small running motions timed with each wave, turning the boat into a bit of a dance spectacular. You'll find a 45 degree angle lean against the wall to be mandatory. Strangely, once your sea legs kick in, you'll suddenly find yourself at one with the motions and instead you will walk like a zombie on land.

Thirdly, showering is slppin' slidin' watery voyage! All you can do is wedge one foot into one corner, the other into another and plant one hand against a wall Spiderman style, leaving you with one hand to do all the work. This is only made more exciting by the fact the shower is little more than a dribble that bends and weaves in every direction gravity demands of it. And don't even start me on the dangers of urinating while standing as a man. Just don't do it. Ever.

Lastly, get used to being permanently damp. Moisture is your friend to the end and everything you wear and own will be forever slimy and weird to the touch. Dryness is for the landlubbers!

It's certainly not all doom and gloom however.

On the open ocean, straddling the equator, you are treated to possibly the most amazing views of the stars imaginable. The Milky Way unveils itself before you in a level of detail you can only see to believe. Conveniently one of our group was an astrophysicist too, which made for fantastic night time astronomy classes.

At this time of year (September/October), the waters are fed by an Antarctic 'Humbolt' current which, besides from making the water mind-numbingly cold, brings a nutrient rich stream of plankton and other goodies to the islands. This means there are fish everywhere and in the rare still moments of safe harbour of a night you can see the microscopic ocean life light up the ocean with phosphorescence. Magical seems too common a word to describe it, but magical it most definitely is.

Of a day time, when not hiking or splashing about with animals in the water, you can relax on the deck and enjoy the sight of little Galapagos islands meandering by as magnificent frigate birds soar overhead. Sea lions and dolphins also interact with the boats and we were extremely fortunate to see some killer whales which is obviously a rare thing when the captain leaves the bridge to take a photo. Although we all began wondering who was driving ...

Whilst the food on the boats is generally quite good and varied by virtue of being included in the scary price tag, food on the islands at the ports is a decidedly touristic affair with depressingly expensive pizza and hamburger joints scattered around liberally. It can certainly be hard to keep to a budget here when everyone more-or-less assumes you must be loaded to be here in the first place and virtually all food has to be flown in. This makes the Galapagos Islands one of the few places where an onion will cost more than a Mars bar. It's all a question of shelf life.

There is one type of food here though which seems to be in plentiful supply and is uncharacteristically cheap: seafood. Here you can eat yourself a massive lobster at a ludicrous price, or knock down an absolutely delicious seafood soup for next to nothing. If you don't like fish, or any place that smells remotely fishy, Galapagos could be hell. But if you do, welcome to heaven.

Galapagos is most probably a once in a lifetime trip. It's a natural paradise, beautiful to behold and arguably the safest place in all of South America. It's where Darwin formed an idea in his mind that would radically alter our perspective on the creation of life. It's a place where you can wear a t-shirt that says "I love boobies" and not be shunned as uncultured swine.

For all of these reasons Galapagos is a special place to be protected and nurtured forever more.

Guat Next

Immediately below Mexico, lost in a soup of clouds, jungle and mountains, sits a little known country called Guatemala, the next stop on the all American voyage. Guatemala is small place and it was only a short stay, but this little land of adventure packed a lot of punch in only a week.

The first thing you notice upon entering is that Guatemala is green. Very, very green. Grass grows anywhere and everywhere and there is moss growing on little trees that sprout out of bigger trees that are themselves growing on big trees. All of this is due to the fact that this land only seems to have two weather conditions, intense rain or intense sun. This is the northern frontier of proper Central American jungles and due to the undulating terrain, most of it is inaccessible to humans.

Guatemala is a landscape shaped by disaster and upheaval. It is constantly bombarded by hurricanes and stormy weather, earthquakes are common and it is peppered with active volcanoes. When the Spanish first arrived here and established a capital city, it was more or less destroyed by all of the above in fairly rapid succession. What is left of that city is now called Antigua and even though it is largely in ruins it is an amazing place. The Spaniards moved the capital to a new location, which still has some issues. At this point the Spanish pretty much decided Guatemala was a giant time bomb and moved onto bigger and better (read: safer) things.

The people here are remarkably upbeat considering the impending disaster potential of their home. Ask any of them if they worry about the volcanoes venting massive clouds of ash and dust every ten to twenty minutes and their response is typically along the lines of "No, we don't worry about that. We worry when the volcanoes STOP making the little explosions". I guess that makes sense, but it's hardly comforting.

As is the case with most developing countries, you are completely free to perform dangerous activities with little or no regulation. Which means you are able to climb any volcano here regardless of the risk. There's no need to sign a disclaimer, no one really cares too much if you die. You just get up there, cook some marshmallows in the lava (or chorizo if you are a well prepared Australian) and hope the soles of your shoes don't melt too badly. Oddly enough though, the greatest dangers you face are not really from nature. You are far more likely to be robbed and killed by machete wielding farmer folk en route than you are to encounter volcanic calamity. Guatemala is not the safest place in the world.

Perhaps in direct response to the environmental reality of their land, Guatemalan houses and buildings are either extremely temporary-looking or built to withstand anything. Amusingly, since taxes are levied only on completed buildings, no one actually finishes building their homes here, which leads to a spectacularly ramshackle city views. Can a loophole still be called a loophole if everyone in the entire country does it? Surely then it is called 'industry best practice'.

Guatemala is very economical compared to Mexico and shops proudly throw powerful English sales pitches around such as "we have best prices in the entire world", "you should only buy from us" and "almost free". Naturally however, with reduced prices comes an inevitable reduced quality in every aspect of life. Electricity pops in and out, hot water is a rare and precious thing, internet access is woeful and public transport is really something else. Guatemala's people are moved around to and fro by what are affectionately known as 'chicken buses'. If you ever wondered where yellow school buses from the USA go to die, think no further. These buses are snapped up by Guatemala, given a suitably over the top paint job, bestowed with foreign names that destroy any illusion of safety such as 'Thriller', 'Speed' or 'Batmobile' and kicked back into service for eternity until they explode. The name 'chicken bus' doesn't reflect what you are for not riding one, it simply comes from the fact that animals are allowed on the buses and in a country that loves their poultry super fresh that means only one thing: chickens. It's comical and normal to see folk jump off the bus with a little explosion of feathers behind them.

Whilst all of this sounds crazy and fun, these buses also represent yet again another excellent opportunity for all your stuff to be stolen from you. It's just the way things are here; there's guards with shotguns in many shops and bars on every window for a reason I guess.

Guatemala and Mexico (and probably more countries) celebrate their independence from Spanish rule at the same time. Being there for this event, the biggest of the year, was quite a spectacle. It's really only meant to be one day, but in practice the celebrations seem to carry on for about three. During this time all children are automatically supplied with whistles and told to make as much noise as they want until they feint, every car turns its stereo to eleven, people let off fireworks at any place and any time and sleep is largely forgotten about.

In addition, hordes of marching bands descend on the town squares of major cities and then proceed to try and outplay one another. The resulting cacophony sounds like thunder. The only way to hear each band is to get right up next to them so you can't hear the five other bands within an earshot. The marching bands pride themselves on their dance moves too, regardless of the impact on sound quality or rhythm.

During all of this chaos, groups of energetic young people come from the smaller towns around the big cities with a small torch. This torch is lit in the main square of the larger cities and then taken back to their home villages while being passed around like a relay baton. It is customary apparently for runners to wear head bands, crazy clothes and fancy dress. One runner was wearing a full body gorilla suit. When such a torch relay squad runs past, everyone cheers and toots horns while the group cheers back. Apparently that torch will then be used to light the torch in the square of the village, which will then be used to light more villages. The whole process symbolises the fire of freedom spreading and is quite cool to see.

Guatemala, even considering its proximity to Mexico, actually does things quite differently when it comes to food. The colder mountain climate means hearty stews and broths are more common, including the traditional Caldo del Pato (cow hoof soup) which I must say is a real test of will to munch on. They also put a lot more effort into Chilli Rellenos (stuffed chillis), loading them up with a whole host of very finely chopped vegetables and meat as opposed to just cheese as Mexico does.

A popular candy in both Mexico and Guatemala is mango slices covered from tip to tip in salt and chilli. Eating one is possibly one of the most intense, taste bud raping culinary experiences one could have. You  an normally see a foreigner trying it by their facial contortions. Strangely, after you've eaten a piece and the fallout in your mouth settles, you want another. It's comestible mashochism at it's finest.

However, when it comes to real dessert, chocolate is where Guatemala is in a league of its own. The chocolate from these parts is absolutely incredible. Sure, the Swiss and Belgian chocolate makers take the top 10% of the cacao yield for themselves, but what is left is still exquisite and so dangerously affordable. It is heaven for chocaholics, a crazy, volcanic, chocolate heaven.

To conclude I'd like to take a moment to note that while Spanish is not a terribly difficult language to learn when coming from an English background compared to say Japanese, the speed at which native Spanish speakers talk has to set some sort of syllables per second record for languages. Reading it is fairly understandable, speaking it is a bit harder, understanding the last sentence that was spewed forth in under one second is just ridiculous. As far as I know, the only person who speaks English that fast is Vicky Pollard from Little Britain.

And just when you think you are getting the hang of it, you hear the "fine print" terms and conditions at the end of an advertisement in Spanish and realise you will never, ever, ever understand any of what was just said. Ever.

Guatemala is a wild place, I don't think there is such a thing as easy travel here and don't bring anything you are not prepared to have pilfered. But if you look past the dangerous facade, it really is an amazing little chunk of land that becomes strangely addictive to stay in if you don't mind a taste of chaos.

Tacos

Mexican food is a long time people's favourite in Australia and lofty standards had already been set by Montezuma's Mexican restaurant in Burleigh Heads on the Gold Coast. Even with such unfair culinary expectations placed on it, Mexico largely delivered with only a few exceptions. A country where tacos, quesadillas, burritos and enchiladas are readily available at pretty much every hole-in-the-wall eatery can't go too wrong really can it? Certainly in this author's eyes, Mexican food joins German food smack bang at the top of the ladder when it comes to tranquilisingly good comfort food.

Fish and prawn/shrimp tacos reign supreme along the coastlines and any opportunity to devour a few should always be taken. Small road side taquerias serve them up at unbeatable prices and the aromas emanated usually lead to ordering more than you can realistically eat. Traditional Mexican tortillas are always served hot and soft, not hard, and in restaurants they come in a little basket beside the fillings, tucked away nicely in a little brightly coloured cloth bed. Normally you are given far more tortillas than you will ever need and a range of condiments are always supplied from devilishly hot sauces to fiendishly hot sauces and a mountain of guacamole or avocados.

Sometimes the tortillas are made a bit thicker and hollowed out like a Middle Eastern pita bread. These are called gorditas and they are little portable bundles of awesome, typically being filled with a wide variety of grilled meats, peppers, spring onions, refried beans, cheeses, sour cream, salsas and spices. They are slapped together in front of you and are best eaten hot, next to the stand where the cook can enjoy your facial expressions as you go to a happy place.

In the east they make mean ceviches, which normally include some fresh raw fish that is 'cooked' in cold lime juice, tomatoes and onion. The ingredients cure the fish and give it an amazing finish. If it is not fresh however it is possibly the fastest route to food poisoning.

In the north there is an admirable love affair with grilling steak mirroring south USA. Small BBQs are fired up alongside the road in every town where super thin steaks are grilled to perfection and then chopped or shredded for inclusion in a host of wonderful dishes. Sometimes the meat has been marinated in a wonderful Adobo, a special sauce for preserving meat that adds fantastic flavour to the dish. Chickens and whole pigs are often spit roasted en masse from early in the morning for lunch, with piles of onion, peppers and whole jalapenos sitting below to cook in the drippings.

In any sit down meal, there is a 50 50 chance that a huge plate of appetiser nachos are coming your way after you have ordered your meals, which makes judging appropriate meal sizes challenging most of the time. More often than not, the dips and salsas for the nachos come out of the kitchen at a significantly different time to the nachos to further confound you. Sometimes these nachos are amazing, sometimes they are utterly miserable. They are probably the singularly most hit-or-miss food stuff in Mexico with the honorable exception of tamales.

Tamales are small corn cakes traditionally cooked in a leaf although can equally come frozen in a box. They are a real mixed bag; sometimes sweet, sometimes savoury. Sometimes they are covered in sweet sauces, sometimes savoury, sometimes cheese. Sometimes they are accompanied with beans, sometimes fruit, sometimes *insert random foodstuff here*. The combinations of the above can make utterly no sense, it's as if you are potentially ordering a dessert crossed with a main, the result of which is usually a very acquired taste. Each local version of tamales has a ambiguous name that appears in no dictionary, making tamales a true gamble unless you have a local by your side or you speak excellent Spanish.

All in all, Mexico does amazing food.

Unless you're vegetarian, in which case I hope you really like beans and salsa.

Contrary to popular belief, tequila is not the favoured drink of choice by most; Mezcal is what it is all about. Agave based, Mezcal is a beautiful drink that promises lingering satisfaction or headaches with no in between outcome. The correct way to drink it is by 'kissing' the Mezcal while popping the odd pinch of a special salt in your mouth. The salt is mixed with the dessicated remains of the worms that eat the agave plants, as a form of revenge for daring to interfere with Mezcal production. Mezcal, when it is good, is phenomenally good and a universal panacea for all situations. As the proverb goes, "Contra todo mal, Mezcal. Contra todo bien, tambien" which translates as "Against all ills, Mezcal. Against all good fortune, the same".

For those who want something non-alcoholic, horchata is a delicious rice based beverage that is normally available everywhere. It is often cheaper than water so it pays to get used to it.

Most small eateries are a standard husband and wife operation; i.e. the husband (when he is there) says hello to customers, pushes chairs back in and turns the TV up and down whereas the wife does everything else, often whilst taking on the phone or holding an infant. Admittedly, the responsibility for the TV volume is a massive responsibility in a country utterly obsessed with the over-acted Mexican soap operas that seem to consume the majority of their TV channels. People will be glued to the screen watching these while eating.

Mexican people seem to be overly content with life in general. There are a lot of smiles and hearty hellos thrown around, children play everywhere and are always eagre to try some English on you, people work hard to earn their tacos and in a world that is increasingly clean shaven, Mexican men pull off incredible moustaches with aplomb. In addition, and as much as Texans would hate to hear it, they look better in cowboy hats too. How the hell most people are walking around in jeans and long sleeves in desert heat and/or tropical humidity though is beyond comprehension.

Mexico is a very religious Catholic country but with an extremely interesting mixture of much older traditions mixed in. Shamans and ritual healers are still seen as important roles in many communities and indigenous beliefs have influenced the Christian faith in ways the Pope probably doesn't want to understand. There is an eternal battle against witches, which are the leading cause of mysterious bites and blotches you might gain during sleep and other random maladies. The battle is made more difficult by the fact that witches can shape change and appear as animals, whirlwinds, glowing balls and in more recent times, buildings. Mexico even has a self-titled Grand Warlock who used his powers to guide the Mexican team at the football world cup in Brazil. He claimed Mexico's defeat was due to rival warlocks from other countries being too powerful 'on the day'. For all the sporting glamour, most of us were blissfully unaware of the Harry Potter style magical battle occurring behind the scenes of the world cup. One can only assume Australia performed so miserably due to a complete lack of warlocks which should really be our focus for 2018.

Mexican tribal healers are present in almost all communities and markets and they perform a bewildering variety of services including spitting on people to cleanse them and purveying difficult to acquire curios such as enemas with psychoactive drugs, special 'guidance' mushrooms and soaps with powerful effects like 'attracting wealth', 'warding unwanted devils' and 'dominating men'. Chocolate is used extensively in medicine which is something I think we can all personally believe in regardless of scepticism in the other rituals.

An interesting aspect of Mexican belief is the more light-hearted and quirky view of death and what it means. There are death themed skeleton toys, masks and art everywhere and a particularly interesting yearly event is the Day of the Dead where a small tribute is set up in the house with offerings to the deceased in the family. These offerings are normally the favourite things those family members enjoyed in life; if the individual loved beer than a freshly popped brew would be placed at the tribute to welcome and appease the spirit.

Young Mexican men possibly spend more money on their car audio systems than any country in the world. Although the cars themselves are often in dire need of mechanical repair, with panels and bumper bars held on by duct tape, the sound systems are considered mission critical and maintained above all else. The music that comes from these cars is a largely indiscernible mix of brass instruments and overwhelming bass. Normally the vehicle inhabitants are clapping and dancing with their torsos as much as possible within the confines of their seat.

Mexican music is famous, and rightfully so. Street bands are often nothing short of concert worthy; the cornet, guitar, maracas and drums come together to make absolutely amazing melodies that capture the real spirit of Mexico. As a white tourist, flocks of mariachi bands and singers will be drawn to you whether you like it or not. They will sometimes line up to play at your table as if you are an ATM with ears. They are very keen to swap their music and smiles for your pesos and it can be very difficult to tell them to stop, especially after they do stop and then sneakily start smiling and playing again.

Occasionally you will see a violinist in mariachi bands, but from what I could tell they are always horribly out of tune to the rest of the band. Oddly, everyone seems to like this and accept it.

Another important and highly venerated instrument in Mexico is the marimba. You will often find these set up near nicer restaurants playing tunes that have a stark similarity to old arcade video games. I mean, tell me these guys are not playing a song from the original Mario Kart?

http://youtube.com/watch?v=qMWH4_T55CM

Mexico has no shortage of amazing sights to behold and I could bore you senseless detailing all that was experienced but if there was to be one highlight that stands above all others it would be visiting the ruins of the ancient Mayan civilisation. A silent testimony to a sprawling empire that existed for millenia and then imploded spectacularly in on itself. The collapse of the Mayan empire and abandonment of their amazing cities has been a favourite mystery of many since their rediscovery in the last century.

The place that everyone flocks to see is Chitchen Itza. It is big, has been restored with modern stonework and is easily accessible from Cancun where 99% of tourists go in Mexico. But a real glimpse at ancient Maya takes significantly more work and effort. It will most certainly consume days and days of valuable beach time, but the rewards, as you will read below, are so very worth the effort.

The best of Maya still lies buried deep within the remote and nigh impenetrable jungle, surrounded by wild animals and not so official airstrips for special Colombian flights. For hundreds of kilometres the Vegemite Ambassador mobile travelled, no less that sixty of them on a winding, one lane dirt track laden with pot holes, to reach the lost city of Calakmul. Here lies the still beating archaeological heart of the Maya.

Calakmul, or Kaan as it was once known (KAAAAAAN! to Star Trek fans), is a sprawling stone megalopolis that only until very recently lie lost and forgotten in a carpet of green. It once housed over 50,000 people and had rulers with such cool names as "Sky Witness", "Scroll Serpent" and "Ruler Y". After the Mayans fled the city, the jungle almost immediately began reclaiming the remains; smothering them in vines and protecting them from erosion. As seedlings grew the very same forest that once offered protection instead began to wreak slow and unstoppable destruction as the twisting mess of roots and trunks started to tear the city slowly apart - stone by stone.

Now the city and forest have become one, amongst the cries of howler monkeys and bird song; the resulting scene is inexplicably, hauntingly beautiful.

The remaining jungle ruins of city indicate how massive it once was at its peak, rivalling Tikal across the border in Guatemala, with whom Calakmul was locked in a perpetual state of war to decide who was the most splendid of Mayan cities. Several of the major structures that remain here reach up to almost 50 metres high and can still be freely climbed by massive stairs on a vertigo inducing 60 degree incline. Summiting each of them is physically exhausting, it will cause litres of sweat to be taken as a toll by the steamy morass around you, but the view from the top is unrivalled. The forest extends forth to the horizon in every direction, uninterrupted by anything except the other spires of Calakmul. Only there, in the middle of this arboreal ocean, can you appreciate why the Mayan cities lay hidden from the rest of the world for so many centuries. The best part is Calakmul is only the tip of the iceberg; even now, in this modern age of Google maps, more sites are only just being discovered.

I really hope that if you come to Mexico, you make the effort to see this place. THIS is a wonder of the world that is not on any big lists because it will never be able to sustain the attention that would bring. It's unrestored, wild and forgotten and one of the most incredible scenes on the planet.

It's one of many things to love about this country.

Mexico offers so much, it brims with enthusiasm, it's a giant cultural clash with deep history, it has fantastic grub and it's certainly revisitable even after a month spent there. Sure, it's a bit rough around the edges, but as the famous Mexican poet and diplomat Amadeo Nervo once said, "Who loves a lot, forgives a lot.” and it's easy to love Mexico.

Especially the tacos.

Desperados

Iran Part I: It's not pronounced I RAN

Where does one even begin? Visiting Iran solo was such a daunting and liberating experience that I am not sure that I have the memory or vocabulary to pen my thoughts on this astonishing place. Be that as it may, I must attempt to immortalise and make sense of the bizarre events of the past weeks - hopefully for both your reading pleasure and my own posterity. This could be long, perhaps a cup of tea is in order? If you want the authentic Persian experience, drink it while it is so hot it burns your mouth and oesophagus. Anything that is just hot, warm, lukewarm or (heaven forbid) cold just won't do; push it aside as it was poison like a good Iranian!

At this point in time, telling people you are going to visit Iran evokes only one of two typical responses in Australia: "wait, what?!" or "why?!". People would look at you as if you are either intending to join a terrorist movement or you are walking into guaranteed kidnapping of some kind. Iran is wedged between some really crazy places (Iraq and Afghanistan) and thus everyone in the west assumes it can't really be different and must be heaving with terrorists. It's also portrayed as an imminent atomic threat to the entire planet and worthy of gun pointing and sabre rattling. It goes without saying that all of these views are foremost in your mind when visiting here but like a Persian cat, curiosity always somehow gets the better of the travelling soul and when you look at a map of the world and see these strange lands that seem so forbidden to you then can be no sating that wanderlust but to go there. Arguably the most dangerous zone on Earth is the comfort zone. You have to get out of it when you can!

To quote a popular idiom, "The mind is like a parachute; it works best only when it's open." and it certainly takes an open, albeit nervous, mind to set off to such a place and see how it truly was and is, and to perhaps also, given the limited interaction between these spheres of the world, give a view in return of your homeland to those there. It was time to put the best foot forwards again to the Middle East; once more the Vegemite Ambassador badge of office called.

Firstly, let me detail some of the difficulties of Iran travel. Iran has some pretty major issues right now; international economic sanctions targeting the country are crippling in many ways. Iran is effectively isolated from the world; you can't fly there directly from western countries (only via a select few countries that still maintain ties with Iran), no bank cards or credit cards work there due to being cut off from the international banking system, foreign mobile phone SIM's will not work there (nor can Iranian phone SIM's work overseas), and most useful travel websites for finding a place to stay and booking flights etc have all Iranian entries removed. To say that tourism here in general is difficult is an understatement.

To make matters worse, getting a visa is a real lottery. You can try to apply from home, but you need an official sponsor and getting one organised can be a case of real trial and error in an industry full of shonky operators. The other option is to simply show up at the airport and as an Australian you should get a visa on arrival - assuming you have sufficient funds, a planned itinerary, a return flight booked, accommodation booked for at least your first night, travel insurance, no Israel stamp in your passport, no alcohol in your bags (which do get searched), you are not a journalist by trade (especially since election time looms near) and you have 70 Euro exactly for the visa. If the immigration office likes the cut of your jib, is confident you will not promote your non-Islamic religion and you meet all of the above conditions you can get in and don't have to fly back home.

Money is the next real issue to face. Largely because of sanctions, the country suffers from rampant inflation as the foreign value of the Iranian Rial plummets each day before your very eyes. While it seems like it is good news for a would-be-traveller at first, it means the prices for goods and services are extremely unpredictable. Anything that requires or involves foreign imported products and services can be dramatically more expensive than expected and local goods can be dramatically cheaper than expected. Guidebook or internet information on the price of anything is pretty much out of date the moment it goes to print, which means you have to constantly stay on your toes and makes budgeting quite a challenge - especially given you need to bring all the money you think you might need with you ahead of time due to the cash only economy. The knowledge that tourists have to bring in all the cash they need on them makes you feel super comfortable too around the dodgy sorts.

Ultimately what this volatile economy means is that you are completely unsure what your money is really worth when paying for anything and to make matters worse, prices can be quoted in Rial or Toman: Toman being Rial divided by ten. Some places only ever quote in Toman, some in Rial, some just indicate the number of hundreds of Toman required. You are just kind of expected to know what will be quoted where. It's just absolutely bonkers to a tourist and due to the typically huge denominations of either Rial or Toman required for any transaction, many a time are you left slack-jawed, thrusting massive wads of cash at people that can be way too much money for a payment, or an insultingly short amount of money for a payment. Either way you will always be confused and the payee usually more so as to why you are struggling with what is obviously such a simple system.

Overall, Iran is a very cost-efficient place to travel and your money, especially if it is in the form of crisp, unfolded $100 US notes, will go a long way. Especially once you meet the Iranian people. And trust me, you will meet them.

The people of Iran make Iran. End of story. They are quite simply THE most amazing, kind-hearted, generous and welcoming people you could ever have the pleasure to encounter as a tourist. To Iranians, the guest; the traveller, is a gift from god. Sharing their life and house/office/shop and everything in their pantry with you, continuously and simultaneously, is a blessing from above for them and you both. My experience at the airport visa and immigration office was the very first taste of the character of the people and worth describing as an example.

The immigration officer was a chubby chap sporting a heavy moustache. He sat at a wooden desk surrounding by a sea of paperwork. It was a warm day and he had a sweaty sheen that the fan situating some five metres above him could do nothing for.

"There is problem with your passport." he said sheepishly as he tried his English on.

It's the last sentence you ever want to hear at an airport on landing, especially if you are the only tourist on the plane and consequently now the only person in the arrival hall. He explained that my passport expires on the 6th of December, which meant it *actually* expires on the 6th of June due to a bizarre six month pre-expiry date expiry date. This super special expiry date fell two days before the end of a standard Iranian 14 day tourist visa, even though I had planned to fly out before this threshold. There were several moments of awkward silence and innocent, sheepish looks to follow. I was confident I had done the right thing, he obviously wasn't confident a 12 day tourist visa was possible.

"Come, sit."

He motioned for me to go around the side of the wall and enter the immigration control office. There I sat, amongst important looking documents, stamps and a pile of money while he proceeded to call what I assume was the embassy in Tehran. Much arguing on the phone followed for 20 minutes and it didn't look good when it culminated in him slamming the phone down and sighing. He then turned to me slowly and I braced myself for another 14 hour flight.

"Friend, do you like to take tea?"

It wasn't what I was expecting at all. We were friends already? I nodded and he went into another room and came back with a silver tray with some freshly brewed tea and sugar crystals on it. Momentarily stunned by what was possibly the kindest and most welcoming border control I have ever seen, I forgot to begin drinking. He took that as an indication that I had no idea how to drink tea and began to demonstrate to me the technique for which I am glad I waited. You don't put the sugar IN the tea around here, you put the sugar crystal against your front two teeth and suck the tea around and through it, much to the satisfaction of dentists in the country everywhere I would imagine. He then cheerily hopped back on the phone and continued intermittent yelling for nearly another 30 minutes or so while I sipped tea nervously, worried for the enamel on my incisors.

*SLAM*

The phone call had been terminated violently again, followed by the same sigh. I thought this time exodus back to Australia was a certainty.

"My friend, do you like to take fruit?"

He left me again and I heard chopping sounds come from the other room. He returned with another platter of fruit, nuts and dates. I casually leaned forwards to enjoy the second course of the immigration office smorgasbord. He urged me to enjoy and eat as much as I liked while he got back on the phone and began his yelling contest again. I ate as peacefully as I could, laughing a little at just how bizarre this all was and suspecting that he gets even less tourists than even I had originally thought. Actually, I do remember the air stewardess on the plane also being completely shocked to see a solo Australian flying to Iran, not for work or journalism, just to backpack. Her disbelief, combined with the fact she had handed her resignation in, allowed her to basically ignore serving the other passengers to sit on the seat next to me to talk about why the hell I was doing this. She told me she had just quit her job for Emirates Airways, and she was to become a mining truck driver; I replied to her "you will also be entering a very foreign and daunting place too then!".

Two hours later the surly immigration man had achieved the impossible. He hung up the phone one last time, leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, smiling slightly. He had did it. The satisfaction on his face was priceless; one man, had taken on the establishment in a class action and had emerged triumphant over bureaucracy. He poured me another tea and we shared a drink, he gave me his email address and the printer produced the golden ticket. I emerged from the immigration office refreshed, well fed, with an extra bag of bonus dates, free to enter Persia ... no more waiting, all that stood in the way was a final passport check ... at a border control that was now no longer manned because everyone had gone home. Ok, turns out there had to be a little more waiting then ...

This initial flurry of hospitality, in what is normally one of the scariest and most nerve-wracking parts of any country entry, was a glimpse of what was to come. The first afternoon in Tehran was spent with two new friends and then another new friend that night. The next day with another new friend and then two more in the afternoon, followed by an overnight stay at another new friend's house after a big dinner in the mountains with even more new friends. In fact, the remainder of the trip was spent encountering and getting to know new people at every turn and then staying with them. It became embarrassingly difficult to remember whom I was staying with and what their names were. This absolute whirlwind of generosity and friendship, all offered by these wonderful people to a total stranger, a friend of a friend of a friend, was completely and utterly humbling. To complete the maximisation of my level of guilt and unworthiness, I found it almost impossible to pay for anything anywhere I went. I would give money to people and they would give it straight back or give it to someone else to give back to me later so that I could not reject it. It was just so damned frustrating that everyone was so damned awesome.

Iran and its people reaffirm my faith in humanity, purely by their ability to be SO kind to a lost and lonely soul in their land. In my view, if you ever do go to Iran, you'll probably come to see archaeological and cultural wonders like I did but you'll leave knowing the same thing as I - it is the people that really make this country a true spectacle and in many ways I want to encourage everyone to visit, but in some ways I only want a few people to visit, and those that do visit to be so respectful and be SO grateful for what they might experience here. I really never want paradise found to become paradise lost anywhere, especially here.

So for all the people that made this journey brilliant (especially if you are reading this and the entries to follow), from the immigration officer in Tehran airport, to my myriad of amazing new friends in Iran, to the numerous food vendors that continuously gave me and my friends free food, to the armies of random people that excitably said "Hello, you are welcome in Iran!", to the teenage kids who are willing to be free tourist guides for hours on end, to the bus drivers who would actually bother to get up and wake me up at my stop, to the underground metro police officers who never seemed to care if I had a valid ticket, to the children who persisted in teaching me Farsi despite my inability to master the "kh" sound, and even the dude in Dubai airport passport control who high-fived when he saw I came from Iran for tourism; I say thank you. Thank you for making this trip so special and allowing me to be so welcomed. How beautiful a thing is this distant and misunderstood land.

This is me signing off for this instalment, but don't worry, there is more to come about Iran, I have so much more to say but I really couldn't start without getting this first part off my chest. My level of guilt has now dropped a notch, maybe.