I am greatful to my sister who pointed this out to me. Perhaps by now it is the talk of the town, but I don’t watch TV save for football matches of a weekend, I don’t buy a local paper, and I’ve not been out for a few days to get the gossip.

“An 11-year-old Mexican boy has killed six young bulls in a single fight, apparently becoming the world’s youngest matador to achieve the feat.

A video of the contest is to be verified by Guinness World Records.

“I’m happy to have achieved this great victory,” said Michelito Lagravere Peniche as he left the ring in Merida.”

Here’s a video of the plucky young fellow.

I have been asked why I have not been posting photos of the food, given the title of my blog. The truth is that I’ve not really seen much remarkable, and when I have I’ve not had a camera. In fact I can think of only one dish I’ve eaten that I’ve had to admire, but I do take the point that I should photo and post up.

Fact is I’ve almost stopped eating out. More often than not eating out has given me a bad belly for two or three days, and if not I’ve not felt on top form. For this I have been cooking my own food and eating in, but with the twist of drinking the local water a little, and making my morning bacon and eggs spicier and hotter each day by adding chilly sauce. I am trying to develop cast iron stomach and asbestos gob. Armed with these two defenses I hope to once again sally forth to the restaurants of Merida, and I will remember to take my camera with me.

I take an almost daily trip from my apartment down to WalMart. It’s the closest supermarket, it’s cheap and has a good choice. In fact I’d say it’s almost half the price of what you’d pay in the UK, the only indulgence I have is that I pay UK prices for is imported wine. Wine never really caught on here, the climate isn’t right for it, and the only time I’ve drunken Mexican was pretty forgettable. Contrast the prices I remember from Spain where a 3 liter barrel of nice local wine would cost 3 euros, back to what here is almost Blighty prices for an acceptable red. For example a Gallo “Turning Leaf” Calafornian sets me back 100 pesos, which is £5 in real money ( or what used to be real money haha ).

There are indeed small Mexican shops not to far away, but they seem to sell little more than tinned and frozen goods, for the fresh stuff I have to take a trip to the market, which would be fine if it weren’t so far away.

The Spanish, and by extension the Mexicans have an easy way of naming shops. Like much in the language they just do the obvious. For instance, we have a “butcher”, they go to the “carnicero” for their donkey sausages ( “carne” is meat ). No cobblers for these Latin folk, if you want to get shoen, then it’s a swift trip to the “zapatero” for you. A “panadero” is the guy who bakes the bread, where you get your “pan”, so if you are now wondering what a “candlestick maker” would be I would offer forth “candelero”, but I’m not 100% sure.

Now given that the Spanish for milk is “leche”, then you will now see that the “lechero” is the milk man, and not some form of sexual pervert, though  albeit that this ancient profession has furnished many a music hall joke about  a child’s patronage. So coming to the point, on my walk back from WalMart yesterday laden with a mixture of Mexican and Yankee style comestibles a was startled by a sound coming from behind, sort of familiar, but sort of creepy. Turning round to clock the source I saw it was a guy on a motor trike with the bit at the back painted black and white to resemble a frezian cow. The sound was supposed to be mooing, and indeed it was bovine, but resembled more the screams of distress the animals emit whilst waiting in line for the abatoir. Over all this the guy was screaming “¡Leche!” at full blast.

As he disappeared up the street, I noticed that noone was running out into the street, jug in hand. Like many of the street sellers I remember as a kid; the rag man, the knife sharpener, the line prop seller, the pop man, and that bread van that sold you cakes that aways tasted of petrol, they have all gone, and I suspect that sadly the lechero’s days are numbered.

After all, when you can buy what you need from WalMart, who needs real shops anymore?

Another thing I saw recently on my way back from WalMart was this.  I did a double take, they were to far away for me to go and ask the obvious question.

I just couldn’t help but think “twats”, but I’m not sure why….

One of my hopes for my time here in Mexico was to improve my Spanish. It would be hard not to, I guess, as you can’t turn on the TV nowardays without hearing the stuff. I have a TV in the apartment that goes on about once per fortnight, to watch football of a weekend. Today Man U gave Chelsea a 3 – 0 spanking, and played some nice football to boot. The commentry on Fox Sports was of course in Español, and not a lot to remark on except how they say Rrrrooney or Rrrronaldo and Goooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllll, that old chestnut. But back to there theme which is Spanish, and how I remember arriving in Mexico and thinking “suddenly I understand this stuff!”. I am minded of the scene from Bedazzled staring Brendan Fraser and Liz Hurley, ( the remake being as good as the original IMHO ), where Elliot wakes up as a Colombian drug lord and says “¡Hey, hablo Español!”.

The reason for my improvment is simply this; the Spanish speak at 78 rpm, while the Mexicans hardly clock more than 33⅓. Other differences are vocabulary, of course, just as American English differs from ours, so does the American Spanish. This matters not a lot, except I am always warned never to say the words for “catch” or “jacket”, and to find suitable synonyms.

The other stumbling block for me is that of being polite. Now being English, of course my manners are impeccable, but on moving to Spain, I found I was getting funny looks and smiles for over doing the “please” and “thank you”. In fact what made the British stand out was not the quality of their Spanish, or lack of it, but the asking “I would like a cup of coffee please” ( “querreria una taza de cafe por favor” ) , to which they might think “oh, would you?”. The standard drill is to just spit out what you want, and maybe for decoration precede it with a “give me” ( “dame” ). “Dame una cerveza”, is what they expect, and I eventually forced myself into saying. “Traeme la cuenta” ( “bring me the bill” ) seemed to wash well etc etc etc. So armed with Spanish rudness I arrived here and proceeded to call the waiters with “¡Oye!”, and “Hazme un cafe”. I assume I was cut slack for being a gringo, and leaving a good tip, noone seemed to bat an eyelid. But in conversation Mexicans were happy to put me on the right track. Manners are back in town it seems.

So, out with the “tu” in with the “usted”, no more “ponme”, rather I should ask to be “ponga-ed”, it’s “traiganme Ustedes”, and of course “traedme” would get a big blank stare from anyone under the age of fourty, as I am informed that they don’t teach Castillian in the schools nowardays.

Whatever happened to bad manners?

P.S. If you really want to know what happened to bad manners, click here.

They built this city on rope and string…. In fact it was built on the money generated from
henequen

heineken

No, not that one ….

Here’s a picture of some henequen aka sisal. It’s used to make rope and string, and before the invention of nylon it was cool stuff indeed.
It’s is related to the pineapple plant, tho which branch of the family it comes from I’m unsure.

sisal

So, I visited a sisal farm to find out, just how they make string… from cactus.

It starts out with this old boy who’s worked all his life on the string farm. He cuts some fronds off of the cactus. Apparently they can cut bits off every five years and the plant lives for twenty five years, then you have to replant it from a creeper, much like you would a strawberry.

The old boy spoke no english, or spanish, but luckily our tour guide could translate from the Mayan. In fact he looks a lot like Mr. Miyagi from Karate Kid.

Mr. Miyagi

Right then, the plants get taken to a shed full of noisy machinery where they sort of smash it all to bits, and get the sap out and get left with the stringy bits, which they dry for a few hours and then the spin it into string. They also make hats, and mats and a few other things.
Once you have string, then all you do is plat it into thicker string, keep going and you end up with this stuff.

old rope

Today most of the henequen is grown in Brazil, leaving valuable Mexican land free for better things such as recreational drugs.

Now then, I wrote that quicker than I thought I would, so maybe there’s not so much to tell about the making of rope and string, but I hope it has been at least slightly educational.

Coincidentally, I spent New Years at the port of Sisal, ( where the English word comes from ). The string boats and warehouses are long gone, it is now a fishing village.