Week 8
Right, we’re in a position no journalist should ever be subjected to. A fully inclusive five star resort in Playa del Carmen, the chichi beachside hangout south of Cancun and everything is free. I mean everything – there are optics in the mini-bar, three restaurants open all day, and a roving team of waitresses petitioning unsuspecting guests to drink more. Champagne is served at breakfast. It’s right next to the orange juice.
But we haven’t got there yet, and there’s many a slip twixt cup and lip as my old dad used to say, so that can sit on the horizon for the moment while we rewind the clock.
Veracruz turned out to be a lot better than expected. Even with a bust lens. This was fortunate and gave us some leeway when the final leg, to the coastal rainforest of Los Tuxtlas, proved meteorologically prohibitive. A pity as it included staying at a stunning lodge called ‘Campamento Arroyo Seco’, just outside San Andres Tuxtla, run by a hilariously shrewd guy called Charlie who also hosted Mel Gibson and a fleet of hummers during prep for the film Apocalypto. Fortunately the rain did not preclude us from shooting a piece on tobacco – this area being the spiritual home of the Mexican cigar.
We left the coast for a stopover in the capital to interview one of Mexico’s leading chefs Enrique Olvera at the Condesa Hotel where he’d designed the menu. Apart from being a grand master of all things edible, Enrique was interesting and eloquent, making my job loads easier. We chatted in the restaurant while I sampled a careful array of the most appetising dishes and broached the thorny topic of Tex Mex versus real food.
The following morning it was time to weigh anchor for the longest and final stretch of our new odyssey. First stop - Oaxaca.
The tourist board was kindly providing transport and accommodation which was a huge help financially, although the Gala hotel they dumped us in was probably the grimmest I’ve stayed in so far. For instance the bathroom windows all opened onto a huge vertical shaft which amplified sound so you’d wake to the often literal strains of guests preparing for the day ahead. On several mornings this was at five thirty a.m. after which there was no point and little chance of going back to sleep. The water in the taps was lukewarm unless you ran them for about twenty minutes in conjunction with the shower and definitely not hot enough to shave properly. Consequently I went out covered in tiny lacerations for our first morning’s shoot.
The three days we spent in Oaxaca passed in a blur – there was a cooking scene with local chef Nora Gutierrez who was lovely and had a stunning B&B in a colonial part of town, plus a trip to an indigenous market in the nearby village of Ocotlan – half an hour’s drive outside the city. The latter entailed filming local delicacies including grasshoppers and agave worms cupped from the eager hands of roving vendors.
Why is it whenever I have to eat something random or disgusting, Al requires at least five takes to get the shot right? “Yeah, I still need the close up, can you do it again…yeah once more, just so we have a different option,” like the presenter being sick for instance. The outdoor food section of the market was cramped and smoky. Strange cuts of unidentifiable flesh were sizzling in pans over small fires and portable rings. A colourful, sweaty tide of humanity washed against us from all sides but not once did we feel anxious or threatened. We were greeted with smiles and curiosity as we shouldered past with all the kit, but never hostility. This is the one thing that initially worried me about Mexico. After all, there is a perception that it’s hazardous to travel around. It’s true that recent years have brought a spate of drug related violence as rival gangs fight for supremacy of the billion dollar cocaine trade. This has escalated particularly in certain regions like the North of Mexico, amid horror stories of gun fights and human heads delivered in cool boxes to local police stations. Only a percentage of the violence ever makes the Mexican press, let alone the foreign media as journalists have been specifically targeted for reporting on suspected gang related killings. Kidnappings are also said to have reached an all time high, with frequency triumphing over expertise. In an alarming number of cases the perpetrators have failed to grasp the basic premise that underpins this type of transaction; namely that once you take delivery of the money you should return the hostage rather than despatching them.
And yet from the tourist perspective, there’s little to worry about. Unless you go deliberately looking for trouble you can happily travel for three months without encountering any sign of it, unless it’s the occasional armed police or military checkpoint. This is why Al and I were able to walk unaided through a crowded street market loaded with expensive camera equipment and not feel unduly concerned. The only vulnerable demographic was the piles of pissed off turkeys that languished, trussed by the ankles or carried upside down by little old women with strong arms and murderous intentions.
After work Oaxaca became our playground – I treated it as research for the nightlife feature that we were due to film at the end of the week. One evening we found ourselves in a bar specialising in cheap mescal. An attractive young lady wandered around the tables with a lab coat, a car battery and two sets of electrodes. For general entertainment value she would invite people to challenge each other to an electrocution contest whereby the participant who loses the most brain cells wins. Next to our table was a cacophonous bloke surrounded by six women he was clearly trying to impress. He shouted over at us and not a minute later I found myself completing the circuit while “Nurse Ratched” ratcheted up the voltage. The dial went as far as ten. Apparently it’s unusual to get that far. Quite a few people let go or start shouting first. Not us though: Initially because I decided that it would be fun to demonstrate the British stiff upper lip, later, because I was paralysed. The girl in the lab coat looked concerned. Neither of us was prepared to concede. My jaw was vibrating like a jackhammer. She went up to ten and then pumped the dial a few times but short of a power cut we had reached an impasse. It ended with a draw and lots of backslapping before I returned to my table feeling oddly rejuvenated but unusual.
What else can I tell you about Oaxaca – it’s a good party town with a great ‘zocalo’ or central square, beautifully lit at night and lavishly decorated whenever there’s a celebration. The cafes, restaurants and ice-cream parlours that surround it are full of tourists and hawkers sashay between the tables with jewellery, sunglasses, fake watches and hopeful stares. You should also check out the church of Santo Domingo - among the most extravagant examples of Mexican Baroque. The ideal time to go there is just before sunset when the evening light pours in through the great wooden doors and sets fire to the gilded walls and ceiling.
To head south we had to fly north and change planes. Our next destination was Chiapas, one of the poorest states in Mexico. The main airport is near the capital, Tuxtla. We alighted in the early evening to be met by a guide from the tourist board who spoke no English and barely murmured a word during the forty minute drive to our unfinished hotel. Both of us tried to spark a conversation to little avail, bar an embarrassed shrug and “downcas’ heid”. Al glanced across at me after a while. “This could be a problem,” He suggested. And it was. No possible way she could appear in the show and little chance she would be able to furnish me with any info either. Al rarely gets wound up by people but I could tell even at this early stage there was likely to be trouble.
Discover more about Charlie Ottley's "Flavours of" series on Travel Channel
Charlie Ottley's "Flavours of" series on DVD