Out of the hills and into the heat

You could spend a very long time in the anthropology museum in Mexico City - camp out in one of the dioramas. We almost did and could have stayed even longer if we had anticipated the delays in Lucy's flight. At this point I should point out that I cannot seem to find most of the punctuation on this keyboard - bear with me.

We are now on a colonial trail down to the Yucatan. Yesterday, we left Puebla. It looked like a film set to such an extent that there were streets cordoned off with crowds of onlookers in blood-stained clothes and lots of people running around with walkie-talkies and someone taking autographs. It was not all fictitious. One museum, riddled with bullet holes, had played host to the 1910 revolution. Less than 100 metres lower than Mexico City, the weather was still clement and the daily downpour still on our trail.

However, we have taken a bus down to the sea at Veracruz; the landing spot of Cortes. Arrival on a Friday night had something of the fleeing Saigon about it: a Doors-alike band in the streets playing through the night, turret and palm back drop, heat and overhead fans. But then this place has been raided by pirates - it is that sort of town.