Mexico 1998

We’re off on a 12 hour plane journey to Mexico. We land safely in Mexico City but we’re in a rush to get a taxi 35 minutes across town to the bus station. About one and half hour delay at the bus station, all the time trying to adjust to this sweltering, bustling city, conscious of its reputation for pick-pocketing and muggings - especially us, just-off-the-plane whiter than white gringos with all our money and possessions for a five week trip.

On our 14 hour bus journey we witness an articulated lorry loaded with Coke bottles and spring water (owned also by Coca Cola.) turned over on the edge of a steep bend, and loads of local Indians happily helping themselves to the contents. Women in beautifully coloured local dress, men in cowboy style sombreros with their children who were eagerly helping. All under the watchful eye of the local copper who didn’t seem to really mind.

We arrive in San Christobal and proceed to find the hotel where we meet up with the rest of the team. The next day we split up into separate groups to buy hammocks, mosquito nets, eggs, rice, beans, onions, garlic, potatoes and whatever other food we could think of. We had to have enough for at least 27 people to live on for the best part of two weeks as well as try and share some with our hosts.

Our bus, reassuringly strewn with bullet holes, was old and a bit smoky, but seemed to thunder up and down the tree clad, windy roads. The moon was bright between the trees and as we neared our destination, Diez de April, a feeling of real adventure dawned - our adventure had really begun! The bus stopped and we were told to get off as quickly and quietly as possible and gather at the side of the road as inconspicuously as 30 backpackers can... Soon we arrived at a derelict building at the edge of the valley. Some would put down bedrolls and sleeping bags, others would hang their new hammocks. We settled down for the night, marvelling at the fireflies in the trees and the sky and at the unlimited stars.

Sun up. A cup of coffee and ready for a first breakfast of rice and beans. Within an hour it was decided we would have an impromptu tournament that day starting as soon as we marked out a pitch on the top of a slope that was basically for grazing horses. The locals whacked up some goals (branches or planks of wood) and we were off. We played three or four group games with one or two of our teams getting through to the final. It was hot, hard work, but fun, played in a friendly but very competitive style. The local Indian lads may be quite short but they are stocky and extremely strong.