Whenever I travel, I focus on people and markets. Both are my passion and both are my muse. This is one of my favourite photos of both. A woman who sells as she goes. (Patzcuaro, Mexico)
A child, asleep and enveloped by the market in Patzcuaro, Mexico.
I had been dreading this moment from the minute we landed in Mexico City (I am a tad pessimist). That moment when backpacking quickly turns from a thrill to more of a pill (the moment you run to the medical kit and begin to search for the cure which in our words is usually cipro).
Well if you have to get sick in Mexico, Patzcuaro is the perfect place to be.
The Rules for Being Sick
1. Carefully choose place to be sick so you won’t get FOMO (fear of missing out – coined by someone much younger and more active than myself)
Sick in Rome when you only have two days? FOMO
Sick at the beach when you have only one week for a holiday and an ocean view? FOMO
But sick in Patzcuaro, a tiny peaceful beautiful colonial town but with no star attractions like Angkor Wat or the pyramids? a lot less FOMO
2. Plenty of bananas (if you are Chris) and plenty of potato chips (if you are me – seriously, I swear by this)
3. Find a distraction for when you move from the “I am seriously dying stage to the I might make it stage”
So thankfully this stage didn’t last too long. I had my backpacking future riding on this. This was the test trip to see if Chris “liked” it or at least could successfully “endure” it so I would know if we were travel compatible. A huge thing if you are obsessed like me.
Entering the “I might make it stage”, Chris needed a distraction, a good one.
Listening to me chatter wasn’t a good one; The Good Wife on TV was a good one until we admitted we didn’t have a good clue what was going on since we don’t ever watch it, so what to do?
Mr. Parking arrives. Thank you Mr. Parking. You saved our day (or a couple at least).
We had the perfect view of Mr. Parking as he “worked” right below our balcony.
Apparently it was his job to help support drivers who otherwise can not park their own cars on a street with zero traffic and well indicated parking spots. In other words, if you would like your car to stay safely parked in said spot, hire the services of Mr. Parking who will ensure that he or none of his friends will rip it off. Kind of a forced service with a forced payment fee. Hands tied behind the steering wheel, most drivers submit to Mr. Parking’s services.
So as the day progressed, Mr. Parking would get tired. He would need a drink of something (?) to keep going.
And as he takes more breaks and has more drinks, Mr. Parking’s services and tone of voice become more flamboyant, more erratic, and more “Cheryl, come here. You have to see what’s going on now!”
Being sick and watching him park, stumble, bellow, sit, drink, repeat is actually turning out to be a sick highlight of our trip.
Some things are so random, so free, so fun that when you backpack, it might be a good idea to build in some time for getting sick.