Veracruz is a whole vibe

Wed 26 Feb 2014

An early morning start got us out of bed and onto the roof for our last free buffet breakfast. Apparently now being some weak-bodied magnet for injury and disease, my body had decided to reject the antibiotics I'd been shovelling three times a day for the last week to clear my mammoth Achilles infection, and a prickly pink rash had popped up in little hives all over my body. Never ever have I had a reaction to any medication, and Jamie was threatening to split the money and ditch me if we had to visit another hospital.

We'd found a reasonably priced bus to Veracruz and left Mexico City at 9 am to head for the bus station. The bus terminal was spic and span—a total contrast to the dirty, dodgy GreyHound in Downtown LA.

After a quick bag search and step through a metal detector, we were happy in the knowledge that an armed robbery in transit would be unlikely.

We arrived in Veracruz at 4:30. Luckily there was a prepaid taxi booth, minimising the risk of kidnap, so we ordered a cab for our hotel. Right on the seafront of Veracruz, it was perfect. The room was a little small and dingy for the money, but it was Carnival, and we'd be in the heart of the action.

We took a stroll along the seafront, where tiered benches had been erected in preparation. The city was like a ghost town. Deserted restaurants, empty shops, and desolate streets gave it a real edgy feel.

With our new laptop crying out for attention, we spent large quantities of time locked away, refining CVs and concocting plans for money spinners.

We spent a day trying to hotel hunt as we hadn't booked for Carnival weekend, and it looked like the celebrations would be huge. Our hotel had rooms, but the price was over two times as much for the weekend. We wandered the backstreets in the heart of Veracruz town... the city was, in fact, a few blocks back from the seafront, and it was bustling.

We found a cute little local restaurant and indulged in a menu del día for the bargain price of 45 pesos (£2) for three courses. We eventually found a place to stay, and after some big haggling, we got the price down to 750 pesos a night. Described in the Lonely Planet as rustic and typically Mexican, the hotel didn't disappoint. Washing hung from the banisters of this retro building, which was right bang-slap in the middle of the action.

The next day we grabbed our backpacks and wandered down to check in. Carnival preparations were underway, and we quickly got on board with two mammoth bottles of Sol. These 1.2-litre monstrosities did the trick, and by the time we'd sunk one each, we were tipsy. The place was buzzing, and we fully embraced it.

Sitting in the square for a couple of margaritas, listening to mariachi bands, we were served up snacks of mixed nuts and rustic queso by roaming vendors.

This sparked a genius alcohol-infused idea for a new type of restaurant where waitresses would be armed with huge picnic-style wicker baskets and roam the bar offering various tapas-style snacks. "Roaming." Jamie revelled in the fact that once sober, I would hang my head in shame over this somewhat ridiculous concept. I stand by my guns, though. "Roaming" would be a great success.

At the big stage in the centre of the square, a singer banged out what we presumed (from the singalong crowd) to be some of Mexico's biggest hits. She was supported by two rather loose-hipped salsa dancers who we tried and failed to imitate.

All day we'd seen locals smashing back huge cups of red liquid. When a street vendor approached, we thought we'd blend in and give it a go. This beer and spicy tomato concoction was pretty disgusting, but we soldiered on.

A group of young lads came over and started chatting to us about our time in Mexico and recommending some top places to hang out to Jamie—mainly the club that they work in... where everyone is naked. It turns out that Veracruz is one of Mexico's gay capitals and that Jamie was a hit with the locals.