On the eve of embarking on another trip, I remember that I haven't quite finished the last report yet. Let's see if I can whiz through it.
From Mexico City I went northeast to Xilitla. I had heard stories and seen pictures of the surrealist gardens of Edward James, but they don't quite prepare you for the scale of it. Edward James was a rich patron of surrealist artists who decided to grow orchids in the jungles of Mexico. The story, as told to me, is that one year a frost killed his orchids, so he decided to make them out of concrete.
The result can only be described as Escheresque.
If I ever become a crazy, eccentric millionaire (as opposed to merely a crazy eccentric), *this* is the sort of madness that I would aspire to.
It was raining on and off, making the beautiful deathtrap even more treacherous. I climbed all over everything anyways, savoring the fleeting feeling of a free society without lawyers, guardrails, or the faintest sense of personal mortality.
I stayed in town. There was some sort of folk dancing festival going on: