We headed out into the city for the bosques (parks) and museos (urm … museums) and spent the morning and some of the afternoon looking at our first “piles of old rocks” (as Dave calls them).  The Museum of History which sits on top of a hill is extremely swanky and has the most amazing views over the entire city.

View from Museum of History

The Museum of Contemporary Art was full of “unmade” broken doors and “unmade” car tyres, but that’s to be expected.  The Museum of Anthropology was stunning but we were flailing slightly, so after having taken the best photo of the holiday yet with Safe in his Quetzal headdress, we scoffed our first street nacho served with a bed of frijoles (refried beans) and spicy salsa and took the rest of the afternoon off to have lunch, drink Coronas and soak up some Latino atmosphere.

The quetzal headdress of Moctezuma

Nacho ... with refried beans

On the way home in the dark, we were accosted by a man with a moustache crawling on his hands and knees in the street.  By day he cuts hair at the Sheraton Hotel.  By night he has a fetish for touching shoes.  Annie’s manky hiking boots must have really taken his fancy.  Regardless of any protest on our part, he proceeded to buff and fluff them to within an inch of their life.  They weren’t this shiny out of the box!

Shiny shoes

Aunty Audrey waves us off

Arrived down South to a champagne send-off courtesy of the Armstrongery complete with a compulsory Sunday dinner with a perfectly cooked uber-helping of roast beef.  It turns out that the copious quantity of meat we were happily subjected to was no coincidence.  Dave warned us that we would be eating nothing but refried beans for the next 35 days so we feasted on a “last supper” of red meat, roasted, not fried … and cooked only once.