I’m just sitting on the beautiful rooftop of my hostel on my last night in Campeche. Exhausted by the blazing heat of the city, I have taken a break to refresh with water and radishes. (In a sudden budget reality check this morning, I accidentally bought about 2kg of radishes for sandwiches – and let me tell you – no one needs this many radishes. Ever.) 

I have really enjoyed my stay in Campeche. I am staying in one of the only hostels here – a super strange place in a semi deserted building in the centre of the historical area. It has a bird in a cage and a locked door to a closed but still fully equipped doll shop in its reception. 

Despite the strange atmosphere, Campeche has been a lovely place to visit. A small town with a UNESCO listed historic centre, Campeche is made up of hundreds of beautifully painted colonial buildings, winding streets and a long, board walked coastline. I have spent my days visiting a few of the small museums in the city, walking every morning along the Malecon with most of Campeche’s middle aged community (the translation is pier, but actually it’s more like the harbour in Wellington- with a wide pathway for walkers and runners that follows along the coast). 
No swimming here, sadly – the sea is dirty and rough and the beaches are outside of town. It would have been a wonderful respite from the blazing midday heat. 


P.S – Just adding a quick note as I try to upload the last of my photos from Campeche. I am currently in San Christobal, slowly making my way back to Mexico City for a Spanish intensive. I have had the most whirlwind few days, but I fear that my write up of it for Palenque might not describe it so. Nevertheless. I am going horse riding to a small Indigenous village today – very excited! Happened to bump into friends from other cities so have loved reconnecting in beautiful San Christobal. 

Have also finished my last book that I have been storing through the trip – Faulkner’s Intruder in the Dust, read in a beautiful private garden in Campeche. In San Cristobal I went to a really cute English bookstore and have begun to read Ayaan Hirshi Ali’s autobiography Infidel. Mum and Dad will remember this name from the dreaded final essay of my degree.  


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