So three days after arriving in Puebla we finally make our way into the city centre to see what’s what. It’s pleasant enough with the usual Zócalo (old town) comprising plaza, fountains and cathedral. The colonial houses adorned with azulejos (painted ceramic tiles) are beautiful but we feel it lacks the grandeur of Mexico City or charm of Tepoztlan.
I guess this is why there are so few tourists around. For the first time on the trip we feel like we’re something of a novelty. The locals are very friendly (as they have been everywhere else) but are genuinely surprised when we tell them we’re from London.
Puebla’s main claim to fame is that it’s the birthplace of the classic Mexican dish ‘mole’ (pronounced moh-lay). A lot of folk associate mole with the sickly chocolate infused dishes in crappy Tex Mex restaurants, and some moles do indeed contain a small amount of cocoa, but mole simply means ‘sauce’ and can be made with everything from tomatillo (a small, husked tomato-like fruit) to chilies, almonds, black peppercorn and cinnamon.
To Mexicans, the meat the mole is served over is secondary in importance to the mole itself. We try to imagine everyone at home raving about the gravy but failing to mention the beef. But we can’t.
Anyway, to see what all the fuss is about we splurge on a mole feast at one of the city’s nicest restaurants (some context here, ‘splurge’ in Mexico means throwing down £15), and we eat so much that it's a struggle to get up from the table. The food is very, very good.
Roll up, roll up... get your plastic madonnas and saints here, baby Jesus's (Jesuses, Jesi?) in sizes to suit all budgets.
In the evening we take a ride on the Estrella de Puebla, the giant Ferris Wheel that’s been winking at us ever since we arrived. It’s right at the end of our street so it’d be cowardly not to.
A wee bit smaller than the London Eye it is nevertheless bloody massive, and because the pods only sit 8 people you feel a little more vulnerable.
I was okay, but Wend cacked her pants.
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