Montezuma's Revenge

It has to be a record... 32 hours in to my time in Mexico I've been struck down with the squirts.

After finally sleeping off the combined jetlag and Woodford comedown, I set out to acquaint myself with the sprawling madness that is Mexico City. I sat down to a plate of huevos rancheros at a local cafe (organic and vegetarian, no less) and headed to the Frida Kahlo musuem, in the suburb of Coyoacán, where I'm staying.

The museum is Frida's family house, known as the Casa Azul, or Blue House. It has been tastefully converted into a musuem dedicated to the life and work of Frida and her malingering husband, and renowned artist in his own right, Diego Rivera. Seeing all the random letters and personal belongings of these two massive personalities was just as exciting as seeing some of their works – particularly impressive was Diego's collection of communist pamphlets and their studio space, complete with half-used paints, pastels and the like.
Unfortunately, no photos were allowed inside, so you'll have to come and check it out for yourself .

This is a shot of the outside of the studio. Frida and Diego were avid collectors of pre-Colombian artefacts, which feature throughout the house and its gardens.

Feeling particularly excited, I decided to check out the Zócalo, the city's main square and home to numerous tourist attractions such as the Palacio Nacional and Catedral.

I think photos will speak louder than words – the murals were done by Diego and as far as I can understand tell the story of Mexico, including invasion by the Spanish and the revolution of Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata.

I got back to the hostel by sundown and imediately fell asleep, with the familiar creep of nausea beginning to take hold. All I need to say is that I had a shitty night's sleep (no pun intended) and wished like mad I wasn't alone on the other side of the world from everyone dear to me. At one point, in a state of dehydrated delerium, I convinced myself I'd have to summon the repatriation arrangements of my travel insurance, such was the extent of my illness. Thankfully the dreaded bug gave up after about 10 visits to the toilet, when there wasn't anything left to expel from my body.

So here I sit, sharing my shitty experience with you over a litre of rehydration salts. I'm hoping that having been struck down with Montezuma's Revenge so early in the piece will harden me up a bit, and that from here on in it will be all good health and good times.