On the bus, just outside Zamora.

The cathedral in Morelia where I heard hundreds of people sing mass. 

Patscuaro

Ruins of a site at Tzintzuntzan where important religious and political rituals were once performed.

A shack - where important religious and political rituals may or may not once have been performed.

Approaching the island in the middle of the lake - Janitzio.

The view from the island.

Janitzio almost reminds me of somewhere in a Jeanette Winterson novel. The streets are tiny and wind between colourful, wonderfully constructed houses. There are dogs and chickens in the street. The lively voices of women singing inside the small church ring through the air and mix with the sounds of a group of kids playing basketball in a court built halfway up the steep hill - in Janitzio there is only hill, water and sky. At the top is a large tree and the statue, which you can enter and climb to the top by way of a tiny staircase which winds around it’s inner walls, which are covered in a vivid mural depicting the story of Spanish invasion and the resistance of the indigenous people. It would all be impossibly magical were it not for the fact that it once was impossibly magical and the rest of us got to hear about it, and went there in droves, causing the islanders to fill the streets with stalls selling ugly souveniers and huge piles of tiny deep-fried fish. The relationship between us and them has become clearly defined. We see pretty pictures to take and show our friends about our exotic travels and they see customers. Everyone calls out to you as you walk by their place on your way up. Mugs with pairs of breasts moulded into them, T-shirts,  cheap wooden toys, all of it uglier than anything else I’ve seen in other towns. We had arrived at the island late and when it was time to head back there were only a few tourists left. At one of the last stalls, a tiny place selling the horrible looking fish, an old woman called out to us repeatedly. The fish were so cheap, barely even pennies to people coming from wealthy countries like the UK and the US. I declined and walked on, trying to communicate through my eyes all I would have liked to say - sorry, I can’t, I don’t pity you, I’m rich, nothing makes sense, you’re beautiful, i don’t eat fish. She looked back at me angrily and I hurried down to the water, on hand on my camera.

The statue

Sunset from the boat