La Condesa has become the most sought-after area of Mexico City full of theatres, art galleries, book stores, bars and restaurants and is the perfect base for our final couple of days in the city. We feel completely at home, enjoying the architecture and the people-watching as hipsters, expats, gay couples and media types all populate the streets, like a sophisticated and elegant Shoreditch. Sadly our last day travelling dawns far too soon but we’re determined to enjoy the tranquil beauty of La Condesa while we can.

It's a different story when we arrive at the Frida Kahlo museum in the beautiful district of Coyoacán a short while later. Having been almost forgotten outside Mexico for thirty years after her death in 1954, the celebrated artist is now one of the most well-known and recognisable feminist icons in the world, and perhaps the most famous image of Mexico internationally. Certainly the queues outside the museum, all on strictly timed fifteen minute slots, demonstrate her huge fame ensuring that the Frida Kahlo museum, based in the house she was both born and died in, receives more visitors than the enormous Museum of Anthropology we visited at the start of January.

Sadly, any charm that Playa Del Carmen once had has been destroyed in favour of rampant commercialism. Gone are the little alfresco restaurants, cool bars and interesting boutiques we remember in favour of vast brand emporiums, raucous mega-bars, vastly over-priced eating establishments and an utterly different kind of holidaymaker. It’s like the worst excesses of Magaluf, San Antonio or Maspalomas, combined with some obviously bling-crazy, super-rich Americans and sun-burnt and drunken Brits and Eastern Europeans, dressed head to toe in designer gear.

She tells us they’re in the process of restoring the bedrooms, which include individual living rooms with separate maid and butler antechambers, to how they used to be when the plantation owners had them, using photos from when Fernando first moved their family in, but the hardest thing is working out what to do with her and all her siblings’ possessions and furniture which are still up there. And it’s expensive too; a storm damaged the wallpaper that had been in her bedroom ever since she had been a girl. When she contacted the design house in Paris that originally made it she was told it’s well over €1000 a square foot to replace it. “I’m not paying that!” she laughs, and off she wanders to the kitchen. 

And sure enough, the owner is a flamboyant gay who instantly makes us his favourite customers, finding us a table in the middle of the crowded restaurant, and announcing with a flourish, “I knew I’d love you. Thank God you’re not Americans!” His name is Luca and he’s camp, hilarious and hugely eccentric which explains the decor. There’s Mayan artefacts everywhere, along with Day of the Dead iconography, beautiful modern artworks and huge Caterina statues, but Luca is proudest of the fact that he’s recently repainted the ceiling rafters with the colours of the rainbow flag. 

The highlight is being treated to a Maya chocolate ceremony in a clearing in the jungle, when a shaman invites us to witness the ritual by blowing into a conch shell, and other villagers join him to invoke prayers, play the drums and emulate the sounds of crickets, frogs, wind and rain. The effect is somewhat spoilt a short while later when we see one of the villagers, having removed his white robe and dressed in sweatpants, having a chat on his mobile phone. 

After being dropped at our home there for the next few nights, Hotel Castelmar, we walk along the Malecón, the seafront promenade, where we are treated to the most incredible sunset, and one which rivals the best we’ve ever seen anywhere in the world. The next morning we learn from our guide Enrique, that the Maya used to refer to these sunsets as the Great Parrot of Fire in the Sky, due to the vivid colours which mimic the feathers of local birds and transform the horizon as the sun sinks into the sea.  

Inscriptions on the sarcophagus show three dates which record Pakal’s birth date, the date of his death and his date of “arrival”, which is a specific date way in the future, in 4772 AD. This inscription - along with the fact that if you turn the carving of Pakal’s rebirth on its side, squint hard and take a hell of a lot of drugs, then you might possibly think he’s driving some form of spaceship - led controversial 60s archaeologist Eric van Daniken to surmise that the Mayans were guardians of knowledge from extra-terrestrial contact and that Pakal was an astronaut riding a chariot of the gods.

As we continue driving through the cloud-shrouded mountains the rain quickly becomes torrential causing huge brown waterfalls to gush down the slopes beside the road, and at times mudslides and trees wash into the road. Enormous plumes of water spray up from the road as we continue on through seemingly endless rain-lashed highland forests, putting our trust in the driver’s abilities to negotiate these slippery highland roads.. 

Huge drapes sweep down from the rafters creating a tented feel and it’s dark, smoky and oppressive. The floor is covered in pine needles amongst which groups of women and children sit chanting and lighting hundreds of candles, invoking rituals for healing, and drinking alcohol to purify themselves. Some women have live chickens strapped to their backs which will be sacrificed, and shamans often perform ceremonies within the building. Decaying flowers are everywhere and the weird and otherworldly sense of trespassing in an area where our presence is tolerated but not welcomed is overwhelming. 

Miguel, our guide, is very good at bringing the treasures vividly to life, and his explanations of what we see as we continue around the site are fascinating. He tells us that many theories relate to Monte Alban’s sudden abandonment, from the threat of constant earthquakes to famine to disease. But he favours the idea that after 1500 years of the population continuously having to carry water 500 metres up the mountain from the valley below they just gave up and moved somewhere more sensible, with its own water source. 

At the end of the track lies our destination, Hierve el Agua. An amazing and huge petrified waterfall it sits in the most incredible panoramic vista, like something from the age of the dinosaurs. Rather than spend 90 minutes hiking all the way there and back in the hot sun we opt for the more relaxed option of bathing in the picturesque pools perched on the edge of cliffs that afford perfect views of it. 

Leaving the market we walk to the Jalatlaco barrio which used to be where wealthy people lived, but is now more of a hipster, artist neighbourhood. It’s incredibly colourful with street art everywhere including lots of skull designs, particularly of extravagantly be-hatted women. We learn that these female skull representations are known as Catrinas, and alongside the regular calaveras (skeletons) are very much an intrinsic part of El Día Del Muerte celebrations. And Oaxaca is renowned throughout Mexico for taking Day of the Dead to its greatest heights, with Jalatlaco being at the very centre of festivities. 

It’s late afternoon by the time we roll into Oaxaca’s bus station, and the sun is setting when we finally get to our lodgings at the very nice Parador de Alcalá, right in the centre of this stunningly beautiful city. We dump all our bags and head out while there’s still some light, walking straight into a head-spinning, eye-popping, ear-busting wedding parade spilling out of the huge Templo de Santo Domingo church and coming down the pedestrianised main street, Calle Macedonia Alcalá, towards us.

Galo’s joyful tears obviously require a celebration so a couple of doors down is a cute little bar called La Pasita, which has been run by the same family for generations and serves pasita (grape liquor) in a dizzying variety of combinations. Coman has the straight-forward pasita, I have a coffee-flavoured one and Galo orders a multi-coloured mariachi. They’re rather fine, and the conversation is flowing, so Galo orders a second round and tells us an intriguing tale…

Some of the stalls are selling the very traditional Mexican drink pulque. A slightly viscous fermented fruit drink made from the sap of the maguey plant and flavoured with different types of fruit, we opt for the guava version which is delicious. There’s a slight effervescence to it and it goes down far too easily in the sunshine. Apparently one pulque is good, two pulques are enough and three are dangerous. Considering after just a few sips Coman has donned a sombrero and we’ve sneaked behind the stall to chink glasses with the very shy lady running it, I think we’ll stick with just the one for now!