I have friends that recently left Australia for a few months in South America. I’m jealous. Some of my favourite memories thus far are chowing down on ceviche on the coast in Peru, or eating empanadas on overnight bus rides. Food plays such a huge role in any trip to Latin America, which is why I almost wet my pants with excitement when I heard about the Latino Fiesta held in Johnston Street, Melbourne’s Latin district, this weekend. Not one to ever miss a paella opportunity, I spent most of the week counting down the days and went to bed especially early on Friday, so that I might be able to get a full weekend of filling my belly. I never claimed to not be a loser.

Melbourne’s Spanish and Latin American community isn’t massive, but isn’t exactly non existent either. Latino HQ is pretty much Johnston Street, which is home to tapas bars, Jamón shops, authentic Mexican restaurants and Spanish clubs. Once a year the street is shutdown for a weekend of Salsa classes, over-priced Sangria, tacos and Columbian BBQ’s. Heaven for this little cerdito.

The fiesta also has a significant amount of hand made crafts, Flamingo Dancers and Latino music for sale, though for me today, it’s all about la comida.

Rule of thumb for any street food festival is to do a reconnaissance lap, check out what’s going on. You don’t want to jump in too eagerly and fill up before you get to the good stuff. So away I went.

I saw Lechona (stuffed pig) at a Columbian store that had been cooking since 3am (it takes about 10 hours). There were Anticuchos (sort of like meat kebabs, anticuchos de Corazon – beef heart- being the most popular) grilling at one of the Peruvian stores. I passed an impressive amount of revelers waiting in line to be served Sangria at many of the bars that line the streets. I found my first stop of the day.

Sangria is summer punch served in Spain and Portugal. It usually consists of a inexpensive red wine fruit, spices and a sweetener like syrup or sugar. It’s also delicious and over indulgence, at least for me, often results in the mother of all hangovers. Still it’s a small price to pay and nothing that some aspirin and huevos rancheros can’t fix.

After the sangria party for one, I was on the move again, navigating past the nervous looking guys getting salsa lessons and found the empanada store. These delicious little parcels are like a South American samosa, dough with a meat, cheese or vegetable filling, and served with salsa. Stopping myself at one, I then made a beeline for the Taco stand.

Western versions of the Taco are wrong, god damnit. To start with, a taco isn’t served in a hard corn shell in Mexico, but rather come in a small soft tortilla. Secondly there’s no lettuce to be seen in an authentic taco, rather it’s topped with diced raw onion, tomatoes and an abundance of coriander. I was a served pork taco with a wedge of lemon on the side, and encouraged to squeeze it on liberally. My first bite is extraordinary; a fusion of delicious tastes and smells.

Keen readers of this website know that I’m a vegetarian who bends the rules a bit when travelling. I decided to adopt this rule today; instead of me travelling it was Latin American that came to see me. I welcomed it in all its carnivorous glory.

Getting full and a little sleepy I decided I had room for one more dish. I did another lap so I could way up my options. I was deciding between paella and quesadillas when I stumbled across Fideuà. The icing on my gluttonous cake.

Fideuà

Fideuà is from Valencia, Spain and is similar to paella except that it uses a thin noodle like vermicelli instead of rice. The Fideuà I chose came with an abundance of crustaceans and was served with aioli. It was exquisite. I’m not a man that goes around liberally declaring things to be exquisite, so I hope this goes some way to describing just how intensely tasty it was.
Being quite content with my finds for the day I waddled over to the tram stop to head home (the laundry isn’t going to wash itself). I left with a full belly and a happy heart, knowing that my sojourn into the culinary delights of Latin America and Spain cost me little more than a tram ticket and a few extra inches around the belly.

“Welcome to Mexico City. There are 5 rules you most obey to make this a memorable visit for you. Uno: You will be at your hostel soon, because I drive fast. Muy fast. But you cannot make any Speedy Gonzales jokes. I mean this. The last man to break this rule lost a kidney. Dos: Any tequila you plan on drinking in the next 30 minutes must be shared with me. In fact, why don’t you just give me any tequila you have now, and I will tell you if it’s good or not. Tres: Do not get into a drinking competition with a Mexican. You will lose. Cuatro:  Learn in español the words for toilet (baños), more beer (más cerveza), and I like your moustache (Me gusta el bigote) –  and you will be fine. Cinco: Here is my card, don’t forget to call me when you need to go back to the airport.”

I’d been in the country for only 5 minutes, and knew straight away I was going to love it.

I could wax lyrical about Mexico City, but I’ll spare you an overuse of adjectives.  Vibrant is the best way to describe this place, the largest metropolitan area in the Americas, home to over 23 million people.

There are 16 districts or delegaciones that make up Mexico City, all built around the Centro Historico, home to the Zocalo – the 3^rd largest square in the world.

A few misconceptions that need to be cleared up;

Sure, it’s polluted. But what city this size isn’t? Mexico City sits in a plateau and as such gets smoggy. But it’s certainly livable and comparable to Los Angeles, and is much cleaner than Bangkok or any city in China. There was an incident in the 80’s where birds fell dead from the skies, but it seems the government took that as a warning and have since cleaned up their act, and the air.

You won’t get mugged. Well, probably not.  I found Mexican’s to be some of the nicest people I’ve ever had the fortune of meeting, and not once did I feel unsafe in Mexico City (There was one incident with a guy plying us with nachos and trying to sell us pot, He was agitated and kept looking outside the bar to where there were some policia conspicuously standing around, seemingly waiting to nab some Gringo’s for possession, so we politely declined. Good nachos though). As Chuck Thompson wrote in his book ‘To Hell Holes and Back’;

“Being stood up by Mad Max (to score coke) is the only outright act of discourtesy I experienced in Mexico City”

In fact, Mexico doesn’t even get a mention in the listverse.com Top 10 most dangerous places on earth, and Antarctica comes in at number 6. So there you go, safer than Antarctica. Obviously if you’re strolling around the districts of Tepito or Iztapalapa Sporting a Rolex or fiddling with your iPhone, you might have a different experience.

The food is awesome. Not once did I get sick of or from eating tamales, Quesadillas, Sopa de tortilla, taquitos or tacos. The only time I had a standing date with the porcelain in Mexico City was as after a sojourn in Havana. You know what’s good for Cuban food based tummy upsets? Tequila. Kills everything.

Mexican food is very meat based, but there’s still heaps of variety for a vegetarian, and if you’re a fishacrit (aquatarian, pescatarian etc) hit the coasts for a mean Pulpo Diablo. Still, I’d steer clear of the ‘Pesca del dia’ in Mexico city – the closest beach is 500km away.

The coolest thing about food in Mexico City? McDonald’s have self-service jalapeños.

A few things you can’t leave Mexico City without doing:

Witness the battle of the Mariachi Bands at Paza Garibaldi. Sit at a makeshift bar, downing margaritas and Negra medelo cervezas while being serenaded by some of the loudest singers you’ve ever heard, for a few pesos a song. Your ears will be ringing by the end of the night, but you might get asked to join in on a verse of La Cucaracha, guaranteed to be the most fun you’ve had in ages.

Stop by for a pot of tea at Frida Kahlo’s house. You can’t miss it, it’s the giant blue building with hundred’s of people queuing outside. Once you’re inside though, you don’t seem to notice the crowds as you idly walk through the rooms, checking out paintings, Diego Rivera’s murals, and the bed that Frida was confined to for over a year; right where she first started her self portraits while recovering from a horrific bus accident. It’s a beautiful house with a large courtyard that has been painstakingly restored and maintained as it was 60 years ago.  In the courtyard is a small café where you can grab a cup of tea and cake, served on plates emblazoned with Frida’s mono-browed image, along with a heap of other Frida y Diego memorabilia.

Drift down the Xochimilco floating markets. You know it’s going to be a great tour when your guide stops to pick up an esky full of corona’s. The Xochimilco floating market boats are painted in incredibly bright colours, the procession is very slow, with traffic congestion that borders on insanity, but hey, it’s not your problem. Take the opportunity to relax, drink a beer, and eat what ever is on offer from the old ladies that plow into the side of your boat.

Run up the Teotihuacán Pyramids. The 3^rd largest pyramid in the world is the Pyramid of the Sun, at Teotihuacán. A lot of people run up the steep steps of the pyramid, if only to get away from the touts at the base. Still, once you’re at the top (or as high as your guide will allow) it’s a breathtaking view. Once you have your breath back, it’s time for another dash through the maze of souvenir sellers along the calle de los muertos (street of the dead) to get to the Pyramid of the moon. Bring Ventolin.

Fill up on Mezcal. Or tequila for that matter. Infact, if you’re super adventurous there is a train that takes you from Guadalajara (the second largest town in Mexico) all the way to the town of Tequila, in the north. But I’m the sort of guy that would watch the tennis on TV instead of going to see it at the arena, so you can imagine I’d also subscribe to the  mantra of ‘fuck it, there’s perfectly good tequila, right here in Mexico City.’ I was not disappointed. A lot of bars I’d frequented in Centro Historico and Roma Condesa (two neighboring delegaciones known for art deco buildings, great restaurants and über grungy- cool drinking establishments) have over 130 types of Tequila and Mezcal, quickly resulting in a messy, and expensive night. (Rule of thumb, if the tequila bottle has the brand name plastered in gold, it’s most definitely more expensive than you can afford. It’s good to learn from past mistakes.)

I’ll be heading back to Mexico City in the new year. It’s such an exciting city to be in, the festivity of the city is palpable. So forget what you’ve heard. Just go. You won’t be disappointed. But maybe lay off the Speedy Gonzales jokes.

The square of Djemaa el Fna sprawls out haphazardly, a big area that early on in the day can seem a bit vacant, but fills up completely come nightfall. At one end of the square there are restaurants and cafes, At the other -beginning of the Souqs, and if you venture that way can see the fine art of selling in overdrive as storemen press T-shirts and jewellery into your hands.

Locals and tourists alike find themselves here in Djemaa el Fna as the afternoon turns to evening, to meet friends or snap a photo, and of course to eat. This is why I’m here, to fill up on fresh food from the famous night market.

As I walk into the open space it is still very warm and at this time of the day more stalls are being set up for the nightly show. I’m early.

Take a breath and look around for a bit, you’ll be eating soon, I tell myself grumbling stomach. There is an atmosphere of excitement, as if a big party is about to take place.

This is exactly what it turns into in an hour or so, when all the stalls are up and running, people are everywhere chatting excitedly and looking around at the feasts in front of them. Produce is set out proudly and tantalisingly – a variety of fish and other seafood, kebabs of meat or vegetables, piles of fresh salads, olives and dried fruits. Other smaller stalls are selling mint tea or coffee with deserts of cakes and biscuits. Some I walk past specialise in just one thing, like snails, and a huge bubbling pot fills the entire little shop with a line of bowls next to it waiting to be filled and someone squeezed behind it smiling and waving for you to come closer.

The sounds of cooking are all around me – things are chopped, then sizzling on the stoves while spices and herbs are added, and smoke wafts around you as you walk, giving you delicious hints at what you could have if you stop at this one for dinner tonight. The stalls go on and on, a little temporary labyrinth built each night in the centre of the square.

Beside the food is an area where a visual feast is decked out – ladies sit doing henna tattoos, street performers all dressed up sing and dance, and round each corner is the possibility of walking into an area where snakes and their charmers, or a monkey on a leash can be found. I stick to the food but many are seduced into getting a photo taken with these animals – that or they have a snake or monkey draped on them before they know it.

Lights come on, the music swells and the food smells become too good to continue looking around any longer. I stop and see the variety on show in front of this stall, decide its where I want to be and point a few things out as my order, then sit down. A man places a paper mat down in front of me and some olives are set out. As I watch my food being cooked, I realise all my olives are gone – should never leave them alone with me for a minute – I’m given some more.

Then my food comes out – roast eggplant, kebabs, vegetable cous cous. Prawns, Moroccan salad, beetroot. I have been waiting for this all day. I get to work and more bread is placed beside me. The flavours are fantastic, that freshly grilled taste coupled with coriander, cumin and others flavours I don’t know. The olives are simple but with a light marinade of herbs. The bread is fresh and I mop up the juices from the salads and sauce from the kebabs and vegetables. I eat and eat and the night world goes on around me. More people duck in to sit at the long tables next to me and the routine begins again as they pick their food and the chefs get to work. The music seems to get faster as I eat, whirling as the tastes whirl in my mouth.

After I’m done I slowly get up and decide I need to walk my eating odyssey off, still steering clear of the monkeys and snakes. The night is warm and everyone is happy, me most of all.

Marrakech is my first stop in Morocco and I don’t want to leave, a day here in Djemaa el Fna makes me hungry for more.

Follow Milli on Twitter, Flickr or read more of her travels here

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“Welcome to Sarajevo. My name is Kovacs and I will be your adopted Papa. I reek of charisma, you know.”

- He wasn’t kidding. More charming than anyone I’ve met before, Kovacs introduced himself to us while we were exploring the Baščaršija – the Turkish quarter of Sarajevo, following our noses around alleyways into pastry shops selling Burek and tiny cafes brewing Bosnian coffee. I was in love with Sarajevo and had been devising business plans in my head, ready to write to my mother telling her I wasn’t coming home, when I was brought back to planet earth by the sight of this tiny man, waving at us and dancing in the street.

We spent 10 minutes (or was it 20?) standing in the middle of the street talking to this interesting man about his life (born in Turkey, lived around the world and had been working in Sarajevo as a waiter for 3 years), the languages he can speak (10, thanks for asking) and would his boss mind if he snuck off for a beer? (“Fuck the boss, lets drink”).

Kovacs led us through the maze of the Baščaršija, past men in workshops belting metal into shape, women chatting in the drizzling rain outside of silk shops and teenagers sipping coffee on tiny stools in hole-in-the-wall coffee shops, until we arrived at the ‘Balkan café’ – a funky bar/live music venue that later that night would be hosting an evening of jazz meets Sevda (local Bosnian music – a bit Soviet, a bit Middle Eastern, very cool). We sat down and ordered some beers. Kovacs explained how he understood his religion “Mine is heart. We’re all people, so just love with your heart”. He then belted out a few acapella versions of some blues songs – he’s a singer and guitarist – much to the dismay of the über cool crown that came to hear the jazz band upstairs. He promised to serenade us if we came to his restaurant the following night. We sipped šljivovica (local brandy) from the mini flask around his neck – a gift from a travelling Scottish lady who though he was hilarious (modest, he is not).

Kovacs was prone to going off on a tangent, which made it hard to follow what he was talking about; I gave up the notion of taking notes. Instead, we drank beer and laughed. Soon after he ran off to work hoping to get back there before his boss noticed he was gone, and we stayed at the Balkan café and chatted with the owner- he introduced himself to us when he noticed we were admiring the cool artwork on the wall. The café had only been open for a month, but it was packed with alternative 20 something’s sporting wild, unkempt hair and dressed in black turtleneck tops.

All we need is šljivovica

We watched the first band take the stage in the upstairs smoke filled room, they played a mix of songs, some big band hits from the 20’s and 30’s mixed and then some slow jazz versions of more popular songs like Radiohead’s Creep. Before I realised it was after midnight so we retired to the hotel, there was a lot of sight seeing to do the next day.

Some beautiful Mosque’s can be found in the Baščaršija. I sat in a café adjacent the biggest Mosque in Bosnia, and listened to the call to prayer, which was just as breathtaking as the ones, I’ve heard in Turkey and Malaysia. Sarajevo is a melting pot of religions; there are Mosques, churches and synagogues around every corner. I spent the remainder of that day walking around the city, with a stray but happy dog following me around. That night we went to see Covaks at the restaurant, where true to his word, he serenaded us while we sipped red wine and ate trout and grilled veggies drowned in olive oil. A midnight drink at the Balkan Café followed, the crown danced and couples kissed in the dark corners and I wished I could stay longer. All good things come to an end I guess, but I hope that’s not true. I’ll be back soon to find out.