vale la pena

What happens when I have a lot to think about...

2010-05-08T13:51:00.013-05:00

This is pear-fect for the summer heat: One ripe, green pear, 1 cup of orange juice, 2 ice cubes, 2 limes and 1 cup of ginger ale blended. Whether you decide to put bourbon in there or not is none of my business.
Simple hummus with pine nuts.A re-mix of Shelly's cookie recipe baked in the toaster over. (I can't figure out our oven.)
Mushroom, black bean and chile-de-árbol pizza.
Also, this is what's going on these days around the hills where I walk each day...

Sandra Cisneros is rocking my world_Part 3

2010-04-28T12:40:00.013-05:00

CLOUDS
If you are a poet, you will see clearly that there is a cloud floating on this sheet of paper. — Thich Nhat Hanh

Before you became a cloud, you were an ocean, roiled and murmuring like a mouth. You were the shadow of a cloud crossing over a field of tulips. You were the tears of a man who cried into a plaid handkerchief. You were a sky without a hat. Your heart puffed and flowered like sheets drying on a line.

And when you were a tree, you listened to trees and the things trees told you. You were the wind in the wheels of a red bicycle. You were the spidery Maria tattooed on the hairless arm of a boy in downtown Houston. You were the rain rolling off the waxy leaves of a magnolia tree. A lock of straw-colored hair wedged between the mottled pages of a Victor Hugo novel. A crescent of soap. A spider the color of a fingernail. The black net beneath the sea of olive trees. A skein of blue wool. A tea saucer wrapped in newspaper. An empty cracker tin. A bowl of blueberries in heavy cream. White wine in a green-stemmed glass.

And when you opened your wings to wind, across the punched-tin sky above a prison courtyard, those condemned to death and those condemned to life watched how smooth and sweet a white cloud glides.

-----------
I keep coming back to her. I adore the imagery and movement in this piece – the way you float upwards while reading, and are brought back down to life. (Currently sitting in my favorite Plaza San Fernando, soaking up the blue skies and listening to Beach House, Teen Dream.)

Photo Shoot with Gaby and TJ

2010-04-16T12:19:00.006-05:00

A really nice couple, Gaby and TJ, hired me to take photos of them in Mayto.

Mayto, finally

2010-03-30T09:21:00.084-06:00

Acknowledging the good that is already in your life is the foundation for all abundance. "A New Earth," by Eckart TolleI woke up to a sunny clear day. I found my way back to the guesthouse, and was greeted by a jolly Mexican man with a pony-tail named Fernando. Dan had kindly worked it out so that I could stay in his camper really close to the beach on Fernando and Maricella's land, the owners of Riconcito Guesthouse which offers really nice rooms at incredible prices, as well as beach camping:At Riconcito, Maricella made home-made Mexican breakfast and dinner each day (complete with a daily salsa) and if you wanted to eat, it was your choice. I couldn't tell you how many times we grilled steaks and fresh fish filettes on the huge outdoor grill they built while I was there...
...or had chicken enchiladas, mole that had been simmering all day, chiles verdes, tomales, chiles rellenos, grilled lamb... All accompanied by blackened, corn tortillas and chile de arbol salsa... Mmmmm. If you didn't want to eat, that's cool – for me it would mean 2nds, 3rds.......

Fernando, Maricella and their granddaughter, Delisia.This is Rambo-Fernando at one of our many fish grill-outs.
They keep a on-going tab in a scratchy old steno-pad, and at the end of your visit you tally-up and pay in a lump sum. Remember the honor system? They have a little garage complete with a refrigerator full of beer, and when you want a cold one you just mark it on your tab. All the prices were beyond reasonable, making it economically practical for me to eat and drink everything they had to offer. The only problem was trying to fit into my clothes after three weeks of doing this. Luckily I brought one stretchy dress.

Day one I introduced myself to the current guests, and immediately met a hilarious Englishman named Dick, then a Canadian couple, Rhonda and Les, from Hay River in the Northwest Territories.

What's in Hay River? I asked.

Nothing, Rhonda told me. They were only living there because her boyfriend, Les works for DNR. She rolled her eyes and said, He's a fish cop.Dick and Lis were one of my favorite couples and we spent nearly 2 weeks hanging out as they were camped out on the beach. I guess there are worse places we could be, aren't there? He would say with a British accent. Dick is a jolly, sarcastic Englishman, and Lis an incredibly-sweet but quick-witted Englishwoman. Together they have traveled the world and like a walking British sketch comedy.We would make bonfires at night in front of their camper, lean all the way back in their fancy-pants recliner chairs while drinking rum and coke, blasting Pink Floyd, and gazing at the amazing view of the stars and the milky way. I really missed their energy when they left, but I know we'll meet again.Here's the view from the guesthouse tables: After meeting and greeting with the current guests for a while, I decided to head to the beach. My jaw hit the sand. Complete Desolation.As I was standing there gaping, Dan walked up. He said, I wasn't kidding about this place, huh? Dan and Holly's ranch is very short walking distance away, and he said to come by anytime. The hospitality of some is really inspiring.

Basically, I lived between two beaches: the main beach, and Lover's Beach:Now, if I would have known I'd been living on Lover's Beach alone for three weeks, being the only single as couples from all over the world rolled in and out, I would have at least looked into anti-depressants before leaving, or doubled up on caramel suckers... But no, it was a total surprise to me. Luckily I had brought a great self-help book, Eckart Tolle's, "A New Earth." This book was a lifesaver and I dove into it with tenacity – and to avoid jumping off of la terraza of Riconcito.

Speaking of the terraza, I would go up in the mornings and do yoga... Here's a view of my camper and Lover's Beach from up top. (Check out the solar panel.)"A New Earth" is all about ego, and basically puts into action a lot of things I've been reading since my arrival in Mexico, a lot of eastern ideas intermingled with science and daily practices to work on. It sounds cheesy and cliche, I really don't care, it made a few things clear to me that I didn't realize: Like that if you are somewhere, let's say for example a hypothetical beach, and you at times feel, let's say, sad because you're there alone, or guilty because you're still not quite sure how you managed to score this... It's all thanks to the ego. Here's something I copied down in my journal that not only jarred my attention, but sort of set the tone for the way I spent my trip:"Who you think you are is also intimately connected with how you see yourself treated by others. Many people complain that others don't treat them well enough. 'Nobody loves me,' 'I am a needy little me whose needs are not being met.' This basic mis-perception of who they are creates dysfunction in all of their relationships. They believe they have nothing to give and that the world or other people are withholding from them and what they need. Their entire reality is based on an illusory sense of who they are. It sabotages situations, mars all relationships. If the thought of lack – whether it be money, recognition or love – has become a part of who you think you are, you will always experience lack. Rather than acknowledging the good that is already in your life, all you see is lack."

Being in a pop-up camper on a beach alone in Mayto is about as good as life gets, so why feel any different? I decided on the first day to set an intention for the trip, to realize each day that I was so ridiculously fortunate, to keep in mind I have close friends who are struggling, and to soak in every minute of the experience as a single, happy gringa... Even if sometimes I felt alone, or questioned my worthiness.

After all, Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness.
What came of this recognition was an amazing and abundant three weeks. Being 45 minutes from good internet connection and phone service, I spent a lot of time interacting and making friends with travelers that would come and go. I was reading a ton. I started helping Fernando and Maricella serve the other guests and clean up afterward... I became very close with Fernando and Maricella's daughter... In the end, they all seemed like family. I hung out with the goats on Dan and Holly's ranch. By letting down all the walls, life poured in.

Six new baby goats were born on Dan and Holly's ranch while I was there.

This is Chewbacca, the billy goat. He's trying to get in the gate to eat the entire garden.From Dan and Holly's property:
Delisia, who I may or may not have kidnapped.
A sunrise through my camper window:
Cuervo and Coco racing down the main beach.

Vallarta

2010-03-29T13:24:00.046-06:00

Pretty sure I would recommend you try chewing off your own arm before visiting Puerto Vallarta. It would probably be more pleasant, and would take less time to heal from the wounds that are a product of it.

In fact, if you were thinking of visiting Vallarta, you might as well save your money and go to Panama City or Destin, Florida. Here you will find things to be exactly the same: Mediocre beach, trinkets made in China that will end up in a landfill, Cosco and lots of white people. More specifically, what Mexicans call, White Hairs.After arriving in Vallarta on the overnight bus, I realized I had somehow lost my favorite sleeping bag as well as my nalgene, was cramping like hell and had to take a bumpy public bus to the downtown centro, where I would need to spend the day waiting on Dan and Holly. I kept pinching myself on the bus, head tilted curiously, browsing all the white people walking on the sidewalks. Did I actually get slipped something and end up in Virgina Beach? We passed Walmart and Sams. Gulp. We passed about 8 McDonalds. Sigh. We passed Bed Bath and Beyond and Office Depot. Ugggh.

(I am recently fascinated with the interior of public buses in Mexico, maybe because I spend so much time in them. Doesn't HOTEL compliment Jesus nicely?)Jalisco, Mexico is the Tequila state. If it looks like tequila, and tastes like tequila, but is made outside of this state, you can't call it tequila. So it is also one of the wealthiest states.

Lucky for me, there is a tequila shop on nearly every corner giving out free shots. I couldn't think of anything better to do, and proceeded to get plowed before lunch. I started walking around, taking photos. I was hungry but wanted to find a local street vendor rather than one of the ghastly, tourist restaurants... So I walked further and further from downtown. I ran into a little vendor selling shrimp and fish seviche and my faith was restored in humanity. (For a moment.) I paid like $1.50, noting that you couldn't buy one avocado for that in the states.I wasn't upset at all, so I ate a popsicle after that, then more tequila shots, then I decided I should park it for a bit, and ordered even more food and a margarita and a couple mojitos at this bar/restaurant on the beach.I was so shocked to see a Mexican, that I had to take a photo. ;)
As the afternoon sulked by, it struck me suddenly that I hadn't seen Dan in a couple months, and it would be the first time I had met his wife, and what sort of impression was I going to make being plastered before 5 pm?! I went to our meeting place and starting drinking water.

They showed up right on time. His wife Holly was a beautiful, upbeat powerhouse. They two of them are into so many things – have multiple properties and projects. We all sat down with the architect that had a stack blueprints for the solar-powered campground they are constructing near their ranch in Mayto. After I got over feeling like a complete slacker (and started sobering up) it was fun to help translate with the Mexican architect.

After going over plans we headed out, stopping at a grocery store. Dan advised that I needed to stock up, because there wasn't much to choose from in Mayto. I didn't really know what to expect, so I bought a few staples like red wine, coffee and caramel suckers.

We headed south. The first hour was a super-windy but paved road. With what felt like a gallon of tequila in my belly I asked Dan if the whole trip would be of this condition.

He replied, Oh no, this is the good part.

The paved, windy road turned into a twisting, choppy "road/path/trail" that might be ideal for four-wheeling or jeeps. He explained that it was actually much better than before, and I nodded, clutching my door-handle and staring out into the night.

We arrived very late, around midnight. I could barely see anything and Dan introduced me to the two enormous dogs that walked up, Cuervo and Lulu, promising they would watch over me. The stars were brilliant, and I could hear waves booming, although I couldn't see them. He showed me into the pop-up camper which would be my new home. He also showed me where the bathrooms were located at the nearby guesthouse, Riconcito. Inside, I dropped my bags and laid down in the cozy camper, thankful for the soft bed and blankets, and dozed off wondering what to the next day would bring.

M-A-Y-T-O Let's–Go! (But first...)

2010-03-29T09:37:00.032-06:00

My friend Dan Guir and I met in Spanish class at Escuela Mexicana. We hit it off immediately talking of travel and outdoor sports, a passion for 'green themes,' and enjoyed chatting about new music and art. He is a super amazing person, one of the gems that I have met while being here in Guanajuato. Dan was a photographer for almost as many years as I've been alive, he's traveled the world and has a portfolio that made me wimper like a street dog. If it wasn't for his awesome-ness, I would probably have to hate him given the circumstances, the fact that he found a way to be a world-travelling-photographer and ahem, made money doing it.

He's one of those people that just smiles, and with that sends off their positive energy into the universe. He's done well for himself, recently selling his photography business, and he shares the wealth. He had a small gathering of friends at this home in GTO a few months ago, and when I could only manage to scrape my jaw off the floor long enough to compliment his beautiful home, he would say things like, "Isn't this ridiculous? I'm still not sure how all of this happened," and would express concern for the small, shackled homes below. He refuses to accept burned cd's, and I think my face might have resembled a bright red helium balloon after I offered him music and he replied, "No, I can't take music from you, feel free to recommend some names, but if I don't support artists in their endeavors, how do I expect people to pay for my art?" I wanted to float away. He also smuggled nearly 15 thousand dollars worth of solar panels to make his ranch in Mayto off the grid, saying it was his version of "environmental activism."

Anyways, when a man with this sort of travel and experience under his belt (or say, the Dalai Lama) tells you that his property in Mayto is one of the most beautiful places in the world... You have to wonder: 1.) Is he completely delusional, or 2.) If this place is half of what he says, wouldn't it be worth it?

We started making plans for my visit. I would take an overnight bus to Vallarta and he and his wife Holly would meet up with me while visiting their architect. (As in, the architect designing their off-grid, solar-powered campground. You can hate them too, I won't judge.)

At about 9 pm on the 28th of February, I'm writing some last minute emails before heading to the bus station for my overnight trip to Vallarta, which was leaving at 10 pm. Plugging in a light in the kitchen and – Pop! the electricity goes out. Now normally, this would have been no big deal. I would have just looked at Katie and said, "Welp, looks like this is your problem!" but unfortunately my roomie wasn't home, she would be coming in late that night from a week visit in her hometown St. Lou-ay, a week of visiting her family because her uncle passed away, and not only would she be arriving late, but she would have to get up early and go to her first job, later to her second.

Guilt set in and I ran and grabbed the across-the-street-neighbor-lady, and told her what was up. She and I walked to the back to the dark house and she opened up one of the electrical boxes that looked more to me like the flux capacitor circa 1800. Because there is a language barrier, I must have asked her three times, "Are you saying push it up?! Segura? SeGURA?!" I could imagine Tim's disappointed face (he's an electrician) when they found my mangled body, "I told her to lift one foot when re-starting breakers!"

Anyways, no luck with neighbor numero uno, and I started to sweat. So I did what I really dreaded doing, I knocked on the door of my next-door neighbor. Katie and I live in a frustrated state with our next door neighbor because a.) he's a prick and b.) a neat-freak prick at that and c.) he wrote an "anonymous" letter from "vecinos molestados" (annoyed neighbors) saying that our house was basically and eye-sore to the neighborhood, mentioning that we don't trim our trees or gasp, clean up the leaves in our 10 sq. foot yard. I knocked anyways.

He came over and brought his wife with him too. (?) We both had flash lights and he wanted to see where I had been trying to plug something in when the lights died. I led him to the kitchen, and amidst about a months worth of beer bottles and cardboard that I collect because I can't bear to throw it away (Guanajuato doesn't recycle) we found the outlet. I thought about explaining that we weren't alcoholics, and that although GTO doesn't recycle I still pretend like they do, and then later Katie will, like a good roommate, throw it in the garbage for me when I'm not looking... But no, I just sat there with a bright red face as his flashlight illuminated the dusty bottles.

So he and his wife, who sort of studies me like I have horns, joined me in the back yard and I wanted to hi-five the dogs as they chewed on his leg while trying to figure out the problem.

No luck. We hung around, I checked my watched every 3 seconds as they moved some cables around and tried explaining to me in very fast Spanish, descriptions and terms that I wouldn't get in english... But I was only half-way listening because after some time went by I realized... Where are the pinche dogs?

Sure enough, my vecina had left the front and back door open, letting all four dogs out into the dark night. I went into the night determined like a Mexican version of the Midnight Ride, except for instead of a lantern I wore a head lamp and had tortillas in my hand. Screaming for the dogs, I decided when I found them we'd be having puppy tacos for dinner.

Lucy was the first sucker, I got her in quickly, the neighbors still roaming around the house looking for an additional breaker. I kept yelling for the other dogs. Nearly in tears, I got a hold of three out of four little jerks, and then in my mind I started drafting a note to Katie that went something like this:

Hey Katie,
Hope you had a great time at your uncles funeral. Um, just in case you are bored when you get home, one of the dogs is missing and if you feel like it, you should try and find her. Oh yeah, and you might notice there is no power. Good luck with that as well. Have fun at your job(s) tomorrow while I head to the beach. I hope everything works out.
Love, Natalie

Finally, by god's sweet grace, we found a second breaker, which was right where you would think it to be – hidden behind a huge piece of furniture. He flipped the switch and the lights came on. I squealed, gave him a hug and his wife glared at me like I had grabbed his ass. As I was writing a note to Katie (same note, just crossing out the line about the power) Fanny, the last asshole dog, arrived at the door. I drug her outside, said good riddance, grabbed all my bags and got a cab to the bus station. Luckily I had bourbon with me...

Un día, Juana Molina

2010-02-28T15:30:00.004-06:00

Un día voy a ser otra distinta,
voy a hacer cosas que no hice jamás.
No va a importarme lo que otros me digan
ni va a importarme si resultará.
Voy a viajar, voy a bailar, bailar, bailar, ¡quiero bailar!
Voy a vivir en el medio del campo y a las mañanas me vo(y) a levantar
para ordenar (me va a costar). Me gustará. ¿Cuándo será?

Un día voy a hacer todo distinto,
voy a arreglar la ventana de atrás.
Voy a cantar las canciones sin letra
y cada uno podrá imaginar
si hablo de amor o desilusión,
banalidades o sobre Platón.
Si hablo de vos o de color,
si hablo de música, nuestra pasión.

Un día voy a ser otra distinta
voy a hacer cosas que no hice jamás.
Voy a cantar las canciones sin letra
y cada uno podrá imaginar.
Voy a viajar, vagar...

Lucky Pineapple, Second Story Man, Ultra Pulverize & Wax Fang

2010-02-25T11:02:00.012-06:00

I was lucky to see a killer show at headliners while visiting Louisville.

Lucky Pineapple
Second Story Man

Party Crashers!

DW Box

Ultra Pulverize

Wax Fang

De's Bday_Photo Blog

2010-02-20T22:08:00.010-06:00

Despite the cold and lack of sun, I couldn't have been happier to see my pals in Louisville. Here are photos from my darling friend De's bday party. Shelly baked these incredible cupcakes, and we headed to the Nach Bar in Morgan's van.

Surprise!

Good friends, good beer and debauchery.

Holidays in Oaxaca

2010-02-15T10:44:00.063-06:00

Because I'm living in Guanajuato right now with very limited funds and no social obligations besides to my roommate and four dogs, I'm having a chance to spit out the photos taken over the past few months. I really am excited about getting to the "home visit" photos, there are a shit-load, and some of them fantastic, and to be closer to real-time as far as my trip goes. In order the do that, I must do the dreaded vacation/beach post, which was by far one of the most amazing and relaxing vacations of my life, but probably absolutely boring to readers. Ahem, "today I ate breakfast, went to the beach, took a nap, ate dinner, repeat." Real interesting indeed, but this journal is as much for me as the reader, so...

Morgan and I took a 22-hour bus ride overnight from Mexico City to arrive in Pochutla. We stumbled out of the bus, dazed and little blurry, and it was drizzling. Morgan was already questioning if it would rain the rest of our trip. Immediately cab drivers were hassling us in every direction, and my brain was so not there yet, that I just ignored everyone. Finally we waited 15 minutes for a camioneta, but then talked a cab into 60 pesos to take us to our place in Puerto Angel. He for SURE said 60 pesos, but of course when we finally got there, he swears he said 70. (Oh, he tried to dump us off at the wrong place. I was so unamused and tired, I didn't even move as he got out a few of our bags.) Morgan took charge explaining, "No! this is NOT our place!"

Finally we did get to our place called, El Septimo Sol. The grounds were amazing: Clean, friendly, killer rooms – just not very close to the beach, although it had an amazing beach view. Hammocks galore. The dueños were super young and friendly and I chatted to them for a while, a cute, very native-looking Mexican with long black hair and his sweet girlfriend. They were salsa dancers and we became pals immediately, chatting as I swung in the hammocks and pat their enormous dogs. I Suppose I didn't take many pics from this place, here are couple from the grounds.
After a much-needed-after-travel-siesta, we headed to the beach. It was walking distance, down this long hill (cerro) and packed with people: locals, tourists, fisherman. Boats everywhere – hence the name puerto Angel. Restaurant servers hurriedly ran up to us, telling us to sit at their table, their specials, etc. I realized they were trying to make money for their families, but I can't help but be slightly annoyed with the hassling. Didn't matter though because Morgan and I ate an entire fish on a platter as a welcome-to-the-beach dinner with a few Sol and Bohemias to soak it down. We took a walk around the small puerto, and crashed pretty early.

In the morning, not being super impressed by Puerto Angel, we decided to go to this other beach, the one she says is one of the most amazing places EVER having visited a few years back. But unfortunately, due to it being the holidays (high-season,) we were unable to get accommodations there.

We wanted to check it out anyways so we hopped in the back of a camioneta. (Camionetas were our main form of transportation on this trip. It's like a small pick-up truck that they rig the bed with two benches, a tarp to cover it, and a pole to hang on to. It's really fun as long as it's not jam packed with people, or a stranger's big belly doesn't end up in your face. And they are dirt cheap.)

We arrived to the beach, and I couldn't believe the difference. The entire atmosphere shifted, and I felt like we had arrived on another planet, muy tranquilo. We decided to ask the place Morgan had stayed before, if they just so happened to have space.They DID! Crazy excited, we got to view our future-room and could not stop squealing. This place was on the beach with a balcony and a beach view...

We were a little nervous about telling the really nice couple at El Septimo Sol that we wouldn't be staying with them as planned. We headed back, this time crammed into a tiny cab with about 5 or 6 others, I was practically sitting on some man's lap in the front seat. Anyways, we got back, packed our things, told the dueños, thanks, sorry and adios, and headed back to the other beach. The were totally cool about it, of course.

Morgan and I had planned to stay a week at this beach. Ha.

It's so puzzling how we adapt to situations and create rituals or patterns for everyday life to make ourselves even more comfortable. Morgan and I created this sort of habitual mentality while visiting la playa. So I've decided, with suggestion from a friend, to break the photos not into days, but into chunk sections of what we did every day.

First of all, this is the place that we stayed – The most amazing room I've ever stayed in. In high-season, the room is 600 pesos a night for a 2-bedroom. That is $46/2 people = $23 dollars a night! Crap hostels cost the same!Our room, complete with mosquito netting. (This didn't prevent me from getting the most bites I've ever had. The bastards even bit me in weird places like my fingertips, my face, and all over my feet.)
Here is our balcony, and our ridiculous view of the beach.The most ridiculous thing though, is that in low-season, which is year around besides Christmas and New Year, this same room is 350 pesos a night. That $27US. Split it in half for two bedroom: That's $13.50US per night, per person. This is Morgan, like the most excited ever. My favorite Australian and Pole, Mick and Ula, showed up on Christmas Day! They accompanied us in our daily routines, and Morgan and I were lucky enough to get to spend the next few weeks with them...So, every morning we started with a light breakfast, like fruit, granola and yogurt doused in honey with a café americano. The servers of the restaurant warned you NOT to order this specific meal, because bees would swarm your plate for the honey. It was worth the morning battle. (Valió la pena.)This restaurant, se llama Arquitecto, owned by a British chic who speaks beautiful spanish, attracted Europeans and Americans like flies with their great coffee, incredible seviche and fish sandwiches. We sometimes ate there twice a day.
A very serious yoga town, in the mornings it wasn't unusual to encounter something like this. Also not abnormal to see circus-folk, fire dancers, hula-hoopers and one-million hippies selling jewelry.We were more interested in stuffing our faces and loading up on caffeine in the mornings. Some days we splurged at our Posada on pancakes and/or these black bean, smothered tortillas covered in eggs. The bananas in Oaxaca, (a more dense, creamy version) were the best I've ever had, and in the mornings a farmer would push a wheelbarrow of papayas to freshly supply our Posada. Amazing.
Then we would go back to our room, smother on sun screen, put our bikinis on and head to the beach. A full day of swimming, getting wiped out over and over by waves, and laying in the sun to follow. The waves were enormous, but Morgan swore that 50 yards from where we had to go every morning, they were much bigger. I'll admit, I found out the hard way one day after taking a pounding that she was right. Btw, wave in español is ola, not onda, and not hola but pronounced practically the same. At first morgan and I were screaming, Onda! (Incorrecto.)

We would then venture around the little town a bit when the sun got too hot, or eat some lunch. These are avocados stuffed with fresh fish and veggies.

Chocolate and banana crepes. (crepas)
Morgan buying dish towels?
My favorite part of the day: The evening hike to Punta Cometa with Morgan, Mick and Ula. This is where I took my camera every night. (Even though I still managed to take hundreds of photos, believe it or not, I was in "vacation-from-everything-including-my-camera" mode.)Nearly every evening at around 5 o'clock, we would take off to Punta Cometa, along with half of the beach population. It was nice to witness the dedication that we and the other beach inhabitants had to watch the sun go down every night.
Supposedly Punta Cometa is the southernmost point of the Northern Hemisphere. (Take note of the cactus.)People from all ages would boulder around to find the best view.

I thought at first this guy must be doing a sunset meditation or salutation, but then realized he had his headphones on and was dancing to Michael Jackson from his little perch.

This is the cactus from before – actually 20-25 feet tall.
Band photo #1.
It was so nice to have Mick, Ula and Morgan around to distract me from the swarming thoughts of the holidays going on in Louisville, the Biesel Christmas party I was missing, Christmas Eve at my grandma's, and Tim's family who I missed so much. They were a great step-in family, a positive bubble of support.

We hiked somewhere a little different on New Years Day.
Had this entire gorgeous swimming hole to ourselves.
Did a little modeling as the sun went down...
At this point, I could make a cuteness calender out of mick and ula pics.
This can be January...
Band photo #2.
Swimming at sunset is also great – big waves and no sunburn!
After sunset at times we would make dinner, or go out for happy hour drinks. To be honest, Morgan and I were getting up and going to bed with the sun. Some nights to bed as early as 7 or 8 pm... It was a perfect beach system.Right next door was a very loud techno-bar. At times there would be BBQ blazing, techno music blasting and/or fire dancers performing. We tried to pretend it didn't bother us for fear of sounding too old. Ear plugs came in handy.

Our posada by moonlight.
The beach atmosphere at night with a full moon: Not much light at all, no big fancy condos or hotels. Very dark, very private and an abundance of reggae music. (I've never heard so much concentrated Bob Marley in a 2 week span.)
The stars were absolutely amazing. The best I've ever seen was on Christmas day. At 4 am I could see the entire milky way and millions of stars coming all the way down to meet the horizon line on the water. A thirty second exposure from our table:
There are so many missing elements that I have to throw in quickly about this trip. All the amazing people we met and interesting things that took place: The great couple from Homer, Alaska, the crazy man from DF, Raul, that had somehow captured a sea-turtle and wanted to take it back to Mexico City, the Jewish-Mexican-jovencitos, the day the giant-gummy bear-looking jellyfish got in my mouth, the local little girls that would play with us in the water when they weren't selling pie on the beach, the Mexican writer who brought his enormous old typewriter with him, the fact that we put a dog down on our last day of the trip, the fact that this woman took my top off on a public beach and gave me an hour massage, our New Years shoe-less dance party with the live band, Casa Verde, the fact that Morgan and I each got a piercings (her nose and my belly button again) pretending we were 18 again and on Spring Break 2009! So many cool things that are totally subjective.

So I'll keep it short, and mention that we stayed almost double the amount of time we were supposed to... Every day became, "just one more day." Finally when I really thought we were leaving, I packed my things. When Morgan came back to the room, she looked at me with disappointment and said, "Are we really leaving?" We ended staying through the New Year, which we had planned to be in Oaxaca City or Guanajuato with my friends. It was so worth it, so much needed for both of us... An amazing viaje indeed.

A post for Norman

2010-02-14T22:15:00.015-06:00

Hey Norm, Jennifer, Mary, Ada, Myra and Guy –
Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you today, and sending Mexican sunshine your way.

Where I take my four crazy dogs most days...

Had to throw this one in there. This is my dog, Ocha, who is totally rotten.My puppy here in Mexico, Lucy. (Short for Lucifer)
Lucy really wanted to eat the bracelet.The view/La vista

Cow poop everywhere! (Just for Norman!)
I caught the bracelet as it was falling off of the filter...

Love love love, natalie

I love my neighborhood.

2010-02-14T15:07:00.007-06:00

I love they way that fresh hot tomales and tortillas get delivered to my door. I love how the stars impress me every night. I love the surrounding mountains. I love that a guy walked up to me yesterday with about 8 donkeys and asked me if I wanted to buy dirt. I love that while walking the dogs 2 days ago, a farmer on a horse asked me if I had seen his cows while hiking. I love that little kids still play together in the streets, soccer, basketball–you name it. And the teenagers are friendly. I love how I can walk to the local movie store, located in one of my neighbors garage, and they actually have a great movie collection. Walking back from the movie store tonight, I love how I heard someone practicing violin in their garage. I even love the lady at the store that judges Katie and I every time we buy beer. I just love this neighborhood, and am so grateful to be here and to experience the love that Mexico has to offer.

Calle Profesora Elisa Lopez

A little Shameless Promotion

2010-02-12T10:36:00.015-06:00

My good friend, Todd Smith, makes these very nice earrings that would be PERFECT for a Valentine's day gift. (If your girlfriend told you she didn't want anything, that was a lie.)
All the earrings are hand-folded origami cranes, made from teeny-tiny pieces of paper and dipped in lacquer to ensure durability. These earrings are really so gorgeous, and I'm sure if you email darlincranes@gmail.com, he'd be able to get you a pair before Valentine's Day. (Especially Louisville folks!)
So screw those Papyrus-filled Hallmark cards, and support a super-talented local artist!
If you're looking for the perfect gift box for these earrings, the artist also specializes in these super-cool pentagonal paper gift boxes, that are stunning. (Many colors to choose from.)Email darlincranes@gmail.com for more info,
or visit the Etsy Site for more styles and colors
http://www.etsy.com/shop/darlincranes

These earrings will also (hopefully) be up at the Makery on Bardstown Road very soon.

And thanks to my sisters Morgan Ham and Shelly, who volunteered their beauty for the site.

Diego Rivera House & Casa Azul

2010-02-11T21:33:00.021-06:00

Staight outta my superduperdarksecretinterestingjuicyjournal.

December 12, 2009
Loaded up with Anuar and his family to take a trip to the Diego Rivera house yesterday in DF. We pulled in to a super-duper fancy pants part of town, a little puzzling due to the fact that Frida and Diego were hard core socialists.The house is a very modern style with a line of cacti that served as a private fence. The house is red and very geometric minus the very Guggenheim-ish spiral staircase. There is a walking bridge on the roof attached NOT to THE casa azul, but another blue house (Diego's living quarters. Red house is the mainly studio space.) I paid 30 pesos to be able to take photos, which was well worth it. The museum had a series of black and white photos of Diego and Frida, most of which I had seen online or in a book at some point. But a lot were the originals, making them a little more interesting.I was more concerned with the space, and the fact that Diego and Frida had lived together in it. Diego's studio is something out of this world. A MASSIVE space – two stories of open, warm, natural lighting with huge paper-mache puppet/demon creatures that he and Frida collected.They both definitely had a unique collection of skeletons and fantastic creatures. All of his paints, pastels and general art supplies were sitting out in the studio and I could NOT wrap my mind around the fact that I was standing in a room where such brilliance was conceived and executed. [SHIVERS]Diego had a little bedroom attached to his studio. I imagined him painting to the wee hours of the morning – drinking, smoking, then crashing, dazed in a creative coma. But besides his little night lamp, wallet and keys, what struck me about the bedroom was the little white, pillow that said, "mi cariño." (An endearing, my dear, or my love.) Later at Casa Azul, on Frida's bed I saw the same pillow, both hand-sewn by Frida herself.I could have spent a week walking around in that place, soaking up the magic that very much still permeates throughout.

Upstairs in the the living quarters, (blue house) there was a tiny room on the right hand side with immaculate lighting. I walked in and immediately felt chills – a certain energy was buzzing inside of me. I knew Frida had stood in the same corner. Frida's bathroom mirror!What interesting characters indeed, Frida and Diego. One of my favorite parts of their homes was exploring their individual book collections. At Diego's house, a lot of history, reference and leftist material; but at the same time some novels and a few how-to books that helped to humanize such a super-human character. (Which is so hard to do with Frida-marketing and the basic exploitation of their intimate story.) Here I'm standing where the roofs connect.Next on to Casa Azul. Also in Coyoacán, a barrio in DF. Of course, Casa Azul was electric blue, and while waiting in line, I felt wedged between a massive city and this beautifully-created jungle-like landscape.
Massive trees, vines and pre-Colombian sculptures inhabited the space, so the idea we were in the middle of Mexico City seemed fabricated.Leaves were falling off of trees, there were tiny ponds everywhere. The garden was MASSIVE, much larger than I remember from the movie, Frida, and much larger than I ever imagined. This woman's energy was immensely present in everything she touched– and the importance of art and creation as an individual was very clearly showcased.But again, I had this huge dilemma: The enormous collection of Diego and Frida work coupled with the fact that I was standing in a space that they each had created. Not to mention spent many years of her their lives there! I started thinking about this paper that I wrote in college about Frank Lloyd Wright's Guggenheim Museum, and the argument that his construction was so powerful, so moving and so distracting, one could only focus on the grandeur of his work, rather than focus in on the (in comparison, measly) painting or sculpture being displayed.

The next time I go back to Casa Azul, I'll need a day for each aspect (created art vs. created space.) Unfortunately this time, I was also on a time budget and with 5 other people. And although I fell in love with Anuar's family and asked them to adopt me, I think the next time I return to Frida's house, I'll have to be alone.Anyway, to this date, I had only seen one of Frida's pieces, a still life of fruit in a Modern Art Museum in Dallas. I was talking to Tim on the phone, and just so happen to look up and see it all alone on the wall. The chills stunned my body to a halt, I didn't speak for a moment, and then said, "I have to call you back." I then hung up the phone and burst into tears. I could feel energy emanating out of her work. So to be in HER HOUSE, with a huge collection of of HER PAINTINGS was just as much as a physical experience for me as emotional.Each time I passed one of her original paintings; some of which were, the family portrait, the portrait of her father, viva la vida with watermelons, a collection of female portraits, and one drawing that was completely new to me; I experienced a whole new round of chills, of complete aw. Unfortunately for me, I couldn't take photos inside her house.
The one I had never seen before, I'm slightly irritated at myself for not writing down the name, was called something like, "2 fridas, 2 percepciones." It was a simple graphite drawing, about 8.5 x 11 and it was a sketch of Frida's skeleton, her casts becoming a part of her weak and brittle bones. There were very minimal suggestions on the outside of the skeleton of a beautiful pre-Columbian dress and her infamous accessories, like you would see cloth outlined in an xray. It was two perceptions molded as one, what's perceived on the outside and what actually existed underneath. It felt very vulnerable to me, very intimate. It was so small, yet so incredibly powerful, and completely new. [LOVE]
Again, the dilemma brought me back to reality, and I had to take in the presence of her created space. Her studio had abundant natural lighting, big windows and a whole massive wall of books. It also looked over the courtyard and was so freakin' obvious why she would choose this as a space to create. She had a lot of reference and Mexican history books like Diego and I could have spent a week evaluating her collection. I also wondered if her books were tagged and marked-up like I do when I read... For some reason, I say yes! I adored her collection – the novels, travel books, anatomy, history and how-to. She seemed to have been very well-rounded woman. Spending time in her space, I can only imagine her powerful presence as a living, breathing soul. I hope to find out in the next life. Until then...

I made it. I need to vent.

2010-02-08T22:35:00.004-06:00

It took the following to get back to Guanajuato from Louisville:
• 1 car ride
• 3 bus rides
• 2 trains
• 3 cabs
• 2 flights

Then my worst nightmare happened when the dogs nearly ate my camera (but Katie found it just in time.) The only damage was a scratch on the filter (not the lens, thank jesus.) Good thing she found it when she did, because two seconds later the two oldest dogs, Fannie and Ethel began to fight pretty aggressively. The biting, growling, tackling, rolling around in a mess of hair and dirt went on and on, and I stood there screaming as Katie tried to break them up by beating them with a neon-green sandcastle bucket with a milk-white handle.

Did I mention we have no water, meaning no shower after the day of travel? (See above.) Did I also mention that in Mexico City I threw away a just-purchased coffee without taking one sip after sleeping for less than 4 hours the night before? And did I mention in Leon, Customs took my bulk figs, cashews and wasabi peas because they were just that: bulk. She had probably never seen a gringa cry over figs.

Sigh. Gotta love Mexico.

But it was 65 degrees and sunny today, and I passed Tacos Roy and could smell the tacos pastor as we drove by with all the windows down.High hopes for a better day tomorrow.

Tepoztlán 12.19

2010-01-12T13:08:00.026-06:00

Anuar drove Morgan, Mitzi and I to a city called Tepoztlán in his mom's super-fancy-pants, clean SUV – a sharp contrast from the public transportation I'm used to in gto. Tepoztlán, about an hour and a half drive outside of the Mexico City, is the supposed birthplace of the god Quetzalcoatl, and is famous for the remains of an Aztec temple built on top of the nearby Tepozteco mountain. We went with the intention to climb to it.

First we took a quick tour around the city, went to a museum, visited a church and an old monastery, and had some lunch in the local markets.The view was breathtaking all around the tiny city.We went to the open market to get some lunch.
Look at all those fillings!
We had incredible quesadillas, including some with insectos which Mitzi highly recommended and forced me to try. The list:The quesadillas:
Tasted like an empty, salty peanut shell.

At the old monastery I found an abundance of warm light and I decided I would paint my future floors red.
Mitzi, the bug pusher.

Can you imagine living here?
My favorite shot of the day.
Around and around the picturesque town.

With stuffed bellies we began the hike, a set of un-even stone stairs that went up and up and up for over an hour. It looked a little something like this:
It was good to get some fresh air and be among trees again. Anuar on his way up:
At the very top, it turns into a rickety old ladder and flimsy stairs.
The ruins at the top:
Anuar y la vista.

Morgan and I, still in honeymoon mode. (I love you more. No, I love you more!)

We hung out for a couple of hours, hiking around and taking photos.
For me the descent was much harder than the ascent. My knees were trembling pretty shortly after take-off, and the next day I couldn't bend the right one. (Luckily we were crashing with a doctor and med student, who hooked me up with anti-inflammatory meds and a leg-wrap.)

The big rock faces made me think of the Red-River gorgeous – we even saw a few climbers.
Finally at the bottom, resting for a minute.

Nothing to stop those throbbing knees like blended mojitos!
Made a new friend.
Back in DF we ate street food for dinner and then indulged in these giant fried, sugary things...
And drank ponche, hot water brewed with multiple fruits and served with sticks of sugar cane. (One of my favorites.)
Went to bed with my leg elevated and could hardly sleep knowing what was going to happen the following day: My first visit to Casa Azul! (Frida Kahlo's house.) Eeek!

Listening to Laura Veirs' new album, July Flame. (Just lovely.)

First taste of Mexico City

2010-01-05T21:06:00.016-06:00

12/18/2009
Started to get nervous yesterday on the bus ride in when the "entrance" to the Mexico City appeared to be never-ending. Pulling in after the 6-hour trip from Guanajuato, I noticed there were thousands of people in the bus terminal, which is definitely bigger than the Louisville airport. I started to worry that I would never find Morgan and Anuar, her friend from San Luis de Potosi, and that I'd be lost wondering around the second largest city in the world for eternity.

But I jumped off the bus, took a look around and saw a curly-haired girl waving frantically with a big cheesy grin... ;)

I couldn't help it, I started jumping up and down. I grabbed my mochila (backpack) and ran to the entrance. We both squealed loudly as Mexican bystanders watched curiously and Anuar, a total sweetheart, grabbed my backpack so that Morgan and I could squeal and hug and cry. I couldn't believe she was in front of me. Still can't.

We walked to Anuar's car and took off. Seriously thankful that I didn't have to think about getting around in that city. It is so utterly monstrous, busy and crowded. I saw multiple public buses that had people's faces smashed in the windows. Anuar says it takes him an hour to get to the hospital each morning, two hours to get home at night. My nerves were on red-alert, and I kept thinking how I could never deal with this shit, until the next morning at breakfist with Anuar's mom, when she was telling me about an abundance of design jobs in DF. I started considering it – pero solamente por un momentito...

Apparently 9:30 pm is not too late to get your teeth cleaned in DF. We walked to what looked like an abandoned building, Anuar pushed a button, and a man came and opened the un-marked door. We passed through what looked like someone's garage into a regular-looking dentist waiting room. We ended up waiting for two hours, but it didn't really matter because Morgan and I hadn't seen each other in two months and had loads to blab about. Quite a unique first introduction to the city.When we finally left the dentist, it was Mexican dinner-time (10:30-11 ish) so we went to a fancy-pants barrio in DF called La Condesa with restaurants from every ethnic group. On the way in I saw a street sign that read something like "Oujoujitla" and was trying to pronounce it phonetically out loud, "Wa-Wa-WHEETLA!" Anuar thought I was sneezing or had something stuck in my throat and came to see what was wrong. After I told him I was trying to pronounce a word, and not choking, we were crying laughing, many jokes about this to follow.

I was craving anything but mexican food, so we ending up eating at a sushi joint called Japonéz. I felt totally under-dressed having ridden in a bus for six hours and the fact that I only brought one pair of shoes, my beloved chacos, and it reminded me almost exactly of the time Morgan and I spent our first night in Buenos Aires, totally under-dressed and travel-logged to a sushi restaurant with our brand-new friend Kelvin, and proceeded to get totally smashed and miss our flight the next morning. But that's another story... Because I hadn't had sushi in two months, we knocked out a solid portion, then had fried ice-cream for dessert to celebrate our arrival. (Notice the small, square bowl in the center of the photo. It's soy sauce with chopped chilis to spice it up. Mexican style!)My favorite shot of the day; Morgan looking stunningly-gorgeous. (And she claims she isn't photogenic.)Anuar's mom put us up for the night and we crashed hard. They opened their doors, offered us everything in their house, at one point she said, "estás in tu casa." The next morning I got to meet her properly – a super nice, incredibly-welcoming and bright Mexican doctor. She organized breakfast for us: yogurt, fresh fruit, cereal and cafe, and we chatted in español about the ins and outs of living and working in Mexico City. It was very obvious where Anuar had learned to be selfless, sweet and giving and it made my first introduction to DF feel more like reuniting with old family than visiting a big, scary city.

Sandra Cisneros is Rocking my World_Part 2

2010-01-05T10:09:00.002-06:00

I'm getting ahead of myself here, but while at the beach I read The House on Mango Street, by Sandra Cisneros for the first time. For those of you who haven't read it, regardless of age or sex, I give a firm recommendation. It's a collection of mini short stories, that come together to create a picture of life for a young Latino growing up in Chicago. It's really, really eloquently written from a completely fresh perspective. The best part is, each mini story is written so strongly that they can (and do) stand alone. Here is one called 4 Skinny Trees that had me in chills:

Four Skinny Trees
They are the ones who understand me. I am the only one who understands them. Four skinny trees with skinny necks and pointy elbows like mine. Four who do not belong here but are here. Four raggedy excuses planted by the city. From our room we can hear them, but Nenny just sleeps and doesn't appreciate these things.

There strength is secret. They send ferocious roots beneath the ground. They grow up and they grow down and grab the earth between their hairy toes and the bite the sky with violent teeth and never quit their anger. This is how they keep.

Let one forget his reason for being, they'd all droop like tulips in a glass, each with their arms around the other. Keep, keep, keep, trees say when I sleep. They teach.

When I am too sad and skinny to keep keeping, when I am a tiny thing against so many bricks, this is it I look at trees. When there is nothing left to look at on this street. Four who grew despite concrete. Four who reach and do not forget to reach. Four whose only reason is to be and be.

— The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros

Mariposas in Michoacan

2009-12-16T21:45:00.024-06:00

I grew up watching Nova, and am still a huge fan, so I was elated to visit a place that had it's own Nova special. Definitely check this out. The journey of the Monarch butterflies is amazing, taking 4 to 5 generations from Canada to reach the final destination of Michoacan, a state that borders Guanajuato to the south. This past weekend, we headed down.

We heard the trip would take at the most four hours, but at some point skipped the main highway and ended up traveling the entire way on back road with annoying Mexican speed bumps. Mick and Ula drove their sweet van, and the two of them, myself, and three Dutch people crammed in. Don't tell my grandma that I sat in a fold up camping chair in middle of the van all the way to Michoacan — a journey that ended up taking over 8 hours. The Dutch people layed on the mattress in the back and spoke German to each other. We called it a "dutch oven."In Morelia, the capital of Michoacan.
Stopped for some sandwiches and blended jugos...I got distracted by great lighting and orange walls...

On the more "scenic route" we stopped a couple times on the side of the road.

Pulled off and camped somewhere close to the sanctuary. It was wet and rainy but we cooked dinner out of the van and drank metzcal. The next morning, I realized we were surrounded by pine trees, reminding me of home sweet home.
Finally arrived to the park that morning and got immediately hounded by people selling butterfly trinkets and hiking sticks. (It seriously was a 20 minute hike, all on concrete stairs.) We kept saying, "no gracias," distracting the kids by inviting them all to play hacky-sack. Rosario is the sanctuary that we visited, there's a lot of junk for sale, and a few cool things.

Giant clumps of monarch butterflies clustered together in tree tops.

Kidnapping number 1.

Kidnapping number 2.

We weren't satisfied with the tourist trail, so we ducked under a roped off area and headed up...

And became eye-level with the mariposas...
In the little town, on the way back from hiking. Kidnappings number 3-4.
She kept getting in my face and grinning and giggling. I gave them all the pesos I had...

26 ain't all that bad

2009-12-16T06:38:00.006-06:00

Feliz Cumple

2009-12-15T15:26:00.010-06:00

Last day as a 25 year old was a good one. I caught an amazing sunset:

Walked back to the house in a great mood to find an enormous spider on the bathroom wall. Katie wasn't home, so I got online and asked Drew, my go-to man, what I should do:me: there is a spider in my bathroom that is about 3.5 inches long

and thick

and black

and I'm home alone

EEEEEEK

and don't know what to do?????

should I kill it???

it's MASSIVE

Drew: yikes!

me: omg omg omg omg

7:45 PM Drew: i'd either kill it, or trap it and take it outside and far from your house

the ethics of it are up to you

me: how the eff am i going to trap it???

Drew: find something like a shoebox, something with a top

me: oh good idea

shoe box

i think i have one

7:46 PM eeeeeeeeeekkkk!!!!!!!

Drew: you can do it!

me: of course my first thought is get out the 50mm lens and take photos...

Drew: lol

me: maybe i'll do that first ;)

Drew: if you're more comfortable with it, you could wear some protective clothing

7:47 PM like, long sleeves and gloves

me: don't have gloves, but do have long sleeves

oh boy ok wish me luck

7:48 PM Drew: good luck!

you're much bigger than it!

me: is this my "finishing your 25th year test??"

7:50 PM Drew: yes, yes it is

with just a few hours to spareI used a broom to gently shove the spider in a shoe box, closed the lid, flew out the door and took off running and squealing. I dropped the box two blocks away, tipped it over and watched the spider speed away, as I ran the opposite direction.
7:51 PM me: omg omg omg omg omg omgomg

I DID IT!

I PASSED THE TEST!

Drew: yay!!

congrats!!

Later that evening I was surprised (and elated) to get to chat with Natalie #1 from India for a bit. The seventh, my b-day, I woke up to my Mexican friend Fabian calling me first thing to wish me a happy birthday. It was a spectacular sunny 72-degree day, I was serenaded b-day-style in three different languages at La Escuela Mexicana, worked on my website, chatted with Shelly, Todd and Drew while having a delicious latte de soya with a little bit of chocolate. Danced salsa that evening, then met up for drinks at Desmunds bar with Kent, Brea, Camelo, Katie, Juan, Fabian, Dan, Mick & Ula. We drank all the random dark beer they had in stock, ate popcorn smothered in hot sauce and then someone ordered me a flaming shot. Nuff said.

WTF?

2009-12-03T19:32:00.005-06:00

Walking around Plaza de la Paz tonight, I heard what sounded like a dance party. I saw people starting to gather, so of course I followed. Standing on the edge of the street, in the middle of the plaza, the first truck drove by. It was a massive, white pick-up truck pulling a huge trailer and inside the trailer, I was floored to see three zebras. The speakers attached to the SAME truck were blasting electronic music loud enough to hear at least 5 blocks away. The truck drove by, I had my WTF? moment, thinking about how the speakers were probably 3 feet from the zebras' heads.

A minute passed, and another truck with a baby camel and (WTF?) a baby tiger. I cursed myself for not having my camera, and looked down the street to see 5 or 6 more of the giant white trucks with trailers all which featured tacky graphics, stars, lights and bad electronic music. The next trailer was divided into three sections, and contained two enormous tigers in each section. My jaw hit the cobblestone street when I realized the next trailer was also divided into three sections, but contained massive female lions. Being I was 6 feet away from the cages, this was the closest I've ever been to an animal of this sort. We've all been to zoos, but never have I been in such close proximity to what turned out to be more than 30 massive wild cats, so of course my next thought was about the lady who got SUPER close to the cage; and if they would kill the cat after it ate the child that she was trying to entertain.

I was almost constantly thinking of the maltreatment of the animals, except for that brief thought about the child, and the next thought which was, "What happens when the cats break loose from the flimsy cages, and run rampant through the city?" Because I was so close, I decided almost immediately that I would be eaten by a tiger or a lion. And honestly, I laughed outloud because it sounds like something out of an Isabel Allende novel, and I then thought I would be happy for my friends and family to be able to say, "Oh, Natalie? Yes, she moved to Mexico and got eaten by a tiger. Pobrecita." For a moment, I was proud of my obvious destiny.

The next five truck/trailers drove by. After all the wildcats, came (WTF?) five or six MASSIVE camels. The setting really shook me. I thought, maybe the enormity of animals doesn't startle us when we visit the zoo, because we're viewing from a safe distance, and of course seeing large animals is what you do at the zoo. It's just like if you went to a bar and saw a naked woman you'd be shocked, but in a strip club, you sit there and have a beer while naked women prance around, and act as if nothing un-natural or out of the ordinary is going on. I thought of this as trailer after trailer of wild animals slowly passed, electronic music blasting, and I felt sad sad sad; and mostly awkward.

Abundance Day

2009-11-26T13:22:00.033-06:00

Thanksgiving Day – Early AM: Had a total meltdown about missing Tim and his family. (Crying + more crying.) Katie drug me outside, pushed me into the sun, told me we are re-naming Thanksgiving, "Abundance Day," and that we only have one together, so let's make it good. I sniffled and agreed reluctantly to the idea.

We walk back into the kitchen, she immediately knocks over a brand-new bottle of Tabasco sauce on the ground, it busts and spills all over the floor. Two-seconds later, the hose to the washer shoots out, showering our kitchen with water. We were joking about abundance when I smashed into the garbage can, spilling the entire contents onto the floor. Snorting and tears to follow.Used Shelly's amazing recipe to make cookies, but had to substitute nearly everything on the list. Instead of chocolate chips I chopped up three random candy bars. The first batch I accidentally used bread crumbs instead of oats. Second try, instead of three cups of oats, I'm used the granola I bought for my cereal. Instead of brown sugar, I found cane sugar. Oh god I hope these turn out okay.

Look at me Shelly — I'm baking!
For the deviled eggs, I forgot to buy pickles (pepinillos). Luckily Katie and I could make a dance song about them. "Pep-e-nillos! Pep Pep eh-nillos!" Moving on.

Instead of pickles, I used cucumber, green onion, green peppers, dill, cumin and paprika. Mmm.
The dogs were going crazy with all the cooking going on. Ethel found the stick of butter I was using to butter the cookie sheet: Devoured. We have so little room in the kitchen, we were using the outside washer for counter space. Closest row of cookies to the ground: Gone.The lone survivors:

Katie made a gorgeous assortment of slow-roasted veggies and garbanzo beans.And put together this killer tray.We drank the Rogue chocolate stout that my very good friend sent in the mail. (Thank you Todd!) We had a cheers to delicious dark beer and Abundance Day.Fanny-May hoping for one of those deviled-eggs to fall off the table.Grabbed a cab, packed the backseat with food, and got to the party two-hours late with no money to pay the driver. Camelo took care of us. Kent's place is insanely gorgeous. It's a big open remodeled warehouse with what Camelo says is the nicest hot tub in Guanajuato. This is their "white" poodle. There it was: A massive table of traditional Thanksgiving Food: Two turkeys, duck, lamb, pork, stuffing, three different gravies, potatoes cooked every way imaginable; mashed, baked, covered in cheese you name it; pasta bread, veggies, dips casseroles and SWEET POTATOS GALORE! (All my dreams.) The deviled-eggs were a huge hit for the gringos, por supuesto.I devoured the first plate in sort of dreamlike state, then an entire second plate before Katie even finished her first. She said the abundance of food was making her anxious. I couldn't have agreed less.Drinking began, and I met lots of new people including one guy who lives in near Shelby Park in Louisville, and a woman named Mindi who racked up many credit cards to buy a house in Guanajuato, and was now working 80+ hours a week to pay them all off. I admired her effort and the fact that she pulled it off, but saw that all-to-familiar fatigue in her eyes. She was a total zombie. I didn't mention the fact that I had spent the last month reading, writing and relaxing. At one point this older man tried to pull out some Chinese poetry and read it to everyone. He was relentless, amongst the drunken and rude comments Ilan and everyone else were making.Camelo and Kent's girlfriend, Brea.Brea and Ilan.The lovely Monica.At some point Camelo started reading quotes that Kent (a writer and poet) had written as a sort of forced-endorsement from his publisher.My Mexican friend Josue showed up with his German girl friend whose name I can't remember. She got drunk real quick and they both expressed interest in me by the end of the night, joking about how I was "la chica más bonita a la fiesta." Three times later and I was totally uncomfortable, especially when the German told me that I could never know how good being with a woman was until I tried. I said I appreciated her honesty, then split like a bat out of hell to find Katie and tell her what had happened.She responded with her best mom voice, "Okay. Let's just sit down and have a beer, you and me." So we sat down, and somehow (because it's Guanajuato) a professional hula hoop dancer started showing us her moves. (All the drunk people to follow.)The debauchery continued. Ilan and the incredibly adorable, Saul. Abundance Day Round 2 — 2 am. After way too many beers and cold leftovers, we cabbed it home.

(Listening to Atlas Sound, Logos; and random selection of the Black Keys.)

la experiencia

2009-11-25T13:25:00.002-06:00

"I picture experience as this tide that washes over everything, like the plane of water flowing across flatland you see in those Discovery channel documentaries about the formation of the earth’s topography. We move with the front edge of that tide, where everything we come across is more or less on the same level. But over time, little grooves start forming where the water’s been. Gradually those crevices deepen, their emptiness burrowing ever downward, until you look back one day and you see canyons with odd little rock formations still jutting out. “Why these?” You wonder. “Why are these particular ones still standing?” They have to mean something, right?"

– Jack Cheng

"At the same time, for each, there was a disjunction between what he loved and what most people loved him for."

— 3QUARKSDAILY

Irene's Famous Salsa

2009-11-23T12:19:00.015-06:00

Irene (pronounced, eer-RAIN-ay) is the spunky Mexican woman who I lived with in GTO last summer. She made a salsa I still find myself daydreaming about. One day as an apprentice, I watched the magic unfold, and this is my first attempt at re-creating it. See my blog, "viviendo en un cuevo," for more of that story. Now, to spread the love and share the recipe of a salsa that will knock your socks off.

Ingredient List:
• 20-25 tomatillos
• 40 dried chiles (any kind of of chile will do – I used chiles guajillos)
• one white onion, diced
• 3-4 cloves of garlic
• 2-3 cups cilantro
• 2 tablespoons of salt
• 1/2 teaspoon pepper
• 1-2 cups of water
• Lime (optional)

(The ingredient list is kinda vague, because you can change/add/take-away according to taste. This recipe promises a spicy version, Irene style.)

First start with about 20-25 tomatillos. Peel skins, tear away stem and rinse.

Cut the stems off of approx. 40 dried chiles.
Turn skillet on medium-high, lightly-blacken the chiles on both sides. Only do 5 or 6 at a time—it will burn your throat and eyes! Open the windows and try to get a lot of ventilation.
Place the tomatillos on the skillet, if you have room you can do them both at the same time. Let them cook on one side for a couple minutes until they start to soften, then flip.You know the tomatillos are ready when the outer layer takes on an element of transparency, like the one in the corner.
Tomatillos will cook differently according to size, you can throw everything in a blender as it's ready.
Add onion, garlic, water, salt, pepper and cilantro with all of the blackened chiles and tomatillos. Add lime juice (optional).
Keep the lid on in order to avoid this:
Blend thoroughly, and have a sip of Bohemia while you wait.
Touch ups! I prefer to make mine extra spicy. In the words of Irene, "Mas chiles! Mas chiles!" Add more water to make it a little thinner if you like, additional salt to taste.

Smother it on your favorite sandwich, or save yourself the hassle and just eat it with a spoon. (A straw would work too.) Buen provecho!

Snippet

2009-11-19T01:29:00.003-06:00

Had a fantastic dance class tonight. We took a break from salsa and did a little bachata, where I'm learning to move my hips in curious ways and to be "más sexy." Then focused on the cha cha, which I absolutely love. I was cha-cha-ing all the way to the cab.

Then, all of my dreams came true when I had the opportunity to tell the driver, "Yes, I live at the house with the three cows in the front yard." Ah México.

Adventures of Dog Walking

2009-11-17T18:24:00.014-06:00

Yesterday, on our daily walk, Fanny decided to attack the neighbors dog. She took off at a sprint, plowing into our neighbor's black lab, and the rolled and wrestled in the dirt. Little Ocha took off as back up. I took off with Ethel's leash in my hand, screaming and giving my best man-voice, NO!Of course, none of the dogs know their names, so I did the second trick I have in my bag, which is to take off running when I want them to stop doing what they're doing. So I took off running, Ethel in hand, Lucy (we re-named Alice, Lucy, short for Lucifer) going nuts beside me, and finally Fanny and Ocha stopped attacking and took off to chase me. I scolded them, they continued ignoring me. So we walk around the creek, up the big hill, the same route we normally do. This day, I was feeling good so we hiked up the hill, then back down, then up again. I wanted to make sure the neighbor's dog had a chance to get the hell away before we came back around, not to mention I wanted to ware their asses out.

I look back down the hill where we are headed and notice 2 calves on the trail, and two big cows high up on the hill. I was a fool to have thought for a minute that maybe the dogs would be chill and just politely go around the calves. HA! Once they spotted the cute baby cows, my dogs took off sprinting after them, and then the frightened calves took off running down the trail. From below, I looked up to see two huge, pissed-off cows take off PLOWING downhill through the rough terrain, going as fast as I've ever seen cows move, headed straight for me. I screamed, SHIIIIT, and took off sprinting the opposite direction, straight up hill to this old dirt road. Reluctant to find another route, I took off back towards where the dogs (and cows) had been.

I knew if I wanted control, I had to get Ethel, the oldest and the alpha female, back on a leash. Baffled, I thought, "fuck it," and decided I was going home and the dogs could find me when they felt like it. I jumped across the creek bed, back onto the main trail, and all the dogs were panting, and waiting for me. I put Ethel on the leash, and took off towards home. On the trail, I was mortified to see all the cows, plus an old man and a frustrated little boy walking the cows back in my direction. My dogs had chased them all the way down the street. I apologized to the old man, and to the little boy, and grabbed all my dogs in a huddle so they could walk past. I scolded them on the way home, totally mortified.

That doesn't compare to what happened to me tonight though. Took the dogs on the normal walk. On the way back down I hear what sounds like a soccer team or an army chanting, "uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis." I started daydreaming of how funny it would be if a whole army of good looking soccer players came running up the trail. But it's very normal to hear bands, music and noises in the mountains so I thought they must be over the hill somewhere.

I look downhill, and stopped in my tracks. Thirty to forty men with fake machine guns, sweats, and bullet proof vests were marching right where I needed to go. (Where the calves had been one day before.) I started laughing out loud thinking, are you kidding me?? They spotted me. A few of them turned around and waved. Ugggghhhh... I headed in their direction, got Fanny and Ethel back on a leash and sure enough, the group had stopped right on the trail, to do some training, some pushups, they were all yelling and shouting. I can just imagine a group of forty sweaty guys, and some random white girl in jeans and new balance sneakers with headphones and two dogs on a leash walks by. I could have been an alien at the way they were all staring; one man yelled, "pasale!" like, go ahead and pass. The dogs were FREAKED – I was freaked too. The sea of officers in training parted, and I walked through with my dogs. As they stared and made little comments, I murmured, "olah, como estan? olah, olah... buenas noches..." I kept my head down, face burning... Once past them, I took off running towards the house.

Ethel is on the floor, then on the couch from left to right is Ocha, Fanny and Lucy.Fanny, trying to look innocent.(FYI: This photo has not been altered. I caught Ocha in the middle of a yawn.)This was after getting lost on a new trail and getting into some mesquite.

Hot Springsss

2009-11-15T19:45:00.037-06:00

Tim's friends from his summer trip, Mick and Ula randomly showed up at our house last week. I had given then some info about GTO through email, and gave them my address and number in case they needed help while here. Turns out they totally stumbled on our neighborhood and stopped by.

Mick is a tall thin Australian with thin, reddish hair, and Ula is a blond Polish woman, with a killer climber's body and is sweet as azucar. I thought at first they were my age, but after spending time with them, I'm pretty sure they are much older, kept young by their youthful spirit and sense of wonder and travel. Since January, they have traveled from Calgary, all over Canada, Alaska, all the way down the coast, through the US (where they met up with Tim and Nate) and are now exploring Mexico for a bit before heading through Central America. Their ultimate goal is Tierra del Fuego, the most southern point at the tip of South America.

If the fact that they have traveled since January, and will probably be traveling for another year doesn't make you jealous, you should see them together. They don't act like two people who have been in a van together for the past 11 months, they are totally tranquillo, respectful, adorable. I immediately had this sense of anxiety while we were hanging out — realizing later that it was because it reminds me a lot of tim and I in our best days. Doing outdoor adventures together, competing, playing a lot. Bitter sweet memories indeed.

They invited me this past Sunday to go to San Miguel de Allende, a 1.5 hour drive where supposedly you can encounter a lot of wrinkly, white haired gringos with loads of money. They had heard about these hot springs just outside of San Miguel, and were curious to check them out. I decided I could use a break from being cooped up in the house with the crazy dogs and self-help books. We had coffee and headed out around 9 am, stopping once to pee behind a cactus. This is Mick and Ula, and the van they have been traveling in for the past 11 months:
Inside the van, which is about as big as my bedroom, they started a list of all the places they had been on the chalkboard. There were so many destinations, they got bored with the idea and the dates trail off... We drove around el centro in San Miguel for a bit, lost really, and made an important stop at a street vendor to buy homemade coffee-flan and cake. We passed this beautiful open portico:We wandered around the city, I daydreamed about re-visiting and all the great food I would eat.

We slowly made it through the narrow, cobblestone streets, back to the main road, which was paved all of 5 miles, then turned back into dirt. We followed the dirt road to the sign that said, La Gruta and pulled in. The entrance already had me super excited: GREEN THINGS!We walked around a bit, looking for the changing rooms, and caught sight of one of the many pools:First stop, a very shallow foot-deep pool, where you could stick your head under a nice stream of water and get a free shoulder massage.Or your back, or your feet which Ula enjoyed thoroughly...
Next, the search for the warmer water! We found a little pool, water was neck-deep and slowly made our way towards a this enticing entrance...
An amazing trek, you walk slowly through the cave in water that's getting warmer and warmer for about thirty feet; you can start to hear and feel the the sssssssssssteam... The destination: A cave room about thirty-feet wide and 20-feet tall, that serves as a massive, covered hot tub. (And a nice make-out room for mexicans, who seem to find it totally appropriate on every corner of the planet! But still not as much as Buenos Aires. Morgan can verify, we saw more locked faces than not.)
People lined up to stick their heads under the waterfall that shot from the side, and there were tiny natural spotlights shining down through the steam. I decided I HAD to get my camera, and nearly dropped in on the way in, but once it fogged up the shots took on a cool affect.
This is walking back towards the entrance, the lens is all fogged up...
My favorite shot of the day!
We walked back out the cave and decided to read in the grass for awhile, realizing how much I missed it. The sun was perfectly warm. I'm so thankful to be going through a breakup in GTO, where everyday is sunshine and blue skies, it's such a healing enabler. After a bit, we went for food at the restaurant, Mick and Ula being adorable.No worries, I found comfort in my taquitos de pollo with guacamole y frijoles refritos. mmmm
It wouldn't be mexico without a big bowl of salsa.
Fun with camera time! Umbrellas are one of my favorite things to shoot right now.
Lots of neat little passageways, lots of stone, lots of greenery–felt like a secret garden.

Went back into the cave to take more shots. (A lot more clear this time.)
Listening to Dawn Landes, Fireproof. (Ask Drew about making out with her.)

Sandra Cisneros is rocking my world

2009-11-14T12:07:00.010-06:00

Preface from
My Wicked Wicked Ways, Sandra Cisneros

Gentleman, ladies. If you please—these
are my wicked poems from when.
The girl grief decade. My wicked nun
years, so to speak. I sinned.

Not in the white-woman way.
Not as Simone voyeuring the pretty
slum city on the golden arm. And no,

not wicked like captain of the bad
boy blood, the Hollywood hood–
lum who boozed and floozed it up,
hell-bent on self destruction. Not me.
Well. Not much. Tell me,
how does a woman who.
A woman like me. Daughter of
a daddy with a hammer and blistered feet
he'd dip into a washtub while he ate his dinner.
A woman with no birthright in the matter.

What does a woman inherit
that tells her how
to go?

My first felony—I took up with poetry.
For this penalty, the rice burned.
Mother warned I'd never wife.

Wife? A woman like me
whose choice was rolling pin or factory.
And absurd vice, this wicked wanton
writer's life.

I chucked the life
my father'd plucked for me.
Leapt into the salamander fire.
A girl who'd never roamed
beyond her father's rooster eye.
Winched the door with poetry and fled.
For good. And grieved I'd gone
when I was so alone.

In my kitchen, in the thin hour,
a calendar Cassatt chanted
Repeat after me—
I can live alone and I love to...
What a crock. Each week, the ritual grief.
That decade of knuckled knocks.

I took the crooked route and liked my badness.
Played at mistress.
Tattooed an ass.
Lapped up my happiness from a glass.
It was something, at least.

I hadn't a clue.

What does a woman
willing to invent herself
at twenty-two or twenty-nine
do? A woman with no who nor how.
And how was I to know what was unwise.

I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to be happy.
What's that? At twenty. Or twenty-nine.
Love. Baby. Husband.
The works. The big palookas of life.
Wanting and not wanting.
Take your hands off me.

I left my father's house
before my brothers,
vagabonded the globe
like a rich white girl.
Got a flat.
I paid for it. I kept it clean.
Sometimes the silence frightened me.
Sometimes the silence blessed me.

It would come get me.
Late at night.
Open like a window,
hungry for my life.

I wrote when I was sad.
The flat cold.
When there was no love—
new, old—
to distract me.
No six brothers
with their Fellini racket.
No mother, father,
with their wise I told you.

I tell you,
these are the pearls
from that ten-year itch,
my jewels, my colicky kids
who fussed and kept
me up the wicked nights
when all i wanted was...
With nothing in the texts to tell me.

But that was then,
the who-I-was who would become the who-I-am.
These poems are from that hobbled when.

sandra cisneros, 11ofjune,1992, hydra greece

Truco 7

2009-11-13T12:30:00.004-06:00

After Desmund's I said goodbye to Pollo and Ashley and headed to one of my favorite restaurants in Guanajuato: Truco 7. If you come visit me, which you should, there is no doubt we will go to this place, maybe even immediately upon arrival. The restaurant itself is decorated in very random, vintage antiques, mixed with a splash of modern culture. For example at my table in the corner, I turned to my right to be staring into the eyes of a young, framed Inrique Iglesias. I snorted loudly.I'm not sure what it is about Mexico and playing sappy-ass love songs all the time. I mean seriously. In places like la Mega (Mexican Walmart) you'll hear a melody you recognize, and then, BAM, Celine Dion's, My Heart Will Go On is being sung by a Mexican pop star. Sitting in Truco, the same thing: Phill Collin's, Against all Odds (Take a Look at Me Now), The Police, Every Breath you Take, or is it I'll be Watching You? Either way, it's totally inappropriate. Then this Spanish guitar version of, Don't Cry for me Argentina... If it's not sappy love songs, it's music stuck in the 90's like the guy that drove by me blasting Maria Carey's, Dreamlover. Or my cab driver yesterday blasting, I'm a Mother-Effing P.I.M.P.

My thoughts of stabbing out every speaker in the joint with my fork were interrupted by the arrival of my favorite thing about Truco: Tortilla SoupLa sopa de tortilla is the best soup I think I've ever had. The broth is incredible spicy, and it has strips of crunchy tortilla that contrast nicely with the softness of the mounds of avocado. They give you fresh lime to squeeze over the soup to add some citrus. And yes, those are floating chunks of queso as well. Mmmmm... Come visit me to try it yourself!
(Listening loudly to Pink Floyd's, Division Bell)

Mexico and all of it's random glory

2009-11-13T09:06:00.036-06:00

November 7th, I decided to spend the day running around el centro, to stop by the post office and stop at the school to inquire about some spanish-refresher courses. Of course neither were open, so I got distracted walking around el centro taking a million photos. I stopped by Embajadores, the big open air market where you can buy anything from produce, to second hand clothing, small electronics etc. I asked this nice man if I could take photos of his strawberries, and he wanted to arrange them for me before taking a photo. :) Such a sweetie-pop.
He did a really nice job.

My experience so far is that Mexican kids love to have their pictures taken. Take a close look at this one... (double click the image.) This is the school I went to last summer, La Escuela de Idiomas.

Next stop was El Museo de los Pueblos. There were three shows, one of which was a series of miniatures. For some reason, they theme of masks has been showing up in my life over the past year, and here in Mexico, there is an abundance. I have two really creepy ones hanging in my room, they are also on the side of my house. (The main photo of the blog.)
The museum alone was so beautiful that I spent over 2 hours wondering around taking photos.
Guanajuato is a photographer's dream, with the rich, warm colors and crap load of natural lighting.
You can see Pipila in the top left corner! Pipila is the giant statue that hovers over (and protects, of course) the town of GTO.
This guy was taking tickets at the entrance of the museum.

My favorite shot of the day!
After the museum, I decided to take a street I didn't recognize and just walk around. I passed this adorable looking restaurant that had a Heinekan sign! For those who don't know, I've been on an intense journey to find good beer in Mexico. So far; no luck. I popped my head in, so excited, and asked the bar tender what other beers they had and he ran through the usual list, Sol, Corona, Victoria, Negro Modelo, blah blah. I zoned out waiting for something different. "Si, pero tiene Heineken?" The poor guy watched my face drop as he told me they didn't really have Heineken, only a Heineken sign. At this point I was so disappointed, I forgot to speak in Spanish. "Well, do you know anywhere I can get a good, dark beer?" He spoke back in broken english, "Em, there is a bar, se llama Desmund's bar, y I zink they sell weird beers there..."

Desmund's is an "Irish" bar that sells all Mexican food and all Mexican beer except, dum dum duuuuum, Guinness! You can guess my desperation if I was excited about a Guinness, but anything is better than the usual Mexican beer, which tastes more like ginger-ale, mixed with budlight, mixed with watered-down urine. So I ordered a Guinness, sat down, took a sip. The soft, subtle, thick, creamy goodness was enough to melt me in my bar stool.

Tuning back into reality, I noticed a guy and girl talking about salsa dancing. Of course, I interrupted and asked him where I could get lessons in town, and where to dance that didn't start at 3 am. The guy, Pollo, was salsa instructor and gave me a lot of useful information, including the name of the place where I'm taking lessons now. (Since then, I have seen Pollo dance and he is INCREDIBLE.) He introduced me to his friend Ashley, from Oregon and we somehow got on the conversation of how Ashley is his girlfriend, no she's not because he's really gay. Huh? Was he kidding? Because he seemed gay to me, but then he was talking about all the girlfriends he had, and all the girls that he had cheated on.

Not sure, anyway, I love people that tell you intimate details of their sex life within the first 15 minutes of meeting. But turns out we did have one big thing in common: Heartbreak; and the fact we were all going through it. Needless to say, two Guinnesses later, we were all best buds.

Then Pollo tells me, "Oh, be careful, those Guinness are really expensive." Huh?

They cost almost $7US a piece. Sigh.

(Listening to: Pinback, Blue Screen Life, for the first time in a LONG time.)

Meet El Midi

2009-11-11T11:07:00.001-06:00

It doesn't look anything like a Mexican meal because it isn't. The funky french dueña has a buffet that offers 5 or 6 different kinds of quiche, 3 or 4 pasta salads, and full fresh salad bar with carrot, boiled egg, tomato, grilled zucchini etc. The price is based on weight, so you can technically make it inexpensive, as long as you don't fill your plate up in a big heap like I do. She also normally has chocolate cake or a couple pies to choose from.
It's a real nice change from tacos and cheesy quesadillas. I never thought I'd say this, but for the past few days I've been really sick of Mexican food.Sitting in this little plaza covered by umbrellas, and listening to the ambiguous sound of languages from all over the world – This restaurant feels more like Europe then the center of Mexico.(Listening to: Yeah Yeah Yeah's, Show Your Bones and Pheonix, Wolfgang Amedeus Pheonix.)

Dia de los Muertos

2009-11-08T12:25:00.041-06:00

Everyone knows about Dia de los Muertos. It's a holiday mix of catholic and pre-hispanic culture, that celebrates and remembers the deceased. On this colorful and highly-celebrated day there are many traditions carried out, which can range from cooking a meal for the deceased and lighting candles around a photo altar; to going to their grave site, cleaning the tomb, applying fresh flowers and wreaths and fluffing the dirt around the grave. These traditions have a huge significance here in México, and the people believe the rituals help the deceased on their journey on the other side. The families spend hours working on the altars, many of them considered true works of art; that reflect the work, dedication and creativity of the person.

While this holiday isn't short of festivity, the focus is truly on celebrating the deceased. I couldn't help but think of the way we tend to exploit Christmas in the states, with the mega marketing of toys, Santa and meaningless gifts; or the way that Easter has become more about fake plastic toys from China and junk candy than the resurrection of jesus cristo. (Obviously, there are exceptions to this exploitation, and people that really do focus on the real meaning.)

What I witnessed on Dia de los Muertos, was a true dedication to family, to tradition. Families spend hours, all day and night with the deceased. I witnessed people meticulously cleaning the tombs, fluffing the earth around their grave, talking to them, praying for them, catching up with them, sharing stories. It was such a beautiful gesture with nothing in return for themselves. No prizes are given out for doing so. It's about appreciating and celebrating a loved one who is no longer with us. And I couldn't help but be moved by it.

This year, on the Day of the Dead, a group of us were invited by Kent and Camelo to go to the outskirts of Guanajuato to visit some really rural towns and graveyards. Katie and I couldn't pass up the opportunity. We piled into two car loads (one was a plush Chrysler New Yorker) and headed out of town.We stopped at one of the oldest grave sites in the area first.

From the grave site, there was a great view of a very old church.Our destination, about an hour and a half away, was a teeny tiny town called Sangre de Cristo, or blood of Christ. I joked that if I didn't spontaneously combust into flames, it would probably be a good day.The view from Sangre de Cristo was increíble, and Kent, a walking encyclopedia, told us that from where we were standing you could see the giant monument to Cristo Rey (Christ the King.) The monument itself stands 20 meters from head to foot and is in the 'cerro del Cubilete', which is considered the geographic center of Mexico. Wow.

Monica, upon arrival.Katie, looking naturally gorgeous.We walked up to a colorful variety of vendors selling everything from roasted almonds and rotisserie chicken, to framed posters of la virgen herself. The smells were incredible, and I was starving so Kent recommended this little table stand with an adorable man and woman grilling. They served plates of enchiladas (3) covered in potatoes and carrots, queso fresco and a salsa verde. Because I'm an oinker, I ordered two of these plates, plus two fried potatoes, and my grand total was about $1.20US We were the only white people there. Everyone was staring. These Mexican boys just sat there and watched us eat like we were aliens, so I started taking their photos – to their mild amusement.Due to the nature of the festival, and the fact that it's very much out of respect for the dead, I didn't feel quite comfortable taking a crap load of photos. But I did get a few. Our friend Chris, who is in the Peace Corps, let these little girls play with his digital camera. It was quite adorable, and we realized later the shots they took had great composition. ( They melted mi corazon. If I would have had a point-and-shoot camera in my pocket, there's a good chance I would have given it away that day.)

This is my favorite shot of the day, although Todd thinks the little boy is playing with himself.
Half of our group decided to hike down to these white sand dunes and play around for a bit. Kent, Camilla, Monica and I stayed stayed above, split a cerveza, and watched to sun go down over the mountains.

I thought the sunset couldn't get any more gorgeous, but I was wrong. It faded into this royal blue with an amazing orange-pink horizon line. Que bonita.
Right before we left I took this shot; the camera sitting on the hood of the car.All in all, a wonderful day with good friends, great food an amazing view into rural Mexico and traditions.

This song won't stay out of my itunes...

2009-11-07T12:57:00.001-06:00

Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb - burn with a weak heart
(So I) guess I must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's ok I know nothing's wrong . . nothing

Talking Heads

Full Immersion

2009-11-06T19:21:00.010-06:00

Katie left for town Friday so I've had the past 36 hours to myself. In that time, I've managed to stop up the toilet, which I couldn't plunge out.

Is it sad that my first thought was to call Tim?

Next, my mom was online, so I asked her how I should plunge my toilet if the plunger doesn't work. She told me about something called a snake? So I decided to go ask the store owner that works and lives two houses down from me. He is a sweet little old man that would seem to have answers to these sort of predicaments. But first I had to look up some words in Spanish.This is why living in another country is the only way to go when trying to learn a language. Asking an old man how to un-clog your toilet after you've already tried the plunger is much more beneficial than learning, "Soy Natalie... Donde esta el baño?"

It requires vocabulario like:
"tirar la cadena" flush the toilet
"desatascador" plunger
"serpiente" snake, my mom recommended this. I have no clue what it is.
"vivo al lado de ud" I live right next door
"el plomero" plumber

The guy next door told me that a plumber lived right across the street, and I should just go knock on his door. I hesitated, being that it was 9 pm and dark, but I thought I would walk over there and look around. The house look abandoned. There was a black garbage bag covering one of the windows. I looked in the window to see a altar built to La Virgen de Guadalupe and a red flickering light. No thanks, I turned around and went back to my house. I was determined to fix the problem myself.

My next option was clear: YouTube! I entered "how to un-clog a toilet without a plunger," and got a lot of gross videos. But one in particular mentioned pouring boiling water to the toilet with dish washing soap. I was chatting with Drew and Katie about my predicament:

Drew: so what are you getting into tonight?
me: learning how to unclog a toilet
Drew: oooooo!! what fun!
me: i had to watch a you tube video, hehe
Drew: bwahahahahahahahaha
hahahahahaha
me: talk about dependency, LOL
Drew: aaaahahahaha

After telling Katie that the plunger didn't work:
katie: that means it is further down than what is possible to deal with with the plunger....good deal. In the meantime i wouldn't do anything else with it - the soap thing might work - but i would imaging plumbing here is different and the video was probably made in the states right?
me: yeah, i dunno, supposedly it lubes up whatever is in there
katie: hahaha
you said lube
about poop
me: LOLOL
i'm talking to you cracking up about this and drew, and he's cracking up too
we are so mature
katie: dude - poop is funny no matter who you are or how old you are, so - here is a bright side
me: yes?
katie: if need be - our back yard is a huge litter box so you can always join the masses of our household and pop a squat out back! haha. I am picturing this!!!!!!! AHHHmazing!

The youtube video mentioned that the water needed to be low in order to do this, so I put these conversations on hold to start scooping the contents of the toilet into an old bucket. After one trip, I heard the water draining and this "Sccchhhhhhllllllooooopppp!" and I ran into the bathroom to discover that it had flushed. Hooray!

me: the toilet is FIXED!
katie: he came!?
me: no! i did it myself!
katie: YES!!!! HANDYWOMEN!!!!

Drew: welp, i'm gonna clean up and head to the fervor show. Congrats on the toilet ;)
me: awww... jealous!
me: have fun! give everyone my plunger love!
Drew: will do(do)!

Soy Natalia, princesa de Guanajuato

2009-11-05T17:29:00.021-06:00

Wise quotes, and some cheesy ones too, that genuinely make me feel better.
I know we all find quotes that empathize with our current needs. I'm sure that if I punched an undeserving someone in the nose, I could even find a quote to make me feel better about myself for it. But I can't deny that I get at least a twinge of relief when I read the following things:

"So – though the first couple of weeks may be scary and lonely; though you may find yourself caught in the undertow of uncharted, shark-infested waters, as Winston Churchill said, 'When you're going through hell, keep going,' because there is a clarity, peace and rejuvenated perspective that only extremely difficult experiences can unlock. When that happens – you'll rule the world, I know it. Until then will just have to settle for Princess of Guanajauto, which will suck, you know, drinking tequila and salsa dancing in the streets all the time." (Excerpt from Shelly's card, read on the plane to Mexico)

"Just b/c the split was initiated by you doesn't mean you aren't allowed to grieve," Drew, November 3

"The heart of another is a dark forest, always, no matter how close it has been to one's own." Willa Cather

"Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with it's color" W.S. Merwin

"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there." Sufi Poet, Rumi

"When the river of truth rises, when it washes over the sandbags I've placed around my life – for my own protection, of course – do I grieve or rejoice?" Sy Safranksky's Notebook

"Must it be like this? I ask the mirror. Don't ask me, the mirror says." Sy Safranksky's Notebook

"I love you no matter what you do, but do you have to do so much of it?" Jean Illsley Clarke

"Love they say, can move mountains. Less romantically, love has also been known to move mountains of crap." Andrew Boyd's article called, The Happiest Day of Someone Else's Life.

The following is out of an article called, A Mindful Marriage, about a a man and a woman who each left their separate Buddhist Monasteries to be together:

"We try to live by the idea that whatever happens arises out of perfection, even if it looks imperfect. As Ajahn Chan would say, 'If it shouldn't be this way, it wouldn't be this way.'"

"At times we are all faced with difficult choices, some of which bring criticism and blame. If out of fear, or duty we follow the wishes of our peers and our society and our family, we might deny what is right and true for us and end up living the wrong life. Although I am capable of getting entangled in doubts and worried, when I made the two most important decisions of my life– leaving my Rhodes scholarship to go to Thailand and fifteen years later, leaving the monkhood to be with Thanissara – my path was clear both times. I knew what I needed to do. I was sorry these decisions caused others disappointment and pain, but my heart told me, 'Go through that door.' I've never regretted it."

Meet my dogs, my street

2009-11-03T22:16:00.025-06:00

A collection of photos taken around the house, where we walk the dogs each day. There is a trail right behind us up into the mountains, and it's totally normal to come back with little spikes/stickers sticking all over your body parts and clothing. Some days are bloodier than others. One in particular you want to watch out for, my friend Kent tells me it will cut through leather:
Found this on Ocha this morning. Poor gal, it was sticking deep in her leg. :(

Ocha is the second oldest dog, she's a cuddler, and can stand on her back legs for a record amount of time. While the other dogs take off up the hill, she comes back, makes sure you're still coming and says, "This way mom!"
Stuck in my sock.
Ethel, the oldest dog, is in the foreground. She and I had a lot of power struggles in the beginning. Although she runs away from home all the time, I think we're beginning to be pals.

The dogs love to take off through the mountains, although they often get little spikes in their paws. That doesn't stop them though, they'll keep running with three legs and then lay down and pick out the spikes with their teeth.
The view from the top. The clouds were very dramatic this day. Some days there are horses roaming around, and one day we ran straight into an enormous bull on the trail.
When we start hiking, the dogs take OFF. They're really good about coming back to find me. Sometimes. Other times it's hours later.
My friend Kent tells me it's pretty easy to take over an abandoned house in Mexico. I'm seriously keeping my eye on this one.

Alice is the youngest most trouble-making dog. She's spunky and won't let you come near her, but needy at the same time. She will go right behind your back and do exactly what you just told her not to. I love her, but she's a little bitch.
Our street at dusk, Profesora Elisa Lopez.

This is the plant in our front yard. The shot was taken from the roof.
The view from our roof when a storm was blowing in. The winds can be pretty incredible here actually. We like to blame it for our missing things.

My favorite shot. This is a dog that lives down our street. He hangs out mostly on the roof like a lot of dogs in Guanajuato. Every time Katie and I pass this house we sing, "I... Am the King... of the Forreeeeeest!"

Tacos Roy, mi amor

2009-11-03T18:24:00.018-06:00

There are taco bars everywhere in Mexico. Everywhere. Right across the street from our neighborhood, Cupulas 1, there is a tiny restaurant called Tacos Roy. It is always open.
They have the best tacos al pastor, tacos with thinly sliced meat, pineapple, and coriander that come with onion, cilantro and a lime garnish.Of course, like any taco joint, they offer two delicious salsas. I calculated that I have been here for 13 days and have eaten 25 to 30 tacos. I've only had three showers. That's 10 times as many tacos than showers. On the way home from Tacos Roy, Katie and I stopped at a magazine stand. We found a couple interesting magazines.

Halloween in GTO

2009-11-03T13:05:00.027-06:00

I knew I had to suck it up and stop wallowing in self misery and participate in my first Halloween abroad. But I'm in a new town with more acquaintances than friends, and I'm at this point where everything at home seems shiny and precious. I know it will change, I will make friends and become more comfortable, but I really miss my friends, my family, my people, my bars, my COMFORTS basically. But skipping Halloween in Mexico is impossible because IT COMES TO YOU.

The day before Halloween, Katie and I were sitting at our table both working on our computers, and heard what sounded like a parade coming down the street. We hear chanting, "Queremos Halloween! Queremos Halloween!" and we're like, WTF? We had been warned that the kids in Mexico will come for 3 days for Halloween, but that sounded totally fabricated, like the street my friend Camelo was telling me was haunted by a pig. But sure enough, the day before Halloween, we open the door to 15-20 screaming adorable Mexican kids.
Luckily we were prepared, had stopped at the dulceria that day and bought a crap-load of typical Mexican candy. You know, watermelon/chili pepper suckers, chocolate suckers with a gooey salsa center, and chocolate pesos. Some of the smaller kids were so adorable I contemplated kidnapping, but some of the teens that passed by seemed closer to our age and tried to talk to us about how cool our tattoos were. Some kids I know for sure walked around the corner, swapped masks, and came back around again, but I didn't have the energy or desire to argue with them in Spanish. Halloween in Mexico isn't like the states where you give each kid a handful of candy. Halloween night our doorbell was ringing every 20-30 seconds and we would have another group of 15 kids or so. Even giving out one candy a piece, we still ran out early on the third day. But the door kept ringing. The look we got telling chubby Mexican kids on Halloween that "no tenemos mas, lo siento," was like telling them we were vampires and would suck their brains out. Some kids were so sweet, polite and accepting of our apologies (Katie and I kept saying wearily, "It's your turn,") that we were looking for household objects to spare. ("Les gusta un peanut butter sandwich? No? How about a toaster?) The last kid that stopped by before we finally shut the lights off got package of fake tattoos I had bought for Katie's costume. He looked at me like, "are you for real?" And that made up for lacking candy.

Our friends Camelo (Canadian) and Kent (originally from NYC) own a really cool bar called Fusilado in Valenciana. They told us they were having a costume party. So we scrapped together some costumes. The night before I had bought a gold mask in front of Teatro Juarez en el centro, to find it half of it chewed in the morning. We have four dogs here, and I can't even begin to explain how completely insane they are, although my love for them is growing, they still eat everything from garbage to our decorative cactus plants. Katie had all of her underwear and the majority of her bras eaten, two nights ago they ate my sunglasses and if you leave your plate unattended for even a split second, you will find a sheepish looking dog, eating rapidly, (RIP Zoe.)

I spent the majority of Halloween gluing and re-piecing my mask back together.
I decided I would paint myself gold and go as a trophy wife, because Katie said my mask made me look like an Oscar. She decided she would go as the statue of Nefertiti, which eventually led to being Nefertiti herself. She pulled down the curtains, cut out some cardboard and made a head piece, then found this gorgeous necklace in town. I didn't really own much trophy wife attire, but put on a silver and green dress of katie's and my "robin hood" suede boots. I had already covered myself in gold, and katie cracked up laughing and said I didn't look like a trophy wife at all, but something that came out of the forest. On the cab ride to Fusilado, we decided that I was Fern Goldie, trophy wife of Frotto Baggins.

When we walked into the bar, I'm not kidding, all eyes were on her. Her costume and makeup were completely amazing.

Camelo lives right next door to Fusi, and because we the bar was so packed, we went to his house to use the bathroom. Somehow this turned into a photo shoot. (We both get distracted very easily, and his house is like a museum and has great lighting.)

A band played later at the bar, called Casa Verde which is this assortment of musicians from all over the world. Kent told me they are rarely all in the same country at the same time, let alone the same small bar in Mexico, so we were lucky. They were absolutely incredible, full of energy, and played for hours and hours while we all danced.

Do you ever have those nights where you look around and realize everyone is WAY more intoxicated than you? As everyone got more drunk, I was feeling more distant, more disconnected. I looked around and didn't see anyone I really knew, anyone I really cared to be with. Katie was there of course, but she is such a social butterfly and had already made new friends. I just wasn't feeling it. So I told my friend Ilan who works at Fusi to call a cab. I think he saw the desperation in face. It took forever, but a cab finally came and picked me up. Drunken Camelo tried to give me shit for leaving, and I wasn't having it. I went to sleep and woke up in a pile of gold and glitter.

Viviendo en un Cuevo

2009-11-03T11:14:00.015-06:00

I've been living basically in a cave (mi casita) only to come out for one night of party in el centro, which ended in tequila shots that I don't remember with my Mexican friend, Fabian. I'm in the middle of a massive breakup, I've got guilt the size of La Bufa (the giant rock face behind my house) and I just don't feel like trying to make new friends over tacos, and look at them and pretend to care about what is going on in their lives. I'm in cave-dweller mode, a total 9 attribute, and I don't really give a crap about anything but my healing and introspection. (And playing sappy songs, and watching horrible chick-flicks dubbed in Spanish.)

Luckily, I have a few good acquaintances that are rough around the edges, a little self-consumed and don't give a crap about what emotional state I'm in, but will invite me anyway to events, day trips etc. Matter of fact, they will do just about everything but force me to come out, stay out on occasions, and that's when I pull my best "you better call me an effing cab or else," Biesel-tude. Although at times I'm completely annoyed with their insensitivity, continuous insults, and jokes that would make even the Felker's blush, I'm truly thankful for these sort of abrasive friends, or any human interaction really that can take my mind off of Tim and all the pain I feel.

Guanajuato is not a town to be sad in though, and fortunate enough for me, moments where I break down and cry, are followed by something very "guanajuatan" like the horses walking lonely down the street, or the Zumba class that you can watch through the open door, and witness 15 chunky Mexican women doing aerobics. Or the guy that drives a truck around blasting his jingle, "GAASSS BUTTAANNAAAAA" (Butane gas.) There is nothing like the pendulum swing of loss/guilt/sadness followed by uncontrollable laughter. Although I am hurting, I will say I do feel so aware and alive.

One of these days in particular, my friends Camelo, Kent and Bre stopped by to take Katie and I to this little tiny town and get what Camelo described as one of the best meals in Mexico. Se llama, "La Flor." We crammed in Kent's car, and drove about a half an hour to a little strip town. I gasped at the first sight of the food.

The process is, you say, "I want un plato con..." and choose out of all those beautiful ceramic pots what you want. You could essentially choose one of everything, although your plate would resemble una pequeña montaña. Just to name a few, salsa fresca with tomatoes, avocado, cilantro and lime, a gorgeous and delicious mole, chorizo, frijoles garbanzos, taquitos, tostadas and many different veggie combos. (Which is so hard to find in mexico.) They also had gorgeous chile rellenos, stuffed with queso fresco and topped with a tomato sauce. They served watermelon and carrot juice with the meals, not to mention a gorgeous ceramic bowl of chipotle-salsa.

What I love about Mexican food is that it is never, ever lacking spice. One of my most memorable memories about being here the last time, was making salsa with Irene, the madre de la casa that I lived in. (The BEST salsa I've ever had. En serio.) Even though we had been blackening chile peppers on a hot skillet, and our eyes were streaming with tears, and the whole house was filled with smoke, and I was coughing without pause; she kept saying, "Mas chiles! Mas chiles!" I would love to see Gus or Tim go at a spice-off with this frisky, 5 foot Mexican woman.

Anyways, the meal at La Flor was incredible, and the photos speak for themselves. So far it's been my numbero uno meal en GTO, I'm so grateful for the generosity of Camelo, Kent and Bre for thinking of us on their way.

Transformation Station

2009-10-28T17:49:00.011-06:00

Anxiety. Heartbreak. Saying goodbye is always miserable for me. All of a sudden I realize I love my friends and their imperfections. I love the fact that they love me the most, and I wonder why I'm leaving, why I ever leave. I love my little town. I love the things that yesterday i couldn't stand. I love the hipsters. I understand them now. I wonder how I ever had the capacity to complain about anything really. But many tears later, and alone on the plane, the sun blazes in the window, the anxiety dissipates, and I realize I am where I need to be. The last time I was here, things were very different. I was planning to get married a month after my return. And now here I am, one year and a few months later, and I've been splitting up hand-made pottery as collateral (along with camping gear) and I'm on my own for the first time. I said goodbye to a handful of good friends this morning, smashed a few bananas in my mom's trunk, and sat with Morgan at the whiskey bar at the airport. It was 11 am. We cried, and held each other, and reminded each other that in a few short months we'd see each other at the beach.

The Last Supper

2009-10-20T13:13:00.015-05:00

Left Kentucky with a killer meal and good-quality packing time with my mom and many sisters. Black bean and goat cheese empanadas, with pollo and a salsa fresca; cebolla, cilantro y lima. We drank wine and talked about inappropriate things for a baptist dinner table; a few conversations that made the virgin walls shudder. Mom observed with wide eyes, and Shelly and I laughed and laughed.