To begin, one of my favorite stories of the week: Who would have thought that I would have my first run-in with the Mexican cops, not for doing something stupid, but for doing volunteer work? Last week I went with the English school’s director, Justina, and one of our students, Sergio, to post flyers around the neighborhood advertising the school. Lo and behold, the cops stopped us and told us we couldn't post things on lampposts because they were government property, even though every lamppost is like, top to bottom covered in flyers so it's obviously something people do all the time and don't get in trouble for. You would think this level of infraction wouldn’t be a big deal and we could get away with a sincere “I’m sorry sir, we didn’t know,” but the cop was ready to take us into the station. Justina, who is Canadian, and I were completely lost for words, but luckily Sergio knew how to negotiate and we ended up paying the guy 80 pesos, like US$7.50ish, to let us go. I couldn’t believe it. I knew coming in that it’s totally normal here to pay off the cops like that, but I never thought that I would have to do it.
In addition to unjust near-arrest experiences, other aspects of life have become relatively normal. I work about 15 hours a week, teaching 3 classes a week, plus five one-on-one tutoring sessions, all Monday through Weds. One class is the kids/beginners class – about eight kids, ages 6 to 15, average like 11. They never study and they’re hyperactive, but they at least stay in their seats for maybe 40 minutes at a time. Then twice a week is the young adults/intermediate class, only three students, in their twenties. This I love because it’s more like hanging out than giving class. Three quarters of the time we actually go through the textbook, and the rest we’re just chatting, or watching youtube videos, or Sergio is giving me a spontaneous cumbia lesson. My job is tough.
Mornings and evenings at home feel sometimes like living in a miniature college dorm, when Rocio (Chio, everyone calls her) and Saul and I sit around our little common room, eating and watching movies. We’re all still close enough to being university students that it fits, until the mood is broken by Angela bustling around cleaning, or little Yucari bursting through the door with one of her parents, lollipop in hand and plastic tiara on upside-down. Then it’s less like a dorm, more like a live episode of Full House: Mexico City. Only instead of cheesy life lessons at the end of every episode, I’m learning cultural lessons.
For example:
In Mexico, it’s normal to eat chili/hot sauce with everything. Not just tacos. Potato chips, pizza, peanuts, apples, oranges, everything gets bathed in chili, or coated with dried chili flakes. Nobody understands why I don’t find this appealing.
In Mexico, after graduation, college students still need to complete a 200 plus-page thesis to officially finish their undergraduate career. They also pay next to nothing for college.
In Mexico, it’s normal to have two weddings – a civil one and one in the church (Alfonso Jr. and Nancy have not yet had the church one). Weddings, at least in my host family, involve a really traditional exchange of goods, i.e. the groom’s parents buy the bridal gown, veil, and jewelry, etc. Bride’s parents pay for most everything else. But I guess in all countries some families are more traditional than others.
On the weekends, I get other cultural lessons hanging out with Blanca and her friends. Mainly, how to drink and dance. In Mexico, it’s normal to drink A LOT of tequila, often mixed with Squirt soda. In cocktail form, the mix is a “Paloma” (“Dove”). As a shot, it’s a “Muppet.” The two Friday nights I’ve spent in the city have been filled beginning to end with Palomas and Muppets, after a few of which Blanca forces whatever male friend is standing closest to give me dance lessons (usually salsa). I enjoy it, but totally stumble through it. When the song ends, I apologize for being awful, the guy will graciously tell me I did a good job and then grab a new partner as quickly as possible. But I still think I’ve learned at least something, and it’s fun. I feel at home in this group – college-educated 20-somethings working 9-5 office jobs and partying on weekends. They even have some of the same drinking games, like Yo Nunca Nunca – Never Have I Ever. Little pieces of familiarity like that really make a difference.
So that’s my normal routine in Mexico City. Not astonishingly different from the States, but it’s always the little things that throw you for a loop.
¡Hasta luego!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Unas fotitos
A few photos to go along with the last two posts...
At the rodeo in Ixcatepec:
Shower/bathroom/laundry and dishwashing space at Abuelita's house in Ixcatepec, plus their cat, Shita:
Tapin ruins:
After the quincenera mass, the birthday girl outside the church:
Angela, Saul, and Abuelita, drinking raspadas - really yummy shaved ice w/natural, homemade fruit syrup:
my room in Mexico City:
The patio:
Dining/living room:
At the rodeo in Ixcatepec:
Shower/bathroom/laundry and dishwashing space at Abuelita's house in Ixcatepec, plus their cat, Shita:
Tapin ruins:
After the quincenera mass, the birthday girl outside the church:
Angela, Saul, and Abuelita, drinking raspadas - really yummy shaved ice w/natural, homemade fruit syrup:
my room in Mexico City:
The patio:
Dining/living room:
Friday, August 20, 2010
In another country's country: Veracruz
So if I thought Ajusco was like a small town, I should have been better prepared for our trip to Veracruz. We left last Thursday in Saul’s janky old Ferrari – myself, Angela, Saul, and Angela’s mom/Saul’s grandma who I know only as “Abuelita.” Eight hours later, we arrived in Ixcatepec, the little country town where Angela grew up. And it was sooooo country: I woke up every morning to our rooster’s crow. The first night we arrived, we went to a rodeo (“jaripeo”) and watched eight-year-olds successfully lasso cattle. Saul’s cousins had recently killed deer heads in their fridge. Angela washed my clothes in the same river where downstream, someone else was washing his horse. Going to Veracruz, I thought I was getting a beach vacation. Instead I got the Mexican version of Grundy County, TN. But with a much prettier landscape.
Abuelita’s house, where we stayed, had two bedrooms, with an outdoor kitchen and “bathroom” complex (bathroom = outhouse + enclosed space for bathing with a bucket) and a large garden in the back full of chickens, ducks, cats, one dog, a variety of fruit trees – lime, guava, orange, mango, banana, coffee – and tons of mosquitoes. I soon came to learn that almost every house in the town sported more or less the same features, although some had flushing toilets.
We visited the homes of what seemed like all of Angela’s family members, few of which knew we were coming (Not really an option to call ahead when there’s no phone). Yet within 5 minutes of entering each house, the woman of the house would immediately produce a glass of homemade fruit juice (from the fruit in the garden) and ask if we’d like to stay for a meal (even if they themselves weren’t going to eat at the time). It’s impolite to say no. I can’t remember the last time I ate so much. The only thing I turned down was the “panza” or soup of stuffed cow stomach. Typical was enchiladas, black beans and manchego cheese, best of all was one cousin who served us venison. I also learned to make tortillas by hand (harder than it looks) and picked up a few words in Nahuatl, the traditional Huasteco (Aztec/indigenous) language, which many people in the town still speak regularly. Tlashkamati = Thank you. After lots of chatter, we would leave, always taking with us another package of some fruit or veggie our host had cut from their garden, or bread from their oven, or the extra chorizo, or whatever. Then, on to the next house, where we’d share the bounty from the first and end up with something new.
At first, the whole tour of family visits, for me, was charming and relaxing, but after hearing Angela tell the same story about her granddaughter for the gazillionth time and stuffing myself with God knows how many tortillas and glasses of fruit water, I got a little sick of it. Everyone asked me, aren’t you bored here? On the first day the answer was no, of course not. On the fifth, yes, yes I am, I like the city.
Two other exciting things did come my way. The first was the quineceñera (girl’s 15th birthday party, huge deal in Mexico) of one of Angela’s distant relatives. The celebration, like a combo bar mitzvah-wedding, started with a mass, where the birthday girl processes in in a fancy dress, followed by three male attendants about the same age, dressed to match, and her godparents. Afterwards, the day continues with a big meal, a big cake, and music/dancing that continues into the night. Favorite moment: after the meal, as our plates and trash were being cleared away and drinks refilled, Saul’s aunt whispers to her husband, look, look at your mom. We look over, and Abuelita – 74-year-old, gray-haired, big-bellied, slow-moving, raspy-voiced Abuelita – is stuffing a pile of extra tortillas into her purse. She then zips the bulging bag closed, rests it on her lap, and takes a giant swig of her Corona. I died.
Anyway, eventually the birthday girl also does a few traditional dances – one, a choreographed dance with her attendants from the mass, one with rotating family members, and one with her father, announced as “the last time she will dance with her dad,” of which I did not approve. The music, in my opinion, was also terrible. Saul taught me how to dance to it, not like a fun salsa or bachata dance, but a really really boring and easy two-step. Every song was the same step, same beat. Even more, Saul told me most celebrations there use the same music, and the same type of dancing. All in all, I’m glad I never had a quinceñera.
The second exciting event was a trip to the Tapin ruins, which to my surprise became a 2.5 hour ride, piled in the back of a truck with Saul, Angela, and like 10 more relatives. The scenery on the way there was beautiful – bright shades of green, fog-shrouded hills in the distance – and the ruins themselves were of course impressive – a huge complex of pyramids and ancient worship facilities. Besides the sights, I enjoyed the ride. Both there and back, we made several stops at roadside fruit stands and always passed the deliciousness around the back of the truck, and the littlest kids fell asleep as we drove. It was so satisfying and peaceful, my favorite day of the whole Veracruz experience.
Now, though, I am more than happy to be back in the city, where I can shower indoors and take advantage of the nightlife, and a much better music scene. The weekend starts now.
Abuelita’s house, where we stayed, had two bedrooms, with an outdoor kitchen and “bathroom” complex (bathroom = outhouse + enclosed space for bathing with a bucket) and a large garden in the back full of chickens, ducks, cats, one dog, a variety of fruit trees – lime, guava, orange, mango, banana, coffee – and tons of mosquitoes. I soon came to learn that almost every house in the town sported more or less the same features, although some had flushing toilets.
We visited the homes of what seemed like all of Angela’s family members, few of which knew we were coming (Not really an option to call ahead when there’s no phone). Yet within 5 minutes of entering each house, the woman of the house would immediately produce a glass of homemade fruit juice (from the fruit in the garden) and ask if we’d like to stay for a meal (even if they themselves weren’t going to eat at the time). It’s impolite to say no. I can’t remember the last time I ate so much. The only thing I turned down was the “panza” or soup of stuffed cow stomach. Typical was enchiladas, black beans and manchego cheese, best of all was one cousin who served us venison. I also learned to make tortillas by hand (harder than it looks) and picked up a few words in Nahuatl, the traditional Huasteco (Aztec/indigenous) language, which many people in the town still speak regularly. Tlashkamati = Thank you. After lots of chatter, we would leave, always taking with us another package of some fruit or veggie our host had cut from their garden, or bread from their oven, or the extra chorizo, or whatever. Then, on to the next house, where we’d share the bounty from the first and end up with something new.
At first, the whole tour of family visits, for me, was charming and relaxing, but after hearing Angela tell the same story about her granddaughter for the gazillionth time and stuffing myself with God knows how many tortillas and glasses of fruit water, I got a little sick of it. Everyone asked me, aren’t you bored here? On the first day the answer was no, of course not. On the fifth, yes, yes I am, I like the city.
Two other exciting things did come my way. The first was the quineceñera (girl’s 15th birthday party, huge deal in Mexico) of one of Angela’s distant relatives. The celebration, like a combo bar mitzvah-wedding, started with a mass, where the birthday girl processes in in a fancy dress, followed by three male attendants about the same age, dressed to match, and her godparents. Afterwards, the day continues with a big meal, a big cake, and music/dancing that continues into the night. Favorite moment: after the meal, as our plates and trash were being cleared away and drinks refilled, Saul’s aunt whispers to her husband, look, look at your mom. We look over, and Abuelita – 74-year-old, gray-haired, big-bellied, slow-moving, raspy-voiced Abuelita – is stuffing a pile of extra tortillas into her purse. She then zips the bulging bag closed, rests it on her lap, and takes a giant swig of her Corona. I died.
Anyway, eventually the birthday girl also does a few traditional dances – one, a choreographed dance with her attendants from the mass, one with rotating family members, and one with her father, announced as “the last time she will dance with her dad,” of which I did not approve. The music, in my opinion, was also terrible. Saul taught me how to dance to it, not like a fun salsa or bachata dance, but a really really boring and easy two-step. Every song was the same step, same beat. Even more, Saul told me most celebrations there use the same music, and the same type of dancing. All in all, I’m glad I never had a quinceñera.
The second exciting event was a trip to the Tapin ruins, which to my surprise became a 2.5 hour ride, piled in the back of a truck with Saul, Angela, and like 10 more relatives. The scenery on the way there was beautiful – bright shades of green, fog-shrouded hills in the distance – and the ruins themselves were of course impressive – a huge complex of pyramids and ancient worship facilities. Besides the sights, I enjoyed the ride. Both there and back, we made several stops at roadside fruit stands and always passed the deliciousness around the back of the truck, and the littlest kids fell asleep as we drove. It was so satisfying and peaceful, my favorite day of the whole Veracruz experience.
Now, though, I am more than happy to be back in the city, where I can shower indoors and take advantage of the nightlife, and a much better music scene. The weekend starts now.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Del otro lado (from the other side)
When she introduces me to people, my host mom always tells them that I’m “del otro lado,” meaning foreign or not from here, but literally it’s “from the other side,” which I think is actually the most appropriate way to say it.
To clarify, I came to Mexico for more or less three reasons: 1, to travel and get a feel for the country, it’s culture and language, 2, to visit my good friend and former housemate Blanca, who’s a Mexico City native, and 3, to volunteer as an English teacher through the organization AMEXTRA. So far all three are moving along nicely.
I arrived in Mexico City one week ago tonight, where I found my host mother and brother waiting for me at the airport. My nerves calmed as soon as I saw them, knowing I would be taken care of. Since then I have become a slightly odd but fairly established extension of the family.
My host family, the Benito-Martinez’s, consists of: father Don Alfonso, mother Doña Angela, sons Alfonso (Jr.) and Saul, daughter-in-law/Jr.’s wife Nancy, and granddaughter Danaí Yucari (2 years old, so cute). The house, which the family built themselves, gradually, beginning when the boys were just toddlers, is 4 levels – ground level with garage/entrance, main level where I live with the parents and where everyone congregates, upper level where Alfonso Jr., Nancy, Yucari, and now Saul live because they gave me Saul’s old room, and top level/roof/web of clotheslines and wet laundry. Behind the house on the main level are an open air “patio” – more like a courtyard – and two more small rooms where a niece, Rocio, rents one room and a non-related mother/son pair rents the other. The patio is crowded with buckets and barrels that I assume collect rain water for laundry. (The main house has running water, but I don’t think the rented rooms or the laundry machine are hooked up to it.) There is also a resident squawking green parrot, Pancha, who I find useless.
Our neighborhood is called Ajusco, situated near the southern fringes of the goliath that is Mexico City. Here we are practically in the mountains. To get to the city center where all the main tourist attractions and government buildings are, I have to first take a pesero (short bus) to the metro, which takes 45-60 min, then continue from there probably about 20 more minutes. In a car it would take maybe 40 minutes the whole trip, depending on traffic which is crazier here than almost anywhere I’ve ever seen.
Ajusco itself is like a small town bubbling out of the city. There are no chain stores, no big businesses, few stoplights. Random animals roam the streets, and many streets close on the weekends because of the market. People generally have less money than in the city, but it’s decently safe, and everyone is wonderfully friendly. My favorite moments are those when someone unexpected rings the doorbell. Angela sticks her head out the window to see who’s at the door below. Oh, a neighbor, of course, I’ll let you in… and the person comes in, has a drink, everyone sits to chat for a bit. Time passes really slowly, because everyone is always sitting around chatting, sipping apple soda.
In addition to the pace of the day, I’m adjusting to plenty of little changes. The way the toilet works – I flush it with a bucket. How to compliment Angela’s cooking – Saying “Se pica bien,” or “It’s very spicy” is a good thing. The way I’m treated by guys – They always let me enter/exit places ahead of them, or have me walk on the non-street side of the sidewalk, and often put a hand on my back to guide me. They do this I think partly because it’s how they learned to politely treat women and partly because it’s how they learned to politely treat awkward, confused foreigners. I suppress the impulse to assert my ability to walk without their help. Above all, I’m getting used to being the obvious minority – speaking broken Spanish, taller and whiter than most, with naturally light hair, and the most divergent feature of all, blue eyes. Running count of people who suddenly break a conversation to comment on my eyes: 4.
Anyway I did start teaching classes and got to see Blanca, both of which I can describe more later but I’m breaking for now. Tomorrow morning I leave early with my host family for a long weekend in Veracruz, where they are originally from. Hasta luego!
To clarify, I came to Mexico for more or less three reasons: 1, to travel and get a feel for the country, it’s culture and language, 2, to visit my good friend and former housemate Blanca, who’s a Mexico City native, and 3, to volunteer as an English teacher through the organization AMEXTRA. So far all three are moving along nicely.
I arrived in Mexico City one week ago tonight, where I found my host mother and brother waiting for me at the airport. My nerves calmed as soon as I saw them, knowing I would be taken care of. Since then I have become a slightly odd but fairly established extension of the family.
My host family, the Benito-Martinez’s, consists of: father Don Alfonso, mother Doña Angela, sons Alfonso (Jr.) and Saul, daughter-in-law/Jr.’s wife Nancy, and granddaughter Danaí Yucari (2 years old, so cute). The house, which the family built themselves, gradually, beginning when the boys were just toddlers, is 4 levels – ground level with garage/entrance, main level where I live with the parents and where everyone congregates, upper level where Alfonso Jr., Nancy, Yucari, and now Saul live because they gave me Saul’s old room, and top level/roof/web of clotheslines and wet laundry. Behind the house on the main level are an open air “patio” – more like a courtyard – and two more small rooms where a niece, Rocio, rents one room and a non-related mother/son pair rents the other. The patio is crowded with buckets and barrels that I assume collect rain water for laundry. (The main house has running water, but I don’t think the rented rooms or the laundry machine are hooked up to it.) There is also a resident squawking green parrot, Pancha, who I find useless.
Our neighborhood is called Ajusco, situated near the southern fringes of the goliath that is Mexico City. Here we are practically in the mountains. To get to the city center where all the main tourist attractions and government buildings are, I have to first take a pesero (short bus) to the metro, which takes 45-60 min, then continue from there probably about 20 more minutes. In a car it would take maybe 40 minutes the whole trip, depending on traffic which is crazier here than almost anywhere I’ve ever seen.
Ajusco itself is like a small town bubbling out of the city. There are no chain stores, no big businesses, few stoplights. Random animals roam the streets, and many streets close on the weekends because of the market. People generally have less money than in the city, but it’s decently safe, and everyone is wonderfully friendly. My favorite moments are those when someone unexpected rings the doorbell. Angela sticks her head out the window to see who’s at the door below. Oh, a neighbor, of course, I’ll let you in… and the person comes in, has a drink, everyone sits to chat for a bit. Time passes really slowly, because everyone is always sitting around chatting, sipping apple soda.
In addition to the pace of the day, I’m adjusting to plenty of little changes. The way the toilet works – I flush it with a bucket. How to compliment Angela’s cooking – Saying “Se pica bien,” or “It’s very spicy” is a good thing. The way I’m treated by guys – They always let me enter/exit places ahead of them, or have me walk on the non-street side of the sidewalk, and often put a hand on my back to guide me. They do this I think partly because it’s how they learned to politely treat women and partly because it’s how they learned to politely treat awkward, confused foreigners. I suppress the impulse to assert my ability to walk without their help. Above all, I’m getting used to being the obvious minority – speaking broken Spanish, taller and whiter than most, with naturally light hair, and the most divergent feature of all, blue eyes. Running count of people who suddenly break a conversation to comment on my eyes: 4.
Anyway I did start teaching classes and got to see Blanca, both of which I can describe more later but I’m breaking for now. Tomorrow morning I leave early with my host family for a long weekend in Veracruz, where they are originally from. Hasta luego!
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
We've been on the run, drivin' in the sun
This will be a super long road trip wrap-up, and no links, sorry, Google it yourself… writing now from Mexico, feeling like life took a total swing (in a good way), but first California deserves its fair share of attention so here we go.
I forgot to mention before that in L.A. we also visited a really great and apparently famous farmer’s market, then got cupcakes in Beverly Hills, which Katie’s L.A.-native friend told us is pretty much the Bev Hills experience. After L.A. we toured California, couchsurfing and camping our way north. We stopped in:
Buellton, at the Flying Flags RV Resort. Confused at why we were freezing cold camping in California in July. Meanwhile, this place was huuuuuuuuge – Instead of in the woods, our campsite was on a flat square of grass in the middle of a giant chess board of grass squares with other tents and cars on them. On the (maybe?) plus side, they offered tons of weird extra features, including pool, spa, ice cream social, and Jackie-Chan’s-worst-film-ever movie night that we at least got to make fun of.
San Luis Obispo, walked around downtown which is pretty but takes all of thirty minutes to do, then made the mistake of driving out to Morro Bay, about 15 miles away, because we saw on the map it was the closest beach. Unfortunately, Morro Bay is cold, cloudy, and dirty. Fail. But we took a nap on the beach like the dirty homeless people we are anyway. That night we couchsurfed with a guy named Ben who helped us reclaim our dignity. He handed us each a glass of wine, led us and our wine on a little hike and then a fruit-picking mission around the neighborhood. Every other front yard in California, or at least in SLO, has some kind of fruit tree in it, and it’s one hundred percent legal to pick the fruit for yourself if it hangs over the sidewalk. We came back with overflowing loads of lemons, oranges, avocados, and figs (those we also had to learn how to eat). Ben was an outstanding host and also took us to dinner, which was crazy generous of him.
Paso Robles, had one of the best afternoons of the trip. Did tastings at two wineries, Vina Robles and Peachy Canyon. We picked the second one because of its silly little storybook name, but ended up buying the best bottle of port wine that ever existed. Two wine tastings made for a great lunch, putting us both in supremely good moods, and we continued the drive with uncontrollable smiles on our faces, hands in the wind out the windows, playing all our favorite songs and watching the hills roll by. If only you could freeze yourself in moments like that.
Anyway the wine spell was broken with a couple hours gone by and a stop along the colder, cloudier coast to get a look at some elephant seals. Ugly. Continued driving up the Pacific Coast Highway/Hwy 1, BEST drive of my life, so much fun and so glad I was at the wheel for this part. Couchsurfed a night in Monterey. Pretty place, but we didn’t stay long.
We camped a night in Sequoia National Park and (haphazardly) opened one of our Paso Robles wines for a picnic along this pretty little stream by our campsite. Once again, along with the wine and the bats streaking back and forth over the water as the sun set, our lives could not have been more satisfying.
In Sequoia we took a small hike up Moro Rock for a great view of the Sierra Nevada. We also saw the General Sherman Tree – biggest, although not tallest, tree in the world. We always joke about how all the attractions in the States are just something normal, but really big, like the Grand Canyon is a big hole, then we saw this big tree, in southern California one town advertised the “world’s biggest thermometer” but we didn’t bother to stop and see it.
After Sequoia came Yosemite, for 3 nights. One night in the “backpacker’s camp,” followed by a 7ish mile hike along the appropriately named Panorama Trail (awesome view of some of the park’s highest peaks) into the official wilderness, where we camped next to Ilillouette Falls (also took a dip in the water, freezing but perfect for the end of the hike). There was no one around except some boy scouts and a mom/baby pair of mule deer. We had dinner – peanuts, raisins, and granola bars, same as lunch was and breakfast would be – and fell asleep to the sound of the water and the woods.
The return hike the next day took us downhill past Nevada Falls and Vernal Falls – both beautiful, but we were getting worn out. Made it back and washed up in the park’s bathroom sinks, because you had to pay for showers. To reward ourselves for surviving the wilderness, we stopped in at the bar in the park hotel for dinner and drinks (Much better use of our money than a shower). Back to the backpacker’s camp, made friends with some fellow campers, took a midnight stroll to Mirror Lake, and laid down to look at the stars for awhile. Gorgeous.
All in Yosemite would have been positive were it not for the morning we left, when we walked back to our parking spot only to discover that the truck wasn’t there. How does a truck disappear? The National Park Service impounds it. For improper food storage in bear country (We had taken all the food out of the car but left an empty cooler, which is apparently enough to entice a bear to smash your window open and destroy your life). Getting the car back took hours, and with that, we were more than ready for the drive back to civilization. At this point we calculated that we hadn’t slept on a real bed in three weeks.
Our final stop was San Jose, to stay with my mom’s cousin Cate. It was the perfect way to end the trip – relaxing and hanging out again with family. I am ever grateful for the spirit and generosity of my relatives. We had a ton of fun together, shared great meals, plenty of drinks, and of course funny stories. Plus San Jose is absolutely beautiful. I loved every minute.
In the midst of our stay with Cate, we spent one day/night in San Francisco – our final bar crawl of the trip. Saw the Fisherman’s Wharf, then walked to North Beach and Chinatown. Dropped in a few bars and all of a sudden it was 3 in the morning. All my love to you Katie Labarre for sticking with me through the highs and the lows of nights like this, and the days in between. Lol.
So obviously Katie and I are still friends after living out of a truck for 6 weeks and conquering awful terrain. Now I’m on my own, writing from the school in Mexico City at which I’ve begun teaching English. As always, still not entirely certain what I’ve gotten myself into, but I promise a post tomorrow, at least an intro to my life here. Mucho amor y hasta luego…
I forgot to mention before that in L.A. we also visited a really great and apparently famous farmer’s market, then got cupcakes in Beverly Hills, which Katie’s L.A.-native friend told us is pretty much the Bev Hills experience. After L.A. we toured California, couchsurfing and camping our way north. We stopped in:
Buellton, at the Flying Flags RV Resort. Confused at why we were freezing cold camping in California in July. Meanwhile, this place was huuuuuuuuge – Instead of in the woods, our campsite was on a flat square of grass in the middle of a giant chess board of grass squares with other tents and cars on them. On the (maybe?) plus side, they offered tons of weird extra features, including pool, spa, ice cream social, and Jackie-Chan’s-worst-film-ever movie night that we at least got to make fun of.
San Luis Obispo, walked around downtown which is pretty but takes all of thirty minutes to do, then made the mistake of driving out to Morro Bay, about 15 miles away, because we saw on the map it was the closest beach. Unfortunately, Morro Bay is cold, cloudy, and dirty. Fail. But we took a nap on the beach like the dirty homeless people we are anyway. That night we couchsurfed with a guy named Ben who helped us reclaim our dignity. He handed us each a glass of wine, led us and our wine on a little hike and then a fruit-picking mission around the neighborhood. Every other front yard in California, or at least in SLO, has some kind of fruit tree in it, and it’s one hundred percent legal to pick the fruit for yourself if it hangs over the sidewalk. We came back with overflowing loads of lemons, oranges, avocados, and figs (those we also had to learn how to eat). Ben was an outstanding host and also took us to dinner, which was crazy generous of him.
Paso Robles, had one of the best afternoons of the trip. Did tastings at two wineries, Vina Robles and Peachy Canyon. We picked the second one because of its silly little storybook name, but ended up buying the best bottle of port wine that ever existed. Two wine tastings made for a great lunch, putting us both in supremely good moods, and we continued the drive with uncontrollable smiles on our faces, hands in the wind out the windows, playing all our favorite songs and watching the hills roll by. If only you could freeze yourself in moments like that.
Anyway the wine spell was broken with a couple hours gone by and a stop along the colder, cloudier coast to get a look at some elephant seals. Ugly. Continued driving up the Pacific Coast Highway/Hwy 1, BEST drive of my life, so much fun and so glad I was at the wheel for this part. Couchsurfed a night in Monterey. Pretty place, but we didn’t stay long.
We camped a night in Sequoia National Park and (haphazardly) opened one of our Paso Robles wines for a picnic along this pretty little stream by our campsite. Once again, along with the wine and the bats streaking back and forth over the water as the sun set, our lives could not have been more satisfying.
In Sequoia we took a small hike up Moro Rock for a great view of the Sierra Nevada. We also saw the General Sherman Tree – biggest, although not tallest, tree in the world. We always joke about how all the attractions in the States are just something normal, but really big, like the Grand Canyon is a big hole, then we saw this big tree, in southern California one town advertised the “world’s biggest thermometer” but we didn’t bother to stop and see it.
After Sequoia came Yosemite, for 3 nights. One night in the “backpacker’s camp,” followed by a 7ish mile hike along the appropriately named Panorama Trail (awesome view of some of the park’s highest peaks) into the official wilderness, where we camped next to Ilillouette Falls (also took a dip in the water, freezing but perfect for the end of the hike). There was no one around except some boy scouts and a mom/baby pair of mule deer. We had dinner – peanuts, raisins, and granola bars, same as lunch was and breakfast would be – and fell asleep to the sound of the water and the woods.
The return hike the next day took us downhill past Nevada Falls and Vernal Falls – both beautiful, but we were getting worn out. Made it back and washed up in the park’s bathroom sinks, because you had to pay for showers. To reward ourselves for surviving the wilderness, we stopped in at the bar in the park hotel for dinner and drinks (Much better use of our money than a shower). Back to the backpacker’s camp, made friends with some fellow campers, took a midnight stroll to Mirror Lake, and laid down to look at the stars for awhile. Gorgeous.
All in Yosemite would have been positive were it not for the morning we left, when we walked back to our parking spot only to discover that the truck wasn’t there. How does a truck disappear? The National Park Service impounds it. For improper food storage in bear country (We had taken all the food out of the car but left an empty cooler, which is apparently enough to entice a bear to smash your window open and destroy your life). Getting the car back took hours, and with that, we were more than ready for the drive back to civilization. At this point we calculated that we hadn’t slept on a real bed in three weeks.
Our final stop was San Jose, to stay with my mom’s cousin Cate. It was the perfect way to end the trip – relaxing and hanging out again with family. I am ever grateful for the spirit and generosity of my relatives. We had a ton of fun together, shared great meals, plenty of drinks, and of course funny stories. Plus San Jose is absolutely beautiful. I loved every minute.
In the midst of our stay with Cate, we spent one day/night in San Francisco – our final bar crawl of the trip. Saw the Fisherman’s Wharf, then walked to North Beach and Chinatown. Dropped in a few bars and all of a sudden it was 3 in the morning. All my love to you Katie Labarre for sticking with me through the highs and the lows of nights like this, and the days in between. Lol.
So obviously Katie and I are still friends after living out of a truck for 6 weeks and conquering awful terrain. Now I’m on my own, writing from the school in Mexico City at which I’ve begun teaching English. As always, still not entirely certain what I’ve gotten myself into, but I promise a post tomorrow, at least an intro to my life here. Mucho amor y hasta luego…
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Photos!
I just put up a massive album on facebook of the entire trip, check it out! If you're not my friend on facebook, you should be.
I leave for Mexico in less than 12 hours. Lights out. <3
I leave for Mexico in less than 12 hours. Lights out. <3
Monday, August 2, 2010
Lifestyles of the Poor and the Homeless
(San Jose, CA)
We drove in a giant loop, Vegas, Zion Canyon in Utah, the Grand Canyon in Arizona, and sadly back to Vegas, to pick up the truck from the shop. We camped two nights at a trailer/RV park near Zion, baffled at how cool the temperature got. During the day, we hiked the canyon. I was particularly attracted to the trails with descriptions like “steep dropoffs” and “not for anyone afraid of heights,” so we tried a few. The warnings did not lie. The views were awesome, and we wore ourselves out scrambling, or sometimes more like stumbling, up and down rock faces for a good five hours. Ended the experience with a dip in a cold canyon stream and lunch on the riverbank.
By the time we got to the Grand Canyon the next day, we had seen so much desert and so many giant rock structures that we didn’t mind speeding through. Just a few quick photo stops, to say we did it.
Grabbed the truck in Vegas and moved on to L.A., where we stayed with my cousin T.J, who lives 3 blocks from Hollywood Blvd. Spent the first evening/night exploring the neighborhood – favorite spots: Amoeba Music (record store with untold treasures) and Mission Cantina (restaurant/bar where we got the best tequila/jalapeno cocktail - $4 during happy hour. Also offers dollar tacos on Tuesdays.) We navigated through crowds of tourists near the Chinese theater - not that exciting of a sight - and perused the celebrity stars along the boulevard.
We ended up liking L.A. a lot more than we thought we would. Rather than the hot and snotty plastic crowd that TV and movies brought us to expect, we found a lot of friendly, laid back people, happy as any to chat with a couple of dirty homeless stragglers like ourselves. We hung around Venice Beach for an afternoon, Santa Monica Pier the next, where we tried our hand at these beach jungle gym/gymnastics rings that are set up all along the shore. Much harder than they look, but such a fun thing to have out there, that anyone can use. Where we visited, the beach crowd was especially full of hippies/artists/people scraping by without a steady income, all seeming to enjoy it that way. We also spent a good deal of time drinking with T.J. and his roommate, hitting up both bars that my cousin works at, and celebrity spotting. At Houston’s, where T.J. bartends (and therefore provides free drinks), I sat three seats down from Ben Harper. I would never have known it if I wasn’t told, no idea what the guy looks like otherwise, but still exciting.
I spent the last pennies of my budget in L.A., which really brought me down when I realized it. That was the same day we went to Houston’s. But we got the best surprise when, within five minutes of sitting at the bar, these two middle aged ladies next to us just up and gave us the uneaten half of this huge brownie/ice cream/nut/fudge monstrosity they said they couldn’t finish. It was like they and the powers that be just knew that I was broke and depressed. Since that moment, money has caused me little stress. I’m aware that I don’t have any and I act accordingly, but I’m much less worried about it. The world provides, and when all of this is over, Katie and I will pay everything forward. We are well aware that our debt to karma is mounting exponentially.
Now, two days away from leaving for Mexico, and still enjoying beautiful California. One more update to come before I start out on the second leg of this crazy journey I’ve planned...
We drove in a giant loop, Vegas, Zion Canyon in Utah, the Grand Canyon in Arizona, and sadly back to Vegas, to pick up the truck from the shop. We camped two nights at a trailer/RV park near Zion, baffled at how cool the temperature got. During the day, we hiked the canyon. I was particularly attracted to the trails with descriptions like “steep dropoffs” and “not for anyone afraid of heights,” so we tried a few. The warnings did not lie. The views were awesome, and we wore ourselves out scrambling, or sometimes more like stumbling, up and down rock faces for a good five hours. Ended the experience with a dip in a cold canyon stream and lunch on the riverbank.
By the time we got to the Grand Canyon the next day, we had seen so much desert and so many giant rock structures that we didn’t mind speeding through. Just a few quick photo stops, to say we did it.
Grabbed the truck in Vegas and moved on to L.A., where we stayed with my cousin T.J, who lives 3 blocks from Hollywood Blvd. Spent the first evening/night exploring the neighborhood – favorite spots: Amoeba Music (record store with untold treasures) and Mission Cantina (restaurant/bar where we got the best tequila/jalapeno cocktail - $4 during happy hour. Also offers dollar tacos on Tuesdays.) We navigated through crowds of tourists near the Chinese theater - not that exciting of a sight - and perused the celebrity stars along the boulevard.
We ended up liking L.A. a lot more than we thought we would. Rather than the hot and snotty plastic crowd that TV and movies brought us to expect, we found a lot of friendly, laid back people, happy as any to chat with a couple of dirty homeless stragglers like ourselves. We hung around Venice Beach for an afternoon, Santa Monica Pier the next, where we tried our hand at these beach jungle gym/gymnastics rings that are set up all along the shore. Much harder than they look, but such a fun thing to have out there, that anyone can use. Where we visited, the beach crowd was especially full of hippies/artists/people scraping by without a steady income, all seeming to enjoy it that way. We also spent a good deal of time drinking with T.J. and his roommate, hitting up both bars that my cousin works at, and celebrity spotting. At Houston’s, where T.J. bartends (and therefore provides free drinks), I sat three seats down from Ben Harper. I would never have known it if I wasn’t told, no idea what the guy looks like otherwise, but still exciting.
I spent the last pennies of my budget in L.A., which really brought me down when I realized it. That was the same day we went to Houston’s. But we got the best surprise when, within five minutes of sitting at the bar, these two middle aged ladies next to us just up and gave us the uneaten half of this huge brownie/ice cream/nut/fudge monstrosity they said they couldn’t finish. It was like they and the powers that be just knew that I was broke and depressed. Since that moment, money has caused me little stress. I’m aware that I don’t have any and I act accordingly, but I’m much less worried about it. The world provides, and when all of this is over, Katie and I will pay everything forward. We are well aware that our debt to karma is mounting exponentially.
Now, two days away from leaving for Mexico, and still enjoying beautiful California. One more update to come before I start out on the second leg of this crazy journey I’ve planned...
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