I have no idea if anyone is reading this anymore, yet somehow it didn't seem right to just end things with the real Guatemala. I guess I've come to think of this as my own little first attempt at some kind of running story, and what story would be complete without an ending?
I've been home for a week today. Wow. It seems like a million years ago that I was riding dangerous boats and sleeping in small rooms with scratchy blankets. The end of my trip was so perfect in so many ways. I had a crazy mixup with my ticket, with the airline basically "cancelling" my ticket because my credit card address didn't match what was on file. In the midst of being so happy to come home I got an email from them informing me I no longer had a reservation. I almost had a panic attack at the computer, with thoughts of being stuck in Guatemala forever racing through my head. I spent an hour (yes, an hour!) on hold with the airlines, and after finally getting a live person on the line, all of a sudden had changed my ticket again, and was leaving in two days! Gosh, it felt good though. Sure, it would be fun to see the Guatemalan coast, and the black sand beaches, but the idea of another five hour journey on the bus, and hauling my pack and my crazy hammocks around, was just too much. I think you reach a certain point where, when you're done, you're done. It's just time. It's like you can handle any crazy travel delay, shrug your shoulders about missing a bus, laugh about any manner of mishaps, and then when you switch your mind over to going home, it's all of a sudden hard to think about dealing with one more thing....
So, with two more days to go, I headed back to Antigua with Mark and Inga, to meet up with the two men I was staying with, Arie and Gary. Mark and Inga were supposed to head to the beach, but decided to stay. We were really lucky to be there for the Semana Santa celebration, which is the second biggest celebration in the whole world. Literally half of the people in Guatemala come to this area for it. The whole town, already colorful, is draped in purple ribbons, and different areas of town are turned into little miniature street fairs. There are rows and rows of vendors selling the most artificial looking, flourescent candy, that somehow manages to look beautiful and toxic at the same time. The churches are packed to capacity with people and musicians. The chicken buses are out in droves, transporting people back and forth across the country. But by far the most striking part of the whole thing is the art that people make on the cobblestone streets throughout the town. All of the markets are selling sawdust that has been dyed in a million different colors, and people walk through the streets with bags of it. In the middle of the street, they make these huge works of art, using all of these brightly colored hues, as well as flowers, palm fronds, branches, glitter, and anything else that stands out to the artist's eye. The finished product looks almost like an enormous oriental rug, Guatemalan style, and is the product of hours and hours of labor. Each night, there is a procession of a church from around the local areas, or from Antigua. Each church community spends all year working on these huge dioramas of some kind of scene from the Bible. The night we were there, we stood on the sidelines, listening to the drumbeat that you could hear from blocks away, as people slowly started to file past. First came the hooded figures swinging cans full of frankincense; burning and filling the streets and our lungs with that musky smell I'm obsessed with. By the time the main part of the procession got to us, the drum beats were so loud that they reverberated in my chest with the incense, making me feel like I was being taken over by this strange, solemn parade. The diorama the church had put together was like the biggest coffin you've ever seen, with a scene of the resurrection on top, and literally took 50 people to carry it, everyone swaying hypnotically side to side under their heavy burden. As they move through the town, they kick over the sawdust creations, which have been built especially for this purpose. I love all the care and work that has been put into these, all with the idea that they're made to be destroyend hours later. It was really special to be part of a celebration that felt so uniquely Guatemalan, and was so interesting and beautiful. I think seeing how people choose to celebrate parts of their lives is almost the best way to see what their values and traditions are. It all made sense there with the bright colors, the solemn yet joyful festivities, the sense of community and family. Maybe *that* was the real Guatemala...
That night, Arie and Gary, who were living in an apartment in Antigua for the week, made us the most delicious dinner, and the five of us sat around while Mark, Inga and I went crazy for this raw salad full of vegetables, and some whisky and wine....I was so excited to go home that spending my last night having a home cooked meal felt like the perfect precursor to what I was going home to. Just being in someone's house for the night made me realize how much time, traveling, you spend in public spaces. At home, I'm so used to having my sanctuary, full of my things, my dog, my style, my cooking...while part of the beauty of traveling is leaving all of that behind for a while, and challenging yourself to be without the identity that becomes part of who you think of yourself as, it is also exhausting to never be HOME, and in the comfort and security of what you have created. It made me realize that on my next trip, I want to stay someplace for a while, and call somewhere home, and shop at the markets and cook and see what it's like to live somewhere else, rather than just be passing through as a tourist.
The next day, my last day, I went with Arie and Gary to this ridiculously fancy restaurant, which was an old hacienda that had been turned into a restaurant and hotel. Beautiful doesn't really begin to describe it, as it was laden with gorgeous nooks, crannies, beautiful gardens and patios tucked in unlikely places, and absolutely enormous hammocks for two everywhere, almost begging you to lay down and take a nap. We ate a gourmet lunch and talked of their trip and mine, and what we had gotten from our respective journeys. These two had been together for about three years, and for Gary, it was the first boyfriend he had had. He was almost sixty, and had spent his whole life doing things that were really not him. He married his high school sweetheart and was together with her for 35 (!) years in a loveless marriage, working hard, providing, doing all of the things he was supposed to do. And was completely not happy. And, to be fair to his wife, she wasn't happy either, with a husband that really, in his heart, didn't want to be with her. He and his wife had just separated when he met Arie, and for the first time was able to admit who he wanted to be. This trip, at sixty, is the first time he'd been out of the country, the first time he'd taken a month off, the first time he'd stepped out of this life of duty that had been *his* identity. It was amazing to see how alive he was, how thriving, how much the experience of being out and about, seeing a new culture and letting go had changed him. It was so inspirational to me, and I just loved meeting these two funny, quirky men who were so different and yet so right for each other...
And now I'm home. As I said, it seems like it's been a million years since I've been in Guatemala, and that so much has happened since I've gotten back. In some ways it feels like I never left Portland, yet the richness and the challenges of my trip are in me, informing the decisions I want to make now that I'm back. All of these feeling while gone, of wanting to create something here, are very present for me, as I look at pulling together all these pieces into what I want my life to be. After I got back from Thailand, I wanted to travel so much that it felt difficult to be present here, with my heart and mind always racing away to foreign lands, while my physical body was planted here. It feels *awesome* to get home, and to know that this is where I want to be. I've come to realize, on my trip, the true value of this community of people I have created around me, and am so blessed to come home to so many people who have been excited and eager to see me, and supportive of what I have done and where I am going. I've come to realize how much it means to me, at my core, to also be an anchor and an inspiration for others, and what I want to give of myself. I know how much I want adventure and excitment to be part of my life, yet how much I value the comfort and simplicity that are the foundation of my life. I love knowing that I don't have to run off to the corners of the globe to have any and all of these things.
And, I love knowing that my next adventure will soon begin to take shape in my head, and I can do it all over again....
It's been awesome writing this blog, actually one of my favorite parts of my trip. I haven't written in so long, and it's been great to dust off those muscles and to find that they're actually suprisingly supple. I've found that just thinking about recording my memories gave my days a whole different flavor, as my brain was always watching, and remembering, and engaging, rather than just being a passive observer. I hope people enjoyed reading them as much as I enjoyed writing....
Kira
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Saturday, March 15, 2008
The Real Guatemala
We have a running joke right now, inspired by an entry in the Lonely Planet that talks about finding the real Guatemala. They´re discussing what they call the long and boring discussions of earnest travelers as they search for the essence of this country, and the experience of really being here, with the people. We usually talk joke about how we´ve found the real Guatemala as we sit at yet another tropical themed restaurant, surrounded solely by other American and European travelers, looking at yet another menu offering up hamburgers, spaghetti and English breakfasts. Well, this is it, we´ve finally found it! Not that these places aren´t lovely but...
It´s an interesting paradox to be in a country that has had a violent history and has only recently made it onto traveler´s maps as a safe and appealing country to visit. Indeed, it seems the fact that people still consider it an ¨undiscovered country¨has made it wildly popular.
Before coming here, many of my friends and family expressed concern over traveling here, and I had my own ideas about what the country would be like. Reading the Lonely Planet, you basically get the idea that if you venture off the beaten path, you run a high risk of being robbed or mutilated, although in the next breath there is talk of the magic of the country and the friendliness of the people. With all of this in your head, everybody, and I do mean everybody, sticks to the beaten path. The interesting thing is that this path is filled with Italian restaurants, American movies, handicraft shops and hastily constructed guest houses. Get off the path and you´ll find merely a whisper of a dirt road. As we follow this tourist trail, there is lots of beauty, especially in the natural form, and in the smiles and faces of the people here. But there is also the sense that this country has chosen to, or has had to, sacrifice much of their own culture to satisfy the desires of the travelers and tourists that have made Guatemala their next destination. It seems difficult, sometimes, to get a sense of what a country is about, when in order to ¨develop¨and be prosperous, it´s forced to cater to what people from other countries, with money, want. In Mexico, or in Thailand, it seems that the country has been able to hold on to their traditions, and what goes along with their culture, such as the aesthetics, the cuisine, and a certain pride in what makes their country special. The relative safety there also makes you feel that you can wander around and see more of the country. I feel a certain pessimistic irony when I look around at these twenty year old kids who fill the ¨chill spaces¨created by people here, draped in their fresh-from-the-market head to toe Guatemalan outfits. It´s interesting to see white tourists dressed in clothes that are part of the traditional way of life here. I can`t help but feel that there is something just....wrong about it.
Yesterday we went to this town called Santiago to see this saint that gets moved around every couple of years to a hidden location (hidden enough to be listed in the Lonely Planet). I was, honestly, slightly hungover, and feeling a little bit more sensitive than usual, and was a bit overwhelmed by some of the sights that are just part of being here, like skinny, mangy dogs everywhere, half finished or falling down construction, two year olds asking for ¨un quetzal,¨ women selling their beautiful handicrafts for the price of a cup of coffee, old men spending their afternoon following us for the chance we might take their taxi for a few dollars...this is all not mentioning the great things about being here, but damn, if you ever doubt you´re lucky to have been born in the U.S., or Canada, etc., a couple of hours wandering around certain towns will remind you in a hurry.
It´s an interesting paradox to be in a country that has had a violent history and has only recently made it onto traveler´s maps as a safe and appealing country to visit. Indeed, it seems the fact that people still consider it an ¨undiscovered country¨has made it wildly popular.
Before coming here, many of my friends and family expressed concern over traveling here, and I had my own ideas about what the country would be like. Reading the Lonely Planet, you basically get the idea that if you venture off the beaten path, you run a high risk of being robbed or mutilated, although in the next breath there is talk of the magic of the country and the friendliness of the people. With all of this in your head, everybody, and I do mean everybody, sticks to the beaten path. The interesting thing is that this path is filled with Italian restaurants, American movies, handicraft shops and hastily constructed guest houses. Get off the path and you´ll find merely a whisper of a dirt road. As we follow this tourist trail, there is lots of beauty, especially in the natural form, and in the smiles and faces of the people here. But there is also the sense that this country has chosen to, or has had to, sacrifice much of their own culture to satisfy the desires of the travelers and tourists that have made Guatemala their next destination. It seems difficult, sometimes, to get a sense of what a country is about, when in order to ¨develop¨and be prosperous, it´s forced to cater to what people from other countries, with money, want. In Mexico, or in Thailand, it seems that the country has been able to hold on to their traditions, and what goes along with their culture, such as the aesthetics, the cuisine, and a certain pride in what makes their country special. The relative safety there also makes you feel that you can wander around and see more of the country. I feel a certain pessimistic irony when I look around at these twenty year old kids who fill the ¨chill spaces¨created by people here, draped in their fresh-from-the-market head to toe Guatemalan outfits. It´s interesting to see white tourists dressed in clothes that are part of the traditional way of life here. I can`t help but feel that there is something just....wrong about it.
Yesterday we went to this town called Santiago to see this saint that gets moved around every couple of years to a hidden location (hidden enough to be listed in the Lonely Planet). I was, honestly, slightly hungover, and feeling a little bit more sensitive than usual, and was a bit overwhelmed by some of the sights that are just part of being here, like skinny, mangy dogs everywhere, half finished or falling down construction, two year olds asking for ¨un quetzal,¨ women selling their beautiful handicrafts for the price of a cup of coffee, old men spending their afternoon following us for the chance we might take their taxi for a few dollars...this is all not mentioning the great things about being here, but damn, if you ever doubt you´re lucky to have been born in the U.S., or Canada, etc., a couple of hours wandering around certain towns will remind you in a hurry.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Following your heart in the Fire
A couple of mornings ago we were waiting for a bus to Lago Atitlan. Actually, I was the only one waiting so far, as, for some reason, I am the most punctual person ever right now, and am also up by six every single morning. What? Anyways, my friends were close behind me, but it was just me, early in the morning. This man came and sat down beside me, and, completely out of the blue, proceeded to tell me this story:
"There once was a trapeze artist who was the greatest trapeze artist around. He dazzled everyone who saw him. As he started to get older, he knew his days weren't long to keep performing. He began to train his son to take his place, and they spent every day practicing. The boy soon surpassed his father in skill, and one day, they knew the time had come for the boy to take the place of his father. On his first night, the crowd was full of people who had all come to see the son of the great trapeze artist. As he stood on the platform, the trapeze swung to the boy, and he watched it go by, and did not jump for it. The crowd gasped, but the boy could not do it. Later that night, the ringmaster told the boy that if he could not perform, he would have to fire him, as much as he didn't want to. The boy went to his father, ashamed of his performance, and asked him what he should do. "I'm so afraid" he said. The father gently held the boy and said "I will give you some advice. It is simple, but if you follow it, you will not go wrong. All you must do in life is leap with your heart, and your body will follow."
Then this man grabbed my hand, looked at my palm, and told me I will have two children. And then he got up and walked away without saying anything else. I hadn't even had any coffee yet, and didn't know what to make of it.
This last week has been really great for me, maybe the best of my trip. We got to Antigua last...oh, I don't know, Sunday maybe. It's a really beautiful old colonial town that used to be the capital of Guatemala, but was unfortunately built on not the most stable real estate, and has been rocked by multiple earthquakes over the years. While it has a certain polish to it, the earthquakes have lent it a slightly ruinous look too. There's these beautiful old stone churches that are starting to crumble but still have a certain grandeur, and when you go inside, big portions of the ceiling are missing, or walls have melted into the floor over time. The city is surrounded by three volcanoes that tower above it, but you can't see them all the time. So all of a sudden you turn a corner, and there are the most picturesque scenes. Bright stucco houses in a row, all different colors, framed by a cobblestone street, a huge volcano and the bluest sky you can imagine. I have a couple of amazing pictures from one day when the sky and the light were absolutely incredible, and we walked around while I took pictures of practically anything that had some color in it.
A couple of days ago we climbed the Volcan Pacaya, an active volcano about an hour outside of the city. The hike was really hard, almost but not quite straight up for about two hours, and it was odd because as we were climbing it, we kept wondering where this volcano actually was. The top of the mountain was....incredible. We could see the three different volcanoes that surrounded Antigua in the distance, all wreathed with clouds, and again with that insanely blue sky. The actual volcano we were climbing kind of...started? at the top of this mountain. All around us everything was green and lush with trees and flowers, and then there was the cone of this volcano which kind of looked like Mordor. It was black and rocky and there was for sure nothing alive on it. Except for the 100 or so people scrambling all over the rocks. We made our way down the steep path, and when you climb out onto the rocks, you can immediately tell that this is technically not a good idea. The rocks are dark, crumbly and hollow, and crunch underneath your feet, and even a large rock seems to just suddenly start to disintegrate underneath you. The further we went, the rocks got hotter and hotter. I mean really hot, and soon it was like we were walking on a barbecue. As we moved along, we began to see, through the rocks, maybe a few feet beneath us, lava flowing and glowing a burning red and orange. It started to smell like roasting marshmallows but was really just the smell of cheap shoes melting on the rocks. The hard (and a bit terrifying) part on the rocks was that you couldn't touch anything, so every time a rock would crumble, my instinct would be to reach out and steady myself, yet you really can't, as you'll burn yourself on the crazy barbecue coals. Finally you reach, basically, a flowing river of lava, with chunks of rock floating through it, and then being pulled down into it's depths. It being Guatemala, you are allowed to get as close as you want to it and could probably jump in if you so desired. After seeing it for a couple of moments, I had to get the hell off the rocks, as I still couldn't shake the feeling that this was, at the heart of things, a stupid place to be. I fully expect, sometime down the road, to hear about this volcano stirring and a significant amount of tourists dying. It kind of feels like tempting the volcano gods just a bit to be climbing around on this thing. However, it certainly was interesting to see, and at the top everyone sat around and compared the state of our shoes. People who were wearing old or inexpensive shoes had lost their entire soles, and other people's seams had melted, or they'd lost shoelaces...it was kind of crazy.
The day before yesterday we came to Lago Atitlan, a couple hours northwest of Antigua. It's a huge lake, ringed by (again) multiple volcanoes, with quite a few small towns nestled on it's banks. We stayed, the first night, at a town called Panajachel, a pretty touristy but charming place, and kind of the jumping off point for planning your stay at the lake. Yesterday we went to this huge market called Chichicastenango. After all this time of not shopping, I gave in yesterday to that part of me that *loves* beautiful things. And wow was there a lot of beautiful things. Everything here is so bright that is was almost overwhelming to be surrounded on all sides by the fabrics, the masks, the bedspreads, the carvings, the clothing, all in various shades of technicolor. We went to this gorgeous church right in the middle of the market, surrounded by rounded stone steps, and filled with women in traditional dress selling food, flowers, candles and incense to take inside the church for the various rituals that people were performing. The church was dark and lit only by candles, and there was delicious incense burning in canisters that I could feel in every part of my chest. There was one man who knelt on the stone floor with flower petals and candles around him, and in this particularly touching way, carried on a casual but earnest looking conversation with his God, nodding and gesturing and his voice rising and falling with emotion...and love.
So speaking of following your heart. Earlier this week, my encounter with the man on the bench was perfect. While the story he told me is simple, and probably nothing I haven't thought of before, it was just at the right time. Following my heart has been on my mind a lot this last week. I'd been trying to decide what to do next, where I wanted to go, on and on. And what I want to do; what I'm ready to do, is come home. I'd been thinking about it for a couple of days already. I've been with these really great people since Semuc Champuey, these two couples. Avi and Vicki, from Israel, and Mark and Inga, who live in London. Being surrounded by a group of people who I really connect with, laugh with, care about and have gotten to know has been exactly what I needed here. I have been having the best time with them, and one of the great things is that it has allowed me to assess what I really want from a clear headspace, and to look into my heart and ask myself what I'm craving right now, not just in the moment but in my life. Being with people I really like a lot has made me realize I'm ready to come home and be with people I love. Sooo, that's what I'm doing. First, I am going to stay in Antigua for Semana Santa, on the 21st, with these two great guys I met. It's the second largest celebration in the world, and I'm lucky I get to be there for it. And then...Portland.
Details to follow...
"There once was a trapeze artist who was the greatest trapeze artist around. He dazzled everyone who saw him. As he started to get older, he knew his days weren't long to keep performing. He began to train his son to take his place, and they spent every day practicing. The boy soon surpassed his father in skill, and one day, they knew the time had come for the boy to take the place of his father. On his first night, the crowd was full of people who had all come to see the son of the great trapeze artist. As he stood on the platform, the trapeze swung to the boy, and he watched it go by, and did not jump for it. The crowd gasped, but the boy could not do it. Later that night, the ringmaster told the boy that if he could not perform, he would have to fire him, as much as he didn't want to. The boy went to his father, ashamed of his performance, and asked him what he should do. "I'm so afraid" he said. The father gently held the boy and said "I will give you some advice. It is simple, but if you follow it, you will not go wrong. All you must do in life is leap with your heart, and your body will follow."
Then this man grabbed my hand, looked at my palm, and told me I will have two children. And then he got up and walked away without saying anything else. I hadn't even had any coffee yet, and didn't know what to make of it.
This last week has been really great for me, maybe the best of my trip. We got to Antigua last...oh, I don't know, Sunday maybe. It's a really beautiful old colonial town that used to be the capital of Guatemala, but was unfortunately built on not the most stable real estate, and has been rocked by multiple earthquakes over the years. While it has a certain polish to it, the earthquakes have lent it a slightly ruinous look too. There's these beautiful old stone churches that are starting to crumble but still have a certain grandeur, and when you go inside, big portions of the ceiling are missing, or walls have melted into the floor over time. The city is surrounded by three volcanoes that tower above it, but you can't see them all the time. So all of a sudden you turn a corner, and there are the most picturesque scenes. Bright stucco houses in a row, all different colors, framed by a cobblestone street, a huge volcano and the bluest sky you can imagine. I have a couple of amazing pictures from one day when the sky and the light were absolutely incredible, and we walked around while I took pictures of practically anything that had some color in it.
A couple of days ago we climbed the Volcan Pacaya, an active volcano about an hour outside of the city. The hike was really hard, almost but not quite straight up for about two hours, and it was odd because as we were climbing it, we kept wondering where this volcano actually was. The top of the mountain was....incredible. We could see the three different volcanoes that surrounded Antigua in the distance, all wreathed with clouds, and again with that insanely blue sky. The actual volcano we were climbing kind of...started? at the top of this mountain. All around us everything was green and lush with trees and flowers, and then there was the cone of this volcano which kind of looked like Mordor. It was black and rocky and there was for sure nothing alive on it. Except for the 100 or so people scrambling all over the rocks. We made our way down the steep path, and when you climb out onto the rocks, you can immediately tell that this is technically not a good idea. The rocks are dark, crumbly and hollow, and crunch underneath your feet, and even a large rock seems to just suddenly start to disintegrate underneath you. The further we went, the rocks got hotter and hotter. I mean really hot, and soon it was like we were walking on a barbecue. As we moved along, we began to see, through the rocks, maybe a few feet beneath us, lava flowing and glowing a burning red and orange. It started to smell like roasting marshmallows but was really just the smell of cheap shoes melting on the rocks. The hard (and a bit terrifying) part on the rocks was that you couldn't touch anything, so every time a rock would crumble, my instinct would be to reach out and steady myself, yet you really can't, as you'll burn yourself on the crazy barbecue coals. Finally you reach, basically, a flowing river of lava, with chunks of rock floating through it, and then being pulled down into it's depths. It being Guatemala, you are allowed to get as close as you want to it and could probably jump in if you so desired. After seeing it for a couple of moments, I had to get the hell off the rocks, as I still couldn't shake the feeling that this was, at the heart of things, a stupid place to be. I fully expect, sometime down the road, to hear about this volcano stirring and a significant amount of tourists dying. It kind of feels like tempting the volcano gods just a bit to be climbing around on this thing. However, it certainly was interesting to see, and at the top everyone sat around and compared the state of our shoes. People who were wearing old or inexpensive shoes had lost their entire soles, and other people's seams had melted, or they'd lost shoelaces...it was kind of crazy.
The day before yesterday we came to Lago Atitlan, a couple hours northwest of Antigua. It's a huge lake, ringed by (again) multiple volcanoes, with quite a few small towns nestled on it's banks. We stayed, the first night, at a town called Panajachel, a pretty touristy but charming place, and kind of the jumping off point for planning your stay at the lake. Yesterday we went to this huge market called Chichicastenango. After all this time of not shopping, I gave in yesterday to that part of me that *loves* beautiful things. And wow was there a lot of beautiful things. Everything here is so bright that is was almost overwhelming to be surrounded on all sides by the fabrics, the masks, the bedspreads, the carvings, the clothing, all in various shades of technicolor. We went to this gorgeous church right in the middle of the market, surrounded by rounded stone steps, and filled with women in traditional dress selling food, flowers, candles and incense to take inside the church for the various rituals that people were performing. The church was dark and lit only by candles, and there was delicious incense burning in canisters that I could feel in every part of my chest. There was one man who knelt on the stone floor with flower petals and candles around him, and in this particularly touching way, carried on a casual but earnest looking conversation with his God, nodding and gesturing and his voice rising and falling with emotion...and love.
So speaking of following your heart. Earlier this week, my encounter with the man on the bench was perfect. While the story he told me is simple, and probably nothing I haven't thought of before, it was just at the right time. Following my heart has been on my mind a lot this last week. I'd been trying to decide what to do next, where I wanted to go, on and on. And what I want to do; what I'm ready to do, is come home. I'd been thinking about it for a couple of days already. I've been with these really great people since Semuc Champuey, these two couples. Avi and Vicki, from Israel, and Mark and Inga, who live in London. Being surrounded by a group of people who I really connect with, laugh with, care about and have gotten to know has been exactly what I needed here. I have been having the best time with them, and one of the great things is that it has allowed me to assess what I really want from a clear headspace, and to look into my heart and ask myself what I'm craving right now, not just in the moment but in my life. Being with people I really like a lot has made me realize I'm ready to come home and be with people I love. Sooo, that's what I'm doing. First, I am going to stay in Antigua for Semana Santa, on the 21st, with these two great guys I met. It's the second largest celebration in the world, and I'm lucky I get to be there for it. And then...Portland.
Details to follow...
Monday, March 10, 2008
Triathlon of...Something
Another week since I've written-another month's worth of activities, thoughts and emotions all compressed into one short period. We arrived last night in Antigua, after (another) really long bus ride from central Guatemala. The last three days have been spent at an area called Lanquin, which is definitely the most beautiful place I have been so far.
After leaving Belize, I traveled with a couple of people to Flores, which is the base for visiting Tikal, considered to be some of the best Mayan ruins you can see. Flores itself is set on quite a beautiful lake, and the town is pretty, with whitewashed buildings, red roofs, lots of lush greenery and the blue of the water, which also lends a nice breeze to the town. I went to Tikal for a day, and it was definitely my favorite of the ruins I have visited, which is not saying that much because I have concluded, sadly, that, as I mentioned before, ruins don't do much for me. These ones are set pretty deep in the rainforest, which was my favorite part. I saw a couple of adorable monkeys swinging around the trees, and some really cool birds, who build these crazy nests that hang from branches like straw handbags, looking like they are literally held up by a thread, and that one too many chicks would send them crashing down the 100 feet to the ground below. It is really peaceful here, with all of the sounds of the jungle, and you stroll for about 30 minutes or so between each temple or building, along shady, secluded paths that I enjoy while also bringing Rachael's warnings to my ears.
After getting my fill of Tikal and Flores, I left on an early shuttle to Lanquin, a teensy town in the middle of nowhere in the central highlands of Guatemala. On the looong van ride there, I met this really awesome group of people that I am still with. Our ride was really fun, sharing stories from travels and laughing, and it has been great to make some good friends. It's interesting meeting people on this trip: in Asia, everyone was basically heading the same general direction, for better of for worse, and chances were quite high when you met someone you liked that they would be going to the same place you were. Here, the area is so large, and there are so many places to go, routes to take, etc. that it feels almost like some kind of planetary alignment has to happen for factors to be right to continue on with someone. Lots of great people to talk to, but more on a night by night basis. Hence, my constant dating. In fact, (side thought), were I to come back home and start dating people, I would really be practiced at it by now. The scenery on the way was absolutely gorgeous, with the last two hours being twisty turny roads that made both your stomach and your jaw drop. With every bend, we'd be looking out at the greenest...hills? mountains?...one after another, so steep and tall, running into each other far into the horizon, and then topped with white misty clouds, and dotted with small houses, churches, and villages nestled way down deep in the dramatic valleys. We finally arrived at our "town," which was really just a collection of houses and farms perched on a hill. Everything is perched on a hill here, as there's barely a flat piece of land anywhere. The locals have some seriously strong calves. The place we stayed at, El Retiro, is full of people who come here for a couple of days and don't leave, and it is easy to see why. The guesthouse is a series of small, charming, thatched roof palapas, and one big main "lodge" that overlooks a beautiful river, with a steep hill on the other side laden with palms and grasses. The lodge has lots of hammocks, a loft upstairs with pillows and lamps, and long tables where everyone eats family style. Dinner is served by candlight at seven, and everyone sits down to great music and delicious, healthy, mostly vegetarian yumminess. It's quite the treat. One day we went on this tour, which was a serious triathlon of fun. The first part leg was caving, and we were each handed a candle, and headed into my second river cave. The guide went ahead of us, and at each turn, he'd light a small candle on the wall, so that the whole cave glowed, rather than being harshly illuminated by headlamps and such. I kept wishing I could take a picture of this line of 15 people with candles in their hands, wading through the water while a couple of bats swooped from the ceiling. The actual caving was, like my other tour, pretty rigourous. We had to swim for quite a while, all in a row, and then climb some seriously sketchy ladders propped in slippery waterfalls, and over and through lots of rock formations. At the end, in the final dangerous act, we took a "shortcut" out of the caves, through this hole in the floor of a cavern, again with a small waterfall rushing through it, where you sat on the edge, looked down into complete blackness, and then just kind of...jumped, falling through the air about ten feet into a pool of deep water, and then swimmng to the edge...I have to admit I was slightly terrified, but it was actually really fun. You can almost tell how developed a country is but exactly how dangerous the activities are that they'll let you participate in. I mean, can you imagine doing that in the U.S.?.....the second leg involved sitting in the sun, relaxing and floating down the river on an innertube. Seriously one of my favorite ways to spend a sunny day. And finally, we went to Semuc Champuey, a series of limestone pools, again that gorgeous aquamarine color, so clear and warm, with small waterfalls cascading into each other. We finally took a collectivo back to our little retreat, super tired and happy from such a fun day...
We spent a couple of days at Lanquin, and just got to Antigua. It's really pretty here, another beautiful colonial town, and originally where I was going to take some more Spanish and salsa dancing classes. But...now I don't know what I'm doing. I had some pretty big realizations during abovementioned emotional breakdown in Tikal, namely around what I think about traveling alone, and, just as much, the nature, for me, of independence itself.
It has been an interesting, eye opening, and incredible experience to travel by myself for these last six weeks. It's something I've always wanted to do, and I'm really happy to have experienced it. Not just happy, but blessed to see what spending this time relying on myself is like. At the same time, my gosh has it been an emotional rollercoaster. Always, at home and here, I push myself so hard to be so strong, and I take so much pride in being able to always take care of myself. I've thought, for so long, that taking care of yourself means being able to do it all alone, and not needing others to make your life work. Almost like friendships and relationships are the icing on the cake, but the real substance needs to be just mine. I see that I've done this so much throughout my life. When I have a problem I need to figure out, I think I need to, by myself, turn it over and over in my mind until I find a solution, which I can then share with those in my life, but not until I know what's going on. I think sometimes I don't give the people I love in my life the opportunity to share their wisdom with me, thinking I need to do it myself. Honestly, in Tikal, I realized the foolishness of this thinking, and that that is not where I am in my life anymore, nor where I want to be. I was thinking that this trip by myself would be the ultimate test of my strength of character as an independent person. What I got instead is that my experiences, my life, my good times and bad are better and more fulfilling to me when shared with the people in my life. I really understood how much I want to create memories with the people that make my life what it is, rather than running around seeing more pretty things (no matter how pretty they might be). It was a great realization to have out of a really hard day, and it gave me a lot of perspective on what I have learned on this trip, and what I will take away from it.
After leaving Belize, I traveled with a couple of people to Flores, which is the base for visiting Tikal, considered to be some of the best Mayan ruins you can see. Flores itself is set on quite a beautiful lake, and the town is pretty, with whitewashed buildings, red roofs, lots of lush greenery and the blue of the water, which also lends a nice breeze to the town. I went to Tikal for a day, and it was definitely my favorite of the ruins I have visited, which is not saying that much because I have concluded, sadly, that, as I mentioned before, ruins don't do much for me. These ones are set pretty deep in the rainforest, which was my favorite part. I saw a couple of adorable monkeys swinging around the trees, and some really cool birds, who build these crazy nests that hang from branches like straw handbags, looking like they are literally held up by a thread, and that one too many chicks would send them crashing down the 100 feet to the ground below. It is really peaceful here, with all of the sounds of the jungle, and you stroll for about 30 minutes or so between each temple or building, along shady, secluded paths that I enjoy while also bringing Rachael's warnings to my ears.
After getting my fill of Tikal and Flores, I left on an early shuttle to Lanquin, a teensy town in the middle of nowhere in the central highlands of Guatemala. On the looong van ride there, I met this really awesome group of people that I am still with. Our ride was really fun, sharing stories from travels and laughing, and it has been great to make some good friends. It's interesting meeting people on this trip: in Asia, everyone was basically heading the same general direction, for better of for worse, and chances were quite high when you met someone you liked that they would be going to the same place you were. Here, the area is so large, and there are so many places to go, routes to take, etc. that it feels almost like some kind of planetary alignment has to happen for factors to be right to continue on with someone. Lots of great people to talk to, but more on a night by night basis. Hence, my constant dating. In fact, (side thought), were I to come back home and start dating people, I would really be practiced at it by now. The scenery on the way was absolutely gorgeous, with the last two hours being twisty turny roads that made both your stomach and your jaw drop. With every bend, we'd be looking out at the greenest...hills? mountains?...one after another, so steep and tall, running into each other far into the horizon, and then topped with white misty clouds, and dotted with small houses, churches, and villages nestled way down deep in the dramatic valleys. We finally arrived at our "town," which was really just a collection of houses and farms perched on a hill. Everything is perched on a hill here, as there's barely a flat piece of land anywhere. The locals have some seriously strong calves. The place we stayed at, El Retiro, is full of people who come here for a couple of days and don't leave, and it is easy to see why. The guesthouse is a series of small, charming, thatched roof palapas, and one big main "lodge" that overlooks a beautiful river, with a steep hill on the other side laden with palms and grasses. The lodge has lots of hammocks, a loft upstairs with pillows and lamps, and long tables where everyone eats family style. Dinner is served by candlight at seven, and everyone sits down to great music and delicious, healthy, mostly vegetarian yumminess. It's quite the treat. One day we went on this tour, which was a serious triathlon of fun. The first part leg was caving, and we were each handed a candle, and headed into my second river cave. The guide went ahead of us, and at each turn, he'd light a small candle on the wall, so that the whole cave glowed, rather than being harshly illuminated by headlamps and such. I kept wishing I could take a picture of this line of 15 people with candles in their hands, wading through the water while a couple of bats swooped from the ceiling. The actual caving was, like my other tour, pretty rigourous. We had to swim for quite a while, all in a row, and then climb some seriously sketchy ladders propped in slippery waterfalls, and over and through lots of rock formations. At the end, in the final dangerous act, we took a "shortcut" out of the caves, through this hole in the floor of a cavern, again with a small waterfall rushing through it, where you sat on the edge, looked down into complete blackness, and then just kind of...jumped, falling through the air about ten feet into a pool of deep water, and then swimmng to the edge...I have to admit I was slightly terrified, but it was actually really fun. You can almost tell how developed a country is but exactly how dangerous the activities are that they'll let you participate in. I mean, can you imagine doing that in the U.S.?.....the second leg involved sitting in the sun, relaxing and floating down the river on an innertube. Seriously one of my favorite ways to spend a sunny day. And finally, we went to Semuc Champuey, a series of limestone pools, again that gorgeous aquamarine color, so clear and warm, with small waterfalls cascading into each other. We finally took a collectivo back to our little retreat, super tired and happy from such a fun day...
We spent a couple of days at Lanquin, and just got to Antigua. It's really pretty here, another beautiful colonial town, and originally where I was going to take some more Spanish and salsa dancing classes. But...now I don't know what I'm doing. I had some pretty big realizations during abovementioned emotional breakdown in Tikal, namely around what I think about traveling alone, and, just as much, the nature, for me, of independence itself.
It has been an interesting, eye opening, and incredible experience to travel by myself for these last six weeks. It's something I've always wanted to do, and I'm really happy to have experienced it. Not just happy, but blessed to see what spending this time relying on myself is like. At the same time, my gosh has it been an emotional rollercoaster. Always, at home and here, I push myself so hard to be so strong, and I take so much pride in being able to always take care of myself. I've thought, for so long, that taking care of yourself means being able to do it all alone, and not needing others to make your life work. Almost like friendships and relationships are the icing on the cake, but the real substance needs to be just mine. I see that I've done this so much throughout my life. When I have a problem I need to figure out, I think I need to, by myself, turn it over and over in my mind until I find a solution, which I can then share with those in my life, but not until I know what's going on. I think sometimes I don't give the people I love in my life the opportunity to share their wisdom with me, thinking I need to do it myself. Honestly, in Tikal, I realized the foolishness of this thinking, and that that is not where I am in my life anymore, nor where I want to be. I was thinking that this trip by myself would be the ultimate test of my strength of character as an independent person. What I got instead is that my experiences, my life, my good times and bad are better and more fulfilling to me when shared with the people in my life. I really understood how much I want to create memories with the people that make my life what it is, rather than running around seeing more pretty things (no matter how pretty they might be). It was a great realization to have out of a really hard day, and it gave me a lot of perspective on what I have learned on this trip, and what I will take away from it.
Monday, March 3, 2008
More Sacrifices
I am bone tired right now, perched on a stool in my guest house, about to go to bed. Today I went on this pretty amazing tour of this cave in western Belize, in Cayo, called Actun Tunichil Muknal. The same family that I talked to on my way here told me about it, and I was intrigued from the start. It's outside of this town called San Ignacio, a quite uncharming town that makes me think I live in the most beautiful city in the whole world. I got here the day before yesterday, after a water taxi from Caye Caulker, and then a crazy bus ride from Belize City here. All of the public buses here, like Guatemala, are old American schoolbuses. It's kind of fun to see where they're from, and it brings back a serious rush of grade school memories (DON'T stand in front of the yellow line). On the way here, our bus, packed to the gills, broke down. Various people got off, milling around, pretending like they might fix it, and then they gave up, and we all piled off and stood by the side of the road, waiting for the next bus to come. When it did, everyone from my bus piled on to yet another bus filled to bursting, and we all set off. I was basically sitting on the dashboard in the front windshield with one leg braced against the railing. Every time someone would get off, I'd practically have to swing my leg over their head to let them by. Good thing it was the one day I wasn't wearing a dress. I must admit it was pretty fun, while slightly sketchy.
I'd heard this town was quite charming, which is a gross overexageration, but the scenery surrounding it is quite beautiful, with lush expanses of tall grass, palm trees, and green, green, green. This morning we all piled into a van, and drove for about an hour to reach the start to the trail. The walk in is another hour or so, through green, green, green jungle, and on the way you cross three rivers that you wade through, at about knee height. Our guide strode across them in about two seconds while the rest of us slipped and slid over the rocks, in a not so graceful way. We reached our little stopping point outside of the cave, where we all got our little helmets and lights, and then headed in. I had thought I had a reasonably good idea of what the cave would be like, but, really, I didn't, nor did anyone else who I was with. The entrance to the cave is gorgeous, as it's basically a blue, clear tropical river gushing out the side of a rock face, with jungle vines hanging down in front of it in a very romantic manner. You climb down the rocks and then swim in to the cave. From the second you get in, you can hear a distant waterfall, and some bats from further in the cave. Next we proceeded to spend the next hour or so making our way far into the cave, which is just over 3 miles long. The whole distance we traveled, you alternate between water that is around waist high to areas where you have to swim across, and then climb up rocks before you duck down and squeeze yourself between small spaces, that would then open up to huge chambers...it was very dramatic. And really frickin' cool. You can't help but feel slightly Indiana Jones, or something along those lines, pulling yourself up and around.
Our group was a very interesting mix of people. There were four younger people (all married) who are Jehovah's witnesses, and are here in Belize on a mission for a year. There was a very outdoorsy couple from Boston on their National Geographic honeymoon, there was me and then...there was Bill. Ah, Bill. You can't help, when on a trip as an American, but to come face to face with the American question. Especially when you're in Belize, where every other person is an American tourist. It brings up some interesting stuff. I actually have to say that some perspective makes me think about a lot of things about our country that really are amazing, and how lucky I am to live there in many, many ways. In my optimistic way, I really do think that most people wish general goodwill towards others, and do their own version of their best to be good people. Naive? Whatever. So when people talk about Americans in, um, not the most favorable light, my immediate instinct is to jump to our defense, and enumerate many ways in which this is a ridiculous oversimplification, not true, etc. But, being here, I have to admit I look around and, damn, I see where people get these ideas from. I find myself talking about American tourists in the third person, as though I'm not one. And I realize that I'm truly, in my mind, disassociating myself from this whole group of people. Ah, like Bill. Bill is from St. Louis, but spends his winters here in Belize. He is retired, and maybe in his late 50´s or so. This tour seriously kicked his ass today, which I get (it was hard!). I went back and forth, all day, between being kind of proud of him and a little bit concerned, while he clambered awkwardly over rocks, dog paddled through pools and basically came close to killing himself multiple times. He also somehow managed to lose both his watch and all his money. Just as I would put out a hand to steady him, he'd say something about all of us women having a wet t-shirt contest in the cave, or pretend to stomp on some pottery, and I would shudder with the utter jackass behavior. Gosh, it's easy (and slightly tragic) to see where people get these ideas about us...
Anyways, finally we reached a place where we crawled from the river, climbed a ledge, and the cavern opened up into a series of huge rooms, where the Mayan people used to come and, what else?, sacrifice people and animals. I found, on the way there, that I was very much able to imagine people from 1000 years or so ago, carrying their torches as they swam through these slightly spooky caves, and crawling up these same ledges....One of the really interesting things about this specific tour is that it was only "discovered" (of course locals have always known about it) about twenty years ago, and nothing has actually been moved. So while you're walking, our guide kept saying "Watch out for the pottery beneath your feet" and you'd look down to see, oh, a bloodletting bowl two inches from your right foot. Crazy. Apparently, this cave was actively in use during a time when things weren't going so well ecologically. Droughts were dragging on to the tiresome tune of fifty years or so, and people were getting desperate. Apparently the king donating blood from his penis or tongue wasn't working, so they had to step things up. There are the bones of different animals, including jaguars, and, then, the skulls and remains of humans as well. The highlight (if you can really call it that) is a perfectly preserved human skeleton that they call the Crystal Maiden. From what they can tell, she was about 13 or so, and they think she must have been royalty. Also from what they can tell, it seems that as she was sacrificed, they chopped her hands off, and then, possibly by an axe chop, her spine was broken to kill her. No matter how it happened, the most striking thing to me is that she clearly died screaming. Her mouth is wide open, and I certainly don't blame her. So brutal! I think it's so interesting that after so long, everything else seems like speculation about what happened, except for her look when she died...somehow that endures throughout all of these years.
After a long hike back out the cave and through the jungle and a good meal of some awesome ginger rum shrimp, I am SO ready for bed and a bus to Guatemala tomorrow. I *seriously* have to switch my mind back over to (attempting) to speak some Spanish, after my ten day English vacation.
Buenes Noches and Besos,
I'd heard this town was quite charming, which is a gross overexageration, but the scenery surrounding it is quite beautiful, with lush expanses of tall grass, palm trees, and green, green, green. This morning we all piled into a van, and drove for about an hour to reach the start to the trail. The walk in is another hour or so, through green, green, green jungle, and on the way you cross three rivers that you wade through, at about knee height. Our guide strode across them in about two seconds while the rest of us slipped and slid over the rocks, in a not so graceful way. We reached our little stopping point outside of the cave, where we all got our little helmets and lights, and then headed in. I had thought I had a reasonably good idea of what the cave would be like, but, really, I didn't, nor did anyone else who I was with. The entrance to the cave is gorgeous, as it's basically a blue, clear tropical river gushing out the side of a rock face, with jungle vines hanging down in front of it in a very romantic manner. You climb down the rocks and then swim in to the cave. From the second you get in, you can hear a distant waterfall, and some bats from further in the cave. Next we proceeded to spend the next hour or so making our way far into the cave, which is just over 3 miles long. The whole distance we traveled, you alternate between water that is around waist high to areas where you have to swim across, and then climb up rocks before you duck down and squeeze yourself between small spaces, that would then open up to huge chambers...it was very dramatic. And really frickin' cool. You can't help but feel slightly Indiana Jones, or something along those lines, pulling yourself up and around.
Our group was a very interesting mix of people. There were four younger people (all married) who are Jehovah's witnesses, and are here in Belize on a mission for a year. There was a very outdoorsy couple from Boston on their National Geographic honeymoon, there was me and then...there was Bill. Ah, Bill. You can't help, when on a trip as an American, but to come face to face with the American question. Especially when you're in Belize, where every other person is an American tourist. It brings up some interesting stuff. I actually have to say that some perspective makes me think about a lot of things about our country that really are amazing, and how lucky I am to live there in many, many ways. In my optimistic way, I really do think that most people wish general goodwill towards others, and do their own version of their best to be good people. Naive? Whatever. So when people talk about Americans in, um, not the most favorable light, my immediate instinct is to jump to our defense, and enumerate many ways in which this is a ridiculous oversimplification, not true, etc. But, being here, I have to admit I look around and, damn, I see where people get these ideas from. I find myself talking about American tourists in the third person, as though I'm not one. And I realize that I'm truly, in my mind, disassociating myself from this whole group of people. Ah, like Bill. Bill is from St. Louis, but spends his winters here in Belize. He is retired, and maybe in his late 50´s or so. This tour seriously kicked his ass today, which I get (it was hard!). I went back and forth, all day, between being kind of proud of him and a little bit concerned, while he clambered awkwardly over rocks, dog paddled through pools and basically came close to killing himself multiple times. He also somehow managed to lose both his watch and all his money. Just as I would put out a hand to steady him, he'd say something about all of us women having a wet t-shirt contest in the cave, or pretend to stomp on some pottery, and I would shudder with the utter jackass behavior. Gosh, it's easy (and slightly tragic) to see where people get these ideas about us...
Anyways, finally we reached a place where we crawled from the river, climbed a ledge, and the cavern opened up into a series of huge rooms, where the Mayan people used to come and, what else?, sacrifice people and animals. I found, on the way there, that I was very much able to imagine people from 1000 years or so ago, carrying their torches as they swam through these slightly spooky caves, and crawling up these same ledges....One of the really interesting things about this specific tour is that it was only "discovered" (of course locals have always known about it) about twenty years ago, and nothing has actually been moved. So while you're walking, our guide kept saying "Watch out for the pottery beneath your feet" and you'd look down to see, oh, a bloodletting bowl two inches from your right foot. Crazy. Apparently, this cave was actively in use during a time when things weren't going so well ecologically. Droughts were dragging on to the tiresome tune of fifty years or so, and people were getting desperate. Apparently the king donating blood from his penis or tongue wasn't working, so they had to step things up. There are the bones of different animals, including jaguars, and, then, the skulls and remains of humans as well. The highlight (if you can really call it that) is a perfectly preserved human skeleton that they call the Crystal Maiden. From what they can tell, she was about 13 or so, and they think she must have been royalty. Also from what they can tell, it seems that as she was sacrificed, they chopped her hands off, and then, possibly by an axe chop, her spine was broken to kill her. No matter how it happened, the most striking thing to me is that she clearly died screaming. Her mouth is wide open, and I certainly don't blame her. So brutal! I think it's so interesting that after so long, everything else seems like speculation about what happened, except for her look when she died...somehow that endures throughout all of these years.
After a long hike back out the cave and through the jungle and a good meal of some awesome ginger rum shrimp, I am SO ready for bed and a bus to Guatemala tomorrow. I *seriously* have to switch my mind back over to (attempting) to speak some Spanish, after my ten day English vacation.
Buenes Noches and Besos,
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Calm Underwater and Storms Above
I wrote this yesterday, after my second day of my diving class. I spent the night almost sleepless yesterday, as every time I would close my eyes, the whole experience would return to me. It's hard for me to post entries about experiences that are less than awesome for me, yet somehow I want this blog to be about sharing not only my great times but lessons that may be hard but valuable. I have some idea of who is reading these, but not completely, and you never know when or how a story of your own will affect someone else, so here it is:
As I'm sitting here writing I can still feel my body rocking up and down. I just took some aspirin but think what I've got requires something a little stronger than that. Today was day three of my diving class that I have been taking, although the first day doesn't really count, as it's all videos. Yesterday was the first day of being underwater, breathing. We took a boat about fifteen minutes away from the island, and then jumped in the shallow water (about 6-7 feet) to do our skills sessions. The first part was just treading water for ten minutes, and while we did that a huge stingray passed beneath our feet, and a large barracuda watched us from under the boat. I was so scared I was going to kick the stingray and he was going to turn and, oh you know, pierce my heart or something. Even though I know they're generally gentle, being so far out from land awakens this sleeping fear inside of me. After treading water, we went down underwater for the first time. Our skills sessions were not scary, but slightly strenuous, as they involved one task after another, some of which were commonplace things that could happen underwater, some for emergency situations. When we came up, I was not super into this whole scuba thing so far. While I did just fine, I was having trouble seeing the real lure of the whole activity. Then we went for a dive to just breathe and get used to being underwater, and to have some frickin' fun.
Wow. We started out around ten feet, and then by the time we came up, we were thirty feet down. Which isn't much at all for diving, but certainly further under the water than I ever thought I might be. It was incredible. Once we got moving, I couldn't believe how freeing and incredibly relaxing it was. My fear of being down there, and of sharks and such, disappeared once I got to be part of the environment, rather than splashing around above. It was so peaceful, with brightly colored fish drifting past, and coming up so close to check us out. The coral was gorgeous, with these big fan shaped pieces blowing back and forth like in a breeze, and interesting formations everywhere. Every time I would turn my head, I would see some new piece of life that I had never seen before. But even better than the marine life was the feeling it gave me to be floating along weightless. It felt so graceful and effortless to kick my fins and move through the water silently. All there was to hear was the sound of my bubbles from my mask as I exhaled. Even the fact that your buoyancy is controlled by your breath lent itself to just staying slow and calm, and enjoying the world as it went by. I would exhale and slowly drift towards the bottom, where my belly might almost touch before I used just my fingertips to push myself away again. I'd inhale deeply and feel myself float lightly up. It was really magical, and it seemed amazing that after just hours in the water I felt so comfortable being down there. I left my class yesterday feeling on top of the world, and so proud of myself for doing MUCH better than I thought I was going to.
And then fast forward to today. Last night, there was the craziest wind storm here. I haven't been in wind like it since my first year of college, when we stood at the top of the steps, leaned in and were held up by the force of the gusts blowing our jackets and hair back. Last night was like that here, and was so awesome. It was fun, and crazy, to be blown all over the place by this warm tropical wind. I had dinner with the girls in my diving class, and we discussed whether class would be canceled today, since the weather didn't seem like it had any intention of letting up. But the wind died down a bit, and when we got to class today, everything was still happening. On the way out to our dive site, our boat was bouncing everywhere over these huge 5 or 6 foot waves, and I started to feel really nervous about going in the water. I kept trying to talk myself out of these feelings, but it wasn't really working out that well. We talked about our plan for getting in the water, and I felt pretty confident that I understood how this was all supposed to go down. We entered backwards into the water, and swam towards the front of the boat, and the anchor line that had been dropped. We were supposed to go down to the bottom, which was about twenty feet when we got there. The day before had been beautiful and still, and when we deflated our vests, we all just kind of sank straight down. Having had that be my only experience, I didn't quite take into account what this crazy day on the sea was going to be like. As I let go of the rope and deflated my vest, rather than sinking, I immediately started heading right underneath the boat, and was barely a foot under the water, plenty high enough to watch the bow of the boat slamming up and down on the waves straight above me as I tried to kick out of the way in the strong current. I started to sink just a bit, but only enough to now panic that I was starting to go down, as my mask and nose filled with water and I forgot to breathe through the regulator in my mouth. My teacher appeared beside me, and kept pointing above at the boat, and telling my to go down, but by now I really couldn't. We went to the anchor line, and I could not stop the feelings of panic that were overtaking me, as waves kept breaking above my head, making it feel impossible to get my bearings and just calm down. As we talked she kept convincing me to just come down and it would be fine. After some time, I decided I just had to do it if I was going to make this happen, and deflated my vest and went down the rope with her. It felt so crazy. There was such a current that I had to use most of my strength to pull myself down the rope, with my regulator that you breathe into being knocked around and almost out of my mouth. We got to the bottom, and I could barely see in front of me because of all the sand flying around from the bottom. I did a couple of the skills exercises, but I just could not relax, no matter how hard I tried. I was breathing so hard, and couldn't pull myself together. It was the only panic attack (or close to it) that I've ever had. Finally, I had to signal to go up, and get back in the boat. I had to take a couple of minutes to pull myself together, and deal with my relief at being back on the boat and able to breathe, and my crushing disappointment in myself for not being able to pull it together. It really, really sucked. It was also freezing, as the wind creating all these waves was also creating a breeze that felt arctic after being in the water. As the horribleness continued, I soon started to feel sick from the insane rocking of the boat. Everyone came back up from their dive, and our instructor asked me if I wanted to come down for the next dive, and work on some more skills. By this time, that idea was pretty much incomprehensible, and I chose to sit it out. I laid down, trying to get rid of my nauseous feelings, and soon realized that was just not going to happen. Finally, encouraged by the boat captain, I threw up over the side, which I really couldn't believe. I've never gotten sick from a boat before...I did feel much better, but the progression of the day really was not a good one. I laid down on the boat seat, glad to be rid of my sickness, when the sky opened up and it began to pour rain. Can you believe this? Wearing just my swimsuit, the day had officially reached hellish proportions. By the time they came up from their last dive, I was almost blue with the cold and shivering uncontrollably. We drove the fifteen minutes back to the dock with all of us huddled on the floor freezing. Now, I am waiting to go back and take my test in about a half hour, trying to decide what the hell to do. Even as I write this, I feel kind of sick, but mostly, that panic that clutched me keeps coming back, even in this warm room, nice and dry. That fights in my head with the lovely calm and peacefulness of yesterday, and the feeling of accomplishment that came with it.
Even writing this, it's hard to explain exactly how scared I was. Maybe it's impossible to really let others get a sense of your deepest emotions (unless, maybe, you're a writer who far surpasses my talents). I do know that I haven't been that physically afraid for myself (possibly unreasonably) in a very, very long time, and there's something about the experience that has shaken me.
Dear God.
As I'm sitting here writing I can still feel my body rocking up and down. I just took some aspirin but think what I've got requires something a little stronger than that. Today was day three of my diving class that I have been taking, although the first day doesn't really count, as it's all videos. Yesterday was the first day of being underwater, breathing. We took a boat about fifteen minutes away from the island, and then jumped in the shallow water (about 6-7 feet) to do our skills sessions. The first part was just treading water for ten minutes, and while we did that a huge stingray passed beneath our feet, and a large barracuda watched us from under the boat. I was so scared I was going to kick the stingray and he was going to turn and, oh you know, pierce my heart or something. Even though I know they're generally gentle, being so far out from land awakens this sleeping fear inside of me. After treading water, we went down underwater for the first time. Our skills sessions were not scary, but slightly strenuous, as they involved one task after another, some of which were commonplace things that could happen underwater, some for emergency situations. When we came up, I was not super into this whole scuba thing so far. While I did just fine, I was having trouble seeing the real lure of the whole activity. Then we went for a dive to just breathe and get used to being underwater, and to have some frickin' fun.
Wow. We started out around ten feet, and then by the time we came up, we were thirty feet down. Which isn't much at all for diving, but certainly further under the water than I ever thought I might be. It was incredible. Once we got moving, I couldn't believe how freeing and incredibly relaxing it was. My fear of being down there, and of sharks and such, disappeared once I got to be part of the environment, rather than splashing around above. It was so peaceful, with brightly colored fish drifting past, and coming up so close to check us out. The coral was gorgeous, with these big fan shaped pieces blowing back and forth like in a breeze, and interesting formations everywhere. Every time I would turn my head, I would see some new piece of life that I had never seen before. But even better than the marine life was the feeling it gave me to be floating along weightless. It felt so graceful and effortless to kick my fins and move through the water silently. All there was to hear was the sound of my bubbles from my mask as I exhaled. Even the fact that your buoyancy is controlled by your breath lent itself to just staying slow and calm, and enjoying the world as it went by. I would exhale and slowly drift towards the bottom, where my belly might almost touch before I used just my fingertips to push myself away again. I'd inhale deeply and feel myself float lightly up. It was really magical, and it seemed amazing that after just hours in the water I felt so comfortable being down there. I left my class yesterday feeling on top of the world, and so proud of myself for doing MUCH better than I thought I was going to.
And then fast forward to today. Last night, there was the craziest wind storm here. I haven't been in wind like it since my first year of college, when we stood at the top of the steps, leaned in and were held up by the force of the gusts blowing our jackets and hair back. Last night was like that here, and was so awesome. It was fun, and crazy, to be blown all over the place by this warm tropical wind. I had dinner with the girls in my diving class, and we discussed whether class would be canceled today, since the weather didn't seem like it had any intention of letting up. But the wind died down a bit, and when we got to class today, everything was still happening. On the way out to our dive site, our boat was bouncing everywhere over these huge 5 or 6 foot waves, and I started to feel really nervous about going in the water. I kept trying to talk myself out of these feelings, but it wasn't really working out that well. We talked about our plan for getting in the water, and I felt pretty confident that I understood how this was all supposed to go down. We entered backwards into the water, and swam towards the front of the boat, and the anchor line that had been dropped. We were supposed to go down to the bottom, which was about twenty feet when we got there. The day before had been beautiful and still, and when we deflated our vests, we all just kind of sank straight down. Having had that be my only experience, I didn't quite take into account what this crazy day on the sea was going to be like. As I let go of the rope and deflated my vest, rather than sinking, I immediately started heading right underneath the boat, and was barely a foot under the water, plenty high enough to watch the bow of the boat slamming up and down on the waves straight above me as I tried to kick out of the way in the strong current. I started to sink just a bit, but only enough to now panic that I was starting to go down, as my mask and nose filled with water and I forgot to breathe through the regulator in my mouth. My teacher appeared beside me, and kept pointing above at the boat, and telling my to go down, but by now I really couldn't. We went to the anchor line, and I could not stop the feelings of panic that were overtaking me, as waves kept breaking above my head, making it feel impossible to get my bearings and just calm down. As we talked she kept convincing me to just come down and it would be fine. After some time, I decided I just had to do it if I was going to make this happen, and deflated my vest and went down the rope with her. It felt so crazy. There was such a current that I had to use most of my strength to pull myself down the rope, with my regulator that you breathe into being knocked around and almost out of my mouth. We got to the bottom, and I could barely see in front of me because of all the sand flying around from the bottom. I did a couple of the skills exercises, but I just could not relax, no matter how hard I tried. I was breathing so hard, and couldn't pull myself together. It was the only panic attack (or close to it) that I've ever had. Finally, I had to signal to go up, and get back in the boat. I had to take a couple of minutes to pull myself together, and deal with my relief at being back on the boat and able to breathe, and my crushing disappointment in myself for not being able to pull it together. It really, really sucked. It was also freezing, as the wind creating all these waves was also creating a breeze that felt arctic after being in the water. As the horribleness continued, I soon started to feel sick from the insane rocking of the boat. Everyone came back up from their dive, and our instructor asked me if I wanted to come down for the next dive, and work on some more skills. By this time, that idea was pretty much incomprehensible, and I chose to sit it out. I laid down, trying to get rid of my nauseous feelings, and soon realized that was just not going to happen. Finally, encouraged by the boat captain, I threw up over the side, which I really couldn't believe. I've never gotten sick from a boat before...I did feel much better, but the progression of the day really was not a good one. I laid down on the boat seat, glad to be rid of my sickness, when the sky opened up and it began to pour rain. Can you believe this? Wearing just my swimsuit, the day had officially reached hellish proportions. By the time they came up from their last dive, I was almost blue with the cold and shivering uncontrollably. We drove the fifteen minutes back to the dock with all of us huddled on the floor freezing. Now, I am waiting to go back and take my test in about a half hour, trying to decide what the hell to do. Even as I write this, I feel kind of sick, but mostly, that panic that clutched me keeps coming back, even in this warm room, nice and dry. That fights in my head with the lovely calm and peacefulness of yesterday, and the feeling of accomplishment that came with it.
Even writing this, it's hard to explain exactly how scared I was. Maybe it's impossible to really let others get a sense of your deepest emotions (unless, maybe, you're a writer who far surpasses my talents). I do know that I haven't been that physically afraid for myself (possibly unreasonably) in a very, very long time, and there's something about the experience that has shaken me.
Dear God.
Monday, February 25, 2008
I. Love. Belize.
This is going to be my only post until I leave this island, as now seems like the perfect time to disconnect from the digital world.
After leaving Tulum, I ended up talking to this really nice family, who were telling me how much they loved Belize...11 years ago. This didn't give me much hope after seeing the Mexican coast. As I was saying, my basic plan was to skip Belize after hearing such negative things, but something about talking to them got me really excited to explore a little bit. I realized I am not going to be in this area for a long time (so much world to explore) and that it would be silly to not at least stay for a little while, especially since I now had to go through in order to get to Guatemala. I decided to go to Belize City, and hooked up with some Swedish people who were going too, since Belize City is supposed to be quite dangerous (and it certainly felt like it there). We stayed in this really bad hotel with the worst beds ever. Right before bed, this guy Magnus, one of the people I was with, was standing in front of the sink when a centipede came racing out of the wall heading straight for his foot. I told him to watch out, realized he wasn't going to, and knew I had to take drastic measures. It felt like some superhuman moment as I reached across, grabbed his arm and pulled with all my strength, and he leaped out of the way really just as the centipede was about to run into and probably sting his foot. But then we both leaped on the bed and were screaming and the superhuman moment was over. However, I did save him from a potentially trip-ruining bite. He was very thankful.
The next morning, all of us took the 45 minute water taxi over to Caye Caulker. I saw another dolphin jump by the boat on our ride! It was a gorgeous ride, with the sun shining down and the water splashing around us, once in a while slightly drenching me. The water, like in Mexico, is so beautiful, and as you alternate between deep water and shallow, the colors and landscape constantly change.
And now here we are. Here I am.
I. Love. This. Place.
It really feels like paradise here, for so many reasons. The second you get here, you just can't help but relax. This island is one of those places where you just have to let everything go. You can almost feel it saying "Come on, whatcha got? Stressed, tired, nervous? Doesn't matter here." And it doesn't. People are SO incredibly friendly, and I love the mix of locals and tourists having a good time together, rather than feeling the divide that exists in many places, especially places like the beach in Mexico, with all of the excess and luxury of the hotels and resorts there.
The whole island is only about 900 feet wide, and maybe 3 times that long, so you can watch sunrise from one side, and sunset from the other. The houses are all brightly colored and slightly weather worn from the ocean air. There are no cars here, only golf carts rolling along, and all of the streets are sand rather than asphalt. At night, it's cool enough to sleep well, and during the day, it's hot in the sun but perfect in the shade for me and my (going to stay white) skin. Amazingly, there are no mosquitoes here! The water is warm and gorgeous, and there's this great swimming area called the Split, where a recent hurricane literally cut part of the island off from the other part, and now there is a swimming area where the slight current keeps the water and sand clean and cool. There is a diving board with kids jumping off all day long, and a bar on the beach here, with picnic tables sunk into the shallow water, so you can sit and read with your legs in the water and a beer in your hand. The music is the obligatory reggae that is so right here, mixed with a little bit of old school Michael Jackson, and there is a palapa attached with hammocks full of people sleeping and reading. Yesterday I watched this guy kite surf for about an hour, doing incredible jumps and flips while he skimmed across the water. There was a big group of local old men playing dominoes, yelling and slamming the table exicitedly before they'd burst out laughing. The food here is ten times better than almost anything I've had, with delicious vegetables, fresher than fresh grilled seafood, smoothies and milkshakes with mango and pineapple, and....really good coffee! There is diving everywhere of course, and I'm thinking of getting my PADI diving certification here. I realized that I am quite afraid of the animals in the ocean, and my desire to explore the underwater conflicts with my intense fear of anything that can eat me in the ocean (which seems to be a lot of things). I really want to get over this and I suppose the only way to do so is to get in the ocean...with the evil sharks.
I am so happy here, and I realize that, while I had a really great time in Mexico, with many memorable experiences, this is the first time on my whole trip where I have really relaxed completely. It's such a good feeling, and I'm excited to spend a week or so here just unwinding. This, I suppose, is the beauty of not having a plan, something that has been both exciting and overwhelming on this trip. I love that I wasn't going to come here, and was able to change my plan on a moment's notice. I can't imagine now if I hadn't come here, it feels so right.
No more computers until I leave, so for now...
Lots of love and sunny island thoughts,
Kira
After leaving Tulum, I ended up talking to this really nice family, who were telling me how much they loved Belize...11 years ago. This didn't give me much hope after seeing the Mexican coast. As I was saying, my basic plan was to skip Belize after hearing such negative things, but something about talking to them got me really excited to explore a little bit. I realized I am not going to be in this area for a long time (so much world to explore) and that it would be silly to not at least stay for a little while, especially since I now had to go through in order to get to Guatemala. I decided to go to Belize City, and hooked up with some Swedish people who were going too, since Belize City is supposed to be quite dangerous (and it certainly felt like it there). We stayed in this really bad hotel with the worst beds ever. Right before bed, this guy Magnus, one of the people I was with, was standing in front of the sink when a centipede came racing out of the wall heading straight for his foot. I told him to watch out, realized he wasn't going to, and knew I had to take drastic measures. It felt like some superhuman moment as I reached across, grabbed his arm and pulled with all my strength, and he leaped out of the way really just as the centipede was about to run into and probably sting his foot. But then we both leaped on the bed and were screaming and the superhuman moment was over. However, I did save him from a potentially trip-ruining bite. He was very thankful.
The next morning, all of us took the 45 minute water taxi over to Caye Caulker. I saw another dolphin jump by the boat on our ride! It was a gorgeous ride, with the sun shining down and the water splashing around us, once in a while slightly drenching me. The water, like in Mexico, is so beautiful, and as you alternate between deep water and shallow, the colors and landscape constantly change.
And now here we are. Here I am.
I. Love. This. Place.
It really feels like paradise here, for so many reasons. The second you get here, you just can't help but relax. This island is one of those places where you just have to let everything go. You can almost feel it saying "Come on, whatcha got? Stressed, tired, nervous? Doesn't matter here." And it doesn't. People are SO incredibly friendly, and I love the mix of locals and tourists having a good time together, rather than feeling the divide that exists in many places, especially places like the beach in Mexico, with all of the excess and luxury of the hotels and resorts there.
The whole island is only about 900 feet wide, and maybe 3 times that long, so you can watch sunrise from one side, and sunset from the other. The houses are all brightly colored and slightly weather worn from the ocean air. There are no cars here, only golf carts rolling along, and all of the streets are sand rather than asphalt. At night, it's cool enough to sleep well, and during the day, it's hot in the sun but perfect in the shade for me and my (going to stay white) skin. Amazingly, there are no mosquitoes here! The water is warm and gorgeous, and there's this great swimming area called the Split, where a recent hurricane literally cut part of the island off from the other part, and now there is a swimming area where the slight current keeps the water and sand clean and cool. There is a diving board with kids jumping off all day long, and a bar on the beach here, with picnic tables sunk into the shallow water, so you can sit and read with your legs in the water and a beer in your hand. The music is the obligatory reggae that is so right here, mixed with a little bit of old school Michael Jackson, and there is a palapa attached with hammocks full of people sleeping and reading. Yesterday I watched this guy kite surf for about an hour, doing incredible jumps and flips while he skimmed across the water. There was a big group of local old men playing dominoes, yelling and slamming the table exicitedly before they'd burst out laughing. The food here is ten times better than almost anything I've had, with delicious vegetables, fresher than fresh grilled seafood, smoothies and milkshakes with mango and pineapple, and....really good coffee! There is diving everywhere of course, and I'm thinking of getting my PADI diving certification here. I realized that I am quite afraid of the animals in the ocean, and my desire to explore the underwater conflicts with my intense fear of anything that can eat me in the ocean (which seems to be a lot of things). I really want to get over this and I suppose the only way to do so is to get in the ocean...with the evil sharks.
I am so happy here, and I realize that, while I had a really great time in Mexico, with many memorable experiences, this is the first time on my whole trip where I have really relaxed completely. It's such a good feeling, and I'm excited to spend a week or so here just unwinding. This, I suppose, is the beauty of not having a plan, something that has been both exciting and overwhelming on this trip. I love that I wasn't going to come here, and was able to change my plan on a moment's notice. I can't imagine now if I hadn't come here, it feels so right.
No more computers until I leave, so for now...
Lots of love and sunny island thoughts,
Kira
Alive and Long Winded
I wrote this a couple of days ago and had to save it because I couldn't sign in to my blog. This is the one problem with having your travel journal be on a computer...relying on computers. Anyways...
Passing time waiting for yet another bus...I´m like a professional rider now, with all of my gear I need at hand. Not that that was something I ever aspired to be, but it´s always good to add a couple more tricks to the bag. It´s been a long time since I´ve written, which makes me almost anxious, since this is my travel diary, minus a few thoughts too personal to be posted on the internet. I think it´s been a week since I´ve written, and, of course, so much has happened.
Passing time waiting for yet another bus...I´m like a professional rider now, with all of my gear I need at hand. Not that that was something I ever aspired to be, but it´s always good to add a couple more tricks to the bag. It´s been a long time since I´ve written, which makes me almost anxious, since this is my travel diary, minus a few thoughts too personal to be posted on the internet. I think it´s been a week since I´ve written, and, of course, so much has happened.
I am in Tulum, waiting for the bus to Chetumal, on the border of Belize. I am going to cross into Belize this afternoon, and am trying to figure out if I´d like to stay a couple of days, or head straight to Tikal, in Guatemala. Talking to people all I hear is that Belize is really expensive and not so great anymore. It´s hard not to believe it after being over here on the Caribbean coast for a couple of days. I´ve actually had an amazing last couple of days, but the area itself here...not so awesome.
I left San Cristobal last Sunday (I think) and headed down to Palenque, to see the ruins. Louise had gone a couple of days ahead of me, and I stayed to go to the Sunidero Canyon, which was beautiful. It´s a river that runs through this canyon with 3000 foot high walls, and gorgeous dramatic scenery. When you arrive in Palenque, most everyone leaves town immediately to go an area called El Panchan, which is used as a base to visit the ruins and to go see other nearby sights, like the tour of waterfalls in the area. El Panchan is itself is charming, but odd at the same time. All it really is is an area for travelers and backpackers. There´s no town, just lots of guesthouses and a couple of restaurants, which is great for a few days while you´re busy. Yet there´s quite a few people, including this couple we met from Colorado Springs, who have decided it is heaven on earth, and have taken up residence there. They told us that they came there, and they just fell in love with it and can´t imagine leaving. Such a strange existence, living all the time with people who are only stopping through. It would just seem like life never really slowed down or stopped. I suppose that IS what they like about it. Hmmm.
Anyways, from there, we spent one day exploring the ruins, and another day doing the waterfall tour of the big three waterfalls in the area. The ruins, are, of course, interesting, but here I´m going to have to sound like a bad traveler and say that they don´t do all that much for me. The Palenque ruins were a lot like the double edged sword throughout most of Mexico so far: as this country develops, which is of course good for the people who live here, I think maybe it loses some of it´s rustic charm along the way. Being in Palenque, I really felt like I was at some ruins in...America. Everything was roped off (I get it, of course, for conservation), and the enormous bathroooms made to serve the 5000 people that visit everyday were made to fit into the feel of the ruins, with Mayan statues outside of them...it felt kind of like Disneyland. Still, of course, they are amazing, and it´s fascinating to walk along the grounds and do your best to imagine what it must have been like at the height of their glory. It made me think about what does interest me as far as architecture and communities go. I realized that what really does it for me is seeing what people are building for the future. I would have gone far out of my way to look at beautiful new architecture that someone had created and especially something that was based on people living together in new and interesting ways that work. Something beautiful and relevant to now and where we are heading. While I think it´s really interesting to see what people created a thousand years ago, I find it far more fascinating to see what man these days, in these crazy times, is capable of. Seeing ruins and churches kind of reminds me of reading classic books. I see the point of understanding the past, and can generally appreciate them, yet they´re lacking a relevance to now, and something about that missing piece loses me a little bit. Bad traveler.
The next day we went on a crowded van ride through twisty turny roads and saw the three waterfalls in the area. At one of the stops, there was this huge rope bridge that spans the length of the lake it`s over, Agau Clara. Everyone files out of their vans, and as one group (myself included) practically make a run for the bridge, which is up a steep path. I have no idea why this is, but some crazy mentality takes over. I tried to make a video that didn´t work out, and I really wish it had, because it´s ridiculous. This bridge looks like something from Indiana Jones or some other movie, where halfway across the whole thing starts to fall apart. As we walked across, I started to notice how rotten it was, and how many half missing boards there were, leading me to wonder what had happened when someone was standing on it and it broke. Apparently everyone else had the same thoughts, because all of a sudden there was about 50 people all standing in the middle of the bridge while it swayed *really* crazily, and everyone was kind of half laughing and half screaming and grabbing onto the sides of the bridge. The 9 year old with us, Sienna, had the best advice when she said "let´s just not think about it". It was a situation where you generally assume noone is going to die, yet for a moment a clear headline flashed through my brain about stupid tourists falling to their death in a freak accident, which really did seem possible...the locals who watch this 5 times a day must think we´re all crazy. Afterwards we went to Agua Azul, an enormous set of cascading waterfalls that have a naturally occurring mineral in them that turns them perfectly turquoise. Best of all, after climbing to the very top, there´s this clean, beautiful pool to swim in, with a rope swing! I love a rope swing so much. A good one is on my personal top 10 I think. We swam around and played for a while, with all of these fun people we`d been with all day. I felt like a new person afterwards. So clean and refreshed. It was great.
That night we took the hellish night bus to Tulum (see poem below for all I have to say about that). We arrived at 7 a.m. and wandered around looking for a place to stay for 2 hours! Way too early and too long a bus ride to be doing that. Gosh was I grumpy! The thing was, in the short amount of time since my friends have been here, or since the guidebook was written, Tulum has changed drastically! Every place we checked out to stay was so expensive and really not nice. We did finally find a very rustic (which is fine) palapa on the beach. The beach itself is truly beautiful here, and if I ever take the time to post pictures, they´re pretty breathtaking. The sand is white and powder fine, and when walking in the surf, it´s literally like silk underneath your feet. The water is an almost unreal turqoise fading out to darker shades, and the sky is a robin´s egg blue that in some places is almost undistinguishable from the water. There are palm trees dotting the beach, and the whole thing is just like a postcard. It´s quite magical, and you can´t help but feel lucky to be there. Except (and geez I sound cynical) that all of this beauty brings SO much development...there were so many people that it was like being at a resort. And, again, like being in America. I felt like I was in California or Florida...we stayed one night here, and had such a great night. We didn't know there was going to be a lunar eclipse somehow, and walked out of our cabana after a nap to see the moon about half eclipsed. We walked down to the beach, and it was this gorgeous night. Really windy, but warm and the palm trees were blowing in the breeze. We walked down by the beach bar, which was playing Dark Side of the Moon, and then sat on a sand dune and watched the moon eclipse. I can't think of a place that I'd rather have been than sitting by the ocean watching the moon.
The next day, in search of beaches that weren't Tulum, we took a van ride to this small fishing village called Punta Allen, which is about 40 kilometers south of Tulum, but a 2 hour van ride down this bumpy road. Getting there was like a breath of fresh air compared to Tulum. The beach was beautiful and so quiet and was much more what we were looking for. Kind of a funny town though...The first day, we had lunch with Ed and Sully, and then later met Ron and Dave. If you can't guess, these would be the names of all of the retired old American me who are living out here for the winter. Apparently, it is some of the best fly fishing in the whole world, and consequentially, has attracted a very large group of old men who have found heaven on earth. They were really friendly, but we spent a lot of time giggling about it.
The scene here was definitely "escape from Playa del Carmen and Tulum" and it was an interesting assortment of people. We met this great Canadian couple that had left their 5 star hotel in Playa to come find something more real, and this guy Tony from Spain. The 5 of us ended up going on a day long boat trip around the islands. We saw dolphins that swam around our boat and were jumping through the water beside us, which was so exciting! We circled through mangroves and saw some really cool and interesting pelicans and flourescent pink spoonbills, and a crocodile or two (terrifying), and spent an afternoon eating fantastic seafood and drinking beer with them. We never would have met them, as we are doing such different trips, and it was fun to hang out with them.
The next morning, we had to catch a 5 a.m. (Gosh!) collectivo out over the bumpy roads into Tulum, where I (sob!) said goodbye to Louise. I didn't think I was going to, but I shed a few tears when I walked away. I had so much fun with her over our two weeks together. She was so funny and silly, but at the same time, we spent a lot of time discussing important parts of our lives, and I really learned a lot and gained so many insights from her. She is also very inspiring to me in all of the indepedent travel she has done, and how strong she is...in some ways I don't know how I would have done my first weeks of my own travel without her. She lent me a strength that I really needed while missing home and getting my own travel legs, and made everything light and fun, when my head wanted to attach a significance to it unnecessarily. She talked about her trip being divided up into Before Kira, During Kira and After Kira, and mine has definitely been the same so far. I'm feeling so much better about being on my own, and I think a big part of it due to my time spent with her...
Okay, time to catch the bus to Chetumal...
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Ode to Night Bus
Bumps and Bruises
Aching Ass
I hope this night bus will be my last
Broken Toilets
Random Drug Searches
Slams on Brakes and
Unexpected Lurches
Stumbling Around an Unknown Town
My tired face dressed in a frown
Night Bus Night Bus
You are not my friend
From the Depths of Hell
You did Ascend
(composed during night bus delirium to Tulum)
Aching Ass
I hope this night bus will be my last
Broken Toilets
Random Drug Searches
Slams on Brakes and
Unexpected Lurches
Stumbling Around an Unknown Town
My tired face dressed in a frown
Night Bus Night Bus
You are not my friend
From the Depths of Hell
You did Ascend
(composed during night bus delirium to Tulum)
Friday, February 15, 2008
Valentine´s Day Sacrifice
I´ve never been a fan of Valentine´s Day. Honestly, I don´t really think I know anyone who is, and as it approaches, I start dreading it for no real reason. Which is unfortunate, because in theory of course, a day celebrating love is a good thing. Maybe it´s the idea that people are giving fully grown adults teddy bears. Anyways, this year, I forgot all about it, and then, as I was rushing to Spanish class, I started looking around and noticed that the whole town was decorated for Valentine´s Day. Everyone was wearing red, as apparently, if you do, you´ll have a year of good luck in your love life. Cheers for my little red Pumas. The teachers at our school gave us little heart shaped Jello pieces, and little kids were running around with heart shaped balloons all day. There were pink cupcakes, paper flowers in all of the doorways, and decorations everywhere. Maybe there was an aspect of commercialization, but mostly it just felt like love was in the air. I noticed that it wasn´t just about couples or romantic love, but about families and children as well. Last night, there were a billion people out. The streets were just thronged, and in the main square, there was a band set up, with people dancing and gratis spiced wine being given out. All in all just this great merriment overtook the town. I felt very lucky to be part of it.
Earlier in the day, I went with this (slightly odd) German guy to a town called Chamula, about 20 minutes outside of town. There are tons of people from Chamula in San Cristobal, selling lots of traditional crafts from restaurant to resturant and at the stalls. We took a collectivo up into this small village, where there is a big central market, but the big reason people go there is to visit the church. Louise went separately that day, and after getting back together that night, she filled me in on some details from her guide. So, just walking up to the church you can see it´s different, with bright blue, turquoise and gold detailing surrounding the door and the front of the church. When you step inside, the first thing you can´t help but notice is the, literally, thousands of candles burning everywhere, stuck all over the floor, in glasses and every kind of jar. The actual church looks a lot like most Mexican Catholic churches I´ve been to, with the odd plastic figures of various bleeding saints in their cases, fake flowers adorning them, and gold vases scattered around. Apparently most people think that the religion practiced here is a mix of Catholicism and the Mayan religion, but from what I understand, it is much more of an ancient Mayan tradition that happens to be practiced in a Catholic church. They have some feelings for a couple of saints, but for the most part, this is old stuff that goes way back. The second thing you also can´t help but notice is the deliciously overwhelming smell of large, fragrant needles of some kind of pine tree, that cover the marble floor. The church has no pews, only a large expanse of floor surrounded by all of the various saints. Groups of people each gather in spots around the edges of the church, and some in the middle. The third thing you can´t help but notice, and would have noticed first, if the other two sensory aspects weren´t so overwhelming, is that most groups of people have chickens with them, and they are either dead and laid beside their candles, or held by a member of the party, clucking in what, in my head, must be a terrified way, as they wait their turn. Upon arriving, people take out their little packet they have brought with them, each with somewhere between maybe 100-200 small, very thin candles. They take a candle from one of the millions burning all around the church, and then with amazing efficiency, quickly set about dipping the ends and sticking them to the marble floor, so the candles are laid out in neat rows in front of them. They light the candles and then kneel down in front of them and begin to chant, until they´re all gone. The chanting is completely mesmerizing, in this low, beautiful voice that doesn´t stop and doesn´t seem to break until all of the candles have gone out. I stood behind one group of people, and I felt like I was in a trance listening to this woman´s voice. It was really beautiful. John would have loved it. When the last candle goes out, they pick up the chicken by the feet and then kind of swing it around the top of the candles, gesturing with the chicken and, from what I understand, asking for what they need. Then they kill the chicken, at which point I almost passed out, and then felt like a big baby for being so squeamish. I obviously knew it was coming, yet somehow it still made my stomach flip in a horrible way. The chicken is laid to the side and some more chanting is done, and then they gather their things together. It was *so* different from anything I have seen before, and it was interesting to look around at the groups of people who were there. Many were older people who were in pretty traditional dress, but seated next to them was a kid that looked very modern in his jeans and hip t-shirt, holding the chicken that was about to be sacrificed. Louise´s guide said that this group of people believe they are the third Mayan generation, the other ones having been killed by the gods because they didn´t give them gifts. Obviously, this generation is trying to make up for that.
I left feeling slightly crazy, mostly after listening to this woman chant, but of course the chicken sacrifice had something to do with it as well. In a way it felt like intruding on something that seemed so sacred, maybe because death was involved. Yet at the same time, it´s just a part of things, in an area where death isn´t something that is so far off, but instead part of life. It certainly is different than the organic meat counter at New Seasons, and asking for my basil chicken sausage wrapped up in clean brown paper....
I´m off for an appointment with my second part of my old man obsession of the week, and having coffee with the most adorable Mexican man named Raphael. I met him earlier this week while having coffee with this girl, and he´s a sociologist who has been interviewing and recording stories with people from villages all over Chiapas for twenty years. The more opportunities I have to learn about it here, the more interesting this area is to me...
Happy love wishes to everyone, and a belated Happy Valentine´s Day.
Besos,
Kira
Earlier in the day, I went with this (slightly odd) German guy to a town called Chamula, about 20 minutes outside of town. There are tons of people from Chamula in San Cristobal, selling lots of traditional crafts from restaurant to resturant and at the stalls. We took a collectivo up into this small village, where there is a big central market, but the big reason people go there is to visit the church. Louise went separately that day, and after getting back together that night, she filled me in on some details from her guide. So, just walking up to the church you can see it´s different, with bright blue, turquoise and gold detailing surrounding the door and the front of the church. When you step inside, the first thing you can´t help but notice is the, literally, thousands of candles burning everywhere, stuck all over the floor, in glasses and every kind of jar. The actual church looks a lot like most Mexican Catholic churches I´ve been to, with the odd plastic figures of various bleeding saints in their cases, fake flowers adorning them, and gold vases scattered around. Apparently most people think that the religion practiced here is a mix of Catholicism and the Mayan religion, but from what I understand, it is much more of an ancient Mayan tradition that happens to be practiced in a Catholic church. They have some feelings for a couple of saints, but for the most part, this is old stuff that goes way back. The second thing you also can´t help but notice is the deliciously overwhelming smell of large, fragrant needles of some kind of pine tree, that cover the marble floor. The church has no pews, only a large expanse of floor surrounded by all of the various saints. Groups of people each gather in spots around the edges of the church, and some in the middle. The third thing you can´t help but notice, and would have noticed first, if the other two sensory aspects weren´t so overwhelming, is that most groups of people have chickens with them, and they are either dead and laid beside their candles, or held by a member of the party, clucking in what, in my head, must be a terrified way, as they wait their turn. Upon arriving, people take out their little packet they have brought with them, each with somewhere between maybe 100-200 small, very thin candles. They take a candle from one of the millions burning all around the church, and then with amazing efficiency, quickly set about dipping the ends and sticking them to the marble floor, so the candles are laid out in neat rows in front of them. They light the candles and then kneel down in front of them and begin to chant, until they´re all gone. The chanting is completely mesmerizing, in this low, beautiful voice that doesn´t stop and doesn´t seem to break until all of the candles have gone out. I stood behind one group of people, and I felt like I was in a trance listening to this woman´s voice. It was really beautiful. John would have loved it. When the last candle goes out, they pick up the chicken by the feet and then kind of swing it around the top of the candles, gesturing with the chicken and, from what I understand, asking for what they need. Then they kill the chicken, at which point I almost passed out, and then felt like a big baby for being so squeamish. I obviously knew it was coming, yet somehow it still made my stomach flip in a horrible way. The chicken is laid to the side and some more chanting is done, and then they gather their things together. It was *so* different from anything I have seen before, and it was interesting to look around at the groups of people who were there. Many were older people who were in pretty traditional dress, but seated next to them was a kid that looked very modern in his jeans and hip t-shirt, holding the chicken that was about to be sacrificed. Louise´s guide said that this group of people believe they are the third Mayan generation, the other ones having been killed by the gods because they didn´t give them gifts. Obviously, this generation is trying to make up for that.
I left feeling slightly crazy, mostly after listening to this woman chant, but of course the chicken sacrifice had something to do with it as well. In a way it felt like intruding on something that seemed so sacred, maybe because death was involved. Yet at the same time, it´s just a part of things, in an area where death isn´t something that is so far off, but instead part of life. It certainly is different than the organic meat counter at New Seasons, and asking for my basil chicken sausage wrapped up in clean brown paper....
I´m off for an appointment with my second part of my old man obsession of the week, and having coffee with the most adorable Mexican man named Raphael. I met him earlier this week while having coffee with this girl, and he´s a sociologist who has been interviewing and recording stories with people from villages all over Chiapas for twenty years. The more opportunities I have to learn about it here, the more interesting this area is to me...
Happy love wishes to everyone, and a belated Happy Valentine´s Day.
Besos,
Kira
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The Trials of Learning Spanish
Right now I´m sitting outside, at our new digs, listening to the rain pour down. It´s been cloudy and kind of humid and warm all day, and then just about an hour ago the sky opened up, and it´s raining like it never does at home. The streets became rivers in ten minutes, and the already slippery sidewalks have become amazingly treacherous, especially in my plastic-y little knock off Pumas. It´s great though--there´s nothing like a really good rainstorm when you can still be outside and appreciating it. (You think I´d be tired of the rain after living in the northwest forever...but maybe it´s in my bones.)
It´s been a grueling couple of days, with my three hours of Spanish every morning...I´m in a small class, at this beautiful school called Institute Jovel. There´s just two of us, which is really perfect, as we are both less than competent when it comes to the Spanish language. In my head, I had been thinking about how much a week of Spanish would help me, and how far I would come. I imagined, somehow, having elaborate conversations expressing complex thoughts. Kind of. The reality of starting a language from scratch is exciting, yet daunting as well. To realize you know nothing about how to say anything...hmm. There´s a lot to learn. I think constantly of this David Sedaris story about learning French. We walk around town and I listen to small children and am jealous of their comprehension. I´ll think, and practically ask some five year old aloud ¨Now how do you remember the difference between este and eso?¨ They just get to absorb by osmosis, while we adults stuck in all of our thought patterns have to fight to retrain our minds. Still, I really am learning a lot, and am already amazed by how often a (simple) phrase I am trying to think of will come to me.
The other great thing about my classes is Jose-Louis, one of my teachers. I have a twofold old man crush this week, and he is part of it. Many of you who know me will recall my obsession with adorable old men. I especially like it when they sport some kind of round belly and the ultimate touch: the bow tie. While no bow tie is involved with Jose-Louis, there is a sweater vest present, which is almost as good. But besides the cosmetic touches, he is just a super fascinating man, who has lived lots and lots of life. Today we were talking about tortillas, one of my favorite things about the food here. He was telling us that the price of tortillas is actually regulated by the Mexican government, and that the official price is 8.5 pesos per kilo, which equals out to about 85 cents for around 50 tortillas. Which seems crazy. However, before this last November, the price had been 4.5 pesos. Since the minimum wage in Mexico is 40-45 pesos a day ($4-4.50), when the price of tortillas went up, there was almost, as he calls it, a revolution. There were huge protests everywhere, and it was an enormous deal. For people who really make the minimum wage, what they eat is the equivalent of about 1 kilo a day of tortillas, because it is what fills them up. It was pretty humbling to really think about this reality, and how carelessly I spend money here, even on a budget. And to think about the fact that for many people, the dollar equivalent of 40 cents is enough to break their family....We talk a lot about the history of Chiapas, and what it´s like to live in Mexico. I hadn´t really thought I would learn all of this in my Spanish classes, and it´s so interesting, and important, and is giving me a much better understanding of certain aspects of life here.
On a lighter note, Louise got here yesterday, and it´s been *so* fun to have her here. We moved to a much nicer place today, with a huge, pretty courtyard, and kind of a cool rustic room. It´s very nice to have a friend here that I have some history with (Isn´t that funny that ¨history¨is like 4 days of knowing her?) Sometimes traveling seems a lot like dating, or a series of dates. Lots of getting to know you, lots of finding yourself with random people who are nice but maybe not quite your type. To find the gems...But it certainly is good when you do.
Rain and rainbows,
Kira
It´s been a grueling couple of days, with my three hours of Spanish every morning...I´m in a small class, at this beautiful school called Institute Jovel. There´s just two of us, which is really perfect, as we are both less than competent when it comes to the Spanish language. In my head, I had been thinking about how much a week of Spanish would help me, and how far I would come. I imagined, somehow, having elaborate conversations expressing complex thoughts. Kind of. The reality of starting a language from scratch is exciting, yet daunting as well. To realize you know nothing about how to say anything...hmm. There´s a lot to learn. I think constantly of this David Sedaris story about learning French. We walk around town and I listen to small children and am jealous of their comprehension. I´ll think, and practically ask some five year old aloud ¨Now how do you remember the difference between este and eso?¨ They just get to absorb by osmosis, while we adults stuck in all of our thought patterns have to fight to retrain our minds. Still, I really am learning a lot, and am already amazed by how often a (simple) phrase I am trying to think of will come to me.
The other great thing about my classes is Jose-Louis, one of my teachers. I have a twofold old man crush this week, and he is part of it. Many of you who know me will recall my obsession with adorable old men. I especially like it when they sport some kind of round belly and the ultimate touch: the bow tie. While no bow tie is involved with Jose-Louis, there is a sweater vest present, which is almost as good. But besides the cosmetic touches, he is just a super fascinating man, who has lived lots and lots of life. Today we were talking about tortillas, one of my favorite things about the food here. He was telling us that the price of tortillas is actually regulated by the Mexican government, and that the official price is 8.5 pesos per kilo, which equals out to about 85 cents for around 50 tortillas. Which seems crazy. However, before this last November, the price had been 4.5 pesos. Since the minimum wage in Mexico is 40-45 pesos a day ($4-4.50), when the price of tortillas went up, there was almost, as he calls it, a revolution. There were huge protests everywhere, and it was an enormous deal. For people who really make the minimum wage, what they eat is the equivalent of about 1 kilo a day of tortillas, because it is what fills them up. It was pretty humbling to really think about this reality, and how carelessly I spend money here, even on a budget. And to think about the fact that for many people, the dollar equivalent of 40 cents is enough to break their family....We talk a lot about the history of Chiapas, and what it´s like to live in Mexico. I hadn´t really thought I would learn all of this in my Spanish classes, and it´s so interesting, and important, and is giving me a much better understanding of certain aspects of life here.
On a lighter note, Louise got here yesterday, and it´s been *so* fun to have her here. We moved to a much nicer place today, with a huge, pretty courtyard, and kind of a cool rustic room. It´s very nice to have a friend here that I have some history with (Isn´t that funny that ¨history¨is like 4 days of knowing her?) Sometimes traveling seems a lot like dating, or a series of dates. Lots of getting to know you, lots of finding yourself with random people who are nice but maybe not quite your type. To find the gems...But it certainly is good when you do.
Rain and rainbows,
Kira
Sunday, February 10, 2008
San Cristobal
Today I arrived in San Cristobal after a hellish 12 hour bus ride from Oaxaca. There is all this talk about the beauty of taking the night bus, and how you don´t lose a day, you just sleep on the ride and are ready to go when you get to a new city, etc. etc. Humph. I spent the night, beyond uncomfortable, tossing and turning and freezing. These buses are not made for people with long bodies or legs, and at one point I was literally almost upside down with me legs thrown over the back of the seat. If a time lapse camera had watched me, they could have made a short movie...Every time I would emerge from a delirium, I´d look around and everyone was sleeping like babies. Even with some insane bloody action movie with horrible Spanish voiceovers. I hated these bus rides in Thailand too, and have wondered if I am the only one who seems to find them so uncomfortable, or if anyone else thinks that 35 degrees is too cold for a bus...
The day has been a crazy blur, and not in the funnest way. I seriously think I was chilled to the bone, and was nursing a blister from 2 nights of dancing in Oaxaca (worth every moment of pain), while trying to get some business done, like finding a good place to stay for the week, finding a language school, etc. I was thinking today again about traveling alone, and the crazy ups and downs that come with it. When it is good, it is SOO good, and the sense of freedom, fun and accomplishment is amazing and incomparable. Yet the very next day, trying to cope with tasks that need to be done while feeling exhausted or lonely is just so hard. There´s noone else to turn to and say ¨could you take care of this?¨. It´s all you, and can be so hard when you just want someone else to share things with you--good or bad. I am learning a lot about myself, which is awesome, but it is definitely not the nonstop fun of traveling with a great group of people. Well, maybe not nonstop. But close.
So, San Cristobal. I´m really happy to be here, although it is not especially warm, being quite far up in the highlands. It´s a beautiful colonial town, in Chiapas, and has all the goods of all of the colonial towns: cobblestone streets, big beautiful churches, an interesting history. There are lots of great things to do out of town here, like visiting waterfalls and some traditional villages. There is also a boat ride through this very narrow canyon, with cliffs that rise 3000 feet straight up on each side. I´m excited to go explore some of these things, starting tomorrow.
Today I started my Spanish classes that I will be taking for a week. There are only 2 of us in the class, and I can already tell I am going to learn so much. I´ve been putting off taking classes, but now that I have started them I´m really happy. Just knowing some basics is really going to change a lot of things for me, especially just in my day to day goings on. Before I left Oaxaca I had to mail a package (to one of you lucky readers....how exciting!) and finding a box was like the hardest thing I have ever tried to accomplish. That was the first thing I asked our teacher today: ¨Where can I buy a box to mail this package?¨ Soon I will sound only like a moderate fool rather than a complete idiot...
Tomorrow one of my favorites, Louise, arrives in San Cristobal after a short time at the beach. She is coming to meet me at the hotel where I am staying, and my plan is then to convince her/lure her into traveling with me for a while. She is in Mexico for two more weeks, and I think we will be on the same basic path for the rest of the time here, so I hope to spend a chunk with her. She is fabulous...
Okay, off to enjoy the couple warm hours here...maybe some hula hooping. Damn I´m getting good.
Lots of love,
Kira
The day has been a crazy blur, and not in the funnest way. I seriously think I was chilled to the bone, and was nursing a blister from 2 nights of dancing in Oaxaca (worth every moment of pain), while trying to get some business done, like finding a good place to stay for the week, finding a language school, etc. I was thinking today again about traveling alone, and the crazy ups and downs that come with it. When it is good, it is SOO good, and the sense of freedom, fun and accomplishment is amazing and incomparable. Yet the very next day, trying to cope with tasks that need to be done while feeling exhausted or lonely is just so hard. There´s noone else to turn to and say ¨could you take care of this?¨. It´s all you, and can be so hard when you just want someone else to share things with you--good or bad. I am learning a lot about myself, which is awesome, but it is definitely not the nonstop fun of traveling with a great group of people. Well, maybe not nonstop. But close.
So, San Cristobal. I´m really happy to be here, although it is not especially warm, being quite far up in the highlands. It´s a beautiful colonial town, in Chiapas, and has all the goods of all of the colonial towns: cobblestone streets, big beautiful churches, an interesting history. There are lots of great things to do out of town here, like visiting waterfalls and some traditional villages. There is also a boat ride through this very narrow canyon, with cliffs that rise 3000 feet straight up on each side. I´m excited to go explore some of these things, starting tomorrow.
Today I started my Spanish classes that I will be taking for a week. There are only 2 of us in the class, and I can already tell I am going to learn so much. I´ve been putting off taking classes, but now that I have started them I´m really happy. Just knowing some basics is really going to change a lot of things for me, especially just in my day to day goings on. Before I left Oaxaca I had to mail a package (to one of you lucky readers....how exciting!) and finding a box was like the hardest thing I have ever tried to accomplish. That was the first thing I asked our teacher today: ¨Where can I buy a box to mail this package?¨ Soon I will sound only like a moderate fool rather than a complete idiot...
Tomorrow one of my favorites, Louise, arrives in San Cristobal after a short time at the beach. She is coming to meet me at the hotel where I am staying, and my plan is then to convince her/lure her into traveling with me for a while. She is in Mexico for two more weeks, and I think we will be on the same basic path for the rest of the time here, so I hope to spend a chunk with her. She is fabulous...
Okay, off to enjoy the couple warm hours here...maybe some hula hooping. Damn I´m getting good.
Lots of love,
Kira
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Good People, Good Times
Time. It really is so crazy when you are so far from home, and from daily realities. A week ago I was quite miserable, and now, seven short days later, I am having such a great time. I guess it´s a testament to how quickly you can change your circumstances with a change in mindset.
Being here is teaching me again a lesson that I already know, of course, but it seems so easy to continously forget things and just be reminded again and again. People, people, people are what it´s all about. I had such a fun week here in Oaxaca, starting with my trip to the mountains. A couple of days ago, I met some just awesome people, my favorites so far, and have had the best time with them. Eric is on his way back to North Carolina overland after two years in the peace corps in El Salvador, Louise is here from London for a month by herself, and Jorge is this hilarious, quite offensive guy from Argentina. Not that you know these people, but I suppose the point being that being with the three of them for a couple of days reminded me how much I love traveling.
It´s such a gift to be able to meet people and then spend time with them, doing nothing but enjoying each other´s company and learning about them. Meeting people from all over the world gives me such a different perspective, and it´s so inspiring to meet people who are all doing such different things in the world, and hearing about how they make their choices, and then how they make their choices realities.
As we each discuss our lives, I´m also reminded again of how blessed I am at home. Of course we talk about our towns and what we do, but as I tell people about my friends and loved ones, and relate stories of the people that make my life what it is, I get, over and over, how awesome you all really are. While my trip gets better and better, and I let go more into being here and being present with my experience now, I also get to live my home through my interactions with others. Part of me has been really afraid, for various reasons, of letting go of home while I´m here. But I get to live it constantly, and keep my conversation for awesome relationships and good times alive every single day.
Being here is teaching me again a lesson that I already know, of course, but it seems so easy to continously forget things and just be reminded again and again. People, people, people are what it´s all about. I had such a fun week here in Oaxaca, starting with my trip to the mountains. A couple of days ago, I met some just awesome people, my favorites so far, and have had the best time with them. Eric is on his way back to North Carolina overland after two years in the peace corps in El Salvador, Louise is here from London for a month by herself, and Jorge is this hilarious, quite offensive guy from Argentina. Not that you know these people, but I suppose the point being that being with the three of them for a couple of days reminded me how much I love traveling.
It´s such a gift to be able to meet people and then spend time with them, doing nothing but enjoying each other´s company and learning about them. Meeting people from all over the world gives me such a different perspective, and it´s so inspiring to meet people who are all doing such different things in the world, and hearing about how they make their choices, and then how they make their choices realities.
As we each discuss our lives, I´m also reminded again of how blessed I am at home. Of course we talk about our towns and what we do, but as I tell people about my friends and loved ones, and relate stories of the people that make my life what it is, I get, over and over, how awesome you all really are. While my trip gets better and better, and I let go more into being here and being present with my experience now, I also get to live my home through my interactions with others. Part of me has been really afraid, for various reasons, of letting go of home while I´m here. But I get to live it constantly, and keep my conversation for awesome relationships and good times alive every single day.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Mountains and Stars
Yesterday I got back from an unplanned and quite lovely trip to the mountains around Oaxaca, the Sierra Norte. I was supposed to start language classes on Tuesday, however, somehow I overslept and missed the registration. It actually reminded me quite a bit of college, when I would wake up late and dazed and swear I set the alarm. (I swear I set the alarm...) I was bothered by this for about a half hour, until this really funny gay Indian man I had met the night before asked me if I wanted to come with him for a day hiking up in the mountains. I had been reading about this area, and all of the different butterflies, birds and trees, and so I packed my bag and quickly headed out with him. We took a bus for about 2 hours up into this very small village, which is part of a chain of (I think) 7 villages. All of them have joined together to some degree, pooling their resources, and now promote a kind of ecotourism up there, where you can hike from village to village, and camp or stay at cabanas. Each village is actually communally owned too, with everyone pooling their crops, and each putting in a certain amount of time and money for the whole of the village. It was very interesting.
Anyways, my new friend Gilo and I got there got kind of late, so we ended up eating and then negotiating this interesting bungalow in the middle of the woods. He has a heavy Indian accent, and then speaks barely passable Spanish, but he was doing all the talking, and it was really funny to watch people listen to him. He would say ¨Senooooora, senoooooora, pooor favorrrrrr¨and the people would listen to him and start laughing. So we ended up in this rustic ¨cabin¨ in the middle of nowhere, that had a very nice fireplace and lots of blankets, because it is FREEZING up there. Literally. That night, there were more stars than I have seen in years, since last time I went for a real hike with my Dad and brothers. I braved the cold to stand outside with my head back for way too long, taking it all in. The sky was on fire with them.
The next day we went for a really great (and challenging) hike up and down through the mountains. It almost looks like you´re in northern California, or some parts of Washington, except that when you get up close everything is like a cactus on a stick. Prickles everywhere. We climbed this really high rock and could look out over more mountains than I knew there were in this area. The sweet kids we were hiking with played a little flute and we ate some fruit. The whole hike, our guide would point out different plants and trees and what they´re used for here. There were lots of trees that are supposed to have medicinal qualities, and there were gouges in the trees where all of the local people come to take what they need for whatever is going on with them.
Today I am back in Oaxaca, and having missed the Spanish class I was going to take here, I think I am going to head to San Cristobal de la Casa (spelling?) and take a class there instead. It´s supposed to be a beautiful town in Chiapas, and I´m looking forward to it. I think after that I might stay out of the cities for a little while. I like them a lot, but getting up into the mountains reminded me how much I like some quiet, and especially being out in nature when I travel. And even in the middle of this teensy town, we still met some really fun and interesting people.
I am off to nurse my insane sunburn I got, somehow forgetting that 10,000 feet up, I might need some sunscreen...
Warmly,
Kira
Anyways, my new friend Gilo and I got there got kind of late, so we ended up eating and then negotiating this interesting bungalow in the middle of the woods. He has a heavy Indian accent, and then speaks barely passable Spanish, but he was doing all the talking, and it was really funny to watch people listen to him. He would say ¨Senooooora, senoooooora, pooor favorrrrrr¨and the people would listen to him and start laughing. So we ended up in this rustic ¨cabin¨ in the middle of nowhere, that had a very nice fireplace and lots of blankets, because it is FREEZING up there. Literally. That night, there were more stars than I have seen in years, since last time I went for a real hike with my Dad and brothers. I braved the cold to stand outside with my head back for way too long, taking it all in. The sky was on fire with them.
The next day we went for a really great (and challenging) hike up and down through the mountains. It almost looks like you´re in northern California, or some parts of Washington, except that when you get up close everything is like a cactus on a stick. Prickles everywhere. We climbed this really high rock and could look out over more mountains than I knew there were in this area. The sweet kids we were hiking with played a little flute and we ate some fruit. The whole hike, our guide would point out different plants and trees and what they´re used for here. There were lots of trees that are supposed to have medicinal qualities, and there were gouges in the trees where all of the local people come to take what they need for whatever is going on with them.
Today I am back in Oaxaca, and having missed the Spanish class I was going to take here, I think I am going to head to San Cristobal de la Casa (spelling?) and take a class there instead. It´s supposed to be a beautiful town in Chiapas, and I´m looking forward to it. I think after that I might stay out of the cities for a little while. I like them a lot, but getting up into the mountains reminded me how much I like some quiet, and especially being out in nature when I travel. And even in the middle of this teensy town, we still met some really fun and interesting people.
I am off to nurse my insane sunburn I got, somehow forgetting that 10,000 feet up, I might need some sunscreen...
Warmly,
Kira
Monday, February 4, 2008
Southward Bound
Mmmm, today is the first really sunny and warm day I´ve had since getting to Mexico, and it is certainly lovely. I arrived last night in Oaxaca City after a loooong 13 hour bus ride. Yay for ipods, and friends with good taste in music. It certainly makes a long bus ride a lot better.
Originally I was going take some Spanish classes in Guanajuato, and when I first got there it seemed like a great idea. However, as beautiful as it is, it is basically in the middle of the desert, with not a lot to do around it, and I wanted to be somewhere where I could have some fun activities to do in the afternoon, after my grueling four hours of classes....besides that, what I wanted more than anything was to meet some people I could talk to. It would be kind of like heading to the middle of Montana ;) and hoping to find a lot of people who spoke Chinese, and then wondering why you were lonely. Well, maybe not quite that dramatic, but still. I had become like an English junkie, looking for my next fix. I´d be walking down the street and someone would catch my eye wearing shorts and flipflops, and my mind would race wildly, wondering if they were German or Canadian. I´d hear some American slang tossed around lightly and my heart would race. I was becoming desperate.
One of my favorite days there, I was walking back to my hotel when I passed a girl with a hula hoop slung casually over her shoulder. I immediately did an about face, and being the English\hula hoop junkie that I am, began to covertly follow her. I tracked her for as long as I could before it would be really creepy if she caught me, and then asked her in crazy French\Spanish if she spoke English. Happily, she did and we walked to the zocalo, where we spent the afternoon hooping with these hilarious teenagers. I think there might be nothing funnier than watching ten 13 year old boys try to hula hoop. It was so fun, and really inspiring, because she was awesome. It made me wish so much that I had brought a hoop, especially with 3 months of relatively free time to practice. After spending the afternoon together, she gave me her hoop to use for the rest of my trip! This made me soooo happy. It´s such a fun way to connect with people when you, ahem, don´t speak the language, and I am going to rock by the time I get home...
So, now, I am in Oaxaca City, and am going to start Spanish classes tomorrow. Thank God. I had thought about skipping Oaxaca, because I was here on my last trip about 6 years ago. But really, it was my favorite place from that trip, and I didn´t get to explore it nearly as much as I wanted to. So, at least a week here. I met this great girl, Nina, from Brazil this morning, and we spent the day wandering around the markets and going to some huge beautiful cathedrals. I had been thinking about adding Brazil to the itinerary, mostly because Flora and Lane are there, and meeting her and hearing about some beautiful places definitely pushed me further in that direction. And the dancing too...Maybe a month there?....who knows.
This trip has been so challenging so far (after only one week), and has brought up a lot for me about what independence and being alone means. My first instinct has been to run to wherever my friends are (like Brazil), and do everything I can to be with others. I consider myself so independent, and of course I am to some degree. But I realize that my independence is bolstered in large part by having incredible friends and family and the many things I use to define myself, like my house, my career and even Bernardi (geez I miss that whippersnapper). Taking all of that away, and thrusting myself into hard and uncomfortable situations certainly has brought up a lot for me about who I am and how I present myself to the world. How I WANT to present myself to the world. As much as part of me wants to head off and find my friends, another part of me realizes maybe it´s not quite time for that, and I should explore a bit more by myself before I take that route.
Hmmm, there´s so much on my mind lately that it feels like I have lots to think about. I think I´ll go have a beer with Nina instead.
Love and such,
Kira
Originally I was going take some Spanish classes in Guanajuato, and when I first got there it seemed like a great idea. However, as beautiful as it is, it is basically in the middle of the desert, with not a lot to do around it, and I wanted to be somewhere where I could have some fun activities to do in the afternoon, after my grueling four hours of classes....besides that, what I wanted more than anything was to meet some people I could talk to. It would be kind of like heading to the middle of Montana ;) and hoping to find a lot of people who spoke Chinese, and then wondering why you were lonely. Well, maybe not quite that dramatic, but still. I had become like an English junkie, looking for my next fix. I´d be walking down the street and someone would catch my eye wearing shorts and flipflops, and my mind would race wildly, wondering if they were German or Canadian. I´d hear some American slang tossed around lightly and my heart would race. I was becoming desperate.
One of my favorite days there, I was walking back to my hotel when I passed a girl with a hula hoop slung casually over her shoulder. I immediately did an about face, and being the English\hula hoop junkie that I am, began to covertly follow her. I tracked her for as long as I could before it would be really creepy if she caught me, and then asked her in crazy French\Spanish if she spoke English. Happily, she did and we walked to the zocalo, where we spent the afternoon hooping with these hilarious teenagers. I think there might be nothing funnier than watching ten 13 year old boys try to hula hoop. It was so fun, and really inspiring, because she was awesome. It made me wish so much that I had brought a hoop, especially with 3 months of relatively free time to practice. After spending the afternoon together, she gave me her hoop to use for the rest of my trip! This made me soooo happy. It´s such a fun way to connect with people when you, ahem, don´t speak the language, and I am going to rock by the time I get home...
So, now, I am in Oaxaca City, and am going to start Spanish classes tomorrow. Thank God. I had thought about skipping Oaxaca, because I was here on my last trip about 6 years ago. But really, it was my favorite place from that trip, and I didn´t get to explore it nearly as much as I wanted to. So, at least a week here. I met this great girl, Nina, from Brazil this morning, and we spent the day wandering around the markets and going to some huge beautiful cathedrals. I had been thinking about adding Brazil to the itinerary, mostly because Flora and Lane are there, and meeting her and hearing about some beautiful places definitely pushed me further in that direction. And the dancing too...Maybe a month there?....who knows.
This trip has been so challenging so far (after only one week), and has brought up a lot for me about what independence and being alone means. My first instinct has been to run to wherever my friends are (like Brazil), and do everything I can to be with others. I consider myself so independent, and of course I am to some degree. But I realize that my independence is bolstered in large part by having incredible friends and family and the many things I use to define myself, like my house, my career and even Bernardi (geez I miss that whippersnapper). Taking all of that away, and thrusting myself into hard and uncomfortable situations certainly has brought up a lot for me about who I am and how I present myself to the world. How I WANT to present myself to the world. As much as part of me wants to head off and find my friends, another part of me realizes maybe it´s not quite time for that, and I should explore a bit more by myself before I take that route.
Hmmm, there´s so much on my mind lately that it feels like I have lots to think about. I think I´ll go have a beer with Nina instead.
Love and such,
Kira
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Officially Humbled
Well, I can finally sit down to write, since my head has stopped spinning (at least temporarily). I actually need to write, and get my Mexico City story out, so I can move on. Anyone who is reading this will have to pardon the long post, because I´ve got some stuff to say.
Wow. I just got to Guanajuato this afternoon, and my body is finally starting to relax a little bit.
I got to Mexico City on early Tuesday evening, and immediately upon landing realized the arrogance/stupidity of coming to this city with no plan whatsoever. I read a bit on the plane of where I might want to go, and in horrible Spanish asked my cab driver to take me to the Colonia Condesa. He gave me a strange look and began to ask me questions, which I of course did not understand. This is when I began to understand I possibly should have prepared just a bit more. I don´t know quite how it happened, but somehow I ended up, at his suggestion, at this kind of creepy hotel in some random part of town. After dropping my bag and taking a deep breath, I decided to go for a little walk. Again the choice to not prepare began to be questioned in my mind, as I wandered around a neighborhood fully of ONLY men, no women, who all stared and muttered at me. Needless to say I headed back to the hotel quickly, and, exhausted, fell into a crazy sleep where I dreamt about being lost and having everything stolen from me. I got up and decided I had to leave creepy creepy land, and so I packed my bag and tried to decide where to go.
I looked through my little book and ended up at this hostel over in the Historic Central District, right off the zocalo. It was much nicer over in this area of town, and I met a couple of people who were traveling. I had read about some of the big sights of Mexico City, like the Anthropology museum and the cathedrals, and the Frida Kahlo museum, all of which sounded interesting. But while I was there, I was just paralyzed. I´m sure some of you may have thought about this, but if not: imagine being in a city three times the size of New York, and then not knowing the language. Every time I tried to do something, it was beyond hard. I tried to find a bookstore, figuring it would probably be wise to pick up a Spanish dictionary. I wandered around trying in vain to follow directions for a solid two hours, and still wasn´t successful. It was beyond frustrating, and, as mentioned in the title, incredibly humbling. The thing about it is that I had heard all about how dangerous Mexico City was, and I couldn´t leave that information behind. It didn´t seem that dangerous, yet it definitely didn´t seem safe either. I couldn´t tell what the hell was going on, because I didn´t know what anyone was talking about...you get the idea.
I knew I needed to figure out where to go, but my mind couldn´t even think and my body was so tense and nervous. I kept being constantly worried about being taken advantage of in some way, and the men were so pushy, I walked around with my eyes down...this is obviously not my usual state of being, and it felt really wrong. It just wasn´t working in Mexico City for me.
This morning, just knowing I needed to leave, I got on a bus for Guanajuato. It was only after getting away that I really realized how hard that experience was. But it was just that, an experience, and a good one to have at the beginning of this trip. I knew it wasn´t for me there, yet I was stuck in somehow proving I could do it. Whateva. Enough of that. This trip is about doing what feels right, not being stuck in what I should do. I´ll get my Mexican history a different way.
On a million times brighter note, this city is beautifully picturesque and lovely. Tonight I wandered the (safe) streets, which were jam packed with people having a great time. The zocalo is goregeous and pristine, and when I got there, there was a 12 piece horn band playing in the little gazebo, in matching jackets. Tonight a whole different band started in front of the theater, and then wound all throughout the town. It´s an old colonial town with streets that are crazy and twisty and immediately get you lost. There was probably 200 people, and we´d wander up a street, and then through an alleyway so narrow that all of us had to go single file. It would open up into a big courtyard, and everyone would spread out and dance. I danced with a whole bunch of little kids, who were so cute. At the end we stopped at this little plaza with stone steps and everyone sat down for one final song. This group of about 15 teenagers wandered by; kids who would normally be way too cool to be involved in some traditional singing. They all stopped and put their arms around each other and were singing along. Everyone was singing (except me-I just hummed). I thought it was so great to see all of these different people of all ages interacting and joining together in a way that would be really uncommon to see at home. Everyone was so friendly and smiling...it was awesome.
Tomorrow I am going to make some (loose) plans, and then have some fun here. I think tomorrow I´m going to attempt to go out salsa dancing. We´ll see how that goes...
Lots of love and kisses,
Kira
Wow. I just got to Guanajuato this afternoon, and my body is finally starting to relax a little bit.
I got to Mexico City on early Tuesday evening, and immediately upon landing realized the arrogance/stupidity of coming to this city with no plan whatsoever. I read a bit on the plane of where I might want to go, and in horrible Spanish asked my cab driver to take me to the Colonia Condesa. He gave me a strange look and began to ask me questions, which I of course did not understand. This is when I began to understand I possibly should have prepared just a bit more. I don´t know quite how it happened, but somehow I ended up, at his suggestion, at this kind of creepy hotel in some random part of town. After dropping my bag and taking a deep breath, I decided to go for a little walk. Again the choice to not prepare began to be questioned in my mind, as I wandered around a neighborhood fully of ONLY men, no women, who all stared and muttered at me. Needless to say I headed back to the hotel quickly, and, exhausted, fell into a crazy sleep where I dreamt about being lost and having everything stolen from me. I got up and decided I had to leave creepy creepy land, and so I packed my bag and tried to decide where to go.
I looked through my little book and ended up at this hostel over in the Historic Central District, right off the zocalo. It was much nicer over in this area of town, and I met a couple of people who were traveling. I had read about some of the big sights of Mexico City, like the Anthropology museum and the cathedrals, and the Frida Kahlo museum, all of which sounded interesting. But while I was there, I was just paralyzed. I´m sure some of you may have thought about this, but if not: imagine being in a city three times the size of New York, and then not knowing the language. Every time I tried to do something, it was beyond hard. I tried to find a bookstore, figuring it would probably be wise to pick up a Spanish dictionary. I wandered around trying in vain to follow directions for a solid two hours, and still wasn´t successful. It was beyond frustrating, and, as mentioned in the title, incredibly humbling. The thing about it is that I had heard all about how dangerous Mexico City was, and I couldn´t leave that information behind. It didn´t seem that dangerous, yet it definitely didn´t seem safe either. I couldn´t tell what the hell was going on, because I didn´t know what anyone was talking about...you get the idea.
I knew I needed to figure out where to go, but my mind couldn´t even think and my body was so tense and nervous. I kept being constantly worried about being taken advantage of in some way, and the men were so pushy, I walked around with my eyes down...this is obviously not my usual state of being, and it felt really wrong. It just wasn´t working in Mexico City for me.
This morning, just knowing I needed to leave, I got on a bus for Guanajuato. It was only after getting away that I really realized how hard that experience was. But it was just that, an experience, and a good one to have at the beginning of this trip. I knew it wasn´t for me there, yet I was stuck in somehow proving I could do it. Whateva. Enough of that. This trip is about doing what feels right, not being stuck in what I should do. I´ll get my Mexican history a different way.
On a million times brighter note, this city is beautifully picturesque and lovely. Tonight I wandered the (safe) streets, which were jam packed with people having a great time. The zocalo is goregeous and pristine, and when I got there, there was a 12 piece horn band playing in the little gazebo, in matching jackets. Tonight a whole different band started in front of the theater, and then wound all throughout the town. It´s an old colonial town with streets that are crazy and twisty and immediately get you lost. There was probably 200 people, and we´d wander up a street, and then through an alleyway so narrow that all of us had to go single file. It would open up into a big courtyard, and everyone would spread out and dance. I danced with a whole bunch of little kids, who were so cute. At the end we stopped at this little plaza with stone steps and everyone sat down for one final song. This group of about 15 teenagers wandered by; kids who would normally be way too cool to be involved in some traditional singing. They all stopped and put their arms around each other and were singing along. Everyone was singing (except me-I just hummed). I thought it was so great to see all of these different people of all ages interacting and joining together in a way that would be really uncommon to see at home. Everyone was so friendly and smiling...it was awesome.
Tomorrow I am going to make some (loose) plans, and then have some fun here. I think tomorrow I´m going to attempt to go out salsa dancing. We´ll see how that goes...
Lots of love and kisses,
Kira
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