Como Siempre Guatemala

I post this from Florida. I slept last night in Guatemala City, but spent the afternoon flying en route to my now (so called) home. I now post from nowhere, having somehow (and long before this afternoon) lost myself somewhere along the way..

===

I arrived tonight in Guatemala City on an afternoon bus from Flores. It was about 11pm when we arrived, and I had located my bus line's terminal on the Lonely Planet guide's map. There were several recommended hotels with a few blocks' radius, which was reassuring.. Given that the word on the city - that has about a million and half residents - is that crime is very prevalent, I was wary. One of the highest rates of mugging and murder in Latin America, I had no interest at all in augmenting that statistic.

When we arrived, I was in no mood to screw around. There a gaggle of fellows waiting at the terminal, crowding the bus door, offering taxi and economical hotels in pidgin English and Spanish. Annoyed, I pushed through them, and collected my stowed bag. They followed me, and I had to make it very clear, in a curt and emphatic manner - that I did not need their services.

I pushed through them again, and headed across the street to set my things down on the sidewalk and get orientated. I pulled my guide and trusty compass out and tried to figure out which way to head. The crowd of taxi drivers stand there scrutinizing me. Annoyed, tired, and beginning to feel uneasy, I decided I needed to move, but couldn't figure out which direction. Frustrated, I picked my stuff up, stuffed my guide in my shoulder bag, and began walking in the direction that felt most proper. I hit the intersection, and noticed that there were gaggles of young men loitering the other side of the street, and hip-hop was blaring from somewhere. Becoming ever less comfortable, I heard a guy call out to me "hotel, mister?"

I was like yeah. Time to get inside. He beckoned, and pointed at a doorway opposite, a sign "hotel" above it. Bingo. Probably not one of the ones recommended by Lonely Planet, but I was becoming less choosey by the nano- second.

I walked over, and in. There was a girl at the desk. "Tiene una habitacon?" Si. "Quantas por una noche?" 40 quetzales. That's 5 bucks. "Puedo verlo?" Claro que si. She motions a chubby kid, maybe 15, to take me to the room. He shuffles off down the hall, and opens a door. I follow, and peer in. It's gloomy and a bit dank, but the bed seems clean. Close enough for me. I'm not wandering the streets here any longer looking to get myself mugged. I tell him I'll take it.

I pay, am handed a roll of toilet paper and a small bar of soap for use in the common bathroom. I check it out as I return to my bed. It's nasty. No showering here. Hopefully, no need to use it much at all.. Eight hours sleep, and I'll be on my way by taxi to the airport. My flight is at 1 pm, so I'll have plenty of time for a long brunch..

I get to my room, set my stuff down and get organized. It's danker than I'd noticed before. In fact, it stinks. Sort of like unrefrigerated raw meat before it spoils. Not cool. But I'm prepared. I have a spray bottle of Febreeze with me. A few passes with that, and now it smells like the Marriot.

Pleased with myself, I grab some trash I'd collected in my bag on the bus, and walked across the hall to the bathroom to take a leak..

As I came back, I went over to the common trash barrel - an actual barrel in a closet on the hall with a half door on it - to throw my trash away..

As I approached, I saw a flash of movement, a blur of fur and a long bare pink tail flicking up then away at the top of the barrel about three feet distant.. Startled, I leapt back a foot or two.

The thing dropped off the side of the barrel, and fled scurrying noisily into the darkness behind into the unfathomable reaches of the inner closet.

Holy bleedin' smokes. I had just seen a rat. About the size of a smallish cat.

Inside my freaking hotel.

At first, I was disgusted. WTF? Then, after about thirty seconds, as my shock began to wear off, I had to laugh. This sort of thing is what this gig is all about. You have the cojones to stay at a Guatemalan flophouse? Yep. Hay tiene algunas ratons..

===

Is that even good Spanish? I have no idea what I'm saying, anymore.

Ah, whatever. I'm off to bed. Blessings and every grace upon your heads.



___

Limboing the Light Fandango: Skipping the Guatemalan Border [re-posted]

So. I bought a baseline iPad two days before leaving for this trip. It's an amazing piece of technology, but one different from a laptop in hundreds of ways. It's taken me the last two and a half weeks to get the hang of it, and to get it set up properly. I actually didn't sync it properly with my laptop, which is a big annoyance due to the fact that this thing is like an iPod or iPhone, and needs a parent computer to set up and properly use. I made several mistakes when I did this the second day I ownbed it, the day before I left, by not properly tuning it to use iCloud fully, and by putting too much music on it limiting the ammount of hardrive space I have free. It seems impossible to mass delete music - you can delete individual songs, one by one, but not 10 gigs worth at once, which is what I need to do to free my 16 gig drive up sufficiently to upload photos and download software and all that jazz..

Essentially, I need to plug it in to my laptop which is back in Florida, and get the iCloud settings right so I can sync this thing off my laptop remotely over the internet. I also need to delete all but the few hundred or so songs that I listen to obsessively, and then put the rest of my media onto the cloud to be accessed remotely as I want it.. That too can only be properly done when this thing is plugged into my laptop.

Anyhow, despite that minor lackof secure iTunes equipped computer induced boondoggle (which I will rectify when I return home for a week and half Thursday) I have been enjoying trying out tons of new apps and discovering the many ways in which this thing differs from, and often surprisingly outperforms a laptop at a plethora of tasks. Its portability, and its $500 (as opposed to the $2000 on my lap top) price tag are the biggest pluses, of course. If this gets damaged or stolen it is not that big a deal. It can be remotely scrubbed if need be, if stolen; and much more easily replaced in any event. And it does 90% of what my laptop can do. A couple of the things it can't do, like run rss feeds and my strategic war games (Hi, my name is Charlie and I'm an HoI2 and Total War addict) are actually huge pluses. I need a break from the wave of information that my laptop engulfs me in, as well as the distraction of games.

And the apps are mostly impressive. This thing does many things well, in neat new ways, and sometimes better than a laptop can.

One mixed example are the blogging apps - Blogsy and Blogpress - that I downloaded a few days ago in Belize. I used Blogpress to knock out the original post that was published under this title. I spent an entire afternoon in this groovy little internet pub overlooking the main drag in San Igancio (such as it is- it's dusty, hardscrabble border town with an eclectic mix of people - sort of like Mos Eisley, only set in the Belizian jungle, not Tatooine.. )

I only took one picture from the cafe balcony for some reason. This picture of a Mennonite (think Amish, thereabouts) woman talking with some guy. There are many Mennonites in Belize, and they - as you might expect - are very industrious folk, kicking it like it's 1560 Friesland in 2012 Belize. They have major farms there that produce much of the country's produce. I saw them everywhere, and they fascinate and impress me. Hence this odd, lone image:





I blogged the earlier version of this post at that upstairs cafe. It was a slapdash, rambling affair. Typical of my blogging, indeed most of my writing, these days. I did really like some of the pictures I posted with it, though.

So it stings a bit that while screwing around with the Blogpress app last night, I somehow managed to erase that post. It was absurdly easy to do, and I still don't understand what happened.

Something that would be inconceivable on a laptop, but happened all too easily on this damn'd iPad.

I'd posted images of Christmas, my reef diving, and the very intriguing spelunking I did in a cave were the Maya performed ritual human sacrifices.

Virtual postcards of some pretty amazing stuff.. All swallowed by the matrix.

I may repost some of it, but tonight I'm in a hotel - an otherwise very decent place - with weak wireless. In lieu of recapitulating all that, I am going to paste a few images of my past few days in Guatemala:





The view at sunset from my hotel veranda over Lago de Petén Itzá. The town here, Flores, is on an island connected to the shore by a manmade land bridge. The last great Mayan fortress and ceremonial complex to be taken by the Spanish (at the end of the 17th century, 200 years after Columbus arrived) was on this island. None of it now survives, having been razed during conquest. It's a beautiful little town, reminding me a bit of Greenville on Moosehead.. Picturesque little place on a great 20 mile long lake..

The backyard, here:





This morning at 4:30 I left for a tour of the great Mayan ruin enmeshed in the jungle at Tikal about an hour and a half from here. It rained all day long, but the place was nevertheless still magical.

A few shots peremptorily culled from my camera, without editing:


















It rains rather fierce in the rainforest, you see. I was soddened by the incessant temperate damp .. Nothing that a hot shower, and a few reinvigorating libations wouldn't salve.

Tomorrow evening I take the overnight bus to Guatemala City to fly home on Thursday.

I repair once again to my natural state exile a week and half later, on the 20th of the month. Not a day too late nor too soon.

This here blog is far from undone. There are stories yet to come..



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Location:Hotel Casa Amelia, Calle Union, Santa Elena, Guatemala

Bruised Orange: O.J. Squeezed from the American Dream..

If I Have Anymore Faith in this Fu'k'd Up Country, It's Due to the Likes of John Prine..




Them Lyrics:

My heart's in the ice house, come hill or come valley,
Like a long ago Sunday when I walked through the alley,
On a cold winter's morning to a church house
Just to shovel some snow.

I heard sirens on the train track, howl naked gettin' nuder,
An altar boy's been hit by a local commuter,
Just from walking with his back turned
To the train that was coming so slow..

You can gaze out the window get mad, gettin' madder,
Throw your hands in the air, sayin' "What does it matter?"
But it don't do no good to get angry,
So help me I know..

For a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter..
You become your own prisoner, as you watch yourself sit there
Wrapped up in a trap of your very own chain of sorrow..

I been brought down to zero, pulled out and put back there..
I sat on a park bench, kissed the girl with the black hair
And my head shouted down to my heart, "you'd better look out below!"
Hey, it ain't such a long drop don't stammer don't stutter,
From the diamonds in the sidewalk to the dirt in the gutter,
You'll carry those bruises to remind you wherever you go.

You can gaze out the window get mad, gettin' madder,
Throw your hands in the air, sayin' "What does it matter?"
But it don't do no good to get angry,
So help me I know..

My heart's in the ice house, come hill or come valley,
Like a long ago Sunday when I walked through the alley,
On a cold winter's morning to a church house
Just to shovel some snow.

I heard sirens on the train track, howl naked gettin' nuder,
An altar boy's been hit by a local commuter,
Just from walking with his back turned
To the train that was coming so slow..

You can gaze out the window get mad, gettin' madder,
Throw your hands in the air, sayin' "What does it matter?"
But it don't do no good to get angry,
So help me I know..

For a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter..
You become your own prisoner, as you watch yourself sit there
Wrapped up in a trap of your very own chain of sorrow..



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Next Year I'm Praying a Novena to Win..

"The Mexican people, after more than two centuries of experiments, have faith only in the Virgin of Guadalupe and the National Lottery.."  Octavio Paz, Mexican Nobel Laureate in Literature 


The week before last I was walking through one of the many exquisite plazas in Oaxaca, and passing a lottery ticket booth I noticed that they were selling tickets for what apparently was a special 25 million peso (1,800,000 dollar) drawing  that was held yesterday on the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the ticket (as shown on the poster above) being emblazoned with the image of her icon.  


I was extremely amused, and immediately reminded of the quote above.  I thought of buying one, and trying my luck, but didn't.  Fifty pesos (three and a half bucks) ) is a bit too steep (that's the price of two beers or an ensalada mixta here) and while I was fascinated and sorely tempted to collect a ticket for a souvenir, the impulse struck me as mildly sacrilegious..


I am still far more sanctimonious and puritanical than Mexico, you see.. 


Being here I'm starting to lighten up.  


I'm hereby resolved: Next year I'm going to play.  Cross your fingers for me..


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¡Viva la Virgencita! O Guadalupana, Ruega por Nosotros..

Today is the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  I have not yet posted anything substantial about my visit last month to the shrine, which is in the north of Mexico City, next to a hill called Tepeyac.   I'll rectify that stupid omission soon, when I get to Cancun tomorrow.   I have an overnight bus ride, and I'll draft a few notes..

The legend is that on the 9th of December 1531 (when in Europe the Reformation was just breaking) a young native woman dressed like an Aztec queen, wearing the traditional dress of both a virgin and a pregnant woman (a putative contradiction) appeared to an Indian on his way to mass named Juan Diego.  That day is now his feast day.  She told him that she was Mary Queen of Heaven, and to go to the bishop and tell him to build a church dedicated to her there.  Little Juan Diego did as she asked, but the bishop refused to believe him, and demanded a sign.

There's a theory that because she was speaking to Juan Diego in the Aztec Natuhal that she actually referred to herself as Coatlaxopeuh (pronounced quatlasupe), meaning “the one who crushes the serpent” and that it may be referring to the plumed Aztec serpent god Quetzacoatl.  To the Spanish ear that may have sounded like Guadalupe, the name of a black virgin venerated in Hernan Cortes' native Extremadura.. I believe that's true, because it is exactly right: because it is she who crushes the serpent's head, the woman of revelation.


The bishop got his sign.  In the form of this icon, painted on Juan Diego's tilma (plant weave) cloak, along with a bouquet of roses, on December 12th, 1531:

She comforted Juan Diego with these words: “ Am I not here, I, who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the source of your joy? Are you not in the hollow of my mantle, in the crossing of my arms? Do you need anything more? Let nothing else worry you, or disturb you.”  

No tengas miedo, n'aie pas peur, be not afraid..

Long story short, that church she requested was built, and is now the most visited Catholic shrine in the world. And she - the Virgin of Gualdalupe - is credited with the final conversion of Latin America to the Faith.

As I say, this week leading up to her feast today has been a blur of processions, explosions and general excitement here.  

There's a hymn that the Mexicans sing to la Guadlupana (the little virgin of Guadalupe, patroness of Mexico and the Americas).  Someone is playing it out the street right now.

The melody is beautiful, I love it:

This is how it sounds when sung by normal Mexicans, which is how you hear all the time in the streets, as groups of pilgrims walk toward the church of Our Lady of Guadalupe on the hill here.  When they get to the church, they usually kneel and make their way down the nave on their knees singing it ..  This is a mariachi version, with video of the shrine at Villa de Guadalupe, where some 6 million people (a madhouse) come this week for the fiesta..

Here's a pop version that I like:

These are the Lyrics:

Desde el cielo una hermosa mañana

La Guadalupana 

La Guadalupana bajó al Tepeyac

Su llegada llenó de alegría 

De paz y armonía 

De paz y armonía y de libertad.

Por el monte pasaba Juan Diego 

Y acercose luego 

Y acercose luego al oir cantar.

Suplicante juntaba las manos 

Era mexicana 

Era mexicana su porte y su faz.

“Juan Dieguito” la Virgen la dijo 

Este cerro elijo

Este cerro elijo para hacer mi altar.

En la tilma entre rosas pintadas 

Su imagen amada 

Su imagen se digno dejar.

Desde entonces para el mexicano 

Ser Guadalupano 

Ser Guadalupano es algo esencial.

En sus penas se postra de hinojos 

Y eleva sus ojos 

Y eleva sus ojos hacia el Tepeyac.

Madrecita de los mexicanos 

Que estás en el cielo 

Que estás en el cielo ruega a Dios por nos.

Desde el cielo una hermosa mañana...

===

Translation:

From heaven a beautiful morning breaks
The Guadalupana
The Guadalupana comes down to Tepeyac


Her arrival brings joy
Peace and happiness
Peace, happiness and freedom


Up the hill came Juan Diego

As he drew close
As he drew close, he heard singing

Pleading, she clasped her hands

She was Mexican
She was Mexican, both her face and appearance

"Little Juan Diego" the Virgin called

This hill I choose
This hill I choose for my altar to be built

On his cloak surrounded by painted roses

Her adored image
Her image she left us

From then on for all Mexicans

To believe in the Guadalupana

To believe the Guadalupana is to be Mexican

In sorrow prostrate on their knees 
They lift their eyes 
They raise their eyes to Tepeyac

Little Mother of all Mexicans

Thou who art in Heaven
Thou who art in Heaven, pray to God for us

From heaven a beautiful morning breaks..

---

Crazy Dang Mexicans..

Did I mention how Mexicans love explosions? No?  I haven't been blogging this trip very well at all.   Everywhere you go in Mexico, people are setting off fireworks.  The day I arrived here in San Cristobal, I walked out of the bus station at 6 a.m. after an 11 hour overnight bus ride, and they were lighting off fireworks right in front of the station.

At six a.m.

I was not impressed.  In fact, I thought: I'm going to take a nap, and I am taking the next bus away from these crazy freaking people.  Good Lord.

Only moment since I've been in Mexico I've wished I was at home..

Anyhow, I went, found my hostel, took a nap, and when I woke up they were still letting off explosions everywhere throughout the city.  They do this all the time at the slightest excuse, but this past week is one of Mexico's biggest fiestas, the week preceding the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  This means they blow up far more things than usual.  From about the feast of Saint Nicholas on the 6th through tomorrow, December 12th which is the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the country sounds like a war zone.

There's a string of Catholic feasts, all of them are excuses for explosions: the Immaculate Conception is December 8th (which in the States is supposed to be a big deal for Catholics too, but most parishes are somnolent, and sleep walk through the liturgical calendar) and December 9th is the feast of Juan Diego, the indian to whom Our Lady appeared and gave the miraculous image to..  The 13th is the Feast of Saint Lucy, which is also (I am told) a big deal here, so I'm sure they will be blowing up stuff then, too.

Anyway, that nap had put me in a much much happier frame of mind, and instead of staying annoyed, I became amused by the spectacle.  The fact that it was afternoon, not dawn helped reframe the situation.  Mexicans never stop letting off fireworks this week though, so you have to get used to it.  3 in the afternoon, 3 in the morning, it's all the same.  I have no idea who stays up all night long letting off bombs, but that's how these people party.

Today, when I woke up, after responding to emails from people concerned about last night's earthquake (see prior post) I walked out into the kitchen of the hostel here and made myself a cup of coffee.  They have a free pot, and it's delicious because Chiapan beans are excellent, and these people are French and know how to drink coffee.

Everyone here is Francophone, with the exception of myself, one other American guy, a few Mexicans and a Swiss German girl.  Swiss French, French, Quebecois, they're all represented here.  This place is touted by Lonely Planet and the Petit Routard, both, so it draws all the French hippies.  They do yoga, drink a lot of beer without getting trashed (which makes me feel at home: Mexicans tend to get sloshed, which I don't appreciate) and smoke pot openly here.  I like the place, since the people are great, and I get to speak French.

There's a little girl named Clara here whose French hippy parents are apparently home schooling her while they wander Latin America.  I posted a couple pictures of her earlier.  She's a little prima donna, and runs around being annoying.  She reminds me of Izzy, which is great.

Hostel Central Courtyard

These two pictures of Ganesh (the Hindu elephant god) and I guess Shiva and his spouse (or something) are on the wall of my room.  I use color sketch on them because it's groovier:

Anyway, as I was pouring the coffee one of the hippies comes up and says "do you know zat in 15 minoots zey are going to blow zom bombz up in zee street?"

I was like, "Bombs?  What bombs?"

He laughed, and replied "Yes, zee crazy f'king Mexicans are going to blow up zeez bombs.  Zit will be very exciting!"

I grabbed my camera, and walked out into the street.  Sure enough, there was a line of black powder running smack down the middle, with little white bundles laid on it about every foot, apparently being the aforementioned bombs:

The Mexicans incidentally also love parades and processions and marching bands.  They have these all the time too, even in the middle of the night.  Today of course being no exception.

These are some of the people who ran buy in the minutes before the explosions:

Wearing Indigenous Costumes

Running with Flags

Running with Icons of Our Lady of Guadalupe

And finally, the requisite marching band.

There were throngs of people.  Children everywhere - I was charmed: no one seemed at all worried.  

Most Americans would be in cardiac arrest, sheltering their kids, calling their lawyers and throwing fits.  

Not these Mexicans.  They were happy and excited.  

Ten minutes passed, when off in the distance about five blocks away they lit the line of powder in the Zocolo, which is the central square of the city.  The line of powder ran some ten blocks to the Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe on a hill overlooking the city.  I'll post pictures of that church tomorrow, because I think it's interesting.

This is video of what happened next:

The clip cuts out at the end because the concussions of the explosions did something to my camera.  Not because I was killed.  It was a close call though, I had to run inside a random doorway to avoid being hurt.  

Absolutely nuts, these people.  

Still not as insane as we are, though.  

I got an email from Nikki yesterday where she told me she's working at a storage facility in Michigan where people rent space to set up meth labs.  They do this to avoid burning down their homes when the meth blows up.

Americans blow up meth labs and Muslim countries, Mexicans blow up everything else.

Maybe it's just me, but I prefer the Mexican custom, myself.  Still, tonight I'm exhausted and a bit overwhelmed.  I'm not sick of Mexico, but it would be nice to be home.  

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About the Earthquake

There apparently was a 6.5 magnitude earthquake last night at 19:47 CT just south of Mexico City, during which a few people were killed.  The epicenter was in the state of Guerrero near Iguala, and was felt in Alculpulco.

If you zoom the map here out just a bit, you will see that that is quite far away from San Cristobal and Chiapas.  We felt nothing here.  The blue line is not the route I took to get here,  either.  Note how Oaxaca (where I was last week) and Puerto Escondido (where I was last month) are almost exactly in the middle of the two places, in the south.


View Larger Map

If you zoom out just a bit more, you'll see where I am headed next week: Cancun in the Yucatan to the northeast: that's that big bump sticking out into the Caribbean.  That's where I'm flying home from.

I hope that disambiguates the geography down here.  I should have posted a map a while ago, sorry.



---

Reason to Believe

"This song is about the price blind faith, and refusing to give up your illusions extracts.." 


Yeah.  That's not what I hear in these lyrics, Bruce.  But then the singer no longer owns the song, once it's fled his lips:





Seen a man standin' over a dead dog lyin' by the highway in a ditch
He's lookin' down kinda puzzled pokin' that dog with a stick
Got his car door flung open he's standin' out on Highway 31
Like if he stood there long enough that dog'd get up and run
Struck me kinda funny seem kinda funny sir to me
At the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe

Now Mary Lou loved Johnny with a love mean and true
She said "Baby I'll work for you every day and bring my money home to you"
One day he up and left her and ever since that
She waits down at the end of that dirt road for young Johnny to come back
Struck me kinda funny seemed kind of funny sir to me
How at the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe

Take a baby to the river Kyle William they called him
Wash the baby in the water take away little Kyle's sin
In a whitewash shotgun shack an old man passes away
Take his body to the graveyard and over him they pray
Lord won't you tell us tell us what does it mean
Still at the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe

Congregation gathers down by the riverside
Preacher stands with his Bible groom stands waitin' for his bride
Congregation gone and the sun sets behind a weepin' willow tree
Groom stands alone and watches the river rush on so effortlessly
Lord and he's wonderin' where can his baby be
Still at the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe



===


Bonus.  My sloppy harp rendition, an off the cuff interpretation:







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Collage: Oaxaca de Juarez to San Cristobal de las Casas

Because I have no more desire to write about the last three weeks than you my public have to read about it, I present instead a collage of images I've taken of my travels.  These chronicle my wanderings between Ciudad Oaxaca de Jaurez and San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas.

Enjoy:

colorada mexicana

Oaxacan Girl

El Arbole de Santa Maria de Tule: Putatively the Largest Tree in the World  

Domincan Priory, Cuilican

trivmphvs martyrvm ordinis praedicatorvm

Dominican Skulls, Cuilican 

Hierve el Agua, Oaxacan Sulfur Spring

Mexican Pummukale: Hierve el Agua's Sulfur Cotton Castle

Atop Hierve el Agua

Mitla Moon

Mitla Sunset

Upon the Streets of Oaxaca

Mexico, Distilled

Elote Man

Hot Dog.

Valle de Oaxaca from Monte Alban

Monte Alban: Mayan Temples

 los colibríes de chiapas

Upon the Streets of San Cristobal

At the Hostal: Rebecca aide Clara avec ses Devoirs..

Clarita fait des bulles

le ciel pris entre les choses 

Chamula Tanks You 

Burnt Church, Chamula

el Vocho 

And Finally, Me avec des Quebecois in Chiapas

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Fiesta de la Immaculada, San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas, Mexico

This is a clip I shot yesterday, which was the Feast of the Immaculate Conception  (no, sorry, technically it's now Saturday - the feast was Thursday the 8th, two days ago now) celebrating the union of SS. Joachim and Anne in the conception of Our Blessed Virgin.  One of the most romantic celebrations of our utmost romantic (read inspired of Rome) Faith.  Just a taste of the incredibly joyful public celebration here in Chiapas of the ongoing series of feasts leading up to that of Our Lady of Guadalupe this coming Monday:



I promise to post more on my multifarious adventures here in Southern Mexico later today.  Now (it's nearly one, and I'm dragging) I'm off to sleep, perchance to dream..



---

Song of the Day: Don't Speak in English. [Repost, Because It's Just That Damn Good & Apposite]

I've already posted this as a song of the day once before, but in anticipation of my imminent return a los Chingados Estados Unidos Gringositos,  I feel re-compelled to share it.  Disfrute:



Lyrics:

(Chip:)

Yes we can talk it out,
Tell me what it's all about,
But don't speak in English.

You can just let it flow,
Tell it right from your soul,
But don't say words I understand.

Because I've had enough
Of that kind of stuff,
For a long, long time.


(Carrie:)

You can tell me where to go,
Tell me what I don't know,
But don't speak in English.

You can talk politics,
Get your political fix,
But don't say words that I understand.

Because I've had enough
Of that kind of stuff,
For a long, long time.

You can let the telephone ring,
But don't pass me that thing.

I am not a receiver.

You can play the music you choose,
Western swing or Delta blues
(Where the wasted words are few,
And Old John Prine will do..)
And we'll just talk for a while.

You can let the telephone ring,
But don't pass me that thing.

I am not a receiver.

You can play the music you choose,
Western swing or Delta blues
(Where the wasted words are few,
And Old Van Zandt will do, maybe two..)
And we'll just talk for a while.

And when we can talk it out,
You tell me what it's all about..

Just don't speak in English.

If you get it in your head
That you want to take me to bed,
Just don't say words that I understand..

'Cause I've enough of that kind of stuff
For a long time..

'Cause I've enough of that kind of stuff
For a long, long, long, long time..



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Puerto Escondido Reprised: A Few Final Notes & Images from Oaxaca's "Hidden" Port

La Bandera de Mexico, Santuario de Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe 

The name Puerto Escondido means "Hidden Port" in Spanish. That's magic, as with all things the name and the actuality are fused in mystical fashion..


It's occurred to me that I've spent too much time on this here blog complaining about Mexico and Mexicans.  I need to right that karmic balance, to testify to my true affection and love for this magnificent place.  Let the record herewith stand and reflect the fact that I love this crazy country and its people fiercely, and that the pleasures of being here among them are innumerable.  So many, and so exquisite, in fact, that it is overwhelms to recount them.  


First, let me begin with how much I like the Mexican flag.  A red white and green tricolor in the tradition of the French Revolution (Viva la Republica Mexicana: Secular, Anti- Clerical, Revolutionary..)  it is understated yet fiercely emphatic, much like Mexico itself.


And if you'll notice, there's an eagle eating a snake as the crest in the center.  This, I did not know until recently, is a depiction of the founding myth of the primordial establishment of the Aztec capital in the Valle de Mexico (the ancient Pre-Columbian capital, today's Ciudad Mexico).  The Aztec tribe had been wandering, and had come into the great valley when they saw the eagle eating the snake, as depicted.  This was interpreted by their priests as being an omen that that was their place.  


It strikes me as being much like the Roman foundational myth of Romulus and Remus suckling the she-wolf.. The icon has that same vital atavistic force.. 

That first image of the Mexican flag above - it seems really evocative to me, which is why I use it here, as I begin to praise Mexico - I took in Mexico City.   Note the overcast sky, something I haven't seen in the past month since being in Oaxaca.  Because that the weather here is uniformly beautiful, and utterly constant because the Pacific keeps the temperature and humidity stable, and outside the rainy season it rarely rains. We've had one brief afternoon storm since I've been here, the rest of the time it's been absolutely sunny, warm, perfect. 


Let me show you exactly how perfect:  


I found these neat climate charts online, and they paint a picture of paradise, better than Paul Gauguin I say.  I think they are poetical, they make me glad to study them:

Average Maximum/Minimum Temperature	Rainfall and Humidity

When I arrived in here in Puerto at the beginning of the month, the rainy season had just ended, and the land is verdant until say about February when it all begins to turn brown, becoming sepia until the rains return.  The temperature and humidity remain constant all year long, though:

Average monthly:	Jan	Feb	Mar	Apr	May	Jun	Jul	Aug	Sep	Oct	Nov	Dec
Rainfall(inches):	0.2	0.0	0.0	0.0	1.4	11.1	10.1	9.9	13.8	6.3	1.1	0.3
Temperature(°F):	80	80	79	81	83	84	84	84	83	84	82	81
Humidity(%):	81	79	79	77	77	79	77	78	80	80	81	81

The first few scuba dives I made here (of about twenty all told) they had me wear a wetsuit, until I told them that no self respecting Mainer who was whelped frolicking in the Atlantic (where it never tops 60 F / 15 C in summertime) could wear prophylactic blubber that makes you feel like a overstuffed bratwurst, not when the water is as warm as the air.    


No.  Like hell was I going to use a wetsuit!  Even with the thermocline at 20 or 30 feet, it is still bathwater.  The Mexicans were very impressed.  Bred Yankee tough. We gringos don't play. Nossir.

I just realized I've not posted a map of where Puerto is.  This next chart clears that problem up.  Puerto Escondido is that blue dot on the right of the orange balloon of warmth erupting off the Mexican coast into the Central Pacific, on the chart below. 

Which merely shows that the waters here are some of the warmest in the world:

But enough fun with maps, charts and graphs..

Now for some images I took this afternoon, when I belatedly realized how derelict I've been here with the camera.  Like with my Spanish I have been putting no effort into mastering the new Nikon SLR I bought this summer.  Like with the language I just figure I'll learn by doing it in unstructered informal fashion, without much self induced stress.  

But in my haphazard indolence I've been missing opportunities to document some interesting stuff.. 


I've also been loathe to take images of strangers.  I respect their privacy, and felt awkward and too obvious usually.  Today, I decided to hell with it, I am going to try and take some people pictures anyway.  I decided to try and be as subtle as possible, and start learning the art of understated observation.  Being deftly unobtrusive, while mastering shutter speed.. Shooting quickly and intuitively, trying to catch the fluid moment in poetic stasis, nailing the moment..

The main drag along the beach here. Very chill.

I went to the tourist beach here, this afternoon.  It's a 25 peso (2 buck) and five minute cab ride from here.  Known as Zicatela, it's a (over a kilometer long, I'd wager) beach across the harbor opposite my digs here. In the three weeks I've been in Puerto I'd been there twice.   Unlike the Playa Principal in front of my hotel, it's directly exposed to the open ocean, and the waves that come in are imposing. The swells today averaged about 5', but were to me (a Mainer, born where waves are frigid but understated) still impressive.  

The surf here is famous, and attracts surfers from all over. There are several surfing competitions here a year, and the surfing X Games have been held here. In fact, Zicatela's surf is so monumental it is christened the Mexican Pipeline by the surfing community. May through July the surf breaks sometimes as much as ten times the height it was today. As I say today was awesome enough. It's always unwise to go into the waves there without a board because the currents are dangerous. 

Anyhow, that's just to say that the gringos hang at Zicatela.  I wasn't interested in that scene, so I avoided it.  Too many stereotypical surfer dudes and hippy chicks, all into Marley and ganga.  Not my set, really. 

Still, I feel I should share this video of what the surf is like here in the summer. Saves me bothering to upload my own mediocre, far less impressive clips..  

As you'll see the sea is much more massive than today.  The largest waves today (which were breaking quickly and unevenly, and so weren't very surfable) were between 5 and 10', which is still pretty damn big if you are only used to the waves we get on the Atlantic.  

As you'll see here, they can get to be 30 to 50' during the peak season, or storms.  Absolutely huge, taller than houses:

Pretty awesome.  Magical, even.

This, Magic Seaweed, is a site I used this past month to plan my dives. It's for surfers, but the same information is useful to forecast water clarity. High swells (good surfing) stirs sediment and usually brings in plankton, which clouds the water and reduces visibility dramatically.  Low swells (bad surfing) makes for good diving, in other words. 

When the swells were forecasted at two feet or so, that's when we would dive.  I mean, I dove in murkier conditions, too.  But I really made sure to hit the low surf days.  

My end of the bay from Zicatela

Opposite view, facing away from town.

Dramatic crags divide the beaches, and are good places to body surf..

Now, like I say, I've preferred to hang out on the less glamorous Playa Principal.  

There are a half dozen good restaurants on the beach, and the dive boats are based here. 

This is where the authentic Puerto (the town that is behind the crest that rises immediately behind the beach, where all the natives live) meets the sea.  The harbor master and the Navy compound (there are always a few sailors hanging out near the beach in fatigues, carrying carbines - I feel my impotence as a documentarian here, I should have taken far more shots of the local color.. ) and the fishing fleet are all there.  There are dozens of boats anchored in the harbor and pulled up on the beach.  

There's a levee that shelters the beach, so the waves in the cove behind it are no where near as large here. The levee and the cliffs beyond it are excellent snorkeling, too.  

The lack of intimidating surf is the reason Mexicans congregate, to fish and bask in the water here.  So the crowd is usually very blue collar and almost entirely Mexican.  A stark contrast to Zicatela, in other words. 

This past weekend there was a fishing derby with large prizes (a new Dodge Ram and a VW SUV for the largest catch) and they had a stage and all sorts of other stuff set up along the beach.  There was constant Banda and Techno blaring, and a live announcer blabbing away almost constantly.  This noise began - I'm not exaggerating, though I wish I were - from Friday thru Sunday at 6 am, when the fleet of fishermen departed for the day.  

I travel with earplugs for a reason, people.  

They were out for sailfish, which I guess is a type of swordfish.  These things can get to be like 6 to 8 feet long, and can weigh well over 100 pounds, I'd guess.. Based on the monsters I saw hung by the stage (which again, I never thought to photograph, I am so sorry my public..) 

Here are some shots of my preferred habitat, hanging with the Oaxacans:

Roughneck, Hardscabble Oaxaca.

El Cocho sobre el playa.. 

Families Frolicking in the Sea..

 Women here balance stuff on their heads, impressing and amusing me..

"Espero.. "

The details of this last shot amuse me. First, he's half crackin' and fanny packin' boldly.  Which is awesome. Then, he's wearing crocs. And not just crocs, but orange crocs. That's a sartorial choice before which I can only stand in awe and applaud. I'm busting the crocs here, myself, boldly flying in the face of all that is fashionable, a true woman repeller. But I need shamefully acknowledge that mine are beige. No where near as daring as this muchacho, here.   

Then, he was repeatedly scribbling a word on the sand with a stick. I stood and watched him, pretending to be taking pictures of the beach, while surreptitiously taking shots of him.  

The tide kept coming and washing away his work, reminding me of this:

ONE day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washèd it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide and made my pains his prey..  

I imagined he must be writing the name of his beloved. I was bemused, and touched. I couldn't read what he was writing and didn't want to be too obvious I was watching.. It had to wait until I got back to the room and could zoom the photographs in on the word.  

He was writing espero.  Again, and again.  I have multiple shots of him doing it, always writing it anew after the tide repeatedly came and made his pains its prey.  Perhaps a dozen times while I watched.

Espero. 

That my friends, means I hope.  

I hope.  How beautiful, How sad,  How glad..

This boat struck me, especially, for some reason..

One coconut two coconut three coconut four..

I took this shot walking down the main drag in town here, accidentally using my groovy Nikon "color sketch" mode.  When I got back and saw it, I loved it.   

That my friends is how Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca feels in a snapshot.  

Study that image with a beer in your hand. 

Now you feel just like you're here.

One last requisite gratuitous self portrait of yours truly in the hall outside my choice digs..

Pure Sex..

Tomorrow I'm leaving here for Ciudad Oaxaca, San Cristobal, Chiapas, and eventually the Yucatan.  I made my reservation to return home for Christmas this afternoon, I'm flying from Cancun into Orlando on the 20th.  I come bearing gifts.  Which is to say several bottles of tequila and Mezcal, amongst other beautiful things. 

And with that newsflash, I am off to bed.. Buen' Noche..

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