I reviewed a Tex-Mex restaurant on my "food blog", Bleu Cheese and Red Wine.....
On the Hunt for Mexican Food in Amsterdam
Showing posts with label mexico. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mexico. Show all posts
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Bests and Worsts
While sitting in a little bungalow in Kerala reflecting on the sad state of my recent manicure, I decided to reflect on some of the best and worst things that I've learned while traveling these past 15 years. In no particular order:
Best Manicure and Pedicure: Boston Day Spa in Addis Ababa, 2009: My manicure lasted for almost two weeks – a lifelong record! I was served hot tea, had a massage chair, and nice ambience. Not too expensive either!
Honorable Mentions: Washington DC, 2003 - 2007: The pedicure place across the street from my house on 18th and T streets was reliable and fast and not too expensive. Downside: Constantly trying to make you feel bad and insist that you needed facial waxing.
Singapore, December 2009: In a mall somewhere with Suzie. I have never had such shiny toe nails. And they lasted almost two months.
Worst Mani/Pedi:
(Three-way Tie Amsterdam/Mexico City/Delhi)
Near Nieuwmarkt, Amsterdam, 1999: They scrubbed my foot so hard they cut it open and I bled, and poured such hot water on my feet that they scalded me. I could barely walk afterwards.
Zona Rosa, Mexico City, Mexico, 2005: Again, the pedicurist believed that my right big toe just needed a good digging to get the nail bed to right itself (it’s never been the same since I dropped an ice bucket on it at Garibaldi’s in South Carolina). Not only did it hurt like hell and bleed, I got an infection and had to lance it with a needle and a match in Guanajuato a week later.
Defence Colony, Delhi, India, January 2010: I could still see through the nail polish after two lackluster coats of varnish and the lady painted over my cuticles. On the way home from the salon, it began to chip.
Best Journey in a foreign country: Train from Fort Cochin to Alleppy, India, January 2010.Inside: chai salesmen, sleeping business men in the bunks above me, and an ambience unchanged from the 1920s. Outside: Water buffalos and green palm trees and canals and bridges.
Drive from Port Elizabeth to Cape town, South Africa, October 2003Most spectacular sunset ever seen somewhere between Mpmulenga and Knyssna, riding along the Garden Route, riding an ostrich for the amusement of German tourists in Outhoorn, drinking a Castle beer at Ronnie’s Sex Shoppe in the Klein Karoo, crossing the Drakenberg Mountains, coming down into Cape Town to see Table Mountain.
Riverboat ride north of Bangkok, April 2002.Trees so filled with fireflies that they seemed to glow and levitate, heavy smell of dark brown water of South East Asia, green jungle on every side.
Worst Journey in a foreign country: Car ride from Nyala to Kass, South Darfur, Sudan, October 2004We were shot at and it broke out a window. Old pimped out hoopty that we rented broke down and the Janjaweed helped us get back on the road. Lots of tales about bandits that got all the cars on either side of us but not us. Potholes. Tense and frightening. Two weeks later we heard a woman from USAID was shot at the same point we were at. She lost her eye.
Motorcycle Ride from Sigiriya to Polonnaruwa, Sri Lanka, September 2005Styrofoam helmet, aching back from too many books in my backpack, scared out of my mind by the weaving and dodging traffic, screaming buses and 18 wheelers. “A supposedly fun thing I’ll never do again”
Car ride from Port-au-Prince to Gonaives, Haiti and Gonaives to Cap Haitien, Haiti: February 2005A backbreaking trip across the moonscape of a devastated land, it took four hours to go about 60 miles. The 2nd part of the journey was over an extremely treacherous mountain pass with no guard rails, potholes and people in every treacherous hairpin turn. Afterwards, the driver informed me about the brake problems in our car.
Best meals in foreign countries:Side of the road from Boguila to Bangui, Central African Republic, March 2007A piece of freshly caught fish grilled over a charcoal flame with hot peri peri powder and tomatoes and onions, washed down with a cold coke, eaten with fingers. It might have been made better by the fact that I was on a 10 hour land rover trip squashed in the front seat with another person and with a big barrel that reeked of oil behind me.
Beirut, Lebanon, August 2006:
Everywhere we went, we would get some sort of street food and it was ALL divine - from zataar filled croissants to labneh to zataar pizzas with fresh goats cheese on them to the Arabic and Italian ice cream parlours where we conducted our meetings. At night, we went to divine little bars and drank "Malcom Lowry's" and ate fresh Ceasar salads prepared by beautiful men while listening to the latest lounge music. All war zones should be so gorgeous.
Le Quartier Francais, Franschhoek, South Africa, October 2003: Freshly caught salmon trout grilled and served on a plank of wood accompanied by a divine South African Sauvignon Blanc by the glass in a beautiful old French Huguenot farmhouse overlooking a vineyard. Downside: My traveling companion had a stomach virus and couldn’t even eat her broth although she tried valiantly.
Califa del Leon in the Colonia Condesa neighborhood, Mexico City, Mexico, May 2006: My first Taco al Pastor - roasted pork served with cilantro and pineapple on a fresh tortilla. All you can eat until you can’t eat anymore. Washed down with a cold beer and eaten on the street corner in a beautiful neighborhood in Mexico City on my first night there.
Camel Market, Khartoum, Sudan, December 2005:Freshly slaughtered lamb purchased and then brought to Sudanese women who stir fried it over charcoal briquettes with salt and pepper -served with a leafy green like arugula, tomato salad, freshly baked bread, and peanut sauce. Washed down with lukewarm plastic bags of water while sitting on plastic garden chairs and swatting flies away in the mid day heat of Sudan. Sometimes the setting isn’t that important.
Malabar House, Fort Cochin, Kerala, India, January 2010: Seafood Uttalpillum (?) – a spicy mix of freshly caught Sea bar, tiger prawns, and squid cooked in a spicy tomato curry sauce with tapioca mashed potatoes served with sparkling water and a Kingfisher beer in the courtyard of the Malabar House next to a Sitar and tambla concert under a full moon. I sat under a mango tree next to a pool of water.
Somewhere outside of Saint Johann in Pongau, Austria, May 1998: I fell off the meat wagon and was trying to get back on. My boyfriend at the time wanted to stop at a famous place for Frankfurters dipped in mustard and grated horseradish. Even though I was a vegetarian, I couldn’t resist. It was delectable and I’ve never looked back since.
Pave d'Auge in Beauvron-en-Ange, Normandy, France, July 2009: A Michelin 1 star – foie gras, a chilled red Sancerre, divine fish, vintage calvados, exquisite service
Castelmuzio, Tuscany, Italy, August 2009:
My first taste of pecorino cheese dipped in truffle honey served with a Vino Nobile. To die for! Eaten in a small little apartment overlooking the hills of Tuscany, an olive grove, and the abbey from an English Patient.
The Royal Thai restaurant at the Cinnamon Lake Hotel in Colombo, Sri Lanka, September 2005:Thai Seafood Green Curry with Joel. “Make it how it should be made” he answered in response to do you want it spicy. We sweated and ate and sweated and ate until we almost passed out and had to stagger back to our hotel rooms. We came back the next night for more.
Hotel La Cayenne, Les Cayes, Haïti, 2001-2003 :
Poisson au gross el or Lambi Kreyol for dinner. Served with a big boiled plantain and spicy rice and beans and cold Prestige beer. Or Spaghetti with avocado and hot sauce for breakfast. Something about that hotel and the food brings back good memories.
Little restaurant near a great small Fado joint in Alfama, Lisbon, Portugal, February 2008:Grilled sardines, a bottle of vinho verde. Divine!
Worst Meals in a Foreign land:
Saclipea, Liberia, December 2004:Boiled cow head with hard rice in eaten out of a communal bowl with five Liberians and a Congolese. “That white woman can’t eat that hard rice!”
ICRC party in Nyala, Darfur, October 2004: Ate nothing but rancid “La Vache Qui Rit” cheese and sandy bread for three weeks, came to a party at the ICRC rooftop and lined up for the barbecue. My mouth was literally watering. The par-cooked goat meat that I swallowed almost without chewing was bad. I had to decide whether to make myself vomit then or hope for the best. I hoped for the best and got food poisoning. That’s when I learned about Oral Rehydration Salts thanks to my friend Mamie and the MSF clinic.
Most Monotonous Diets in foreign lands:
Everything at our hotel in Pretoria, South Africa, March 2004:
All you can eat buffet. You had to fight off hordes of German tourists to get to the food and then it was bland, over cooked, and sauced with what seemed to be paste. Terrible in its nothingness particularly compared to what I knew South Africa was capable of.
Traveling through Kinshasa, North Kivu, South Kivu and Ituri, DRC , May 2005: Almost every day we ate beef brochette, pommes frites, and a beer. By the end of three weeks, I was dying for vegetables and was pretty convinced that I had “trigger finger” from gout.
The MSF Cafeteria, Amsterdam, the Netherlands, 2007-2010:Every day you have your choice of dried out breads, processed mystery meats and cheeses packaged in plastic wrap or odd salads such as canned beans, celery, canned corn, and olives in mayonnaise or red peppers, canned black olives, fake tofu/feta, celery, and raw onions swimming in olive oil with no vinegar. Deep fried cutlets that when cut open are made of spaghetti. Soups that are either grey or brown and taste vaguely like paste or canned beef flavor. Buttermilk or milk to drink. “But it’s free!”
Worst book to read in a war zone:
David Rieff’s Bed for the Night in Darfur in 2004. Will kill any sense of hopefulness that you might have and replace it with despair.
Best Book to read in Haiti before the earthquake:
The Comedians by Graham Greene. I was reading it all night and woke up in La Cayenne hotel to open my door to the blinding bright Caribbean light. Outside was a Haitian man in mirror shades, a red speedo, with a big gun. I thought it was the tonton macoute. I closed the door and splashed water on my face. When I reopened the door, he was still there. Turns out President Aristide was coming to the hotel and he was in the advance body guard team.
2nd best book to read in Haiti before the earthquake:
The Comte de Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas – French. Rackish. Dumas was rumored to have black blood. Keeps you endlessly entertained and is long enough that you don’t have to carry another one around with you.
Best Song to enter a war zone to:
“Rock the Casbah” by the Clash. I listened to this as I drove overland from Syria to Beirut during the August 2006 Israel-Hezbollah clash.
Best song to dance to in a refugee camp in Sudan:
“African Queen” by 2Face Idiba – at the Bulls eye night club in Kakuma Refugee Camp near Lokichoggio, Kenya.
Song I’ve heard on every continent that I’ve traveled to:
"Aisha" by Khaled. Sung live in a nightclub in Cairo, innumerous car radios in Beirut, on an iPod at a Save the Children party in Darfur, at the nightclub in Honduras, at a house party in Papua New Guinea, at a hotel party in Mumbai, India.
Books I didn’t like about places I’ve been to:
The Catastrophist, Kinshasa, Congo. All I remember is that the author kept describing the so called irresistible woman as having extremely thin hair. What woman wants to be described by a man who is obsessed with her as having thinning hair? Why did that even occur to the author as a way to describe the heroine? There was something in there about someone spitting in someone’s face. Everyone was annoying and I wanted everyone to die by the end of it.
The God of Small Things, Kerala, India. At this point, I don't know why I didn't like it but I recall not liking it.
Books I did like about places I’ve been to:
Anil’s ghost in Sri Lanka
The English Patient in Tuscany, Italy
The Comedians, Haiti
The Heart of the Matter, Sierra Leone
Country of my Skull, South Africa
Berlin by Anthony Beevor, Berlin, Germany
Best Manicure and Pedicure: Boston Day Spa in Addis Ababa, 2009: My manicure lasted for almost two weeks – a lifelong record! I was served hot tea, had a massage chair, and nice ambience. Not too expensive either!
Honorable Mentions: Washington DC, 2003 - 2007: The pedicure place across the street from my house on 18th and T streets was reliable and fast and not too expensive. Downside: Constantly trying to make you feel bad and insist that you needed facial waxing.
Singapore, December 2009: In a mall somewhere with Suzie. I have never had such shiny toe nails. And they lasted almost two months.
Worst Mani/Pedi:
(Three-way Tie Amsterdam/Mexico City/Delhi)
Near Nieuwmarkt, Amsterdam, 1999: They scrubbed my foot so hard they cut it open and I bled, and poured such hot water on my feet that they scalded me. I could barely walk afterwards.
Zona Rosa, Mexico City, Mexico, 2005: Again, the pedicurist believed that my right big toe just needed a good digging to get the nail bed to right itself (it’s never been the same since I dropped an ice bucket on it at Garibaldi’s in South Carolina). Not only did it hurt like hell and bleed, I got an infection and had to lance it with a needle and a match in Guanajuato a week later.
Defence Colony, Delhi, India, January 2010: I could still see through the nail polish after two lackluster coats of varnish and the lady painted over my cuticles. On the way home from the salon, it began to chip.
Best Journey in a foreign country: Train from Fort Cochin to Alleppy, India, January 2010.Inside: chai salesmen, sleeping business men in the bunks above me, and an ambience unchanged from the 1920s. Outside: Water buffalos and green palm trees and canals and bridges.
Drive from Port Elizabeth to Cape town, South Africa, October 2003Most spectacular sunset ever seen somewhere between Mpmulenga and Knyssna, riding along the Garden Route, riding an ostrich for the amusement of German tourists in Outhoorn, drinking a Castle beer at Ronnie’s Sex Shoppe in the Klein Karoo, crossing the Drakenberg Mountains, coming down into Cape Town to see Table Mountain.
Riverboat ride north of Bangkok, April 2002.Trees so filled with fireflies that they seemed to glow and levitate, heavy smell of dark brown water of South East Asia, green jungle on every side.
Worst Journey in a foreign country: Car ride from Nyala to Kass, South Darfur, Sudan, October 2004We were shot at and it broke out a window. Old pimped out hoopty that we rented broke down and the Janjaweed helped us get back on the road. Lots of tales about bandits that got all the cars on either side of us but not us. Potholes. Tense and frightening. Two weeks later we heard a woman from USAID was shot at the same point we were at. She lost her eye.
Motorcycle Ride from Sigiriya to Polonnaruwa, Sri Lanka, September 2005Styrofoam helmet, aching back from too many books in my backpack, scared out of my mind by the weaving and dodging traffic, screaming buses and 18 wheelers. “A supposedly fun thing I’ll never do again”
Car ride from Port-au-Prince to Gonaives, Haiti and Gonaives to Cap Haitien, Haiti: February 2005A backbreaking trip across the moonscape of a devastated land, it took four hours to go about 60 miles. The 2nd part of the journey was over an extremely treacherous mountain pass with no guard rails, potholes and people in every treacherous hairpin turn. Afterwards, the driver informed me about the brake problems in our car.
Best meals in foreign countries:Side of the road from Boguila to Bangui, Central African Republic, March 2007A piece of freshly caught fish grilled over a charcoal flame with hot peri peri powder and tomatoes and onions, washed down with a cold coke, eaten with fingers. It might have been made better by the fact that I was on a 10 hour land rover trip squashed in the front seat with another person and with a big barrel that reeked of oil behind me.
Beirut, Lebanon, August 2006:
Everywhere we went, we would get some sort of street food and it was ALL divine - from zataar filled croissants to labneh to zataar pizzas with fresh goats cheese on them to the Arabic and Italian ice cream parlours where we conducted our meetings. At night, we went to divine little bars and drank "Malcom Lowry's" and ate fresh Ceasar salads prepared by beautiful men while listening to the latest lounge music. All war zones should be so gorgeous.
Le Quartier Francais, Franschhoek, South Africa, October 2003: Freshly caught salmon trout grilled and served on a plank of wood accompanied by a divine South African Sauvignon Blanc by the glass in a beautiful old French Huguenot farmhouse overlooking a vineyard. Downside: My traveling companion had a stomach virus and couldn’t even eat her broth although she tried valiantly.
Califa del Leon in the Colonia Condesa neighborhood, Mexico City, Mexico, May 2006: My first Taco al Pastor - roasted pork served with cilantro and pineapple on a fresh tortilla. All you can eat until you can’t eat anymore. Washed down with a cold beer and eaten on the street corner in a beautiful neighborhood in Mexico City on my first night there.
Camel Market, Khartoum, Sudan, December 2005:Freshly slaughtered lamb purchased and then brought to Sudanese women who stir fried it over charcoal briquettes with salt and pepper -served with a leafy green like arugula, tomato salad, freshly baked bread, and peanut sauce. Washed down with lukewarm plastic bags of water while sitting on plastic garden chairs and swatting flies away in the mid day heat of Sudan. Sometimes the setting isn’t that important.
Malabar House, Fort Cochin, Kerala, India, January 2010: Seafood Uttalpillum (?) – a spicy mix of freshly caught Sea bar, tiger prawns, and squid cooked in a spicy tomato curry sauce with tapioca mashed potatoes served with sparkling water and a Kingfisher beer in the courtyard of the Malabar House next to a Sitar and tambla concert under a full moon. I sat under a mango tree next to a pool of water.
Somewhere outside of Saint Johann in Pongau, Austria, May 1998: I fell off the meat wagon and was trying to get back on. My boyfriend at the time wanted to stop at a famous place for Frankfurters dipped in mustard and grated horseradish. Even though I was a vegetarian, I couldn’t resist. It was delectable and I’ve never looked back since.
Pave d'Auge in Beauvron-en-Ange, Normandy, France, July 2009: A Michelin 1 star – foie gras, a chilled red Sancerre, divine fish, vintage calvados, exquisite service
Castelmuzio, Tuscany, Italy, August 2009:
My first taste of pecorino cheese dipped in truffle honey served with a Vino Nobile. To die for! Eaten in a small little apartment overlooking the hills of Tuscany, an olive grove, and the abbey from an English Patient.
The Royal Thai restaurant at the Cinnamon Lake Hotel in Colombo, Sri Lanka, September 2005:Thai Seafood Green Curry with Joel. “Make it how it should be made” he answered in response to do you want it spicy. We sweated and ate and sweated and ate until we almost passed out and had to stagger back to our hotel rooms. We came back the next night for more.
Hotel La Cayenne, Les Cayes, Haïti, 2001-2003 :
Poisson au gross el or Lambi Kreyol for dinner. Served with a big boiled plantain and spicy rice and beans and cold Prestige beer. Or Spaghetti with avocado and hot sauce for breakfast. Something about that hotel and the food brings back good memories.
Little restaurant near a great small Fado joint in Alfama, Lisbon, Portugal, February 2008:Grilled sardines, a bottle of vinho verde. Divine!
Worst Meals in a Foreign land:
Saclipea, Liberia, December 2004:Boiled cow head with hard rice in eaten out of a communal bowl with five Liberians and a Congolese. “That white woman can’t eat that hard rice!”
ICRC party in Nyala, Darfur, October 2004: Ate nothing but rancid “La Vache Qui Rit” cheese and sandy bread for three weeks, came to a party at the ICRC rooftop and lined up for the barbecue. My mouth was literally watering. The par-cooked goat meat that I swallowed almost without chewing was bad. I had to decide whether to make myself vomit then or hope for the best. I hoped for the best and got food poisoning. That’s when I learned about Oral Rehydration Salts thanks to my friend Mamie and the MSF clinic.
Most Monotonous Diets in foreign lands:
Everything at our hotel in Pretoria, South Africa, March 2004:
All you can eat buffet. You had to fight off hordes of German tourists to get to the food and then it was bland, over cooked, and sauced with what seemed to be paste. Terrible in its nothingness particularly compared to what I knew South Africa was capable of.
Traveling through Kinshasa, North Kivu, South Kivu and Ituri, DRC , May 2005: Almost every day we ate beef brochette, pommes frites, and a beer. By the end of three weeks, I was dying for vegetables and was pretty convinced that I had “trigger finger” from gout.
The MSF Cafeteria, Amsterdam, the Netherlands, 2007-2010:Every day you have your choice of dried out breads, processed mystery meats and cheeses packaged in plastic wrap or odd salads such as canned beans, celery, canned corn, and olives in mayonnaise or red peppers, canned black olives, fake tofu/feta, celery, and raw onions swimming in olive oil with no vinegar. Deep fried cutlets that when cut open are made of spaghetti. Soups that are either grey or brown and taste vaguely like paste or canned beef flavor. Buttermilk or milk to drink. “But it’s free!”
Worst book to read in a war zone:
David Rieff’s Bed for the Night in Darfur in 2004. Will kill any sense of hopefulness that you might have and replace it with despair.
Best Book to read in Haiti before the earthquake:
The Comedians by Graham Greene. I was reading it all night and woke up in La Cayenne hotel to open my door to the blinding bright Caribbean light. Outside was a Haitian man in mirror shades, a red speedo, with a big gun. I thought it was the tonton macoute. I closed the door and splashed water on my face. When I reopened the door, he was still there. Turns out President Aristide was coming to the hotel and he was in the advance body guard team.
2nd best book to read in Haiti before the earthquake:
The Comte de Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas – French. Rackish. Dumas was rumored to have black blood. Keeps you endlessly entertained and is long enough that you don’t have to carry another one around with you.
Best Song to enter a war zone to:
“Rock the Casbah” by the Clash. I listened to this as I drove overland from Syria to Beirut during the August 2006 Israel-Hezbollah clash.
Best song to dance to in a refugee camp in Sudan:
“African Queen” by 2Face Idiba – at the Bulls eye night club in Kakuma Refugee Camp near Lokichoggio, Kenya.
Song I’ve heard on every continent that I’ve traveled to:
"Aisha" by Khaled. Sung live in a nightclub in Cairo, innumerous car radios in Beirut, on an iPod at a Save the Children party in Darfur, at the nightclub in Honduras, at a house party in Papua New Guinea, at a hotel party in Mumbai, India.
Books I didn’t like about places I’ve been to:
The Catastrophist, Kinshasa, Congo. All I remember is that the author kept describing the so called irresistible woman as having extremely thin hair. What woman wants to be described by a man who is obsessed with her as having thinning hair? Why did that even occur to the author as a way to describe the heroine? There was something in there about someone spitting in someone’s face. Everyone was annoying and I wanted everyone to die by the end of it.
The God of Small Things, Kerala, India. At this point, I don't know why I didn't like it but I recall not liking it.
Books I did like about places I’ve been to:
Anil’s ghost in Sri Lanka
The English Patient in Tuscany, Italy
The Comedians, Haiti
The Heart of the Matter, Sierra Leone
Country of my Skull, South Africa
Berlin by Anthony Beevor, Berlin, Germany
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Clash of Culture
Now I am in Puebla where I have experienced two clashes of culture.
First: I went to a cool museum Museo Ampara which juxtaposes Prehispanic art with colonial art in a shocking way. The first sixteen rooms of an old colonial house are dramatically designed and house sculpture and paintings from the different eras before ´conquest´ - as you walk out of a particularly dynamic room of large pieces of stone sculpture from some of the temples, you turn the corner into a faithfully reproduced colonial house with all the art and furniture from the time. The clash of civilizations couldn´t be more apparent. I really really liked this museum. Mexico knows what it is doing when it comes to museums.
Second: In the bus station, someone tried to take my bag. Then the guy who sells tickets for the ´secure´ taxi stand tried to shortchange me. I noticed after I walked away from the stand. I ran back to get my 100 pesos (about 10 bucks) and he tried to pretend he didn´t know what I was talking about. Luckily, when I am angry, I speak pretty good Spanish. Then the cab driver drove like a maniac and almost ran over a nun and a small child. What a change from mellow Oaxaca, slow-paced San Miguel, and even medieval Guanajuato.
First: I went to a cool museum Museo Ampara which juxtaposes Prehispanic art with colonial art in a shocking way. The first sixteen rooms of an old colonial house are dramatically designed and house sculpture and paintings from the different eras before ´conquest´ - as you walk out of a particularly dynamic room of large pieces of stone sculpture from some of the temples, you turn the corner into a faithfully reproduced colonial house with all the art and furniture from the time. The clash of civilizations couldn´t be more apparent. I really really liked this museum. Mexico knows what it is doing when it comes to museums.
Second: In the bus station, someone tried to take my bag. Then the guy who sells tickets for the ´secure´ taxi stand tried to shortchange me. I noticed after I walked away from the stand. I ran back to get my 100 pesos (about 10 bucks) and he tried to pretend he didn´t know what I was talking about. Luckily, when I am angry, I speak pretty good Spanish. Then the cab driver drove like a maniac and almost ran over a nun and a small child. What a change from mellow Oaxaca, slow-paced San Miguel, and even medieval Guanajuato.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Eating Grasshoppers in Oaxaca?
After hemming and hawing over my next destination (ghost town in the mountains? beach?), I took the advice of many different Mexicans and headed to Oaxaca. The Americans all said Real de Catorce and the Mexicans all said Oaxaca. Since I was tired of Americans, this is where I came.
I rode the bus for 12 hours - 6 on the deluxe luxury bus with reclining seats with leg rests so you feel almost as if you are in a recliner, earphones for the movies, and drinks service - and then 5 on the 1st class bus- I was spoiled after the deluxe bus... they played Terminator 3 very loudly while people behind me listened to the radio that they had brought with them. The airconditioner went at full blast as the windows began to fog up. We climbed over the mountains heading south from Mexico City and every 30 minutes, an alarm signifying something would beep incessantly for about 20 minutes. Thanking God that I brought my ear plugs, I did manage to sleep a little (which I needed as the drunk American teenagers in my hotel in Guanajuato were up to 5am giggling with some loud American boy about going out to get tacos...)
I arrived in the rain in Oaxaca and didn´t see much of the city. However, when I woke up, the sun was up. They serve a complimentary breakfast on the roof of the hacienda I was staying at and as I drank coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice, I watched the teenagers at the school next door practice dancing. The big folk festival is coming up next week and the teens (in a mixture of their school uniform and long full floral skirts) were practicing a type of waltz. It was lovely.
I wandered the city down to the Zocalo (town square) where I encountered the teacher´s strike. As it turns out, teachers in Oaxaca (one of the poorest states in Mexico) have been on strike for several months. They are living in tent cities throughout the main square and communist graffiti, populist slogans, and graphic photos are everywhere. In June, the police swept through the crowd and killed some children and teachers to try to drive them out. The union was calm during the elections but i guess the main party (the former party that reigned over Mexico for the past 50 years or so) won in this state and the governor that they all hate (rata! assasino!) won again. I did get to see my favorite sign of all time - Yanqui Go Home.
Last night, I went for a walk, the lovers and old people who normally sit in the zocalo moved down to Santo Domingo - the seat of the Dominicans in Mexico. Oaxaca has a very strong indigenous presence and reminds me of Guatemala to an extent.
I found a very hip bar where good looking young Mexican students were hanging out and went in. I ordered a beer and they put some mix of peanuts in front of me. I was very nervous about eating the peanuts. In Oaxaca, they eat grasshoppers (chapulines) as a delicacy. These were spanish peanuts with the skin on and some of them looked a little suspiscous to me. I picked through them carefully and resisted the temptation to put my glasses on and move the candle closer. I also met a guy named Victor who told me all about his ambitions to be a waiter in Cancun. "There´s no town there and nothing to do if you work, but you make more money than you do here. If I am lucky here, I make about $14 a night." he told me. His English was good and he helped me with my spanish as we talked about the pros and cons of bartending for a living. He invited me to go drinking mescal with his friends that night. however, after my experience at La Cucaracha (and the fact I hadn´t yet organized my lodgings for the next day), I passed.
Instead, I bought some gardenias from a woman selling flowers from a basket on her head and sat in the garden of the church for a while. The temperature was a little cool, with a breeze coming down off the mountains and I watched the clouds drifing in front of the full moon. After a while, I returned to my hotel where I had a beer up on the rooftop garden before heading down to sleep.
Only two more days left on vacation... Tomorrow, on to Puebla and then to the airport...
I rode the bus for 12 hours - 6 on the deluxe luxury bus with reclining seats with leg rests so you feel almost as if you are in a recliner, earphones for the movies, and drinks service - and then 5 on the 1st class bus- I was spoiled after the deluxe bus... they played Terminator 3 very loudly while people behind me listened to the radio that they had brought with them. The airconditioner went at full blast as the windows began to fog up. We climbed over the mountains heading south from Mexico City and every 30 minutes, an alarm signifying something would beep incessantly for about 20 minutes. Thanking God that I brought my ear plugs, I did manage to sleep a little (which I needed as the drunk American teenagers in my hotel in Guanajuato were up to 5am giggling with some loud American boy about going out to get tacos...)
I arrived in the rain in Oaxaca and didn´t see much of the city. However, when I woke up, the sun was up. They serve a complimentary breakfast on the roof of the hacienda I was staying at and as I drank coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice, I watched the teenagers at the school next door practice dancing. The big folk festival is coming up next week and the teens (in a mixture of their school uniform and long full floral skirts) were practicing a type of waltz. It was lovely.
I wandered the city down to the Zocalo (town square) where I encountered the teacher´s strike. As it turns out, teachers in Oaxaca (one of the poorest states in Mexico) have been on strike for several months. They are living in tent cities throughout the main square and communist graffiti, populist slogans, and graphic photos are everywhere. In June, the police swept through the crowd and killed some children and teachers to try to drive them out. The union was calm during the elections but i guess the main party (the former party that reigned over Mexico for the past 50 years or so) won in this state and the governor that they all hate (rata! assasino!) won again. I did get to see my favorite sign of all time - Yanqui Go Home.
Last night, I went for a walk, the lovers and old people who normally sit in the zocalo moved down to Santo Domingo - the seat of the Dominicans in Mexico. Oaxaca has a very strong indigenous presence and reminds me of Guatemala to an extent.
I found a very hip bar where good looking young Mexican students were hanging out and went in. I ordered a beer and they put some mix of peanuts in front of me. I was very nervous about eating the peanuts. In Oaxaca, they eat grasshoppers (chapulines) as a delicacy. These were spanish peanuts with the skin on and some of them looked a little suspiscous to me. I picked through them carefully and resisted the temptation to put my glasses on and move the candle closer. I also met a guy named Victor who told me all about his ambitions to be a waiter in Cancun. "There´s no town there and nothing to do if you work, but you make more money than you do here. If I am lucky here, I make about $14 a night." he told me. His English was good and he helped me with my spanish as we talked about the pros and cons of bartending for a living. He invited me to go drinking mescal with his friends that night. however, after my experience at La Cucaracha (and the fact I hadn´t yet organized my lodgings for the next day), I passed.
Instead, I bought some gardenias from a woman selling flowers from a basket on her head and sat in the garden of the church for a while. The temperature was a little cool, with a breeze coming down off the mountains and I watched the clouds drifing in front of the full moon. After a while, I returned to my hotel where I had a beer up on the rooftop garden before heading down to sleep.
Only two more days left on vacation... Tomorrow, on to Puebla and then to the airport...
Monday, July 10, 2006
La Puebla in Oaxaca
I made it to Oaxaca. the boring guy, Duckie, in my guesthouse in San Miguel kept saying - the teachers on strike there, you know. I never asked him what he meant. Now I know. I just walked down to the Zocalo where there are hundreds of middle aged, young, and pretty well dressed people camped out on the streets, three blocks deep around the square.
There is graffiti everywhere and big posters supporting communisim. It´s been a long time since I´ve seen that! Anyway, they are the teachers - camping out to protest the government´s policies about education in Oaxaca state.
There was a violent attack by the police that killed at least two children in June but it appears that the original reason for the strike was for a pay raise. Also, there are signs saying no privatization of the schools. I´ve since done some research on the web and there is a good explanation of what is going on here.
I´m going to wander around and see if I can get one of them to explain to me what is going on. They don´t seem too keen to proselytize to the tourists but perhaps they are tired since it seems to have been going on for over a month. I´m very curious. I must also admit, I love Latin American revolutionary imagery! If only the Africans could get there graffics together, people might get excited about them too (blasphemy, I know).
There is graffiti everywhere and big posters supporting communisim. It´s been a long time since I´ve seen that! Anyway, they are the teachers - camping out to protest the government´s policies about education in Oaxaca state.
There was a violent attack by the police that killed at least two children in June but it appears that the original reason for the strike was for a pay raise. Also, there are signs saying no privatization of the schools. I´ve since done some research on the web and there is a good explanation of what is going on here.
I´m going to wander around and see if I can get one of them to explain to me what is going on. They don´t seem too keen to proselytize to the tourists but perhaps they are tired since it seems to have been going on for over a month. I´m very curious. I must also admit, I love Latin American revolutionary imagery! If only the Africans could get there graffics together, people might get excited about them too (blasphemy, I know).
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Sunk low by Mexico
While all the other kids are out crusing the streets and singing songs in Guanajuato, yours truly is home with an infected toe thanks to the sadistic pedicurist in Mexico City. I have had to rush out to buy peniciellin and bandaids because like a dumbass, I left my medical kit at home since I wasn´t on mission. Dumb Dumb Dumb...
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Lady Godiva Rides Again...
Well, I had the fabulous love experience in Mexico that i wanted. Sadly, the love part was all in my imagination. I went horseback riding yesterday for the first time ever. A beautiful Mexican man named Mauricio was my teacher. He spoke excellent English, had long flowing hair, a lovely straw cowboy hat, spurs, chaps, the whole nine yards. He took me up into the hills outside of San Miguel Allende where the air smelled like honeysuckle and pinon. And then he said "why don´t we gallop? I want to see the wind in your hair". So we galloped across a field of wild flowers. I kid you not. It was beautiful. The sun was shining, the air was clear and cool, and the horses just ran. I really loved it. Too bad about his Canadian girlfriend. And this morning I woke up feeling like every bone in my body was broken or sprained or bruised.
At least while I hobble around Mexico viewing the musuem of the mummies and Diego Rivera´s childhood home, I have something to remember.
Ahhhh, que hombre....
At least while I hobble around Mexico viewing the musuem of the mummies and Diego Rivera´s childhood home, I have something to remember.
Ahhhh, que hombre....
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Hittin´ the road with Jack Kerouac and them
So last night I went to the world famous "La Cucaracha" bar here in San Miguel Allende. Supposedly Jack Kerouac stopped here with his Mexican fellaheen and Neal Cassady od´d and died here. It´s truly a dump. For my South Carolinians - it reminds me of a dirtier, less attractive Group Therapy. For the rest of you- picture a big empty room with a rough bar in the middle. Ugly Ugly Art made by psychiatric patients along the wall and big piles of crushed beer cans in the corner. Ugly "college couch on a porch" furniture and bathroom doors that do not shut allowing you to truly smell the filth that is the bathroom. They sell a tee shirt there that says "I survived La Cucaracha´s bathrooms".
I went with a woman named Alix who is at my guesthouse. She is also a blonde. We truly felt like Marilyn Monroe when we entered this god forsaken bar. I swear to god that they were playing "American Woman" when we walked in. We were the only women in there at first and it was like a stampede to come over and talk to us.
I made a terrible discovery. I am too old to enjoy bars like that anymore. Alix is about 10 years younger than me and wanted to buy pot and smoke it in the bathroom with the bartender. I just wanted to go home. Instead I had to talk to: a drunken Indian guy with giant buckteeth who kept stroking my arm and telling me how bonita I was, a Navaho guitarist who was about 60 or so who kept talking to me about love and how terrible it is, a 17 year old American kid who had a fake mexican ID saying he was 29 and named Jose Donohue, another young American kid who told me he was a hustler on the run from the law for very vague reasons, and finally, a cute mexican guy who I met when i walked in on him in the bathroom. He danced with me until his girlfriend came to the bar and slapped him in the face. What a night. I have suffered all morning long - starting with my early morning dissertation on the merits of retiring in Panama over Mexico to the chilaquiles I ate to cure my hangover which promptly came back up again. Its the end of the day and I think I am going to drag my tired old self back to the casa and go to bed early. Sad Sad Sad.
I went with a woman named Alix who is at my guesthouse. She is also a blonde. We truly felt like Marilyn Monroe when we entered this god forsaken bar. I swear to god that they were playing "American Woman" when we walked in. We were the only women in there at first and it was like a stampede to come over and talk to us.
I made a terrible discovery. I am too old to enjoy bars like that anymore. Alix is about 10 years younger than me and wanted to buy pot and smoke it in the bathroom with the bartender. I just wanted to go home. Instead I had to talk to: a drunken Indian guy with giant buckteeth who kept stroking my arm and telling me how bonita I was, a Navaho guitarist who was about 60 or so who kept talking to me about love and how terrible it is, a 17 year old American kid who had a fake mexican ID saying he was 29 and named Jose Donohue, another young American kid who told me he was a hustler on the run from the law for very vague reasons, and finally, a cute mexican guy who I met when i walked in on him in the bathroom. He danced with me until his girlfriend came to the bar and slapped him in the face. What a night. I have suffered all morning long - starting with my early morning dissertation on the merits of retiring in Panama over Mexico to the chilaquiles I ate to cure my hangover which promptly came back up again. Its the end of the day and I think I am going to drag my tired old self back to the casa and go to bed early. Sad Sad Sad.
You bring out the Mexican in me
I´ve got a new favorite poem
You bring out the Mexican in me by Sandra Cisneros
You bring out the Mexican in me.
The hunkered thick dark spiral.
The core of a heart howl.
The bitter bile.
The tequila lágrimas on Saturday all
through the next weekend Sunday.
You are the one I'd let go the other loves for,
surrender my one-woman house.
Allow you red wine in bed,
even with my vintage lace linens.
Maybe. Maybe
For you.
You bring out the Dolores del Río in me.
The Mexican spitfire in me.
The raw navajas, glint and passion in me.
The raise Cain and dance with the rooster-footed devil in me.
The spangled sequin in me.
The eagle and serpent in me.
The mariachi trumpets of the blood in me.
The Aztec love of war in me.
The fierce obsidian of the tongue in me.
The berrinchuda, bien-cabrona, in me.
The Pandora's curiosity in me.
The pre-Columbian death and destruction in me.
The rainforest disaster, nuclear threat in me.
The fear of fascists in me.
Yes, you do. Yes, you do.
You bring out the colonizer in me.
The holocaust of desire in me.
The Mexico City '85 earthquake in me.
The Popocatepetl/Ixtaccíhuatl in me.
The tidal wave of recession in me.
The Agustín Lara hopeless romantic in me.
The barbacoa taquitos on Sunday in me.
The cover the mirrors with cloth in me.
Sweet twin. My wicked other,
I am the memory that circles your bed nights,
that tugs you taut as moon tugs ocean.
I claim you all mine,
arrogant as Manifest Destiny.
I want to rattle and rent you in two.
I want to defile you and raise hell.
I want to pull out the kitchen knives,
dull and sharp, and whisk the air with crosses.
Me sacas lo mexicana en mi,
like it or not, honey.
You bring out the Uled-Nayl in me.
The stand-back-white-bitch in me.
The switchblade in the boot in me.
The Acapulco cliff diver in me.
The Flecha Roja mountain disaster in me.
The dengue fever in me.
The ¡Alarma! murderess in me.
I could kill in the name of you and think
it worth it. Brandish a fork and terrorize rivals,
female and male, who loiter and look at you,
languid in your light. Oh,
I am evil. I am the filth goddess Tlazoltéotl.
I am the swallower of sins.
The delicious debauchery. You bring out
the primoridal exquisiteness in me.
The nasty obsession in me.
The corporal and venial sin in me.
The original transgression in me.
Red ocher. Yellow ocher. Indigo. Cochineal.
Piñón. Copal. Sweetgrass. Myrrh.
All you saints, blessed and terrible.
Virgen de Guadalupe, diosa Coatlicue,
I invoke you.
Quiero se tuya. Only yours. Only you.
Quiero amarte. Atarte. Amarrate.
Love the way a Mexican woman loves.
Let me show you. Love the only way I know how.
You bring out the Mexican in me by Sandra Cisneros
You bring out the Mexican in me.
The hunkered thick dark spiral.
The core of a heart howl.
The bitter bile.
The tequila lágrimas on Saturday all
through the next weekend Sunday.
You are the one I'd let go the other loves for,
surrender my one-woman house.
Allow you red wine in bed,
even with my vintage lace linens.
Maybe. Maybe
For you.
You bring out the Dolores del Río in me.
The Mexican spitfire in me.
The raw navajas, glint and passion in me.
The raise Cain and dance with the rooster-footed devil in me.
The spangled sequin in me.
The eagle and serpent in me.
The mariachi trumpets of the blood in me.
The Aztec love of war in me.
The fierce obsidian of the tongue in me.
The berrinchuda, bien-cabrona, in me.
The Pandora's curiosity in me.
The pre-Columbian death and destruction in me.
The rainforest disaster, nuclear threat in me.
The fear of fascists in me.
Yes, you do. Yes, you do.
You bring out the colonizer in me.
The holocaust of desire in me.
The Mexico City '85 earthquake in me.
The Popocatepetl/Ixtaccíhuatl in me.
The tidal wave of recession in me.
The Agustín Lara hopeless romantic in me.
The barbacoa taquitos on Sunday in me.
The cover the mirrors with cloth in me.
Sweet twin. My wicked other,
I am the memory that circles your bed nights,
that tugs you taut as moon tugs ocean.
I claim you all mine,
arrogant as Manifest Destiny.
I want to rattle and rent you in two.
I want to defile you and raise hell.
I want to pull out the kitchen knives,
dull and sharp, and whisk the air with crosses.
Me sacas lo mexicana en mi,
like it or not, honey.
You bring out the Uled-Nayl in me.
The stand-back-white-bitch in me.
The switchblade in the boot in me.
The Acapulco cliff diver in me.
The Flecha Roja mountain disaster in me.
The dengue fever in me.
The ¡Alarma! murderess in me.
I could kill in the name of you and think
it worth it. Brandish a fork and terrorize rivals,
female and male, who loiter and look at you,
languid in your light. Oh,
I am evil. I am the filth goddess Tlazoltéotl.
I am the swallower of sins.
The delicious debauchery. You bring out
the primoridal exquisiteness in me.
The nasty obsession in me.
The corporal and venial sin in me.
The original transgression in me.
Red ocher. Yellow ocher. Indigo. Cochineal.
Piñón. Copal. Sweetgrass. Myrrh.
All you saints, blessed and terrible.
Virgen de Guadalupe, diosa Coatlicue,
I invoke you.
Quiero se tuya. Only yours. Only you.
Quiero amarte. Atarte. Amarrate.
Love the way a Mexican woman loves.
Let me show you. Love the only way I know how.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Happy Independence Day!
Happy independence day from san miguel allende,
there are more retired americans here than mexicans, i think. you can't swing a dead cat here without hitting one. i was just in the internet cafe next to my guesthouse in the non touristy part of town. its a nice cafe with high speed internet and cappucino. i was trying my hardest to ignore the american couple sitting next to me. she was whining and kept talking incessantly about the weather, the town, the cars going by, the article in the magazine she was reading. he was ignoring her except to say annoyed things like I AM TRYING TO DO SOMETHING from time to time. they had the worst new york accents you can imagine. both dressed in white tennis shoes.
just as i got through writing an email, the guy says to me: senorita, will you be long? as i had planned to do some research on which town to go to next, i replied - i might be. then they both said in very aggressive tones: well its a 15 minute time limit and we were waiting for the internet. it was the first time i had been in this cafe and had not noticed the time limit and they had been there when I arrived and had not said a thing about wanting to use the computer. I then said: well let me finish this email and I will close out. Then the man said to me again: you have been on for 30 minutes. I graciously smiled and said - as i said, i will finish this email and let you have it.
JESUS H CHRIST. god save me from americans abroad. normally, i love my country but i cringe when i meet other americans abroad. the loud voices .the stupidity. the clothes. i guess its true what steve naplan said about me: I am not a very good american.
there are more retired americans here than mexicans, i think. you can't swing a dead cat here without hitting one. i was just in the internet cafe next to my guesthouse in the non touristy part of town. its a nice cafe with high speed internet and cappucino. i was trying my hardest to ignore the american couple sitting next to me. she was whining and kept talking incessantly about the weather, the town, the cars going by, the article in the magazine she was reading. he was ignoring her except to say annoyed things like I AM TRYING TO DO SOMETHING from time to time. they had the worst new york accents you can imagine. both dressed in white tennis shoes.
just as i got through writing an email, the guy says to me: senorita, will you be long? as i had planned to do some research on which town to go to next, i replied - i might be. then they both said in very aggressive tones: well its a 15 minute time limit and we were waiting for the internet. it was the first time i had been in this cafe and had not noticed the time limit and they had been there when I arrived and had not said a thing about wanting to use the computer. I then said: well let me finish this email and I will close out. Then the man said to me again: you have been on for 30 minutes. I graciously smiled and said - as i said, i will finish this email and let you have it.
JESUS H CHRIST. god save me from americans abroad. normally, i love my country but i cringe when i meet other americans abroad. the loud voices .the stupidity. the clothes. i guess its true what steve naplan said about me: I am not a very good american.
Monday, July 03, 2006
The 'Chico' Look
I took my first art class today. I really enjoyed it. I made a sort of belly dancer-mermaid figure out of a collage of tissue paper and acrylic paint. Mostly, she´s teaching me how to turn off my left brain which is what I want. The teacher, Nina, is an American expat (like everyone else in San Miguel) and is very "earthy" (You know -flowy dresses, chunky jewelry, looks like she shops at Chicos) She´s also slightly overweight, had lots of musician ex boyfriends, lives in a funky house, and has a nice cat.
I couldn´t help but wonder: Is that what is going to happen to me? (She said in her best Carrie Bradshaw voice-over voice)
I don´t know why it kind of turns me off while at the same time attracting me. I don´t think I could ever be that laid back. I certainly like frilly earth mama clothes. I like dangly earrings and I like wearing comfortable shoes. I like cats. I like musicians (or at least, I used to). I like funky houses painted in bright colors. So what´s the deal? I guess it sort of screams Old Maid to me. You´ll be alone forever or you´ll have to date a man who wears a long ponytail and a single earring. He´ll call you ´his old lady´. I like my globetrotting life (although I am appreciative of the break) and I like being a city girl. However, I think I need a change. Everyone is fleeing DC like rats off a sinking ship. Maybe its time to re-evaluate and start trotting out my resume. Cape Town? Mexico City? Amsterdam? London? Bangkok? Colombo?
Also getting baby fever with all these cute kids down here. I saw a cartoon that made me laugh yesterday. It said It´s a catch 22. My parents would be horrified if I had a child out of wedlock but I can´t breed in captivity! I think that sums it up.
I couldn´t help but wonder: Is that what is going to happen to me? (She said in her best Carrie Bradshaw voice-over voice)
I don´t know why it kind of turns me off while at the same time attracting me. I don´t think I could ever be that laid back. I certainly like frilly earth mama clothes. I like dangly earrings and I like wearing comfortable shoes. I like cats. I like musicians (or at least, I used to). I like funky houses painted in bright colors. So what´s the deal? I guess it sort of screams Old Maid to me. You´ll be alone forever or you´ll have to date a man who wears a long ponytail and a single earring. He´ll call you ´his old lady´. I like my globetrotting life (although I am appreciative of the break) and I like being a city girl. However, I think I need a change. Everyone is fleeing DC like rats off a sinking ship. Maybe its time to re-evaluate and start trotting out my resume. Cape Town? Mexico City? Amsterdam? London? Bangkok? Colombo?
Also getting baby fever with all these cute kids down here. I saw a cartoon that made me laugh yesterday. It said It´s a catch 22. My parents would be horrified if I had a child out of wedlock but I can´t breed in captivity! I think that sums it up.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Meeting Duckie in San Miguel Allende
Well, here I am -my first day in San Miguel Allende. The guest house I am staying at is quite a distance from the center of town which will either be good or annoying or I will keep the drivers in 20 pesos a day because its mountainous and I feel lazy.
I took the bus from Mexico City which was awesome. I will never travel any other way ever again. I arrived late at night and after some hassle trying to get there, I got in around 11pm and went straight to bed. I came out of my bedroom after a sound sleep to go to the shared kitchen and get coffee this morning.
And there was Mr A´s twin brother.
For those of you who don't know Mr. A (aka Duckie) - allow me to describe him. He is a man who once bored my sister and I to death with a detailed hour long description of Julio Iglaisias when we were 10 and 8 years old. So my friend, Robert, started off a long monotonous drone about the layout of the town -telling me three or four different ways I could walk into town. so much detail that i got lost the minute i stepped out the door. then he launched into the history of a ghost town next door in laborious detail. then he talked about the history of the railway in Mexico and the railroad trip he took. Then he told me the different classes of buses in Mexico and all about the bus trip he took from Phoenix to Chihuahua. He´s planning on taking the bus back up to Albuquerque and then the train to Topeka...1 hour and an extremely weak cup of coffee later, I pried myself away and went to take a shower.
Since I got lost, I took a cab into town. It is spectacularly beautiful here but quite the tourist town. So far, I´ve seen Americans outnumbering Mexicans about 10 to 1. But it is election day so we´ll see if it changes during the week. It also appears to be the town of hot pregnant women married to old guys. Well, I¨m off to find a cafe to eat in and figure out what I¨m going to do. I may just return to my guest house - which is lovely-and hang out in the hammock and read for several hours. But first food. Sadly, since its election day - no beer or alcohol but I suppose I can survive that as long as Duckie doesn´t return for part 2.
I took the bus from Mexico City which was awesome. I will never travel any other way ever again. I arrived late at night and after some hassle trying to get there, I got in around 11pm and went straight to bed. I came out of my bedroom after a sound sleep to go to the shared kitchen and get coffee this morning.
And there was Mr A´s twin brother.
For those of you who don't know Mr. A (aka Duckie) - allow me to describe him. He is a man who once bored my sister and I to death with a detailed hour long description of Julio Iglaisias when we were 10 and 8 years old. So my friend, Robert, started off a long monotonous drone about the layout of the town -telling me three or four different ways I could walk into town. so much detail that i got lost the minute i stepped out the door. then he launched into the history of a ghost town next door in laborious detail. then he talked about the history of the railway in Mexico and the railroad trip he took. Then he told me the different classes of buses in Mexico and all about the bus trip he took from Phoenix to Chihuahua. He´s planning on taking the bus back up to Albuquerque and then the train to Topeka...1 hour and an extremely weak cup of coffee later, I pried myself away and went to take a shower.
Since I got lost, I took a cab into town. It is spectacularly beautiful here but quite the tourist town. So far, I´ve seen Americans outnumbering Mexicans about 10 to 1. But it is election day so we´ll see if it changes during the week. It also appears to be the town of hot pregnant women married to old guys. Well, I¨m off to find a cafe to eat in and figure out what I¨m going to do. I may just return to my guest house - which is lovely-and hang out in the hammock and read for several hours. But first food. Sadly, since its election day - no beer or alcohol but I suppose I can survive that as long as Duckie doesn´t return for part 2.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
I miss my iPod
It´s official, I am an addict. I walk down the street wishing I could spin that little wheel and change the soundtrack of my day. Wouldn´t Lila Downs have been divine in the Frida Kahlo house? How about `red army blues´ by the Waterboys in Leon Trotsky´s depressing fortress? I´m in an internet cafe now and listening to U2. I am overwhelmed with a desire to listen to nothing but Bono for the next week. But my iPod is gone. Enjoy it, asshole, enjoy it.
Viva la Vida!
Greetings from Mexico City! I am finally on vacation- (then why are you on the computer? you ask) (Well, I want to use the blog as my travel journal, i respond lamely. Plus there is a computer right in the living room and I can sit on the balcony of this courtyard and catch up with you...)
The morning yesterday was a blur - the taxi company didn't come when I called them, I work up late, ran around like a crazy person, and then sat, stunned, in National airport at 5am wondering when the vacation would start. I watched "Eight Degrees Below" - a sappy movie about dogs being left behind in Antartica. And, like I did during the preview, cried throughout it. Those sweet noble dogs! I got into Mexico City airport and everything still felt surreal. Then when the taxi pulled out - I started to perk up. I'm in Mexico! I love latin america! the smells, the sounds, the sights, everything reminds me of Guatemala and I love it so. I never have this feeling when I arrive in Africa (but of course, I'm arriving in war zones... ). Anyway, I think I'm going to enjoy my vacation.
Yesterday, I went down to the "Zocalo" - the giant square in front of the Presidential palace - it's the largest in the world, second only to Red Square in Moscow. The buildings hre are beautiful! All colonial Spanish. The Zocalo has the biggest flag of Mexico that I have ever seen. Bigger than the one in Tijuana. They love that flag! I am staying with Bridget Moix, a former colleague. She's a quaker and we used to do peacekeeping work together but I didn't know her very well. Out of the kindness of her heart, she and her husband Alberto, invited me to stay with them in Mexico City. She's currently managing the Quaker guesthouse here but insisted I stay with them. And boy am I glad I did!
Their apartment is absolutely gorgeous and exactly what a house in Mexico city should look like (to me, anyway). It's in a courtyard which two other apartments that their cousins live in share with them and its painted yellow. You come up a flight of stairs that are made out of lovely granite slabs with creamy walls and turn a narrow corner into the apartment - the kitchen is all tiles and plants with a beautiful little garden of cacti and ficus behind a wrought iron wall with glass bricks behind them. That's one wall of the kitchen. There are exposed beams throughout the house and tile and caramel colored wood everywhere. The dining room and living room open up into a small balcony.
Upstairs, they have a bedroom with a swinging window/door (hard to explain) that opens up into a small courtyard. The shower also overlooks the courtyard. Everything is so lovely.
Last night, we went to a 'taqueria' in Condesa where we had pork and pineapple tacos (sounds gross but was delicious)for about 10 cents each. As you finish them, the man puts a new one on your plate freshly made until you tell him to stop. I ate way more than I thought I could handle and had a "Victoria" beer - a little heavier than Corona but not a dark beer like Negro Modelo. Just right! Then we walked through the tree lined streets and got some gelato... I had dulce de leche y queso - basically a cheescake and caramel flavor. DELICOUS!
Right now, I'm drinking coffee on the balcony listening to the birds. Today, I'm going to go see the Diego Rivera murals and possibly the Templa Mayor - the ruins of the giant Aztec temple that they built a cathedral over in downton MC. It's amazing to see the meld of Aztec and Colonialism here - you never really got the feeling in Guatemala of the 'conquest' but here, it is all around. Plus I love the fact that everything is named after the REVOLUTION! Insurgents! Patriotismo!
Viva Mexico!
The morning yesterday was a blur - the taxi company didn't come when I called them, I work up late, ran around like a crazy person, and then sat, stunned, in National airport at 5am wondering when the vacation would start. I watched "Eight Degrees Below" - a sappy movie about dogs being left behind in Antartica. And, like I did during the preview, cried throughout it. Those sweet noble dogs! I got into Mexico City airport and everything still felt surreal. Then when the taxi pulled out - I started to perk up. I'm in Mexico! I love latin america! the smells, the sounds, the sights, everything reminds me of Guatemala and I love it so. I never have this feeling when I arrive in Africa (but of course, I'm arriving in war zones... ). Anyway, I think I'm going to enjoy my vacation.
Yesterday, I went down to the "Zocalo" - the giant square in front of the Presidential palace - it's the largest in the world, second only to Red Square in Moscow. The buildings hre are beautiful! All colonial Spanish. The Zocalo has the biggest flag of Mexico that I have ever seen. Bigger than the one in Tijuana. They love that flag! I am staying with Bridget Moix, a former colleague. She's a quaker and we used to do peacekeeping work together but I didn't know her very well. Out of the kindness of her heart, she and her husband Alberto, invited me to stay with them in Mexico City. She's currently managing the Quaker guesthouse here but insisted I stay with them. And boy am I glad I did!
Their apartment is absolutely gorgeous and exactly what a house in Mexico city should look like (to me, anyway). It's in a courtyard which two other apartments that their cousins live in share with them and its painted yellow. You come up a flight of stairs that are made out of lovely granite slabs with creamy walls and turn a narrow corner into the apartment - the kitchen is all tiles and plants with a beautiful little garden of cacti and ficus behind a wrought iron wall with glass bricks behind them. That's one wall of the kitchen. There are exposed beams throughout the house and tile and caramel colored wood everywhere. The dining room and living room open up into a small balcony.
Upstairs, they have a bedroom with a swinging window/door (hard to explain) that opens up into a small courtyard. The shower also overlooks the courtyard. Everything is so lovely.
Last night, we went to a 'taqueria' in Condesa where we had pork and pineapple tacos (sounds gross but was delicious)for about 10 cents each. As you finish them, the man puts a new one on your plate freshly made until you tell him to stop. I ate way more than I thought I could handle and had a "Victoria" beer - a little heavier than Corona but not a dark beer like Negro Modelo. Just right! Then we walked through the tree lined streets and got some gelato... I had dulce de leche y queso - basically a cheescake and caramel flavor. DELICOUS!
Right now, I'm drinking coffee on the balcony listening to the birds. Today, I'm going to go see the Diego Rivera murals and possibly the Templa Mayor - the ruins of the giant Aztec temple that they built a cathedral over in downton MC. It's amazing to see the meld of Aztec and Colonialism here - you never really got the feeling in Guatemala of the 'conquest' but here, it is all around. Plus I love the fact that everything is named after the REVOLUTION! Insurgents! Patriotismo!
Viva Mexico!
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Greetings from Mexico City!
Greetings from Mexico City! I am finally on vacation- (then why are you on the computer? you ask) (Well, I want to use the blog as my travel journal, i respond lamely. Plus there is a computer right in the living room and I can sit on the balcony of this courtyard and catch up with you...)
The morning yesterday was a blur - the taxi company didn't come when I called them, I work up late, ran around like a crazy person, and then sat, stunned, in National airport at 5am wondering when the vacation would start. I watched "Eight Degrees Below" - a sappy movie about dogs being left behind in Antartica. And, like I did during the preview, cried throughout it. Those sweet noble dogs! I got into Mexico City airport and everything still felt surreal. Then when the taxi pulled out - I started to perk up. I'm in Mexico! I love latin america! the smells, the sounds, the sights, everything reminds me of Guatemala and I love it so. I never have this feeling when I arrive in Africa (but of course, I'm arriving in war zones... ). Anyway, I think I'm going to enjoy my vacation.
Yesterday, I went down to the "Zocalo" - the giant square in front of the Presidential palace - it's the largest in the world, second only to Red Square in Moscow. The buildings hre are beautiful! All colonial Spanish. The Zocalo has the biggest flag of Mexico that I have ever seen. Bigger than the one in Tijuana. They love that flag! I am staying with Bridget Moix, a former colleague. She's a quaker and we used to do peacekeeping work together but I didn't know her very well. Out of the kindness of her heart, she and her husband Alberto, invited me to stay with them in Mexico City. She's currently managing the Quaker guesthouse here but insisted I stay with them. And boy am I glad I did!
Their apartment is absolutely gorgeous and exactly what a house in Mexico city should look like (to me, anyway). It's in a courtyard which two other apartments that their cousins live in share with them and its painted yellow. You come up a flight of stairs that are made out of lovely granite slabs with creamy walls and turn a narrow corner into the apartment - the kitchen is all tiles and plants with a beautiful little garden of cacti and ficus behind a wrought iron wall with glass bricks behind them. That's one wall of the kitchen. There are exposed beams throughout the house and tile and caramel colored wood everywhere. The dining room and living room open up into a small balcony.
Upstairs, they have a bedroom with a swinging window/door (hard to explain) that opens up into a small courtyard. The shower also overlooks the courtyard. Everything is so lovely.
Last night, we went to a 'taqueria' in Condesa where we had pork and pineapple tacos (sounds gross but was delicious)for about 10 cents each. As you finish them, the man puts a new one on your plate freshly made until you tell him to stop. I ate way more than I thought I could handle and had a "Victoria" beer - a little heavier than Corona but not a dark beer like Negro Modelo. Just right! Then we walked through the tree lined streets and got some gelato... I had dulce de leche y queso - basically a cheescake and caramel flavor. DELICOUS!
Right now, I'm drinking coffee on the balcony listening to the birds. Today, I'm going to go see the Diego Rivera murals and possibly the Templa Mayor - the ruins of the giant Aztec temple that they built a cathedral over in downton MC. It's amazing to see the meld of Aztec and Colonialism here - you never really got the feeling in Guatemala of the 'conquest' but here, it is all around. Plus I love the fact that everything is named after the REVOLUTION! Insurgents! Patriotismo!
Viva Mexico!
The morning yesterday was a blur - the taxi company didn't come when I called them, I work up late, ran around like a crazy person, and then sat, stunned, in National airport at 5am wondering when the vacation would start. I watched "Eight Degrees Below" - a sappy movie about dogs being left behind in Antartica. And, like I did during the preview, cried throughout it. Those sweet noble dogs! I got into Mexico City airport and everything still felt surreal. Then when the taxi pulled out - I started to perk up. I'm in Mexico! I love latin america! the smells, the sounds, the sights, everything reminds me of Guatemala and I love it so. I never have this feeling when I arrive in Africa (but of course, I'm arriving in war zones... ). Anyway, I think I'm going to enjoy my vacation.
Yesterday, I went down to the "Zocalo" - the giant square in front of the Presidential palace - it's the largest in the world, second only to Red Square in Moscow. The buildings hre are beautiful! All colonial Spanish. The Zocalo has the biggest flag of Mexico that I have ever seen. Bigger than the one in Tijuana. They love that flag! I am staying with Bridget Moix, a former colleague. She's a quaker and we used to do peacekeeping work together but I didn't know her very well. Out of the kindness of her heart, she and her husband Alberto, invited me to stay with them in Mexico City. She's currently managing the Quaker guesthouse here but insisted I stay with them. And boy am I glad I did!
Their apartment is absolutely gorgeous and exactly what a house in Mexico city should look like (to me, anyway). It's in a courtyard which two other apartments that their cousins live in share with them and its painted yellow. You come up a flight of stairs that are made out of lovely granite slabs with creamy walls and turn a narrow corner into the apartment - the kitchen is all tiles and plants with a beautiful little garden of cacti and ficus behind a wrought iron wall with glass bricks behind them. That's one wall of the kitchen. There are exposed beams throughout the house and tile and caramel colored wood everywhere. The dining room and living room open up into a small balcony.
Upstairs, they have a bedroom with a swinging window/door (hard to explain) that opens up into a small courtyard. The shower also overlooks the courtyard. Everything is so lovely.
Last night, we went to a 'taqueria' in Condesa where we had pork and pineapple tacos (sounds gross but was delicious)for about 10 cents each. As you finish them, the man puts a new one on your plate freshly made until you tell him to stop. I ate way more than I thought I could handle and had a "Victoria" beer - a little heavier than Corona but not a dark beer like Negro Modelo. Just right! Then we walked through the tree lined streets and got some gelato... I had dulce de leche y queso - basically a cheescake and caramel flavor. DELICOUS!
Right now, I'm drinking coffee on the balcony listening to the birds. Today, I'm going to go see the Diego Rivera murals and possibly the Templa Mayor - the ruins of the giant Aztec temple that they built a cathedral over in downton MC. It's amazing to see the meld of Aztec and Colonialism here - you never really got the feeling in Guatemala of the 'conquest' but here, it is all around. Plus I love the fact that everything is named after the REVOLUTION! Insurgents! Patriotismo!
Viva Mexico!
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