Another weekend in Tepic, fabulous metropolis of Nayarit. We enjoyed the festivities of the Feria Nacional de la Mexicanidad 2010, a four week fair to celebrate Mexican culture. It was of extremely high quality, with display tents of technology, health, agriculture, culture, local goods, endless rows of carnival games and vendors, a livestock show, and bears riding motorcycles. You may be thinking that forcing bears to travel the country riding motorcycles is cruel. You would be right. It was also slightly fascinating. We also witnessed a traditional ritual of four men jumping off a 50 foot high pole and winding around and around it upside down until they land on the ground. It was hard to take it really seriously, as it occurred directly prior to the dancing bear show. Once again, we spent our time with Miguel and his family, our Spanish teacher. It was exciting to see our progress in Spanish, as it was much easier to communicate with Miguel's wife this trip. It's difficult to believe that we get almost no opportunity to practice our Spanish, and we live in Mexico, but it's the truth.
The plan for the next morning was to head to San Blas, a coastal town with mangrove swamps. The mangroves grow in a unique acquatic ecosystem, as they grow in saline water, and in some mangrove swamps in Mexico live manatees and sea turtles. San Blas also has an interesting colonial history, as a Fort for keeping marauders at bay (hehehe).
Miguel and co. showed up an hour later than planned, but as there was no clock in our hotel room, it didn't phase us a bit. We loaded up the car and headed out. Abotu ten minutes into the trip, Miguel's wife (I apologize for not knowing her name) yelled out to him, he slammed on the brakes, and we crashed into a pickup which was in the intersection. Miguel's daughter Paula was sitting on her mother's lap with no seatbelt and hit her face against the dash, loosening some teeth. Everyone was generally fine, and we stayed the rest of the day in Tepic, taking a Turibus around the city, and to a village where only Huichol people live (the local natives). I bought a beautiful beadwork bracelet there from a woman who spoke both Huichol and Spanish (sidenote - Tepic also produces a picante salsa called Huichol which is my favorite, and they make little Huichol style dresses as bottle covers which are adorable). We also went to a really nice museum which had ancient artifacts from all the peoples who had lived in the area. The artwork was absolutely intriguing and up to 10,000 years old. We only got to see the beginning of the exhibit, but I was amazed by the details and the imagination involved.
In the evening we caught Alicia en el Pais de Marvilloso (Alice in Wonderland) in 3D and Spanish, which was a challenge but fun. After attending Mass the next morning, we headed home.
The following weekend, after the arrival of Denny, a retired Political Science professor from Hastings College, we headed to San Blas again. After some lucky hitches and a loooooong wait to transfer buses, we made it to that quaint town I discussed above. The birds, turtles, and crocodiles in the refuge were beautiful, and the boat ride through the glades was thrilling. We saw crocodiles from 1 foot long to 12 feet long. It is one of the best things I've done in Mexico! They also had a crocodile nursery, which turned out to be more of a zoo, although they do release about 100 crocodiles into the wild every year. And we're not talking Henry Doorly here, these animals were in small pens with no attempt at natural wildlife, tamirs, deer, macaws, and lots and lots of crocodiles. We took the tent with us, and Sascha and I made a go of it on the beach. We didn't stay in the designated camping area so we wouldn't have to pay, and had no problems except for SWARMS of mosquitoes and noseeums which violently attacked us as soon as we opened the tent doors in the morning. We were scratching all week.
I met an interesting girl in the plaza while enjoying Harry Potter y la Camara Secreta, a Nova Scotian named Gabby. She had been staying on Stone Island off of Mazatlan, north of here, and had spent time in a Canadian volunteer corps. We exchanged pleasantries about food sovereignty and politics and then went our separate ways.
After waiting two hours for the bus, we began our journey back to Litibu. Half an hour into the trip, as the bus sat in the left turn lane of an intersection, a young kid in a pickup truck sideswiped us directly under my seat. The bus was barely damaged but the pickup had a harder time, and the driver's brother showed up at the site enraged and had to be detained by the police. The bus waited for two hours while three different types of police showed up, and as far as I could tell, mostly directed traffic around the accident site. Finally another bus on the way to Puerto Vallarta showed up, and we got on the road again. The final bus from Bucerias had a crazy driver, and we were able to fear for our lives once again before finally and exhaustingly arriving at our own house and going to bed.
Two hectic weekends and two too many car crashes. After I told Miguel what had happened to us, he informed me that he and his family had ALSO been in another car accident that weekend, and also a mutual acquaintance of ours, a teacher from Higuera. It would make one skeptical to travel in Mexico any more!
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Temascal
To end a whirlwind week, our yogic gardening class decided to travel to a village in the mountains and participate in a sacred ritual called a Temascal, or sweat lodge. Many people were interested in going, but in the end only two can be Mexico's. next. top...oh wait. Only Emily and I ended up going.
The buses in Mexico are good quality, regular, and inexpensive, so we took the venture on our own. Sadly we got on one of the more expensive buses, and halfway there realized there were no more buses to our destination that day, and had to hire a 200 peso taxi. You win some, you lose some. Tequepexpan is a small village with more traditional architecture, including stone walls in fields and mud brick houses. The community we visited is outside of the village, and has several permanent residents. Their focus is spiritual, a mixture of indigenous religion and Chrisianity. While the houses are not outstanding in their construction in any conventional sense, there is an underriding current of care and peacefulness. Emily commented on their use of religious symbols as decoration, such as God's Eyes or prayer flags, which help to constantly remind of the connection with the spiritual world. The house was also decorated with a large pile of marijuana on the night table (in my opinion, a huge pile, but I have limited experience in these things).
The mountains opened up a different ecosystem to our willing, prodding eyes, with pine trees with 10" long needles, and scrub brilliantly set off by banana trees. The mountain valley was a quilt of agave, corn, and sugar cane. Behind the "mountains" in the foreground, the real mountains wait, the Sierra Madres, invisible.
We prepared for the Temascal with a sage smudge blessing, prayed over a handful of tobacco and tossed it in the fire. Between eight and ten people participated in the Temascal, Emily and I being the only non-Mexicans, and 2 of the only 3 women. We crawled into the dome, made of willow branches and draped with canvas to keep in the steam. The hole in the center was filled with glowing red rocks. Sirgio, the Shaman, would bless each rock with tobacco and everyone would welcome it into our midst. A five gallon bucket of water stood at convenience and soon the space filled with steam. And just when you think it's blisteringly hot, more water is dumped on and the temperature increases. Anna Paula informed us that we could not leave until the door was opened between the four parts of the ceremony. This made me slightly nervous, but it ended up being fine. Everyone had an opportunity to pray aloud, with singing in between. The Temascal invites all the elements to interact, water, fire, earth, and air. More rocks were added, more water, until breathing in makes no sense and breathing out just stirs the air against your skin. After one hour of this cleansing, we crawled back out. I was immiediately cold again, soaked with sweat in the chilly air. But everyone else was ready for a cool down, so each poured a five gallon bucket of cold water over their heads. So even though I was already cold, I did it too. Gah! But the fire was waiting, and dry clothes.
Simultaneously, a birthday party for a three year old was happening in the open kitchen area. Her whole family was there, including a man named Jaime, who informed me he was 26 (contrary to physical evidence) and before the night was over, told me he loved me. Despite my constantly informing him I had a boyfriend. I thought my new haircut would scare people off, but I guess the pull of legal papers is stronger. The food that evening was absolutley delicious, a cabbage dish, and then crazy with the beans: refried beans, lentils, and garbanzo beans in tomato sauce. Naturally, complemented by corn tortillas. For dessert, they made little corn cakes baked on banana leaves. mmmmm. The evening wore on, and Emily and I both got an extended opportunity to practice our Spanish. Only Anna Paula speaks English, and she was preoccupied with her lover.
As the night wore on, we wandered toward our cabin, which six people shared, Emily and I in one bed next to Anna Paula & co, and two other men on the other side of the wall. One man woke up before dawn and called out into the valley. At dawn, the two men had a conversation in normal volume voices inside the cabin for half an hour. After sunrise, when I found myself alone with the couple, I decided it was time to evacuate. We enjoyed some cinnamon tea in the kitchen, and realized all of our food had been taken by the partiers the night before, accidentally. So we hiked into the village, through the hills and brush rather than on the road, and came upon a little door in the village. Inside was a terraced yard, chickens, kittens, little furry dogs, and an elderly woman in a kitchen. The kitchen had a yellow painted earthen oven and pots, pitcher, and kettles hung on the walls in descending size. We thought we were eating there, and she provided us with mint tea fresh from the garden and some buttery crackers. After half an hour of conversation our guide Ernesto asked if we were ready to leave. It turns out she is the tortilla maker, and we returned to her later in the morning to fetch her homemade corn tortillas, which were like pancakes, delicious and fluffy. We traversed the town, and bought some produce. There is generally a convenience store on every block, and no grocery stores, and they prefer to sell cookies, soda, and chips than food staples. Sometimes I really wonder what the Mexican people eat. Beans, tortillas, and salsa for every meal, I think. Our second trip to the village that afternoon to fetch the tortillas brought us to a different path with our guide Ernesto. We were leaping over fences, running from cows, bounding streams, and climbing like mountain goats. I didn't consider it a "trail" exactly, so much as a possibility.
We enjoyed a nice breakfast and took a leisurely hike up the closest mountain to gain a magnificent view of the valley and the small sierra around us. Anna Paula brought us back to Sayulita and Litibu, and taught us some of the Spanish songs which we heard in the Temascal. It was a blessing to be granted an insight into this amazing Mexican community, their ceremonies, and their hospitality. How is this lesson applied to American hospitality to Mexican visitors or immigrants?
The buses in Mexico are good quality, regular, and inexpensive, so we took the venture on our own. Sadly we got on one of the more expensive buses, and halfway there realized there were no more buses to our destination that day, and had to hire a 200 peso taxi. You win some, you lose some. Tequepexpan is a small village with more traditional architecture, including stone walls in fields and mud brick houses. The community we visited is outside of the village, and has several permanent residents. Their focus is spiritual, a mixture of indigenous religion and Chrisianity. While the houses are not outstanding in their construction in any conventional sense, there is an underriding current of care and peacefulness. Emily commented on their use of religious symbols as decoration, such as God's Eyes or prayer flags, which help to constantly remind of the connection with the spiritual world. The house was also decorated with a large pile of marijuana on the night table (in my opinion, a huge pile, but I have limited experience in these things).
The mountains opened up a different ecosystem to our willing, prodding eyes, with pine trees with 10" long needles, and scrub brilliantly set off by banana trees. The mountain valley was a quilt of agave, corn, and sugar cane. Behind the "mountains" in the foreground, the real mountains wait, the Sierra Madres, invisible.
We prepared for the Temascal with a sage smudge blessing, prayed over a handful of tobacco and tossed it in the fire. Between eight and ten people participated in the Temascal, Emily and I being the only non-Mexicans, and 2 of the only 3 women. We crawled into the dome, made of willow branches and draped with canvas to keep in the steam. The hole in the center was filled with glowing red rocks. Sirgio, the Shaman, would bless each rock with tobacco and everyone would welcome it into our midst. A five gallon bucket of water stood at convenience and soon the space filled with steam. And just when you think it's blisteringly hot, more water is dumped on and the temperature increases. Anna Paula informed us that we could not leave until the door was opened between the four parts of the ceremony. This made me slightly nervous, but it ended up being fine. Everyone had an opportunity to pray aloud, with singing in between. The Temascal invites all the elements to interact, water, fire, earth, and air. More rocks were added, more water, until breathing in makes no sense and breathing out just stirs the air against your skin. After one hour of this cleansing, we crawled back out. I was immiediately cold again, soaked with sweat in the chilly air. But everyone else was ready for a cool down, so each poured a five gallon bucket of cold water over their heads. So even though I was already cold, I did it too. Gah! But the fire was waiting, and dry clothes.
Simultaneously, a birthday party for a three year old was happening in the open kitchen area. Her whole family was there, including a man named Jaime, who informed me he was 26 (contrary to physical evidence) and before the night was over, told me he loved me. Despite my constantly informing him I had a boyfriend. I thought my new haircut would scare people off, but I guess the pull of legal papers is stronger. The food that evening was absolutley delicious, a cabbage dish, and then crazy with the beans: refried beans, lentils, and garbanzo beans in tomato sauce. Naturally, complemented by corn tortillas. For dessert, they made little corn cakes baked on banana leaves. mmmmm. The evening wore on, and Emily and I both got an extended opportunity to practice our Spanish. Only Anna Paula speaks English, and she was preoccupied with her lover.
As the night wore on, we wandered toward our cabin, which six people shared, Emily and I in one bed next to Anna Paula & co, and two other men on the other side of the wall. One man woke up before dawn and called out into the valley. At dawn, the two men had a conversation in normal volume voices inside the cabin for half an hour. After sunrise, when I found myself alone with the couple, I decided it was time to evacuate. We enjoyed some cinnamon tea in the kitchen, and realized all of our food had been taken by the partiers the night before, accidentally. So we hiked into the village, through the hills and brush rather than on the road, and came upon a little door in the village. Inside was a terraced yard, chickens, kittens, little furry dogs, and an elderly woman in a kitchen. The kitchen had a yellow painted earthen oven and pots, pitcher, and kettles hung on the walls in descending size. We thought we were eating there, and she provided us with mint tea fresh from the garden and some buttery crackers. After half an hour of conversation our guide Ernesto asked if we were ready to leave. It turns out she is the tortilla maker, and we returned to her later in the morning to fetch her homemade corn tortillas, which were like pancakes, delicious and fluffy. We traversed the town, and bought some produce. There is generally a convenience store on every block, and no grocery stores, and they prefer to sell cookies, soda, and chips than food staples. Sometimes I really wonder what the Mexican people eat. Beans, tortillas, and salsa for every meal, I think. Our second trip to the village that afternoon to fetch the tortillas brought us to a different path with our guide Ernesto. We were leaping over fences, running from cows, bounding streams, and climbing like mountain goats. I didn't consider it a "trail" exactly, so much as a possibility.
We enjoyed a nice breakfast and took a leisurely hike up the closest mountain to gain a magnificent view of the valley and the small sierra around us. Anna Paula brought us back to Sayulita and Litibu, and taught us some of the Spanish songs which we heard in the Temascal. It was a blessing to be granted an insight into this amazing Mexican community, their ceremonies, and their hospitality. How is this lesson applied to American hospitality to Mexican visitors or immigrants?
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Gardening + Yoga = Happy Body Happy Spirit
I spent the last seven days attending a workshop, entitled "Entering the Temple Gates - a Yogic Approach to Organic Gardening". Intriguing? Confusing? Potentially a flop? Well, I didn't have to pay for it, so I didn't mind. I readily entered the flow of the week. The class was led by Juaquin and Yoga Ma Barbara, an eccentric "couple". Barbara lives in a van down by the ocean for the winter in San Pancho, and Juaquin used to have a very active Vivero (nursery) there, which reached a rapid and mysterious demise ten months ago. Barbara is an excellent yoga instructor and Juaquin is a scatterbrained philosopher and perfectionist in the garden.
Our preliminary meeting was to feel out who wanted to participate in the course so they could shape it (or one could say, Juaquin did absolutely no preparation). Those that showed up: Salvatore and I, the Americans, three Mexicans, one French woman who has lived in the area for eight years, two French Canadians, and one Swedish woman. Her name is Emily, and she was the first one I saw when I arrived, with her baggy pantaloons and squashed leather hat. Emily has spent the last year and a half of her life spending time taking courses like this one, and WWOOFing (World Wide Organization of Organic Farming), which is what I would like to do as soon as my time here is over. And to add a little awesome icing, she lived in Canada for the past months. She travels alone. And she happens to have the same skin type and basic body features as me. As the week progressed, we became good friends.
The third and fourth days of our class brought an impressive storm, which washed Emily up in Litibu. The ten foot overhang of our porch still allowed about a six foot strip of our floor wet, we had to move our bed into our "guest bedroom" aka the other side of the curtain. It rained all day and several inches and then all night. So our plans for double digging were severly compromised. But we were able to complete it by the end of the class. We learned preparing seed flats, sowing and planting different size seeds in flats and beds, transplanting, and soil preparation. So I'll let you decide if this was a lot or a little for seven days, but we learned how to do it all with perfection. I am not a perfectionist.
Juaquin is trained as a biodynamic gardener, which involves planting with planet, moon, and sun cycles, and focuses on the health of soils. Our course was not explicitly biodynamic, but Juaquin was trained by Alan Chadwick, a famous personality that further developed the biodynamic and French intensive system. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdMeyywc2xo, it's worth it just to hear his voice).
The last day we came to Litibu, to evaluate our site and talk about our food forest. Salvatore hired Juaquin to do a design for us, and he came out several days previous to the course to give us suggestions and scout out the land. Our day here turned out to be 90% unproductive in terms of developing our design. Juaquin went through some tree varieties with us in a semi-systematic way, for the benefit of other community members. But we ate some delicious locally made popcicles, and did some yoga in Salvatore's serenity garden.
Although the variety of information may have been limited, what we learned we learned well, and I feel completely competent in starting my own seeds or garden, or possibly even a nursery! Not that I actually want to do that...but I wouldn't say no to a greenhouse. Are you reading this, Dad?
Our preliminary meeting was to feel out who wanted to participate in the course so they could shape it (or one could say, Juaquin did absolutely no preparation). Those that showed up: Salvatore and I, the Americans, three Mexicans, one French woman who has lived in the area for eight years, two French Canadians, and one Swedish woman. Her name is Emily, and she was the first one I saw when I arrived, with her baggy pantaloons and squashed leather hat. Emily has spent the last year and a half of her life spending time taking courses like this one, and WWOOFing (World Wide Organization of Organic Farming), which is what I would like to do as soon as my time here is over. And to add a little awesome icing, she lived in Canada for the past months. She travels alone. And she happens to have the same skin type and basic body features as me. As the week progressed, we became good friends.
The third and fourth days of our class brought an impressive storm, which washed Emily up in Litibu. The ten foot overhang of our porch still allowed about a six foot strip of our floor wet, we had to move our bed into our "guest bedroom" aka the other side of the curtain. It rained all day and several inches and then all night. So our plans for double digging were severly compromised. But we were able to complete it by the end of the class. We learned preparing seed flats, sowing and planting different size seeds in flats and beds, transplanting, and soil preparation. So I'll let you decide if this was a lot or a little for seven days, but we learned how to do it all with perfection. I am not a perfectionist.
Juaquin is trained as a biodynamic gardener, which involves planting with planet, moon, and sun cycles, and focuses on the health of soils. Our course was not explicitly biodynamic, but Juaquin was trained by Alan Chadwick, a famous personality that further developed the biodynamic and French intensive system. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdMeyywc2xo, it's worth it just to hear his voice).
The last day we came to Litibu, to evaluate our site and talk about our food forest. Salvatore hired Juaquin to do a design for us, and he came out several days previous to the course to give us suggestions and scout out the land. Our day here turned out to be 90% unproductive in terms of developing our design. Juaquin went through some tree varieties with us in a semi-systematic way, for the benefit of other community members. But we ate some delicious locally made popcicles, and did some yoga in Salvatore's serenity garden.
Although the variety of information may have been limited, what we learned we learned well, and I feel completely competent in starting my own seeds or garden, or possibly even a nursery! Not that I actually want to do that...but I wouldn't say no to a greenhouse. Are you reading this, Dad?
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Permaculture Proposal
Well, you might assume by reading my blog so far that it's all fun and games here. And you might be right, but we've also been preparing a proposal for the community on how they can further move toward sustainability. To give a little more basic information:
This property was purchased almost 20 years ago, although legally this has only happened recently. The community is made up of seven houses and 10 families (some with just one person). The youngest person in this community is 70, and they are all American born. They also all worked for or have a connection to the Institute of Cultural Affairs (ICA) which is an international organization that focuses on community and leadership development, often in impoverished countries. Three of my dad's siblings spent time working with them. This group of people gradually formed with the shared value that they would like to live "lightly on the land" (on the beach in Mexico) and were one of the first to develop this area. It has since turned into a community of approximately 50, mostly gringos, but this particular corporation is the 10 families, who cooperatively own the property. Only six people live here full time, two of which require constant care or supervision by their spouses or others. This creates a divide between the wants of those here part time and the time constraints and interests of those here full time, left to care for the projects. We interviewed almost every community member for 1-2 hours about their current level of sustainability and what sort of projects they would be interested in for the future. Everyone here uses rainwater catchment almost exclusively, and they all have solar power, but now they're on the grid and that energy goes unused. They "compost" by throwing their organic waste into a hole in the ground and eventually digging a new hole, or in buckets which devolves into black muck, then is tossed on some plants.
We calculated the sectors (external forces that could affect our design) and zones (the movement of people, how we can design to increase efficiency) and took into consideration the interests of the members, and eventually came up with a design to include safety issues, centralized composting and recycling, a living fence and improved gates to keep out one unwelcome horse, a fire pit with cob benches and oven, a mandala shaped garden in the central community space, with mainly herbs, a food forest and some other small projects and recommendations. We will only be here for another 4 1/2 months, so we needed them to prioritize.
The annual community meeting was a three day extravaganza this year, the first day to give reports and proposals, the second to divide into task forces to develop a final draft, and the last to reach consensus and decision, and all of them for the celebration of community. The broad spectrum of community organizing and facilitation experience makes it a very interesting process to observe. The one point I would mention is their incorporation of joy and play into what could be a mundane meeting while maintaining a high level of structure.
By day two our project was honed down to two compost structures, a fire pit, a small food forest, and some private herb gardens and raised beds for vegetables as needed. The third day saw our project accepted with a $1000 budget. Woohoo!
Let the work begin.
This property was purchased almost 20 years ago, although legally this has only happened recently. The community is made up of seven houses and 10 families (some with just one person). The youngest person in this community is 70, and they are all American born. They also all worked for or have a connection to the Institute of Cultural Affairs (ICA) which is an international organization that focuses on community and leadership development, often in impoverished countries. Three of my dad's siblings spent time working with them. This group of people gradually formed with the shared value that they would like to live "lightly on the land" (on the beach in Mexico) and were one of the first to develop this area. It has since turned into a community of approximately 50, mostly gringos, but this particular corporation is the 10 families, who cooperatively own the property. Only six people live here full time, two of which require constant care or supervision by their spouses or others. This creates a divide between the wants of those here part time and the time constraints and interests of those here full time, left to care for the projects. We interviewed almost every community member for 1-2 hours about their current level of sustainability and what sort of projects they would be interested in for the future. Everyone here uses rainwater catchment almost exclusively, and they all have solar power, but now they're on the grid and that energy goes unused. They "compost" by throwing their organic waste into a hole in the ground and eventually digging a new hole, or in buckets which devolves into black muck, then is tossed on some plants.
We calculated the sectors (external forces that could affect our design) and zones (the movement of people, how we can design to increase efficiency) and took into consideration the interests of the members, and eventually came up with a design to include safety issues, centralized composting and recycling, a living fence and improved gates to keep out one unwelcome horse, a fire pit with cob benches and oven, a mandala shaped garden in the central community space, with mainly herbs, a food forest and some other small projects and recommendations. We will only be here for another 4 1/2 months, so we needed them to prioritize.
The annual community meeting was a three day extravaganza this year, the first day to give reports and proposals, the second to divide into task forces to develop a final draft, and the last to reach consensus and decision, and all of them for the celebration of community. The broad spectrum of community organizing and facilitation experience makes it a very interesting process to observe. The one point I would mention is their incorporation of joy and play into what could be a mundane meeting while maintaining a high level of structure.
By day two our project was honed down to two compost structures, a fire pit, a small food forest, and some private herb gardens and raised beds for vegetables as needed. The third day saw our project accepted with a $1000 budget. Woohoo!
Let the work begin.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Tepic - Winter Wonderland
Tepic is the capital of Nayarit, the state in which we live, and is located about 1000 meters above sea level, with 500,000 residents. Our Spanish teacher Miguel, also known as our only Mexican friend, lives there with his family during the weekend. The teachers here are assigned to schools and live in a house with the other teachers, because the majority are from Tepic which houses the university. So on weekdays we hitch a ride to Punta Mita, where Miguel does special education with the non-profit PEACE. And last weekend we decided to explore this veritable Winter Wonderland.
Nayarit is an agricultural state, and we got a true taste of it with fields of sugar cane and endless orchards of avocadoes backed by rolling mountains and a roiling stomach. Tepic is not exactly a tourist destination, and we were fairly warned that there is 'nothing to do there'. We did not meet or see a single gringo on the entire trip. Sascha lugged the tent and blankets in his monster backpack, but once there, no one seemed to know where a good place to camp was, especiall that was accessible. So we stayed in a hotel close to the plaza and ventured out the first evening to find half the citizens in the city gathered there. We ate out and then wandered into the cathedral, where there just happened to be a wedding commencing with extremely poor timing, as the Christmas music and loudspeaker narrative poured in the open doors. And then the parade started, in all its commercialized glory, starring any animated film character you can think of. They had Peter Pan, Ciderella, the Flintsones, the Incredibles, the Backyardigans, Sesame Street, Batman, several Santa Clauses and countless more, each trailed by several dozen girls, aged 11-14 in appropriate costume. After the parade we went to a tiny cake shop where I bought a tiny cake from a stunningly gorgeous woman, and then went out to eat a second time.
Miguel scheduled a bus tour for us in the morning, and accompanied us with his wife and darling four-year old daughter, Paula. The tour traveled to four old colonial style haciendas, with trees hundreds of years old, and an orangeria (as Sascha would say), meaning a wonderful orchard full of cross-bred citrus trees. The whole property was chocked full of edible plants, which we all picked at all our leisure and enjoyed thoroughly. Another had been turned into a school, where they found indigenous artifacts and gold hidden in the walls. The last hacienda we visited was at some point used or owned by the Masonics, with symbols scratched into the stone. It was a textile factory from 1841 until 1985, making denim for the American market. The factory utilized child labor. The machines, both antique and newer, were all still there, along with spools of thread. The architecture of the building was fascinating, there were defense turrets in several locations where people with guns shot at marauders in the streets.
We went to a huge new shopping mall afterwards with Miguel y familia, much nicer than any mall I have been to in the U.S., and afterwards to a a huge park where we rode a tiny train. The park came equipped with a zoo, carnival rides, endless playsets and courts, and most unusual of all: an outdoor ice-skating rink. You may think the people of Mexico would not be highly skilled ice skaters, and you would be right, but there were a few with talent, and it was very amusing to watch.
Live music at a nearby bar concluded our evening with style, the mandatory nightly Mexican television, a special treat offered only by the hotel.
Miguel informed us that Mass was celebrated at the hour, and he would try to meet us at nine. Awakening at 8:50, I rushed over to sit in the cathedral for one hour before mass actually started, at which hour both Miguel and Sascha gamboled in. We somehow missed Miguel afterwards, and headed over to a nice restaurant for breakfast, and while Sascha finished I ravaged the town for some Christmas presents.
We caught the bus back to Bucerias where each of us had a conversation with an English-speaking Mexican. The man Sascha spoke to had immigrated to the U.S. as a baby and lived there thirty years, went to college, spent 9 years in the state penitentiary, and was finally deported to Mexico, a place he couldn't even remember. He is a vendor, coming on to the buses and selling snacks, and has no intention of going back to the U.S.
I bought a giant sparkler and called it a day.
There comes a point in every blog where the writer must admit to losing their camera. Today is my day. Just use your imagination.
Nayarit is an agricultural state, and we got a true taste of it with fields of sugar cane and endless orchards of avocadoes backed by rolling mountains and a roiling stomach. Tepic is not exactly a tourist destination, and we were fairly warned that there is 'nothing to do there'. We did not meet or see a single gringo on the entire trip. Sascha lugged the tent and blankets in his monster backpack, but once there, no one seemed to know where a good place to camp was, especiall that was accessible. So we stayed in a hotel close to the plaza and ventured out the first evening to find half the citizens in the city gathered there. We ate out and then wandered into the cathedral, where there just happened to be a wedding commencing with extremely poor timing, as the Christmas music and loudspeaker narrative poured in the open doors. And then the parade started, in all its commercialized glory, starring any animated film character you can think of. They had Peter Pan, Ciderella, the Flintsones, the Incredibles, the Backyardigans, Sesame Street, Batman, several Santa Clauses and countless more, each trailed by several dozen girls, aged 11-14 in appropriate costume. After the parade we went to a tiny cake shop where I bought a tiny cake from a stunningly gorgeous woman, and then went out to eat a second time.
Miguel scheduled a bus tour for us in the morning, and accompanied us with his wife and darling four-year old daughter, Paula. The tour traveled to four old colonial style haciendas, with trees hundreds of years old, and an orangeria (as Sascha would say), meaning a wonderful orchard full of cross-bred citrus trees. The whole property was chocked full of edible plants, which we all picked at all our leisure and enjoyed thoroughly. Another had been turned into a school, where they found indigenous artifacts and gold hidden in the walls. The last hacienda we visited was at some point used or owned by the Masonics, with symbols scratched into the stone. It was a textile factory from 1841 until 1985, making denim for the American market. The factory utilized child labor. The machines, both antique and newer, were all still there, along with spools of thread. The architecture of the building was fascinating, there were defense turrets in several locations where people with guns shot at marauders in the streets.
We went to a huge new shopping mall afterwards with Miguel y familia, much nicer than any mall I have been to in the U.S., and afterwards to a a huge park where we rode a tiny train. The park came equipped with a zoo, carnival rides, endless playsets and courts, and most unusual of all: an outdoor ice-skating rink. You may think the people of Mexico would not be highly skilled ice skaters, and you would be right, but there were a few with talent, and it was very amusing to watch.
Live music at a nearby bar concluded our evening with style, the mandatory nightly Mexican television, a special treat offered only by the hotel.
Miguel informed us that Mass was celebrated at the hour, and he would try to meet us at nine. Awakening at 8:50, I rushed over to sit in the cathedral for one hour before mass actually started, at which hour both Miguel and Sascha gamboled in. We somehow missed Miguel afterwards, and headed over to a nice restaurant for breakfast, and while Sascha finished I ravaged the town for some Christmas presents.
We caught the bus back to Bucerias where each of us had a conversation with an English-speaking Mexican. The man Sascha spoke to had immigrated to the U.S. as a baby and lived there thirty years, went to college, spent 9 years in the state penitentiary, and was finally deported to Mexico, a place he couldn't even remember. He is a vendor, coming on to the buses and selling snacks, and has no intention of going back to the U.S.
I bought a giant sparkler and called it a day.
There comes a point in every blog where the writer must admit to losing their camera. Today is my day. Just use your imagination.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Bellosas
The day started with a healthy dose of Catholicism on the plaza in Higuera Blanca. There is something about that international ancient tradition of seeking God that gives me comfort and companionship. Then to the highway, to hitch a ride to Punta Mita. Hitchhiking is generally pretty easy, we get picked up by workers, gringos, and even a single mom with a baby. Once we arrived in Punta Mita, our tourist pheremones set to work and they came at us like moths. We had an appointment for a boat tour with Rudy, a laid-back Austrian introduced to us by one of our community members. But that didn't stop a small swarm of tour guides quoting prices, adventures, guarantees, and mediocre English. We hemmed and hawed, and Rudy finally got the scent, swooped in, and hardly left our side for the next hour and a half, even joining us for the majority of our meal. Times are tough in the tourism field right now. We enjoyed a lovely meal at El Dorado, which our neighbor Rod helped found. They had delicious ice cream served in a fruit shell.
And then into the boat, about 25 feet long, with Rudy and his brother-in-law, a Mexican. The bay cradles Puerto Vallarta in the center, and we were located on the northern point, with the hazy sierra surrounding us. We traveled out toward the open ocean and saw a stopped boat, a good sign. We pulled up next to them and sure enough, they had spotted them. A family of whales! Mama, papa, y bebe. They come to the bay, as Rudy says, on honeymoon - to make babies. They also have babies, and we saw one later which was only a few days old, but already 1500 pounds, and as long as our boat. They are humpback whales. Rudy told us one of the largest dangers to whales still remaining is giant cruise ships which travel so fast that the whales can't get out of the way. Sascha's eyes glaze over daily while staring at the ocean hoping for a glimpse; apparently everyone in Litibu sees them all the time except us. But there we were, twenty feet away from them! And of course we were especially prepped for some great sea-life, having just watched Whale Rider AND Jaws.
Next step was a trip to the Marieta Islands, a Mexican National Park and bird sanctuary. And whatever they were doing, it was successful, because there were hundreds of birds in the air and hundreds more on every rock surface. The blue-footed booby has been introduced there, native to the Galapagos, and Rudy said the islands are home to 20,000 birds. Stepping foot on the island is prohibited, as well as fishing nearby, however swimming seems to be completely acceptable. We pulled up next to the island and fed the fish crackers, an entire school, each the size of a dinner plate, would aggressively attack the crackers. I did not want them to aggressively attack me. But I got in the water anyway. In case anyone reading this doesn't already know, I have an irrational fear of fish in all their forms. I had twenty bats flying around my head in an incredibly closed proximity in a dark room earlier this week, and one even pooped on my mouth and I had no problem with it. But swimming with fish is another story. We went through a hollowed out tunnel into a miniature cove with a lovely sandy beach. I wasn't quite brave enough to snorkel, in fact I avoided looking anywhere other than the sky the entire time, but no fish touched my skin.
The next step of our journey was to head to open ocean and throw in the lines. In case I didn't make it clear earlier, I really hate fish. I swam about while the men did the manly job. And they caught one, a ladyfish, and let it suffocate to death on deck, then took it's body and hacked it up right on board. We carried the carcass all the way home and Sascha boiled it up for supper, and spent an hour picking the bones out of it.
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