lo de sal 'n anders

=10=

2010-04-15T17:09:00.002-05:00

Hola, all! This figures to be a news-filled post, I’m sayin’, so embróchate (buckle up) and let’s do this :). Since last we wrote, a few things of note have transpired. We’ve been doing a fair bit of traveling, both in our neck of the woods and a little ways further as well.

For months and months and months, we had been anxiously awaiting some important dignitaries from Nebraska-way: my family :). The plan was to experience some of southern Mexico’s coastal offerings, primarily the Mayan Riveria and the town of Tulum. My folks rented an incredible place called “Nah Uxibal” on the beach just north of the town of Tulum (check it! We were there in the main house :)), and after a 3-hour bus ride to Toluca (near Mexico City) and an hour-and-a-half flight to Cancun (free booze drinks and in-flight video of the take off and landing– cooool), we were, at last, reunited. My folks had rented a car and came to pick us up while my bro prepared the first delicious Julesian meal I’d eaten for over 6 months. Needless to say, my bro menor did not disappoint– nor did the rest of the not-2-B-4gotten trip! We spent 10 chill-filled days, alternating between stay-at-the-place/paradise beach days and days heading out and about visiting ruins, cenotes (underwater caves!) and eating delicious food, even if most of it wasn’t as good as what we were producing in our very own kitchen (one caveat to that rule could be the place [read: shack] just a 20 or so-minute walk down the beach of Soliman Bay from where we were staying. Delicious fish, ceviche, shrimp and lobster, oh my!). Everyone completed at least one book (Jules, Sally and my mom did more like 2 each), and much fun and relaxation was had. Fortunately/Unfortunately, I do not have many of the pics from the trip on my computer (unfortunate)– my dear old dad was get’n’r done on my folks’– but pics do exist (fortunate– for later). Here are a smattering to give you a feel of our time together (when we could be bothered to set down our drinks to pick up a camera)…

A successful coco hunting experience. No one was

injured despite our crude tools (a hammer) &

the this-could-only-work-in-a-cartoon appearance.

Part of the morning ritual: Dulce de leche coffee a la Sally!

(well, coffee was the ritual;

the ice cream was more of an experiment)

The Mayan ruins at Tulum. Homeboys picked a pretty good spot to set up shop.

La mamacita & I enjoying the view.

Jules decides to OBEY at Tulum...

The über-cute requisite family shot. Thanks, Sally. ;)

Back at home, chillin', readin'...

The eternally cute, & at this moment, drunk, Sally Hunt. :)

And... the steps of the temple at Cobá.

I really wish we had some more Cobá shots– and definitely some cenote shots as well– but you'll have to come by the house for a bit of tequila and the family slideshow one evening instead ;).

The day before we left, which turned out to be Easter (for which my parents had brought a bag of chocolate eggs for a good old fashioned egg hunt at the place ;)) and Opening Night of the 2010 MLB season, something else unexpected and wonderful transpired. We were in the town of Akumal, set to enjoy our second meal in a sweet little corner of this quiet/quaint little beachside village, and decided to pop into a picturesque artisanal gift shop before sitting down for seafood and pitchers of real lime (tart and delicious!) margaritas. After doing a little perusing, I spotted something I’d had in mind for Sally; a gift whose significance I hoped would last for us for years and years and years to come. While Sally and my mom visited the facilities, I snuck back and purchased said gift and hid it in my dad’s pack. After a delicious meal– and two pitchers (we were 5 peeps, mind you ;)) of margarita– my folks and bro popped into the same sweet little shop. While they were inside, I sat with Sally and did a little something that surprised both myself and her, you could say: I proposed to her. With a Day of the Dead-themed bride and groom cake topper in lieu of the more traditional engagement ring (in my defense, Sally had said she didn't want one, plus making $5US/hour doesn't exactly create the sort of budget surplus with which you buy big-rock engagement rings). I hadn't been planning on asking her in specific– that day or week or month, per se– but knew by then (and have known) that Sally was (and is!) the one for me and was only waiting for the right time. When this shop happened to have exactly the engagement present I had in mind, with it in hand I knew I couldn’t wait long what with that true a feeling in my heart and a little tequila in my belly; PLUS, I knew she wanted a surprise and surprise her I did! Hopefully you’ve guessed by now that she said “yes” and was crying shortly thereafter– even though she had to read between the lines just a little with my proposal (“Wouldn’t this look lovely atop our wedding cake, mi amor?” instead of “Sally, will you marry me?”) ;). We spent the rest of the day and evening floating (on air), though were sad to see my fam leave from Cancun the following day, especially since all of the drinking and fun-having caught up with my daddy-o's insides that last night– still better than Montezuma's Revenge, though! The good thing with a good girlfriend/fiancé/wife is that she's there for you even in tough moments like that, and true to form, she helped me through the first hours of missing people I love and care for so much. Now she– all official like– will be part of that group of people too, and I part of hers. We can’t hardly wait :).

Proof! Now we're each other's for forever,

AND I can't wait for the tax breaks!

The last bit of news/action I have to share may pale in comparison in terms of its significance for the rest of our lives, etc., but man was it pretty! My friend and boss Adam (proof that not all Canadians are hosers) took Sally and I, along with another good work pal, Shantal, to the Huasteca region of Central Mexico. We camped (drinking and smoking fireside) at a lagoon night one, and spent the next day driving to/diving in one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen in my life, let alone in all our time in Mexico: El Puente de Dios. The pictures below do nothing to show how beautiful it was, but until you go for a visit yourself (or do a Google image search), they'll have to do. Not too bad an end of March/beginning of April, huh? :)

Adam and Adam's "camping" luggage.

Stand by me, güey. (en route to the Puente)

Here's a small part of what was waiting for us...

...which led into this incredible bottomless blue pool!

Waterfalls galore and rope about to help move

yourself through the strong current. IN-credible.

We were having a miserable time! It's only too bad we couldn't shoot the

swim-through stalactiten' cave or me pitching my body off a 20-foot

cliff into the pool below!

Oh! And last bit of news if you haven’t gotten wind already (take this as me assuming that most of the people reading this blog are close friends and loved ones, not that we believe news of Sally and Anders is at the top of everyone’s to-know list, searching for our names on Google and shit): we’re headed home! Looking at a flight the week of May 17th (8 months to the day since we first arrived in Vallarta!) to first visit my brother’s new home in Austin, Texas, be back in time for my dad’s birthday the 22nd, and make a couple of important and sure-to-be-rad weddings in May and July. As to our non-exclusively fun reasoning for returning home, it would seem we've arrived together to a moment in our lives where we'd like to invest moreso in our surroundings and our dear ones within them, and for us, that means the good ol' U.S. of A. :)

It’s been a wonderful trip, and though I don’t expect this will be our last post (I certainly hope not!), I hope this news is for you as it is for us: a delightful, exciting, can’t-wait-for-the-rest-of-our-lives cherry on top.

De todos modos, gracias por leer (¡y comentar!) y saluuudos!

P.S. – Before any of the rest of that stuff happened, a good omen for the weeks to follow crossed our path, raising English readers spirits as she did so:

Look closely to reveal your prize...

Maybe she'll officiate our wedding!

Judge us if you must, but walking home and catching a glimpse of this lady was enough to make us chase her down the block to take a pretend photo of one of the pretty trees newly in bloom. As peeps would say around here, Qué poca! HA! :D

=9=

2010-03-19T23:04:00.009-05:00

“9,” as in 9 + 20 = my age as of 6 March; OR, more recently and significantly, 9 + a person of the minimum legal drinking age in the U.S.A. = the age of our dear backyard exhibitionist, Miss Sally L. Hunt, as of the 14th! In this way– keeping the hard-to-read mathematical explanations to a minimum from here on, I promise– I hope to catch you up with the goings on of our last couple of more eventful weeks here in Qro, so get ready. For lots of pictures.

First up: March 6th, which fell graciously on a Saturday. I learned that a weekend birthday is something to be grateful for no matter what country you’re in, and that my birthday (experience) could be different for the very first time in awhile and still feel really good. To me this was owed to the way my wonderful girlfriend tried to (and very much succeeded at) make the day special, and the fact that we had a rockin’ good party with well over 20 good people (friends! We need them!) in attendance. Sally worked all week to make a beautiful table of food (well, the table wasn’t too beautiful, but the food was!), and as stunning evidence I present the following:

The afternoon.

Bird was there. So was this nice dip.

Those are brownies lit by warm Mexican sun ;).

The evening.

(Kind of?) cheese, 'peños and bacon: a good idea.

I concentrated all of my food-making ability

on a couple plates of shrimpy spring rolls.

Sally made everything else :).

Sally's first try at foccacia bread.

I thought Unkie Wy would've been proud.

And these. Though they may appear boring,

if we were to stay in Mexico, we'd be most likely to

strike it rich selling these in our front yard. Spanish chorizo,

homemade dough and gouda cheese all baked together :).

I for one foolishly neglected the table after the party began (I ate a wee bit beforehand), and partied like I was 17 or 24 or something (I didn’t drink when I was 17, by the way). It was a great time.

This photo of the backyard– called "Cement Garden B"–

makes me wish we were having the party again tonight.

We had a good time.

Proof of said good time(?):

Not hard to tell, I don't think.

The other nice bit of the last few weeks, occurred a week later on the weekend of Sally’s 30th birthday.*

* I somehow feel inclined to mention (a la JoePo) here that one majorly awesome thing that has happened a few times of late has been that we’ve received a fair bit of birthday mail from friends and family back home. Has really been humbling to feel how good getting mail– cards and packages with kind words and/or well thought-out gifts– can be. Thanks so much to those of you that express how much you miss and/or love us in this way. Facebook interactions, Skype and emails also continue to be fine options–

We decided to get out of town for the first time in awhile, and visit the beauuutiful Sierra Gorda area of Querétaro state.*

* last aside: Our home phone just rang (you have to get it to get the good internet here) and it’s funny to have that experience here. Partially because I’m almost certain it was this overly-friendly waiter we had when Stacey was here that’s weirding me out, partially because there are people in Mexico who, whether they know us or not, have our telephone number.

Still, my main concern was making the date (March 14th) memorable without my typical complement of birthday gestures available to me, but we invited a couple new friends along (the couple is a couple from California and Minnesota, respectively) to make a different trip out of it and had a really good time. We visited a ridiculous surrealist sculpture garden-thingy built by a rather eccentric and well-endowed Englishman in the middle of the jungle called “Las Pozas,” and commemorated the very unique and somewhat idealistic experience jumping into its frozen pools. We also stopped for delicious regional coffee and fresh and well-executed pies (they didn’t beat yours, Mom) at a roadside restaurant (read: the proprietors’ house) on the 30 or so-minute walk from our little hotel in the city of Xilitla to the garden/former amateur pornography setting (so I heard). Prepárense:

The town of Xilitla.

Dudes ballin' in the mountains.

Just below Thumbs Up Mountain. Go Royals.

Mountains & palm trees in one place. Cool.

An excellent impromptu breakfast stop.

Too cute with a cup of coffee.

That's my pay de zarzamora.

Just before I took the picture above, by the look of it.

This was actually on the way back. This way we

were able to try all three of the available pies:

raspberry, lemon (lime, technically) and apple.

Las Pozas.

Posing from imaginative heights.

Detail shot showing some of the repeated themes:

eyes & mossy cement shape-patterns.

Preparing for what would be the best & most freezing

experience of the long weekend:

Crazy how much the color changes in these two photos.

Sally rocked it hardcore to close out her twenties.

Every article of clothing on that body is Gucci.

Concá, the next day (Happy birthday, Sally!).

Pretty sky; funky mission.

Christening the next decade :).

So yeah, life’s been pretty good around here. We’ve settled into a good spot in our time here and our relationship and have a lot to be grateful for despite the distance from you, our loved ones.

In summary: I’m 29; Sally’s 30; we had nice birthdays; and we miss and love most of you, probably ;). Thanks for the well-wishes!

A bad start

2010-03-10T11:33:00.001-06:00

The other day, with an extra hour to spare, I decided to take a shower when woosh, a gust of wind closed the back door behind me and I was left locked out of my house. You see, taking a shower in Mexico requires first turning on the water heater. Wait ten minutes, and voila, a warm shower. Simple enough until circumstances go awry and there you are stranded on your back porch clad only in a towel staring at your locked door. Add to the scenario that it is raining and I was surrounded by 10-foot high stone walls and Anders was not expected home for hours and the problem just gets better.

What to do:

1. Break the window of the door. Probably the most logical, but also the most costly. Return to this solution only if all others fail.
2. Succumb to the feeling of being all alone and stranded and cry until falling asleep or being rescued.
3. Encourage Bird to jump up on the door until she hits the handle and welcomes me back inside. Good in theory, but bad in practice. When attempted, Bird merely looks up at me confused and then goes to lie on the couch.
4. Stack four spare tires rims and climb them like a ladder to see if upstairs windows are unlocked: not tall enough.
5. Stack four tire rims onto a chair and try again: still not tall enough to reach the windows, but it is now possible to see over the wall into the neighbor’s backyard. Good news, their window was open. Bad news, a giant moan from inside reminds me that my neighbors are in fact mentally handicapped and likely unable to offer their assistance. Try this option before breaking the window.
6. Climb the tree: sadly, not physically or emotionally equipped for such feats. Feet hurt from the bark rubbing against them and terribly afraid of heights.
7. Scream for help: no luck, so I take this as a sign to let out a great shout of profanity, something about this bleepity bleep country. A very ladylike shout of course.
8. Hoist myself to the top of the wall in the hopes that some sort of balancing act will produce results, but the combination of a shaky make-shift ladder and my lack of balance make this seem like a bad idea.
9. Clamber up the gas tanks to see if they are tall enough for me to reach the roof. Nope.
10. Remember there is a ladder leaning against the back wall and prop it up against the roof. Push away fears of the slick and slanted corrugated metal roof and me passed out in a puddle on the ground and start to climb. Get to the top only to discover that the window is locked.

So there I was, all options exhausted, trying to figure out the best way to get down from the roof when out of the corner of my eye I spied an elderly gentleman a few blocks away. Left with the choice of him or my mentally handicapped neighbors, I let out a crackled “Perdón.” Nothing. This man wasn't going to make things easy. I paused to consider other options and realizing I had none blurted out a giant “Perdón,” thus getting his attention. Now I was faced with the new obstacle of explaining in Spanish why I was standing on my roof, in my towel, in the rain. “Senor, mis llaves son cerrado en mi casa. Puedues ayudar? Mi casa es en Los Arcos. Mi puerta enfrente de es abierto.”* Very broken and very wrong, and yet somehow, I convinced the man to come to my rescue and gave him the necessary directions to do so (thank goodness I listened to Anders give the pizza man directions or I may have stayed on that roof all day).

* Translato-bot here. Roughly translated, I think you could say that says “Mister, my keys are close in my house. Can you help? My house is in the arches. My door in front of is open.” Not bad for a desperate language-learning near-nudist standing on her roof at midday.

With this good news at hand, I realized a new predicament: Bernadette is going to bark at this man when he tries to walk through the front door. The kindly gentleman had a decent walk to make because we live on a closed road giving me at least five minutes to devise a solution encouraging Bernadette to not bark at him, but by the time he showed up I had come up with nothing and he stood at the front door paralyzed “No muerda. Ella es muy simpatico.”* To have made it this far, to see hope in the form of a frail, old man standing in my doorway, and then to have him to afraid to walk in the front door because of a dog with a fierce bark who is so terrified of men that if he just came inside she would run away was too much. I just kept screaming through my locked back door, “She is nice, she won’t bite,” and next thing I know, he is at my back door rescuing me from my misery. I had used up all the Spanish I had at this point to properly thank the man for walking in the rain to help my stranded self and just kept repeating “muchas gracias”** over and over hoping that somehow this would convey my sincere gratitude for his kindness.

* Hola. This is quite good, saying “She doesn’t bite. She is very nice (for a man).”

** C’mon now, you know that one, gringo.

A few days later, I made a batch of dulce de leche brownies to thank the kind man, but when Anders and I went to his house to deliver them, he couldn’t even make it to the door to receive his gift because he had a “delicate sickness.” I just hope that wasn’t my fault.

Let them eat cake

2010-02-14T19:58:00.001-06:00

For the greater part of this week, Anders and I have been feasting like royalty. It started when we decided to throw our first party in Mexico in honor of the Super Bowl and ended with me accidentally buying two chocolate bars for 100 pesos. To put 100 pesos into perspective, we used to live here for 400 pesos a day. That included housing, food, booze, and entertainment, so to spend a quarter of our daily income on chocolate is pretty extravagant. In my defense, the chocolate price had been incorrectly labeled as 11 pesos, but it was a rookie mistake because when going to the grocery stores in Mexico you always have to triple check the item prices. If you don’t, you end up with a much higher tab than anticipated.

With each fine meal we cooked, I kept thinking to myself that one of the finest joys of growing older is getting to eat what I want when I want. I can recall countless childhood nights where I was stranded at the dinner table contemplating how to discard the pile of mushy, cold broccoli that sat limply on my plate without having to actually eat it – a sudden urge to use the restroom and flush it down the toilet or the horrible idea of mixing it in with my milk and then chugging it down while trying not to gag. It would be fair to say, I was a bit of a picky eater growing up. My palette had not yet matured, and I enjoyed things like pizza and french fries and as gross as it is to remember now, raw hamburger (I used to sneak mouthfuls of it when my Mom wasn’t looking). But, fortunately, time passes and we develop into adults with more refined taste buds. Today, I love broccoli, the non-mushy kind that is steamed and crispy and oh, so delicious, and I usually look forward to meal time.

Many mornings this week were examples of just this feeling. Instead of figuring out how to get away from the table, I found ways to linger. I have coffee and pumpkin bars with maple-cream cheese frosting to thank for my eagerness, but as I lifted my fork up, I was reminded of how my mother taught me how to enjoy such a succulent breakfast. One of my favorite breakfasts as a child occurred the day after my birthday. I would always request that my mother make me my Grandmother’s angel food cake with chocolate frosting. This wasn’t your typical chocolate frosting recipe, no powdered sugar required. Instead, you take a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips, an egg, and a little bit of milk, and mix it all over low heat being careful not to cook the egg. Then you frost it over the angel food cake, throw it in the fridge, and wait for it to cool and harden. The way the light, airy angel food cake mixes with the rich, decadent frosting is nothing shy of glorious pandemonium in your mouth. Somehow, the next morning, it is even better. Normally, my mother fed us oatmeal or some other healthy equivalent, but when there was leftover birthday cake, waking up got a little sweeter. People gasp when I tell them this story. How could a mother do such a thing? Her logic was sound: some people eat doughnuts, but my kids eat cake.

I am glad for this lesson and many others she taught me about how to cook and enjoy food. There was a stage in my life where I hated to cook, but as the following menu for our week shows, I think it is much better to embrace the inner cook within. And just so you know, Anders made many of the delicious meals below.

Super Bowl Feast

Pulled-chicken sandwiches with homemade barbecue sauce* and homemade buns smothered in a spicy green onion coleslaw
Adult pigs in a blanket with chorizo and gouda

Gingered Gin and Tonics
Guacamole
Brownies
Pumpkin bars with maple-cream cheese frosting

Midweek Meals/Dessert

Ginger Fried Rice – a deconstructed fried rice topped with a fried egg and then sprinkled with crispy pieces of ginger and garlic. Simple, but delicious.
Best Chocolate Pudding – let me just say that the 100 peso chocolate made a difference folks.

Friday Girl’s luncheon/Dinner

Fetuccine Alfredo
Toasted bread smothered in garlic
Three-bean Chili

Valentine’s Day Breakfast/Dinner

Cream biscuits smothered in Chorizo gravy
Fried eggs

Pork Meatball Banh Mi sandwhiches (from bon appétit magazine)

Bottle of Malbec
Apple Crisp topped with nut ice cream

*please forgive the Deb/Smitten Kitchen influence, but she rarely lets us down

=8=

2010-02-13T10:16:00.001-06:00

I've got to say, it kind of surprises me that I'm feeling it somewhat necessary to post about this, but as I was reading my Royals blogs this morning, I saw an article on– and a great photo of– Frank Thomas and his retirement. Honestly, I feel like just seeing his huge body (what a head!) and remembering marveling at it on so many baseball cards back in the early 90s sent me spinning back to my youth– if I can call it that, now nearly 29 years old.

One special moment I remember well with the Big Hurt (truly, this was a fine nickname; now we're stuck with obvi-boners like A-Rod), or more specifically, with his high gloss '92 Fleer Ultra likeness, was while visiting my Uncle Ryan (that's Unkie Ry/Wy or just "Unk" if you know the man) in Newport, Rhode Island. Back in those days, when we'd go on a family vacation, my dear mother would always get dragged along to any number of majestic and foreign card shops– it was always one of the most anticipated moments of any vacation for me, and remember that this was well before internet availability of any card you could think of on sites like eBay was possible– in search of Bo Jacksons, Kirby Pucketts or Barry Bondses that were missing from my binders filled with hundreds of these fellas, carefully slotted into Ultra Pro sleeves. We'd always joke that we'd find her a recipe card shop to make up for all the time we spent in and hunting for these spots, as if such a thing existed, and even if it had, as if she'd have any interest in spending hours pouring over the giant-sized glass display cases sure to be inside.

At this particular card shop on this particular day, and I remember there was a Spider-Man on the sign at this spot (we statistics-loving card collectors often had to coexist with the cartoon drama-loving folks who loved to read, of all things), I don't recall walking out with any of the AP Big 3 (see above) that had been long missing from my collection, but I did buy a pack of '92 Fleer Ultra in which I pulled this baddie out, then valued at $20.00 on the nose (isn't it funny how card values always came in multiples of 25 cents?):

Looks like Frank popped out in this one. Still, $20 to an 11-year old...

I remember being out in the street, walking to that non-existent recipe card shop, for all I cared, feeling on top of the world. Though it isn't even a particularly handsome card– I do still really like the marble effect on cardboard, plus the little hand-scrawled-looking "'92" at the top left and, now that I see it again, the fact that part of Frank himself– his left foot– stepped outside of the borders of the card, making him that much closer to this kid on vacation in Rhode Island– it was undoubtedly the most valuable card I'd ever gotten in a pack. Perhaps the best part is, if I were at my parents' house up in my old closet, I bet you I could dig that card out, still in a hardcase and a probably an inner sleeve as well– as was the rage for us overindulgent, non-savage card collectors back then– in under half an hour. The other best part would have to be that it's probably not worth $2.00 anymore (anybody have a current Beckett/online subscription [how novel that would've been back then!] they could use to check it out for me? If so, I might have a few other cards to check as well, just not my '87 Fleer Bo rookie card I paid the book $18.00-$20.00 for :\).

Anyway, I could probably go on for hours still, remembering all of this stuff and connecting the dots to my friends and compadres in card-collecting, my silly dreams and haunts of those days, but I'll just say thanks, Frank, for the memories. You were a giant-sized stud for a lot of years to this kid, even at your more modest 3-1/2" by 5-1/2"-size.

Big Frank: never my favorite, but a player

I'll always revere as long as I've got some kid left in me.

Here's to the start of Spring Training (some Royals players have already reported!) and to my dad, alongside whom I've always loved all things baseball and who sings a mean "El Paso"– even at long, long distance :').

Walking in the Rain

2010-02-07T14:24:00.001-06:00

Yesterday, after four days of rain, Mexico had me at my wit’s end. Holed up in my house I was content, but as soon as it came time to walk to work I transformed into a bit of a curmudgeon. I blame it on my misunderstanding of Mexico and its people. To paint a brief picture for you, when it rains in Mexico, giant still bodies of water form. In the states, I would call these puddles, but that word doesn’t translate here. I guess I imagine puddles as small, little pockets of water that if splashed in would merely create a slight sprinkling. The puddles here are knee-deep craters big enough to swim in, and when you are walking on the sidewalk and a car drives through one of these puddles you are left drenched. The people say this problem is formed by the large amount of garbage in the sewer system that needs to be cleaned out. I for one vote for cleaning it out.

Here, even the arches are underwater

The rain has reminded me of how different it is to live in a place verses visit a place. Had Querétaro been a part of our Mexican tour, I would have chocked it up to bad luck that we visited during a fluke rainstorm in February. But since I live here and have learned that it is common practice to make pedestrians wait in the rain while dry people in their cars keep pushing their way through the intersection, I have grown frustrated and taken the wise advise of my cooperating teacher during student teaching, and I flip people off in my pockets. She used to say to do that when the students acted unruly, and I have to admit it makes me feel better. Other times, I act aggressively and I just walk straight into the street and hope the cars stop (they don’t always, but I will keep that story to myself since my father is likely to read this blog).

A nearby part-time park/mud pool

Mexico confuses me daily. I wonder why I can’t have a hot shower every time I want one or why it is okay for people to throw their dirty cleaning water out onto the same sidewalk that I use everyday. I decided that one of the best ways to deal with it is to give up logic. Things just don’t make sense around here, and I could sit around stewing over why they drown their parks to the point of killing the grass, or I could just go about my day and learn to accept the muddled world of Mexico and its giant puddles.

Our back porch. Notice the "drain."

The learning curve is steep and I often feel like I will never understand the social norms and mores. I have to fight against my American mindset that believes the world is a better place when pedestrians have the right of way. But then I wake up to a bright, sunny morning like today and I am touched with a bit of gratitude and find that I am ready to give this country another go. There are many challenges to integrating into another culture, and I would say that it is a strong possibility that come the rainy season I am going to have the similar frustrations to those of this week, but hopefully I can gain a more positive perspective by then.

Bird making the most of rainy days

=7.5= (my lists)

2010-02-03T21:13:00.001-06:00

(10 11 13 14) Things I like about ol’ Mexico (in no particular order):
1. cactus grass instead of grass.
2. being able to take a two-hour flight to Cancún (in fairness that's after a 3-hour bus ride).
3. spending all the weekend long with my girlfriend and doggy.
4. how making a little better than $1,500US a month makes you a friggin’ cash-money superstar/legend, unless you want to buy a BMW or practically anything thrice imported from the Mexican Pier 1.
5. food ‘n drink/booze—tortas, tequila, chilaquiles, tacos, micheladas (with OYSTERS!)— are cheeeeeap and goooood* (see below list for a related caveat)
6. utilities—including cable and internet—are reasonably inexpensive.
7. Bird, seemingly the only labradoodle in all of Mexico, foments our status as all-stars in these parts.
8. ¡¡¡FRONTON!!!
9. I feel ok about (temporarily— I promise to buy all the good stuff when I get back) stealing music online because I can’t get it anywhere around here :\.
10. late January evenings in Mexico feeling like late summer evenings in Nebraska.
11. brightly-colored Mexican artisan stuff— pottery/dishes, clothing, bags, etc.
12. actually conversating with the dear, dear people of Mexico who aren’t trying to sell you something or run you over with their cars or bodies.
13. how cheap commodious bus travel is.
14. how much more it means to get mail/correspondence from home.

And, the other side of the coin (these could be a bit longer ‘cos I kinda have to complain a bit about each—isn’t that just life? Read this article a friend of mine posted on Facebook for more insight):

1. the way people drive around here (good CHRIST!); good luck, American pedestrians, visiting this land of lawless right-of-way.
2. the way people walk around here (I swear people walk AT you instead of walking around you).
3. getting stared at like the 6’4” freak of Gringolandian nature (with no evident haircut) that I am.
4. how much it costs to fly. Period.
*5. getting sick for the better part of a week on a tuna empanada— previous to the water being shut off, fortunately, ‘cos I needed the sink and the toilet simultaneously for HOURS on a Sunday night.
6. the apparent definition of “urgent” for the water utilities and just the general lack of regard for timeliness or the accuracy of time-related statements (We were quoted between 1 and 30 days for internet [they came within 2-3 weeks] and just 10 days for cable; they showed up over 3 weeks later. :\).
7. that many of my wonderful friends and family members do not live here as well.
8. having to work long-ass hours and making sh*t-fifty an hour to do so (this has improved— lots.)
9. not having a washing machine/getting the crap kicked out of your clothes each time you take them to the lavandería, where they seem to inject them with urinal cake scent before dusting them with a fiberglass/asbestos hybrid and bagging them up.
and 10. having work schedule issues that prevent Sally and I from spending as much time together as we’d like/we thought we’d have, though this one is, in its way, a good thing too ‘cos we could be totally sick of each other like some of the other things on this list.
Oh, and 11. when it friggin' rains here— and it seems to rain for days at a stretch in the non-rainy season, like now— Mexico becomes a third world country. There is little-to-no sewer drain capacity (my boss says because the drains are all filled with littered garbage of all shapes and sizes), and so it's near impossible to avoid shoe and sock-drenching puddles whether you're going long or short distance. My American mind can't help but feel like it's kinda ridiculous :\.

Overall though, I'd say at this point that I am grateful for what works (in some cases better than how it is back home), and also for the fact that who I’m here with makes all of the stuff that in some cases I quite fervently hate all the day long melt away at the end of each day. Bird included.

=7=

2010-01-30T12:13:00.001-06:00

There. Dishes are done.

Another weekend in Querétaro, but this one is special. It’s longgg. Well, three days long (therefore the three g’s), but still better than the usual two for me and my darling Sally. If we have one mutual complaint/disappointment thus far regarding our Mexican experience/-ment, it’s that we don’t have enough time together, but spend too much time at our respective workplaces :\. For the time being, and I think the time being for now means through Semana Santa here (Easter is stretched into a week-long vacation for most language schools and many Mexican businesses here in Catholandia), we’re just gonna keep our noses to the grindstone and get some cash saved up— I just got a raise that about doubled my former salary— and see where we want to go from there.

Some really, truly wonderfully great news since I last wrote is that my family has purchased tickets to come for a 10-day visit over the aforementioned Holy Week! I don’t know how much religionating we’ll do, but, with our meeting place in Cancún the 27th of March (the 26th for my crew), I suspect there’ll be a bit of sunbathing, pyramid ruin scoping, seafood eating and maybe even a bit of tequila imbibing ;). My dad is currently searching for rental homes in the Puerto Morelos area, and Sally and I continue with info reconnaissance from various friends and acquaintances as to what to see and do. With T-minus 56 days and counting, you could color us a little (if a bit prematurely) excited…

Another spot of good news, though this time born of utter misery, is that we, after not having it for nearly four full days, have water that comes out of our very own faucets! That’s right, we can poop, pee, shower, wash our hands and dishes right from the comfort of our very own home! What had happened, evidently, was that as our house had been empty for a period of months, and despite the fact that our landlords had shut off the water line, the water company— not believing that the house could not be consuming water— continued to charge them for imaginary amounts of water consumed. Though she (the landlord) had already attempted to deal with the problem two times previously— she showed us her complaint file numbers, etc., to prove it wasn’t their fault— the water company still shut off the water late one Saturday night while Sally and I were enjoying first Sherlock Holmes (that sh*t was a lot of fun) and then some late-night sushi on the way home— without bothering to call and warn us. Great folks, those water company ass-bags. Well, we called and called, and only a little over 24-hours after we were notified we’d been put on the “urgent” list, someone bothered to come by and turn us back on.

I’m only a little bitter still about the overall experience, but it does provide some nice segue for a blog post Sally and I have been discussing for some time: things we like/don’t like about Mexico*.

* ‘Cos Sally has warned me that if I include those lists right now your attention spans would wane, I’ll post them later this week and consider it multiple posts toward my “at least once every 2 weeks rule” :).

In touch soon, dudes and dudettes--

Elotes (Mexican Corn on the Cob)

2010-01-18T11:37:00.008-06:00

As a girl who grew up in Nebraska, I make it a point not to eat corn from anywhere else. Once you’ve tasted those brilliant kernels of white and yellow perfection, every other corn just tastes bland in comparison and not worth the trouble of getting it stuck between your teeth. Yet sometimes, we are forced to make exceptions to our rules, as is the case when you live in Mexico and walk by street vendors who slather steaming ears of corn with mayo, cheese, lime, and chili and then serve it on a stick or scrapped into a cup all jumbled together. How could you pass that up? In Nebraska, I might have thought it sacrilege to eat corn slathered in anything but a little butter and salt and pepper, but here I figured it could only make it better, and boy howdy does it ever. The flavor is love at first bite (except when you are eating it for a second time from a strange, drunk man in a Cantina - see Anders' blog post on January 10 for the full story).

Notice how cold it is in Mexico! We are both wearing two coats and a scarf.

Elotes (Mexican corn on the cob)

Adapted from Homesick Texan

There are many ways to enjoy this treat: grilled, roasted, steamed, or broiled. You could even go the easy route and roast frozen corn. Experiment and see what works best for you.

Serves 4

4 ears of corn (or 2-3 cups frozen corn)
4 tablespoons of mayonnaise
4 lime wedges
1/2 cup of cotija cheese, crumbled (or if you prefer, Parmesean cheese)
Cayenne to taste

2 tablespoons of butter (optional: most elote that we have eaten in Mexico does not use butter, but if you prefer a creamier taste adding butter is a good option)

In an oven heated to 350 degrees, cook the corn in husk, with silk removed (no need to soak corn) for 25 minutes.

After taking corn out of the oven, let it cool for 5 minutes, and then pull husk layers down, leaving them attached to the base of the cob, which can act as a handle. If you want to blacken your corn, you can either put it under the broiler for five minutes on each side or hold it over your stove’s gas burner. Be careful to keep the husk away from the flames!

While warm, spread 1/2 tablespoon of butter (optional) and 1 tablespoon of mayonnaise all over the cob. Next take about an 1/8 cup of cheese, and sprinkle it on cob, then sprinkle on some cayenne pepper and squeeze the lime over the cob (the lime is the key to making this recipe pop!).

Note: Instead of using the husks as a handle, you can stick a wooden skewer into the base or scrape the corn off the cob and serve it in a bowl or cup.

Michelada Recipe

2010-01-14T11:45:00.000-06:00

When it comes to beer cocktails, Micheladas top the list. I prefer to consume mine while walking the streets of a quaint Mexican town, but they are also a delicious accompaniment to an afternoon snack of chips and guacamole. The recipe is simple and can be easily adapted, so feel free to mix it to your own personal tastes.

Michelada Recipe
Adapted from Serious Eats

Makes 1 serving

1 ice-cold beer
1 dash of salt
1 tablespoon of chili powder
1-2 tablespoons of fresh lime juice (I think this is the best part so I add more)
2 dashes of Tabasco or your favorite hot sauce
1 dash of soy sauce
1 dash of Worcestershire sauce (Maggi is the preferred brand around these parts)
1 pinch of black pepper
ice (optional)
lime wedges for garnish (optional)

On a small plate, mix together the salt and chili powder. Then, rim a beer glass with a little lime juice and dip it in the salt and chili powder mixture to cover the top of the glass.

In the bottom of the glass, add lime juice, hot sauce, soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce, and black pepper. Slowly pour in the beer. If you want, you can give the glass a big stir, but I think it is best to let the beer do the mixing when you pour it over the top of the ingredients. Add more beer as you drink and enjoy! Some people like to add ice, but I think if the beer is cold enough or if you serve it in a frosty mug it is unnecessary.

=6= or, the discovery of symbols

2010-01-10T19:33:00.004-06:00

Man, I’ve only posted 5ish (Vish) lousy times since September??! What a bum I am.

You know, it seems a pretty reasonable goal to post enough such that an apology is not necessary to begin each blog post. So reasonable, in fact, that I think I’ll go ahead and enact it right now (call it a resolution, if you like-- what with the season and all):

I will post at least once every two (✌) weeks for all y’all friends, family and supporters of lo de sally ‘n anders. I’ll do my best to keep m’self honest, but if I lag, feel free to let me hear about it for the rest of my life. Or in the comments section.

SO, an update on life of late:

X-mas day on the ol' cactus reserve!

- We celebrated Christmas in San Miguel de Allende with old friends and new (old: Mathias Svalina & Jules Cohen [pictured above]; new: Jules’ ‘rents and bro, Adam), enjoying the more intimate comforts of old friends (intimate ≠ sex in this instance) but in an exciting new(er) setting. We drank micheladas on the streets (recipe time, Sal?), cooked and ate yummy homemade meals, visited a cactus reserve X-mas day and drank tequila shots before bed. We were even able to give our gracious hosts a short tour of Qro after they dropped us off in time to receive our second round of guests the following day(!) when…

Check their passports-- these two could be illegals!

- … STACEY AND BERNADETTE CAME TO MEXICO!!! In fact, they’re still here (as of the initial time of writing, this was true, but as of 00:45 last night, Stacey moved on to Puerto Vallarta to spend her last few days in Mexico in/on the sun/beach instead of the rain/streets ☹)! My employer/pal Adam was kind enough to drive us to Mexico City— and to get lost on the way back. We got home around 2a and proceeded to spend the next two weeks showing off what we’ve come to know of Qro, Mx, and some of the surrounding area.

X-mas time ~~spectacle~~ miracle at a big ol' church.

Fortunately, with Stacey’s self-employed schedule, she was able to visit during a time when we were both largely free of work duties and therefore able to do some tripping nearby. Tequisquiapan was a first for all of us— a sweet little town where we did a little shopping, touring and had a delicious Italian meal on the last afternoon of 2009. Another highlight was the following weekend when we revisited our standing favorite of Mexican towns, Guanajuato, though this time we were bold enough to bring along our four-legged white fluff of personality, also known as Bernadette.

Fear not, Mom, she got none. ;)

Bernadette has been something of a celebrity in her short time in Mexico; her breed does not seems to exist here, as people are always curious as to her raza (breed) and hopeful that they might get to touch her coat. It’s been a great vocab-learning experience for gushing dog-related cutisms; unfortunately Bird has yet to pick up on/appreciate (seemingly) any of the many enchanting nuances of her second language to-be…

Back to Gto, though! Yes, we were able to get Bird on four (✌ x ✌) taxi rides, a couple of 1st class buses (poor thing got to ride along with luggage in her kennel down below) and into the hostel we’d stayed at in Gto the first time. She has now visited— in Mexico— one federal district, three states and three capital cities, plus a couple other little guys. Though it was a real pain to convince the taxi drivers of her hypoallergenic/no-shed qualifications, she was a real labradoodlian trooper and seemed to enjoy the adventure of walking and sniffing the numerous unwalked/-sniffed locales of ol’ Mexico.

On the way to visit el Pípila (hope that isn't too much butt-hole for you).

We ate, ate, ate in Gto, and though it rained, rained, rained on Saturday, we still had a lovely time. We had delicious coffee at an American-owned spot called Café Tal (and took a kilo of the dark roast to go), ate beautiful lunch at La Capellina, took Stacey for her first elote (there ended up being another given to both her and Sally after we stopped into a dude-infested cantina— more on that in a moment) and dinner at a burger stand our friends Chris and Veronica had taken us to (Chris, if you’re reading this, the burgers were delicious again ☺), where we considered taking an extra burger to go so that we could dissect it to determine just what made it so damn scrumptious (though now we’re pretty sure it’s the carrot spread/stuff with cinnamon in it on top). We topped the rain-soaked evening off by stopping into the aforementioned cantina— the ladies’ idea, FYI— where upon sitting down in the last available corner spot, Sally and Stacey quickly took note of the rather conspicuous pisser/trough in the corner of the entirely open room, and the fact that a number of fellas just came in off the street, used it, and then bounced right out of there. In its figurative corner, though, the place did have some cold-ass beers. It wasn’t long before some friendly, mostly older gentlemen took an interest in “us” (I was largely the mouthpiece so they had to go through me, I who claimed to be their bodyguard) and started chatting us up. One younger fellow— rather drunk, this one— told me of how beautiful he found them both, hovered for a bit, and then disappeared. Not ten minutes later, he was back with two foil-wrapped Mexican corn(s?) on the cob, (elotes— RECIPE, Sally!) which of course made us all laugh and the two of them even more full. We left shortly thereafter and were laughing at least as hard as I have so far during our time Mexico.

It was a really great and easy time having Stacey here, and we’re so, so grateful to her and already miss having her here. :’(

Ah, would love to be back there, sipping café...

- On the biznass front, Sally started work! She’s holding things down about a 15-minute walk from our place at a well-reputed language school called United English. Her schedule is the traditional split English teacher schedule: mornings from 7-9a, then a good long break until 4 or 5p when she goes back in until 8 or 9p; and she seems to getting the hang of the work experience at UE and is glad to have some non-house-related responsibilities to fill her day. We view it as money, another opportunity to meet and make friends and a new brand of teaching experience for a skilled and experienced English teacher whose students are undoubtedly lucky to have her. ¡Vaya Sally!

With that, I’d consider you all more or less caught up with lo de Sally and me. Again, I’ma do me best to make this a once every couple of weeks-type project (at least), as reading my depressing off-season Royals blogs and kicking major ass at Bejeweled are all well and good, but keeping up with our friends and love ones who we miss (and missed!) this time of year is infinitely more valuable and rewarding— unless of course the Royals win the AL Cental and/or I win some kind of cash award for breaking the 500k mark in Bejeweled. I’m off to make coffee and to take Bird to go pee under the arches— making Queretaro’s most famous landmark that much more famous-er!

¿Fudge = Diablos en español?

Love to you all, hope you had a Merry Christmas and are experiencing a quality start to the new year! Go snow! ☃

Best x 3,
Anders

Home(?) Again?

2009-12-17T22:16:00.007-06:00

We meant to put up a blog about Thanksgiving in Queretaro. How we woke up sad because we were so far away from home. How it was just another day of school and work for us. How we decided to eat our feast on Friday because of the promise of the weekend. How we visited two grocery stores, one frutería, one pastelería, one mercado, and one little corner spice shop and still could not find all of the necessary ingredients for our meal. How we planned a Mexican-American menu (turkey tortas, creamed spinach, mashed potatoes, and sweet potato buttermilk pie). How two friends joined us at the last minute for the feast so we it was our own little version of bringing our harvest meal together between two groups and getting along with one another. But instead, the news we received on Thanksgiving sidetracked us: Your apartment is ready for you to move in.

Not2B4gotten: Sally's pay feroz with homemade crust and seasoning 'peños

After living in a hostel for over a month, this gave us much to be grateful for. Little did we know the cleaning project that awaited us in our new home, however. A brief picture of the filth: smashed dead bugs on the walls, some sort of gravy-like splatterings on nearly every surface of the house, dirt covered floors, a bathroom with a shower full of mildew and soap scum and ceilings covered with unknown substances, and more daddy-long legs needing to be killed than I thought I could handle (Anders did not approve of the large wads of Kleenex I used to kill them, but it was the only way I felt capable of the task). After two full days of cleaning we had not yet left the kitchen, and I had contracted some sort of infection from the copious amount of dirt I had inhaled that left me sick for over two weeks and made it compulsory for me to wear a mask for the remaining three weeks of cleaning. Yes, it took us three weeks to clean the place to our liking thanks to the place being abandoned for six months. I will admit that we both happen to like a spick and span place to the point of slightly obsessive compulsive behavior, but the place really was vile. When guests came over their jaws would often drop and the only nice thing that they could find to say was this place is really big for 4,000 pesos.

PHOTO BOMB!

You can probably notice the small variation in cleanliness here.
It isn't perfect-- and never will be-- but it's part of our family now,
and we do our best to treat family well.

And here is she who provided that small variation in cleanliness (not! the opposite!)

Sally was just saying how the "clean" one didn't look clean

(below), but then she saw the other one (above).

Never mind the facial cleaner for old-people skin.

They said swine flu could be lurking behind each tile
or even in the grout. We didn't want to take any chances.

Needless to say, we are not living in the lap of luxury, but this is one of those times in life when we are choosing to give up some of the comforts of home in return for a once in a lifetime experience. And the place is ideal for its location, price, and large living areas (there are two spare bedrooms for any visitors who happen to come for a time, and we promise the place is now clean). The first week as I scrubbed (literally) from the floor to the ceiling while coughing up my dirt-encrusted lungs I thought this place would never feel like home, but three weeks later and one party down we are starting to feel good about the place. The night we finished cleaning we bought ourselves our first bottle of tequila to celebrate our victory over the filth and have happily been drinking Palomas (see recipe below) ever since.

Ha! These are titled "only cool shot" (above) & "nasty II" (below).
I'd say they do a pretty succinct job at summing up our place,
so bienvenidos, dudes!

Paloma cocktail
makes 1 drink

Palomas are similar to a margarita, but the grapefruit soda makes it a bit easier to toss back and the carbonation adds a little something extra as well. We prefer to use Squirt, but any grapefruit soda will work. We tried substituting grapefruit juice combined with a simple syrup and soda water once, but ended up preferring Squirt, perhaps with a bit of experimentation it would be better than what we produced.

1 lime
salt
2 to 3 ounces of tequila  (or stronger if you are Anders)
ice
Squirt or grapefruit soda

Fill a glass with ice. Squeeze in juice of half of a small lime. Sprinkle salt over top or salt the rim of the glass, then pour in the tequila and top with Squirt or grapefruit soda.

La Peña de Bernal

2009-11-26T21:00:00.000-06:00

After one month of camping out in our hostel, we decided it was time to do some exploring outside of Queretaro. So last weekend we strapped on our sneakers and boarded a bus to the city of Bernal where we climbed the world’s second-largest (and third-tallest) monolith, la Peña de Bernal. Before arriving, we had no idea what a monolith was exactly, but a bit of research (after we returned home) informed us that it is simply a giant, solitary rock, which is exactly what we experienced. We thought we were ready to defeat this rock with our new Mexican walking legs, but half way up we found ourselves huffing and puffing and wondering how much farther we had to go. I was just about ready to give up and consider the mid-viewpoint adequate until I spied an elderly woman using a cane getting ready to pass me. I couldn’t let the old lady win so off we went to the top.

That’s right, we’ve buffed up our legs and our capacities for spite! Seriously though, that caned lady was on a mission from somebody…

On our way up, we discovered that people climb a mountain a bit different around these parts. Vendors carry up coolers of drinks and boxes of food to serve you at various points throughout your trek and people do not always dress the part to climb a steep rock. We saw people wearing their Sunday best including men’s dress shoes and a pair of patent leather wedges, and others who simply went barefoot. When we did reach the top expecting a gorgeous view and silence, we instead heard Beyonce’s Single Ladies roaring out from down below. I thought Anders may have set this up and was going to get down on one knee to put a ring on it, but it didn’t happen.

HA! I love you Sally, but Beyoncé isn’t part of my love-inducing repetoire; maybe Jay-Z though…

To celebrate our victorious summit, we took the advice of our friendly hostel worker/friend/new landlord, and ate at the Italian restaurant in town. The place was the real deal with the Italian owners sitting behind us stuffing their mouths and talking loudly over the food. A large pizza (ironically the spiciest food we have eaten thus far in Mexico to the tune of eyes watering and mouths on fire) and a carafe of wine later, we were full and ready to head home where we gracefully passed out on the couch for the rest of the evening to recover.

No joke, that pizza was so hot it was hilarious! We were crying from laughing, pain and each other. Perhaps one time where a nice, chilled white would’ve been a better choice than the house tinto, but a delightful— and rather fun/ny— time still. Between the peña and the ‘za, one might say we felt the Bern-al. ;)

Forgive a completely non-Mexico post and humor a (usually sad but altogether too involved and optimistic) baseball fan, would you?

2009-11-17T15:52:00.001-06:00

Damas y Caballeros, your 2009 AL Cy Young Award Winner:

ZACKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!

(only 217 to go to match his total this year, to 51 walks)

I presaged this shit in my dream last night, though the vote was unanimous and the first time that had ever happened to boot.

Happy (Greinke) day, Royals fans (McDawg, Adam, my dad), and I take the bit back about the non-Mexico thing, 'cos homeboy loves Chipotle (which isn't hardly "Mexican" food, right? OK, I take the taking back, back).

Anyone for drunken Skype celebrations this eve?!? LET'S GET THE SEASON STARTED!

Chile & Lime

2009-11-15T14:41:00.003-06:00

I keep a running list of foods I want to try while in Mexico, but as with many lists, by the time I cross one item off, I have added three more. This country is chock-full of street vendors selling tempting hunks of grilled meat, mounds of fresh fruits, and heaps of new items I have never seen before, but street vendors in Mexico can be a bit of a risk. One of the first rules you learn about these eateries is that it’s probably best to avoid them if you do not want to get sick, because the kind of sick you get here makes you want to cut out your intestines to ease the pain and then never eat again, but the unbeatable prices, savory aromas, and little old ladies who have been cooking this stuff for years make them hard to resist. Fortunately, you do not have to say no to everything. If there are any rules we observe in our already cautious approach of mostly eating at home, they would be to avoid vendors where the woman who stuffs the meat into your torta with her bare hands also uses those same hands to collect your money; or those where there is not a crowd of people gathered feasting on their food (if the Mexicans don't eat there, neither do we). Mostly, it is just a guessing game or following your instincts, and sometimes relying on word of mouth to send you to the right place, but even then the evening can end a bit rough.

Anders and I decided to take our chances last weekend and try some garbanzo beans served out of bucket, one of those big five gallon dry wall buckets that you buy at Home Depot. I have eaten plenty of garbanzo beans atop a green salad or pureed into hummus, but this was my first time consuming them directly from their casing. The beans themselves were pretty ordinary, but served with the dynamic duo of condiments—chile and lime—they were livened up to a pretty tasty treat. We are new converts to the Mexican idea that lime and chile make everything better — sopa azteca, tacos, fruit, and even (although we have yet to try and confirm it) movie theater popcorn.

Last weekend we tried this combo dumped over the top of potato chips. I had been eyeing this treat for quite some time and decided it was time to cross it off of my list. They lived up to all of my expectations of the perfect afternoon snack for strolling around town-salt and spice mixed with a bit of tang. They aren’t a clean snack— your hands are covered in hot sauce by the end of the bag— but the taste is so addictive you want to lick every last bit off of your fingers. They do get a tad soggy by the end of the bag, so if you have a problem with textures you may want to avoid the last few chips, but mostly I was just sad to see an empty bag.

Here is my best guess to how you can make these at home.

Potato chips a la Mexicana

I would suggest using Lightly Salted Kettle brand Chips, but Lays Classic Potato Chips would also work.

Serves 1

2-3 handfuls of potato chips
1 big glug of hot sauce (We used Valentina, but any non-salsa hot sauce will do)
the juice of ½ of a lime

Fill bowl with potato chips. Generously cover with hot sauce and lime juice to taste. If you want, season with salt and then eat immediately.

=5=

2009-11-14T17:15:00.001-06:00

Dudes.

So we decided we might be more effective posters if we took on smaller aspects of our days, and look— it’s already working!

Thursday was a special day for me. I say this because I spent over two hours riding public transportation (read: the shitty-ass bus). There were some highlights, including a kid who probably should’ve been in school (is that ethnocentric of me?) juggling flaming clubs at a busy stoplight ‘round lunchtime. Just before the light turned green, he characteristically stopped juggling to go around and collect for the impressive (albeit unsolicited) entertainment, only to find himself utterly stone-walled by the seemingly unimpressed motorists. Next thing I know, I'm watching myself sliding back the bus window hollering “JOVEN!” just as a nice fat ten peso piece flips off my thumbnail, arching over the cars of the ingrates before it’s deposited in his hand like the jukebox in “Smooth Criminal.” He’s down below me, beaming at me, I— the winking white guy in the bus that missed all but the end of the show— who in actuality just sat there wondering if the people ignoring him from their cars were actually taking a stand against his presumably unexcused absence from school; sad to see him walk back to the median with nothing to show for his sacrifice/effort.

In any case, the real reason I doubled my typical daily number of bus rides was to enjoy the two-hour descanso lunch with my sweet, Spanish lessons-taking girlfriend (not to watch an old guy clip his fingernails on the bus, which I got to endure anyhow— clippings flying [I imagined one hitting me in the face or landing on my lip and the foul things I would say to him when it did :\]). As an aspiring food blogger (you just wait; she’s bound to get started any day now), one of Sally’s faves is a certain New Yorker with a newborn babe who goes by the name of Deb. Since Deb’s come into our lives, things have certainly gotten better. Today for lunch this came in the form of eggs in tomato sauce with toasted french bread and sautéed spinach :). Perhaps a wee bit dull-sounding to read, but to see and to eat: deliciosísmo!

As time on our lunch-hour(s) respite expired and I gathered my things to head back for the final couple of work hours, I kissed my sweet ‘n talented Sally goodbye and prepped my iPod (the screen is starting to go on the old dear) for another 30-40 minute journey (during these bus rides I get to listen to a fair bit of [new] music, which I love, but I think I may save that bit for another post); almost done with another day.

=4=

2009-11-11T21:55:00.010-06:00

OOF! …been awhile, no?

Sorry for the absence, but getting thangs set up ‘round Querétaro, México, has been something of a full-time job (not to mention that pesky full-time job I’m also responsible for...)!

There are a great number of things to report (including not one but two sightings of Mexican Jeff Goldbum in one day in a city of 1+ million peeps!), perhaps not least of which being we’ve taken at least one great stride in the last week of life here: getting a place! Here 'tis:

Our new digs/dog (Frida), bay-bee!

Alright, so not quite... Ours is actually a bit more of a fixer-upper, but the price and location are right (oh are they! And the view!), the rental sitch is groobs (we know the owners and are getting a friendly deal, you might say) and we’ve got more furniture than we know what to do with— this in a town/place/country where you’re halfway lucky to have there be a stove in a rental (and more so an oven!) and can pretty well count on there being no way to refrigerate your food upon move-in day ‘less a) it’s really cold out (aka not here), b) you own a cooler (not us— yet!), or less likely, c) your butt or feet get so cold (I’m thinking at night, whilst one sleeps here) that they can keep dairy products from spoiling :\.

Our actual view (but a bit further away & on the other side of the street)— really.

Fortunately, Sally and I are both excited and predisposed toward the setting up of living spaces, so it figures to be a fun experience— after all of the full weekend’s-worth of cleaning is done, that is. We’ll be sure to do some before/after photos for all y’all in the coming week(s), and rest assured that we can keep you and your three closest friends imbedded here (plus the couch!) when you come to visit.

Sadly, to this point we’ve skipped over our time in San Miguel de Allende: a place where we first went for a Spanish-speaking respite with parents’ of friends, and ended up with some fine new friends and an ultra-fab place to visit on weekends.

Also not our new place: the Parroquía de SMA.

Some time ago, Don Cohen and Diane Berman, parents of one of our favorite new Denveronians, Julia Cohen (loves to Mathias too, whom we have to thank for knowing Jules in the first place— and lots of long-distance web laughs), put us up in their lovely modernista home for a weekend that turned into a friendship for which we’re most grateful. Aside from their myriad day-to-day kindnesses, these two introduced us to a beautiful home/art gallery outside of town, the best roadside gorditas known to man (I’m sure of this) and a network of people that nearly had us settling there, along with 10,000+ other North Americans. Obvio, we opted for nearby (and much larger/job-rich) QRO, but look forward to returning their kindness by hosting them some weekend post-Thanksgiving, which is almost sure to include delicious food a la Sally (me on dishes, yo!) and a Costco run for good measure. My favorite moments with the Mexican contingent of the Cohen/Berman crew included, but are not (thus far) limited to:

• Wine, cheese, chats and Don’s sangrita(!) on their pillowy 3rd floor/rooftop terrace;
• Planet Earth on a 60-some-inch flatscreen until we all almost fell asleep (The Bourne Ultimatum was good one night too, especially as Sally's inspiring smells from the kitchen lured us away from the action);
• The aforementioned gorditas and trips to Galeria Atotonilco (their [not our] grounds pictured above)— neat-o!
• And a candle-lit dinner/lovely conversation that may or may not have been have had something to do with a late (read: UNPAID) electric bill.

Truly wonderful people and the best bit of San Miguel sans doubt (honorable mention goes to friends Chris and Veronica who stayed a couple days before heading back to San Diego, but not to the SOBs who wouldn’t quit blowing off not visually pleasing fireworks, but obnoxious aerial rockets [think “boom” constantly] of which the town seemed to have an endless supply both weekends [we were there two weekends] we were there! BALLS!).

I’m sure I’ve left a ton out, but in the interests of getting things back up to date to where we can relate even the more banal aspects of daily life in QRO, that’s where I’ma gunna leave it; ‘sides my TWO-HOUR lunch break is nearing its end (don’t worry, you just work later into the eves) and I need to get back to selling/teaching/training/translating my day away (‘guess I’ll talk about me job next time)! Love to all; thanks for sticking around ;).

-A

Querétaro

2009-11-04T23:18:00.000-06:00

Sorry for our absence in blog posting. The truth is we have been busy trying to make some big decisions, and are too exhausted at the end of each day to formulate complete sentences. We do, however, want to give you a quick update with a promise of another more detailed post to come soon.

First things first, we have chosen a city to live in- Querétaro. It is a big, industrial city (1.2 million people) that seemed to best fit our needs of work and language exposure. Our other exciting news is that Anders is now a workingman. He accepted a position at a company called Servicios Profesionales-RECA where he is a salesman, translator, and teacher. It is a relatively new language school with lots of promise, and his boss has been a great help to us as we make our home here (he took us to look at houses for rent in nice neighborhoods, invited us over for a bbq at his house, and answers any questions we have about life in Mexico). I am still trying to figure out my work situation. I accepted a job, but it looks like it may not work out. I have another job lined up just in case, but it does not start until January so I am still trying to figure out what to do. I would like to take language classes, but they are expensive so we are trying to figure out how to work them into our budget.

Sadly, we still do not yet have a mailing address because the apartment hunt has been a slower process than expected. We were hoping to get a furnished place, but are finding out they may be too expensive if we don’t want the dirty once, twice, three times recycled furniture. Whatever we end up doing, we will have to at least buy a refrigerator because they are not included with an apartment (the things you learn when living in Mexico). I have two appointments scheduled to look at places tomorrow so hopefully one of them will work out.

In the meantime, we are happy to be settling down and finding pleasure in not going out, making our meals at “home,” and watching a movie before going to bed. So although we miss the adventure of travel, we appreciate new victories like being able to get on a bus and not wonder which stop to get off on or finally finding a store that sells lemons (they only sell limes here).

Hopefully now that things are falling into place we can do a better job of letting you know what we are up too on a more regular basis. We really do want to keep in touch, and miss you all terribly!

=3=

2009-10-14T19:22:00.003-05:00

Guadalajara had ended on such a positive note (see previous posts for undeniable evidence to this effect), that in a small way, I felt a little sad about splitting town for the much sleepier Unesco World Heritage city of Guanajuato. Still, we’d been given every indication that "GTO”, as it’s known (all the Mexican cities/towns we’ve visited thus far have had this abbreviated sort of nickname, though I can’t imagine Pontiac [are they still even alive?] would have a beef with any others), was a can’t-miss Mexican must-see and we dared not defy all those well-intentioned hyphenations.

Immediately upon our arrival to the town center, we were smitten. It reminded me of the Italian Riviera, with wildly colored homes dotting the slopes of the surrounding mini-mountain range, later spilling out into the nestled valley of red roofs, church steeples and dappled clotheslines. It didn’t hurt either when the cabbie pointed out the local baseball team’s stadium, though I was bummed to later learn we’d only just missed the ending of the Mineros’ (Miners) season. Maybe next year, boys…

We’d arranged for lodging in the closest thing to a hostel we’d experienced, and though its brother owners were most helpful and kind, and the place itself— described in our Lonely Planet as “a labyrinth of various sized rooms”— certainly lived up to its billing, our matrimonial bunk bed (that’s what they call a queenish-sized bed around here, evidently) underwhelmed in the sort of way that made these weary travelers not look forward to sleep for once. What’s more, the way sound carried in that place was freaking ridiculous. I suppose it didn’t help that our first morning there coincided with a parade commemorating the 100th anniversary of the first victory in Mexico’s war for independence (from Spain; read Sally’s post mentioning El Pípila for the scoop) complete with an endless drum-heavy marching band, jets, helicopters (I swear I heard both jets and helicopters), bullhorns plus the next door neighbor’s frigging rooster collection who’d been on the job since dawn. By the time we got out of bed and down to the street to find out what had been going on, all that was left was pastel confetti and horseshit. Must’ve been a good party.

Guanajuato was sights- and activities-rich, and we were good little tourists during our time there. One “highlight” was the Mómias Museum, where, when the local cemetery had gotten too full, bodies that were excavated to make room for the new were found to be highly preserved by the high lime and calcium concentrations in the soil. Bodies that went unclaimed by relatives (yes, babies included :\) were turned into part of an attraction, really, complete with weird first-person blurbs accompanying each mummy speculating as to how they’d died or who they’d been in life. We’d been warned a sense of humor would be necessary, but I still left this place feeling unsettled and a little pukey.

I don't suppose a little extra barf would've bothered him.

Another less, well, disgusting site of interest was the Bocamina San Ramón, where Sally and I descended over 60 meters into the metal-rich earth for which the area has been well-known since the mid-1500s. Besides the dorky, über-posed photos our tour guide made us take (and I mean he instructed us as to what to do to. the. letter.— it felt more than a little bit voyeuristic), the best bit had to be when, upon reaching the deepest point of the tour, homeboy shut the lights out(!). To prove a point, he flicked on a little lighter and demonstrated how early miners had to go about searching for their target (though for accuracy’s sake, I don’t think Bic Corp. really got up and running until at least the 18th century…).

Sííí, that's just right... *click*

Despite these and a number of other worthy and interesting cultural attractions, I think our favorite part of our time there had everything to do with a couple of no-good rotten bums we met from (now think Anchorman here:) Sahn Di-ah-go (Hola Veronica y Chris!). We met them one evening on the terrace at Casa Bertha (if this place had one thing right, it was the view from the terrace), having brought home our first take-out pizza of the trip. They offered beers; we surplus ‘za, and the friend fest was on.

You see, Veronica had this habit of making these really delicious breakfasts and, for some reason, inviting us to join! So each morning we’d look forward to getting up, getting out of our bed, and heading up to the terrace where these two would have the spread on: two (2) different kinds of juice, fresh-brewed Chiapas coffee, yummy guavas and the makings of another lovely meal. These events would usually take a couple of our best-spent hours of the day, which we filled up listening to and talking about music (Sally’s best idea in the packing portion of our trip was to bring her little iPod speakers— true brilliance in foresight), discussing baseball, the many merits of living in California (but also the quality of the Midwest [Chris was from St. Louis and knows the deal]!), philosophies on life and living, and projections for how we all might live and work someday in Mexico. These guys introduced us to probably the best burgers we’ve had in Mexico (if only we knew what was in that carrot/cactus topping or whatever— wait!— maybe that was it!), eggs so fresh you could still smell the chicken’s ass (evidently), and about as nice of a time as we could’ve imagined having in GTO. Of course, these all-too-brief traveling relationships always seem to end too soon, but this one was a goodie, and I’m hopeful we’ll meet again— perhaps even back in ol’ Mexico.

When we split town for San Miguel de Allende (more magical stories to follow there, fo’ sho’), we had drinks in the town square and arranged to meet up in a few days in SMA (again, another nickname and another story to follow…). It was sad to split, but when I think and talk of Guanajuato, I’ll think of us and them.

Salud, dudes!

Guanajuato

2009-10-12T00:34:00.001-05:00

Guanajuato is a city that everyone should visit. To see it is to realize a whole new world has cracked open before you. The weather is perfect, the architecture causes you to gaze, and the steep roads lead you to imagine that anything could lie in wait at the top of the next hill. And just when you think you have experienced it all, its history and beauty pick you up and then plop you back down somewhere else that you didn’t even know you wanted to be.

At times, the city feels a bit claustrophobic because everything is so compact, but this simply adds to its charm. There are two major roadways and a bunch of narrow alleys, but most of the traffic runs on a series of over sixty underground tunnels. Plazas are decorated with statues to pay homage to the likes of Diego Rivera, Cervantes, Don Quixote, and a myriad of other Guanajuatan revolutionaries. Mounted on the highest hill is Pipila, the man responsible for securing Guanajuato’s first victory towards independence. As the story goes, he strapped a stone slab on his back like a bulletproof vest and then set the doors of the of Alhondiga (a large grain bin-like structure) gates ablaze. Thus, the holed up Spanish army was forced from its fortress and was easily taken over by the revolutionary forces.

Mexicans were first attracted to this city for its rich resources of silver and gold, but today you should visit it to see rows of red-roofed houses and kids playing soccer in the plaza shouting challenges and insults at one another. People raised in this city must weep when they leave and discover the dismal sprawl of the rest of the world. I can’t blame them. The imagery of this town makes me want to be only here.

In case you still aren’t convinced, Guanajuato has this amazing roadside hamburger stand that only sets up shop in the evenings. The line is long, but the hamburgers are spicy and savory and topped with some sort of pickled carrot and pepper deliciousness that has had me scouring the internet to find the recipe for the greater part of a baseball game.

So, skip the beaches and head straight to Guanajuato. Its colonial charisma is one of a kind.

Guadalarja (September 22-25)*

2009-10-07T23:47:00.005-05:00

*Sally has asked me to provide my thoughts alongside this entry, and I sort of look at it as an opportunity to do this cool sort of Joe Posnaski-thing with it, so I agreed. Plus, I get to stick up for myself paragraph for paragraph, and it seems like a good time to try and put a poll up to see which one of us is the biggest jerk (hint: spelled A-N-D-E-R-S). Here goes…

Traveling with Anders is akin to coloring inside the lines of a coloring book— each stroke exact and purposefully executed. Relying heavily on our Lonely Planet guidebook, he studies the map of each new city, finds the hot spots to visit, and then takes plenty of photographs so he can get just the one he is after. I’m annoyed at times with having to find the ideal eatery after a long day of walking, but remind myself that there are two travelers here and not just me.

This frogging ingrate sure has a way of exaggerating things— especially with the photo-taking mania— so I’ll give her that.

Here’s a prime example: Anders main quest in Guadalajara was to find the perfect surge protector. The People’s Guide to Mexico strongly suggested this purchase, and he took their advice and ran with it. I, on the other hand, was eager to walk amid layer upon layer of metropolitan people and sights in Guadalajara and then rest at a café and people watch. Trekking around for days to electronic stores was not my ideal, but four days later with a great deal of patience and deliberation we were able to locate what Anders refers to as “the jewel of the fucking Nile of surge protectors.”

Damn tootin’: ooooohhh... aaahh...

Day one: We decided to compromise our agendas. Whenever we walked by a store that might carry electronics we would dip in and see if they had what we were after. It seemed the perfect balance. Unfortunately, the stores that line the sidewalks of Mexico are filled with such a jumble of items that it was hard to know which store to enter. Eventually, we stumbled upon some sort of electronic Mecca with story after story of electronics, but each surge protector we found was either too large or too expensive.

Despite my limited knowledge of thangs muslim, it seems a sacrilege (am I already outed?) to refer to a joint that didn’t have what I wanted as “Mecca,” but that’s just a-‘ligious me…

Day two: Already tired of the pavement and in need of something green, we chose to visit Parque Agua Azul. During the bus ride to what Anders referred to as Guadalajara’s Central Park, we spied a Wal-Mart and gave in to its enticing promise of unbeatable prices. Although the surge protectors were cheaper, Anders was not convinced (as only he can be) so we headed out to the street vendors to see what we could find. Street after street we searched, Anders never tiring and me lagging along behind. When none of the stores had exactly what he wanted, he decided to give the Internet a try. He performed a lengthy search for the perfect Mac travel surge protectors in Mexico, how much joule protection was necessary, and if surge protectors were necessary at all. Eventually, he discovered the surge protectors of all surge protectors (the aforementioned “jewel of the fucking Nile”). Its slim body caught his eye, and he was ready to get his hands on it, but first he had to continue his search to see which stores carried it in Mexico.

In fairness, I’d intended to do the web research before bothering to check all of these stores out, but trying to keep my baby happy is already a full-time job. Did you catch those sweet little USB chargers?!? Oh, and Wuck Mal-Fart.

Day three: Apparently, the only store that carried our surge protector was Office Depot. It seemed a long shot to me, but he did not waiver. We had already made plans to head to tequila country for the day, so the hunt was put on hold momentarily while we sipped the drink of the gods during our tour of Jose Cuervo. With alcohol pumping through our veins (making us believe we could accomplish anything), we were off to find a friend at an undisclosed locale to take in the Jalisco Symphony Orchestra performance. And that is when it came like a shining beacon casting its light all over us. Far in the distance was an Office Depot sign. This luck seemed impossible in a metro area of six million plus, so I was ready to abandon our plans and go buy the surge protector immediately. Anders, however, decided we would come back the following day.

As I recall, I was purely an advocate of coming back later, what with the awesome-if-unlikely, free opportunity and all. Sally did spot the sign though ;).

Day four: Off to Office Depot we went. Keep in mind that we had no idea if this particular Office Depot carried our product of choice, but that did not matter, we were going there anyway. And that is what we did. We figured out our bus route and then went about our business. And the miracle is, they carried his precious Belkin surge protector. Purchase in hand, we walked away triumphant— to a Starbucks.

This, despite the ‘net being down at Starbucks, was a great day and great moment in our vidas mexicanas…

The journey was long, but the familiarity of corporate America somehow gave us a little taste of home that we both needed. And now when we plug that computer into the outlet there is no hesitation because we are protected. It is interesting how you can get so far away from home and yet always come back to it somehow.

And it’s a good thing too, ‘cos I’d be heartbroken if I couldn’t catch the MLB postseason on my sure-to-be-safe-‘n-charged lappy, baby! Also, to be kept in mind: during those four awful, arduous days, we didn’t have shit else to do ;).

Does this look like a jerk to you? ROCK THE VOTE!

=2=

2009-10-01T15:14:00.005-05:00

The bus ride into GDL was mostly notable for its terrain, where the myriad blues of the Pacific were replaced in similar proportion by the spiny leaves of the blue agave (more on those boys in a bit). We arrived into the bus station and cabbed it to our slightly less regal accommodations, only to discover that our confirmed reservation was never actually taken down. Delightful. Still, the desk clerk very kindly assisted us in finding a nearby posada (an inn, really; in an old converted home) where I caught my first Spanish Monday Night Football (which I’m not too proud to mention on this blog here, evidently) and we still laughed, smiled and joked about how crappy the place was.

We were able to secure better lodging— cheaper and with a second floor balcony— the following day, and it’s been from here we’ve day-tripped, walked, walked, and even started this blog(!). Food has been wonderful here, and though I’ve discovered that I, in fact, cannot eat Mexican food for every meal, we’ve sampled tortas ahogadas (literally “drowned sandwiches” made to die in a pool of yummy salsa), Mexican Chinese food (twice!), steamed lamb tacos (¡super ricos!), diner food and two-for-one alkie drinkies at a hip sandwich/café/bar spot. That last spot, though great and also deserving of a second visit, seems to be responsible for our first proper sick day here in Mexico, with Sally going down hard in the night and spending most of the next day catching up on the sleep she never got. She’s been a full-on trooper and I anticipate her full recovery in a day or so’s time.

Themz ladies get things done in the kitchen.

But it hasn’t all been doom and gloom! In fact, last Thursday, the day of our one-week anniversary here, was easily one of my favorites to date. We set out a bit earlier to catch a local bus to Tequila, Jalisco, Mexico (I realize at this point you’re aware we’re in Mexico, but wanted to make sure that one and all understood that Tequila is, like Goehner, say, an actual town in a state in a country— so be advised!): a two-hour sojourn that hardly had us feeling like it was worth the bus ride’s physical discomfort upon arrival, but, as with lunch, our words we’d soon be eating (LAME!) ;).

These boyz get things drunk the world over.

You see, José Cuervo isn’t actually such a bad guy, and is credited with producing the first publicly-available tequila to the masses. I know many of us appreciate the temporary superpowers it unfailingly provides, and so we decided to go for a sort of “when in Rome/what the hay” tour of its original factory and facilities. It turned out this time— perhaps despite the involvement of tequila— that was a good idea. We were the only people taking the 3pm English tour, and by the end of the hour-and-a-half event (mucho tequila [sorta] gratis was involved, mind you) we’d befriended our tour guide, Mark, who was kind enough to offer to drive us back to town. Of course we accepted, and after some fine rooftop chatting and sipping (this guy was really great and knew a ton about a ton of stuff— seriously), he directed us to a nearby university where we’d mostly been invited to attend a free performance of the Jaliscan Symphony Orchestra by a friend of a friend of Sally’s (I say mostly because we didn’t officially know where it was even taking place, but with some e-sleuthing c/o the ‘net…). Somehow we pulled the thing off, and for unexpectable moments like these— like that entire day, really— I was, am and will always be truly grateful. After the beautiful performance (tell that to the two husbands sitting in front of us who’d obviously not come of their own volition) we escaped a sudden rainy season thunderstorm at a local open-air taco stand with our new friend Aimee. Tacos were composed, disposed of, and a cab was hailed. I couldn’t believe we’d had a day/night like that only one week in. Here’s to many more to come!

For luck (that's pre-tour, by the by). ;)

P. Vallarta

2009-09-28T18:05:00.005-05:00

Mexico. The land that was merely an idea is now staring us in the face. Our four a.m. departure and slight hangovers provided a rough start to our travels, but the ocean view from the taxi window in Vallarta helped put things back into perspective. Life has in its way grown life-sized, providing us with new things to see and do each day, and afternoon rains that rearrange our plans and relieve our guilt of napping and reading. And yet somehow, it becomes easy to forget where we are, and we must remind ourselves to look up at the ocean waving its arms in welcome, reminding us we have arrived in Mexico.

Travel is different this time, because instead of seeing new places and taking pictures as an observer, I must ask the question, can this be home? Part of this is freeing, wondering how I will create and define home here, but somewhere else there is a desire to return back to the home I knew. For now, I push away my uncertainties for the gift of time, and focus on my daily to-do list: wake up with the sun, order food, wander until tired, sit in a plaza and people watch, and then learn a few more Spanish words to enhance my limited vocabulary. These activities make up my day, and are what I call home for now. Anders is also home and without knowing it directly, we create a new definition together as we walk the uneven streets and sit on uncomfortable bus rides to new places.

We are unsure where our journey will end, but the impulse to find a place to settle and live amongst a new culture compels us to keep looking and planning and dreaming. Mexico is like an art museum. We circulate its rooms taking in new colors, figures, and settings, and then mash them all together to create a new impression of life where we are inspired and frustrated, but pleased at what we have experienced.

Favorite moments in Puerto Vallarta:

• Swimming in the rainwater pool at our bed and breakfast. This was the only thing that made the intense heat okay.
• Setting the alarm so we would not miss Rita Love’s exquisite breakfasts
• Discovering beaches outside of Vallarta
• Drinking cervesas with every meal and during our afternoon breaks
• Successfully taking buses on day trips and to Guadalajara
• Getting caught in a rainstorm with the rain up to our ankles and then falling asleep to the lightning and thunder
• Hiking to the waterfall in Yelapa with our eight year old tour guide Yuni

=1=

2009-09-26T21:16:00.002-05:00

It’s hard to confine this experience into a Word doc. Really, it seems kind of silly to me that this is how some great pieces of literature have gotten started— not to suggest this trave(b)logue advertently aspires to become one— but it’s true.

The night before we left was really quite lovely. Some of our siblings came out and saw us off in style with a couple of hours at a West Lincoln bar food/pub spot that replaced a lesser bar food/pub spot where Sally and I actually had a little bit of history. Of course the trade-off was a wrenching hangover the next day pour moi that I like to think was largely born of very little sleep— not the $25 shots of whiskey.

Though Houston was too stingy to cough up free access to our beloved intertubes, it was of little matter what with my recently-purchased four-disc Big Star anthology set and lovely, beautiful baby beside me (I don’t worry when my baby’s beside me all I know…). Having experienced something like this before I knew that soon the comfortable expectancy of English-speaking crowds and flight attendants would give way to a much more alien condition; in this case, the largely Spanish-speaking hustle and bustle of the Puerto Vallarta (that’s Mexico, y’all) International Airport. Fortunately, after some still-born transportation negotiations, that ol’ lost luggage feeling and a slightly overpriced taxi ride, we were calmly pressing cold, lemony towels to our faces and getting the dish on what to expect at the dreamy B&B, la Casa Amorita.

That's Maya and Huevos Divorciados junto con my baby.

I like to think that we fell in love with the place almost immediately, as over the course of the few Rey Peterson-sponsored days we were there (thanks, Daddy-o), la Casa was a refuge and place of great pleasure and leisure: a truly perfect place to begin the journey.

Despite the oppressive humidity of the place, we explored the cobblestone streets of the town, walked its long maleceón and bits of its beaches, and wined (well, “cocktailed”) and dined at both high-end and bargain-priced restaurants and bars. We were briefly entertained by a young Kansan exchange student and I practiced my Spanish on otherwise bothersome panderers and street vendors. No voyage into town was complete without a long dip in our rain-watered pool upon our return (the pool wall tile appeared to holler “PIG PIG PIG”!), and breakfasts at la Casa were worth setting the alarm on vacation for.

Indigenous design aesthetic my ass.

All told, we had our successes and (very) minor failures, but after a couple of day trips and just enough luxury, we were ready for some crappy, dubbed, bus-ride movies (I couldn’t have enjoyed Beverly Hills Chihuahua if it weren’t on a bus and in Spanish, but on a bus and in Spanish, I almost cried) on our way to GDL: Guadalajara (about six more a’s in that word and I think they might be onto something :\).

ARP