Montezuma

The original route planned to Montezuma from Playa Ostinal had to be
reworked because the some river along the way was too deep even for
our SUV, Zorra, to cross. We're driving along the "highway"; a dirt
road with a higher ratio of pot holes to road and I am being highly
entertained by Agent Ashley. Every time we go over bumps in the roads,
especially when we're taken by surprise, Ashley's whole body goes limp
and she flops around with truly amazing dexterity. I've nicknamed her
Agent Rubber Bones. She claims that this ability has saved her from
getting hurt on several occasions because she doesn't stiffen up. As
always when I'm driving, there is a driving challenge. While coming
around a bend, we come up to a dump truck, just in time to see it dump
a huge load of rocks across the center of the road, effectively
creating an instant roadblock. There are deep ditches on either side
of the road and of course, the rain kicks in. The dump truck drives
away and the three of us are looking at each other wondering what
we're supposed to do. There are some other worker guys milling around
and pointing at stuff, including our car. We're all laughing at the
randomness of this situation as I try to figure out how to say, "push
down the mountain" in Spanish. A few other cars join the waiting party
and we all watch some guys on motorcycles go into, get stuck in and
then get out of the muddy ditches. Rural entertainment, I guess.
Eventually a backhoe comes rolling out of nowhere and gets straight to
work smoothing out the rocks to make the road passable again. By this
point, there are five or six cars waiting to pass. As I see the huge
tires of the backhoe mucking through the rocky mess all I can think to
myself is that I don't want to be the guinea pig driver to cross the
newest road in Costa Rica. The backhoe rolls back and forth a few
times, pats the rocks down with the front scoop thing for good measure
and then blows out of the scene. The guy in charge of this mess looks
at me and motions me across. Of course. I put the car in super 4-wheel
drive, the signal to Zorra for adventure, and creep across the mess.
We made it; onwards to Montetuma!
Montezuma is more populated by hippies and travelers than the rest of
Costa Rica. It is surprisingly international for being such a small
town. We roll in to town and find the first hotel on our list and
promise to bargain shop. We get the grand tour of the hotel, find out
we can afford to have our own private balcony and we're sold. We're
really terrible at bargain hunting when we can't stand to be in the
car any longer. We enjoy showers, a nice dinner at the local
restaurant that also plays movies and then poke around in the shops.
Bed time!
The next day, we go on a horse tour. Our guide leads us to the beach
where four horses are waiting for us to hop on. We're headed for a
waterfall, so we're wearing our swimsuits under our clothes as well as
the usual heaps of bug spray. We walk along the beach hearing the
ocean on one side and monkeys chattering in the trees on the other.
Our trail wanders in and out of the woods, up and down slick rocks and
in front of some beautiful huge houses. We arrive at the beach where
it is OK to canter and our guide tells us that if we get that feeling,
we're free to run here. I trot ahead, feeling out my horse and my
comfort level, since it has been a while since I have ridden. There is
that feeling! I gather the reins, squeeze in my heels and we're off.
It is just me and the horse running down the beach, the wind in my
hair. It feels wonderful! When I reach the end of the beach, I wait
for the others to catch up and we continue on. Eventually, just before
we reach the waterfalls, it starts to pour. The capacity of the sky
here to produce water is astounding. I feel like a fire hose just
sprayed me. We decide to turn around before the falls because the
trail will get too dangerous for the horses. We didn't get to swim in
the waterfalls, but from the status of our clothes and hair, we
practically went swimming on top of the horses.

Costa Rica: Driving tests, Playa Flamingo, Cheese tour, Sea turtle

I am currently lounging in what is becoming my favorite hangout…the Houston airport. Bleh. By some cruel twist of fate and lack of funds to have bought a better ticket, I am in the middle of a nine hour layover before my flight to Buenos Aires tonight. What a perfect time to catch you all up on the rest of Costa Rica! Get ready for a really long email J

Last time I wrote, my two friends and I had just finished the amazing canopy tour in Monteverde (green mountain) and I had enough adrenaline pumping through my body to easily burn several of the snickers I had consumed in the past few days…or so I told myself. After the tour, we drove back down the crater infested roads to enjoy luke warm showers and change into fresh clothes. We called our important people using skype and wandered around town for a bit, which doesn’t take long because the whole town is about one city block. We saw some pretty jewelry made from various seeds, including watermelon seeds and just talked for a long time. We had dinner at a restaurant that was decorated with all sorts of butterfly things and drooled over our server. There really is no shortage of gorgeous Costa Rican men.

We woke up bright and early to get the car packed up before our cheese tour. For three people who love, love, love cheese, we were anticipating this tour with the same excitement of Christmas morning. We had breakfast once more at the restaurant next to our hostel, Los Amigos, and said a tearful good bye to the best banana pancakes on the planet. Maybe the cute old lady wants to come with us to be our cook? Unfortunately we would have to make the tough decision between our luggage and the cook…the luggage barely won, but only because I don’t want to limit myself to a single pair of underwear for the next week and a half.

We loaded our luggage into the car, a system that is already perfected; my duffle first on the folded down seat with the two backpacks on top, the two rolling suitcases facing in (keeps them from clobbering you when you open the door later), laundry bag in the middle, food in the nooks. We stopped at a bank and I tried an ATM once more and my some miracle, this bank liked my card and gave me some cash. The sound of the cash whirring out of the maching was music to my ears, although my happy screeches to those around me probably were not. We drove through the town to the cheese tour and got a private tour of the factory. It was founded by Quakers in 1953 who had left the US to object to all of the war and such…they had some yummy, yummy cheese and we plowed through all of the samples like the good Americans we are. We also tried caramel candy and coffee ice-cream.

Next stop, Playa Flamingo and Basilito, in the Northwest corner of the country. We picked playa (which means beach) Flamingo because the sand is supposed to be pink and my sister loves flamingos…pretty much as good as any reason when there are a bazillion beaches to choose from. The morning started out sunny and beautiful and instantly turned into rain as soon as we were driving. Seven billion pot holes later, we arrive at playa flamingo and it turns out they’re big fat liars and the sand is just tan, but it was beautiful none the less. We stayed in a hostel very close to the beach, enjoyed more food to the sounds of the ocean on picnic furniture at several local places and played about a billion hands of gin rummy. Very chill and relaxing. During our first afternoon of swimming, I took out my contacts and Adam took off his glasses thinking it would be better for our eyes when being crashed into by the waves and saltwater. Since Ashley was the only one of us who could see, Adam and I kept pestering her to look at the beach; Adam wanted to know if anyone was bothering our stuff laying on the beach and I wanted to know if the guys walking on the beach were cute. Obviously our priorities are different. It actually started to rain while we were swimming, but the sun was still out, more or less, and the rain was warm. It was just a different experience to swim in the rain that we enjoyed ourselves.

Each day of this trip manages to bring some large test of my skills as a driver and these days were no different. On our first pass through playa flamingo, we went up through some of the condos on winding and skinny roads that have a very sharp drop to the ocean below. Naturally, there are no guardrails to protect poor drivers from plummeting to their deaths. We were approaching what appeared to be the end of the road and were carefully inspecting houses we couldn’t expect to enter even as the cleaning crew when I suggested we turn around just before a bend in the road to make sure we didn’t get stuck. Ashley and Adam, using their X-ray vision super powers, assured me that we could turn around at the end of the road and that we didn’t want to miss out on whatever adventure lay around this last turn. Totally submitting to peer pressure, I press on and turn around the corner. Bad words, times ten. We have reached a locked gate at the end of a steep hill with a wall on one side and a plummet to death on the other. More bad words. I guess it didn’t cross my mind to back out, that seemed more dangerous at the time. In my state of terror, I decided to turn around. I put on the super powered four wheel drive and proceeded to turn around, taking about a 72 passes, feeling way too close to the cliff the entire time. May I remind you that this is a stick shift car with the ability to roll? After successfully turning around and making it back up the hill of death, I made them promise to buy me a beer and to let me make all further driving decisions. Humph.

Next beach was Playa Ostional, and teensy town with not much of anything but is famous for being a place where giant sea turtles lay eggs. The beach is also famous for its black volcanic sand. Of course the road provided some more tests; today it was crossing several rivers/creeks in the car. Thanks the lord for our super car with four wheel drive. I approach the river with caution, Agent Ashley pops our of the car to survey the scene. She walks back to the car and says that the river instantly gets super deep and we cannot cross. I guy pops out of a little shack thing on the other side of the river and waves us across. I asked if we were going to die, and he just motions us across again, pointing to a specific route that is more shallow. I take in a deep breath, put the car in super four wheel drive and creep across. The water is splashing around the wheels and I begin to screech as we get closer to the other side. The guide on the bank doesn’t even crack a smile; he must be used to dumb tourists. We did in fact live, and were feeling pretty proud of our super jungle skills only to see a guy on a motorcycle go across the river. A teeny motorcycle. He didn’t die either, nor did he scream going across. Oh humility.

I was happy to see that the guide book wasn’t lying about the sand here; very black indeed. We took a long walk down the beach, accompanied by several local dogs eager to make our friendship. They were also interested in digging up turtle eggs. Yuck. Other companions on the beach included these freaky black birds that looked like the vulture birds in Alice in Wonderland. Super creepy. I captured Ashley on video walking towards the birds to try to scare them but running away when they flew in her direction. She didn’t know I was filming, and said she would have acted more brave had she known. I took a nap on a hammock and read the end of another John Grisham book and we played more cards on a cute picnic table.

That night Adam and I went on a turtle walk after dark to try to see turtles laying eggs. The beach was lit by a small sliver of moon and the sounds of the ocean waves were soothing in the cool night air. It was so tranquil. We walked with our guide for a while and talked about turtles, the town, and searched for turtles. We didn’t end up seeing a turtle laying eggs, but we did see an old lady turtle who had popped onto the beach. She was really big and beautiful and it was so incredible to see this animal up close. They can live to be 100 years old.

The road we were planning on taking was not possible because of a river even our super SUV, now named Zora (Fox) couldn’t handle. We’re backtracking across the smaller river to Montezuma!

ATMs, Canopy Tour, Driving, Beautiful Guides

Our first morning in Costa Rica was sunny and warm. We took showers, put on fresh clothes and got a recommendation for a breakfast place down the road. Before long I am eating rice and beans, eggs and toast and a cup of delicious coffee. Things are turning around. After breakfast, we wander through a market where many beautiful crafts are fashioned out of a rainbow of woods; different shades of red, brown and purple woods are carved and polished into cutting boards, wine bottle holders, trivets and other household items. Very beautiful.

We walk further down the road and search for an ATM. I stick in my debit card, enter my pin and enter 50,000 colones, the equivalent to $100. Account invalid, the ATM informs me. Eh? No worries, I am sure the next one will work. We walk through the hustle and bustle of the pedestrian streets and soak in the scenery. We check out a beautiful cathedral, some other structures and buildings and try several more ATMs. Every single one says my account is invalid. In total, I probably tried seven or eight ATMs, but it felt like fifty. I am reverting to my poor mood of yesterday the more times my card doesn’t produce cash and I’m envisioning it bursting into flames from trying too many times. Ashley and Adam promise to pay me in cash in exchange for putting the car rental on my card, so that will buy me enough time to call the bank on Monday and figure out the problem. We have a pleasant dinner and head towards a mall to catch a movie. We decide on Mamma Mia in Spanish and those happy Abba songs lift my spirits again. We tromp back to the hostel and crash for the night.

We wake up, eat another hearty breakfast (Ashley and I had bagels with a side of rice and beans, Adam had the world’s largest cinnamon roll) and head back to our hostel where our compact SUV is being delivered. We fill out the paperwork, I promise my first born child for any damage and we pack up. Turns out there is a nail in one of the tires, so after a quick visit back to the rental shop, we have a new tire and we’re off! We cruise along highway 1 and soak in the scenery. The music selection on the radio is an interesting mix of Spanish and random American tunes ranging from Duffy to Madonna. When we reach our marker of a certain gas station, we turn off the highway and the road instantly gets worse, but not too bad. We cruise along more, and the radio is really funny. The higher we get in the mountains, the more suddenly the radio will come in and out. The singer will be mid word, I’ll go around a corner and the radio will go dead. Sometimes the scan will go round and around the stations with not a single station to pick up. The scenery is stunning. It is hard to describe the intensity of the green of the mountains. There are several hues of greens that look like crushed velvet draped across the elegant mountains. This is like color therapy after the dirt and grime of Mexico City.

The road gets much worse; gravel and dirt road punctuated with millions of pot holes and craters make my driving slow down to a crawl at times. Neither the buses nor the locals feel burdened by going slowly and blow past us going both directions. We stop a few times to take pictures of the mountains, the clouds and the breath taking vistas. At one point we come to a huge puddle of dirty water that we have no clue how deep it is. Since another SUV is coming in the opposite direction, I wait for them to pass so we can avoid the small lake. The driver, obviously a local, pulls up alongside me smiling and asks why we don’t drive though. He promises it isn’t deep and I say that he can be the leader. He declines, so we stick with the original plan and skirt the puddle. Along the way, we blow kisses to the young boys riding bikes and they look super happy to be getting air kisses from pretty American girls.

Pretty close to on schedule, we arrive in Monteverde and after driving through the teeny town, pull over to consult with out guide book. We pick out a place that looks good and start driving again. Just down the road, we are motioned over my Anali, the smiling owner of a cute hostel nearby. The rooms are $30 for a triple, complete with free internet so we agree to take a tour. The place is super cute so we sign up for two lovely nights in Monteverde. We look over the tour options and decide to do a canopy tour and a cheese tour. We spent a peaceful evening playing cards on the porch as the rain hit the tin roof. Ashley won gin rummy even though Adam got 195 points in a single round.

The morning comes soon and we gear up with comfy clothes and lots of DEET bugspray. We are picked up at the hostel and trek up the gravel roads to the base camp of the tour company. The mini van takes the pot holes at warp speed and as we bounce around like pop corn, we wonder what the average life span of a car is here. We decide not long.

At the camp, we pay our fees, sign the waivers (that did mention something about animals attacking) and are shuttled into the next room. The very cute guides don’t bother with instructions and simply put on our harnesses for us. Good thing they’re cute, because they’re awfully close to my butt. I seriously wonder if they have a helmet big enough for my huge head, but when I ask, the guide thinks it is a joke…until the helmet rests of the very top of my head like a crown. He laughs, adjusts the helmet to the XXXXL setting and I am relieved that it fits. Safety first. Adam, Ashley and I are joined by three beautiful guides; Danny, Dennis and Don and four travelers from Israel. We’re off.

We walk into the woods for a quick safety demonstration and then quickly climb the metal stairs to the first slide. Ashley is the brave leader and slides down the metal cable like a champ. It is a short cable, but I still get an adrenaline rush. We had officially cut our teeth. The next cable was a stunning 600 feet across a cannon and through a cloud. We couldn’t even see the far platform. The first two guides throw their equipment on the line with ease and wiz down the line, taking picture of each other and laughing. We’re next. When it is my turn, I ease of the platform and don’t even have time to be nervous because it is so beautiful. The canyon quickly drops below me and I see the same beautiful scenery that I was desperately trying to capture on my camera the day before. Cows dot the field and a few small shacks wiz by below me. When I land on the platform, I am exhilarated; I have so much adrenaline surging though me, I am shaking. This is great! We wiz back an forth across ten more cables and then we get to our surprise; a repelling station and Tarzan swing.

The first guide barely pops on his safety gear before plummeting towards the ground very far below. I was somehow first, and I was really regretting this location in line. He straps me to the rope with my heart in my mouth and tries to push me off the platform I’M NOT READY! I dig my heals in but it doesn’t really matter. A quick shove from the guide and I’m off the platform and they drop me quickly. I say that it isn’t funny, in Spanish, just to make sure they understand, but they laugh anyway. Somehow avoiding death, I am on the ground and the rope is off. Yikes. The rest of the group hurtles towards the ground one by one and before long we’re trekking up a million stairs to the Tarzan swing. No wonder the beautiful guides are in such great shape; I hope they can’t hear my panting. We climb more metal stairs into the trees and we have reached the swing. Suddenly I realize just how high up we are. I’m third in line here and watch at they strap in the first guy. Again, this is a quick operation with no second checks. The guy sits back in the harness and the guide shoves him off the platform. He falls for eight or ten feet before the rope catches; he swings in a huge arc of 200 feet. When he was farthest away, he was a teeny man on the end of the rope. Getting off the line was a two-guide operation; a giant rubber band of sorts was attached to the lower platform and two guides threw it around your waist as you swung up and you were promptly “punched” in the belly as you swung back down into it. Created some very funny sound effects. Some ropes were quickly loosed by the experienced guides and you were dropped onto your rubbery knees. Ashley went next and I struggled to find her swinging speck in the viewfinder of the video camera.

I was next after Ashley and got the same shove off here that I received on the repelling platform. Judging by the laughter of the guides, my screams were pretty awesome. What a rush. This took the joy of playing on a swing set when I was little to exponential new heights. It was over much too soon. After being captured by the rubber U, I went over to the bench to regain the ability to walk. Two more short slides followed by the final, longest, slide. Adam and I were first and were informed that we went down on this slide in pairs. I went in front and Adam wrapped his legs around me. Shove! We glided through the wisps of clouds, over the lush mountains and then it was over. Much too soon. Towards the other platform, I realized why we do two people at once; to make sure that you’re heavy enough to reach the platform. Adam is a pretty skinny guy, and even though I had done my part to eat a snickers and several packages of gummy snacks, we weren’t heavy enough to reach the platform. No worries; the guide simply marched across the dewy grass, grabbed my ankle and marched back. I was hugely jealous that I saw Ashley’s legs wrapped around one of the hot guides and from my evil eyes I threw her way, she understood. She was smug, and rightly so. Soon the whole group had collected and we were out of our harness. Walking sure was easier. We walked into the station and literally, LITERALLY 10 seconds later the rain cloud released a torrent of rain. We look at each other in amazement and joked that our guides also controlled the weather. They agreed.

Costa Rica: It has been much better since this

The trip to Costa Rica was a disaster. It all started with only getting four hours of sleep because I had a fun night of dancing with my new friends at a club to bid farewell to Mexico. Sleepily, I gathered my last odds and ends at Silvia’s house and then a nephew took me and my friend Elena, who had the exact same flight time as me, to the airport. In addition to my two stuffed bags, I was carting a cardboard box with a beautiful handle constructed from three pieces of packing tape. I was originally going to try to mail this goody box from Texas during my layover so it would be domestic charges, but when I called the airport (thank you skype), the comatose guy dully informed me that there was no place to mail it. Time for plan B.
We left for the airport with plenty of time for traffic along the way and to find the post office and mail the package. I guess I didn’t realize just how big the airport was. Elena and I asked directions to the nearest post office and we were off, rolling bag in tow. We walk for a bazillion miles until we reach the post office. Closed. Damn! How can it be closed on a Friday morning??? I tell myself not to panic and we set off looking for another. Several consultations with stragglers we could catch led us to a mailing boutique of sorts where I placed my box on the counter, not on the scale, mind you, and asked the lady how much it would cost to mail my box to the US. She asked me what was in it, and said, without weighing it, 1200 pesos. 120 dollars. I told her I would keep looking, thank you very much. After seeming years of searching, I finally find an open post office and the sloth in a Michigan jacket running it. He tells me it will cost me $38 dollars to mail the package to the US. I ask if I can buy insurance and he assures me that it is safe. Even still, I ask, is it possible to buy insurance just in case? No. Ok. I quickly write my address down for him and he painstakingly copies it down as if it the first thing he has written in his entire life. I restrain myself from strangling him as that would just slow down the process. A decade later he motions for me to pay. I hand him my credit card and he says no, cash only. Seriously? With Elena watching my stuff I bolt from the post office to a nearby ATM and SMACK come face to face with three police officers with huge guns. They’re changing the money and I can’t use the ATM. It is a pretty common sight in Mexico, but it terrifies me every time. I sprint past bewildered travelers in search of another ATM and my heart is racing as I find one. I enter my pin, ask for money and am told that the account is invalid. I brought my credit card, not my debit card. Aaaaahhhh! I sprint back to Elena, exchange my cards, sprint back to the ATM and actually get cash. Hallelujah. The package is in the mail, and with some miracle, it will be at my parents’ home before me.
Now we’re late. We race back to the international terminal only to discover that Elena is in the correct international terminal, but I am not. Just my luck; the other international terminal that I need is a cab, train or bus ride away. I say a hurried good-bye to Elena and am fighting stressed tears as I race in the direction of the other terminal. Did I mention that I have 100 pounds of luggage? I find the train and a scrolling sign informs me that I have five minutes before the next train. I am hoping I’ll make it. I hop on the train, dash from the opening doors when we arrive and sprint towards the desks. An information guy in a wheel chair asks me if I need information and I snap that I don’t. Reflexes from walking in the street and stress; I check myself and try to be polite. He kindly informs me that continental is to the left and I race towards it. Before I get in line, I have to weigh my rolley duffle. Two pounds overweight. *&@$!!!! Could this morning get any worse? I am still trying not to cry as I unzip the straining zipper and my luggage contents vomit onto the carpet. I search for the books I had conveniently placed on the bottom and squeeze them into my already super heavy backpack. My duffle is now regulation weight. At last, I scan my passport, get my boarding pass and try to pull myself together as we are waiting to board.
The flight was fine. The lunch was interesting. Somehow my vegetarian request was switched to vegan; shouldn’t be too strange. My lunch arrives and it is a sandwich. I open it up to see what I’ll be dining upon and see broccoli, green beans and other Asian vegetables. And a piece of lettuce for good measure. I am eating cold Asian veggies, no sauce, on a bun. Who comes up with this crap? The American Cattle Association? Obviously not anyone who is planning on eating it.
I hop off the plane in Texas and almost instantly hear tapping on the glass. It is Adam, one of my two friends joining me on this leg of the adventure! He is already here and has staked us out some seats in a waiting area. I am very happy to see a friendly face, but I am whisked along the corridor towards customs. My mood is lifted by the sight of Adam and the patriotic music playing as I wait in line. Apparently it doesn’t matter that this is just a layover. I still have to fill out the customs form, go through customs, go back through security (third time my bags and person were scanned on this day) and finally end up right were I started, just on the other side of the glass. Whew. We quickly vote of some Starbucks and a pretzel and catch up for a while. We have four hours to kill before our flight to Costa Rica.
It is finally time to board and we settle in for the three hour flight. Our seats aren’t together, so I tell Adam I’ll see him in Costa Rica and crack my latest John Grisham. The hours pass quickly, I doze a bit, and before too long we’ve landed. Ashley was supposed to have landed a half an hour before us and the plan was for us to either see her at our gate or at a coffee shop. Since we’re not smothered in Ashley hugs when we walk out of the gate, I’m assuming that we’ve moved onto plan B. Adam and I walk through customs, get our passports stamped and line up to get our bags scanned. Again. Grrr. Adam hurriedly whispers that he has a banana in his bag that he didn’t claim on his customs form. I decide that it couldn’t possibly be a big deal. I was wrong. As soon as Adam’s bags go through the scanner, a stern looking lady asks Adam if he has any fruit in his bag. He divulges that he does in fact have a banana. She confiscates it. We wonder later if he would have been aloud to quickly eat it and decide probably not.
We leave customs and suddenly are struck with thick humidity. We’re outside! Tons of people are waiting with signs, taxi drivers are surrounding the tourists. Where is the coffee shop? We walk through the crowd looking for Ashley and soon realize that she isn’t there. What happened? I ask the guard blocking our reentry to the airport if he could check on her flight. It is late, she isn’t here yet. Thank goodness we haven’t missed her. Now we’re hoping that she’ll do exactly what we did and walk through customs assuming that a café will be there too. After a half hour or so of waiting, we finally see her. Ashley claimed that us calling her name was the most beautiful sound she had heard. We have hugs all around and go in search of a taxi. After some bargain hunting, we get a fare we can live with and follow the driver to his car. The interior light was blue. Interesting. We cruise through the humid night listening to American disco. He arrives at a dark alley and tells us our hostel is up the hill. I don’t believe him and don’t budge from my seat. He asks a guy on the sidewalk if it is the hostel and he points down the street. The driver was only off my 20 feet, but they made a big difference. We got buzzed in, checked in and fell onto our bunk beds. A quick email home for all of us and we fell asleep quickly.

PS Mexico: Bike ride to Hell and back

The mayor of Mexico City is a fan of the environment and Mexico is trying to improve their bad reputation on environmental standards. Mexico was chosen to host World Earth Day next year, according to my morning paper. One of the eco-activities available each Sunday is a bike tour of the city. A giant loop around the city is blocked for cars and bikers, roller bladders, and skatboards hit the pavement accompanied with their dogs and kiddos. I arranged to spend my last Sunday in Mexico with Lucy, a friend from language school and her husband. I had gone out the night before and somehow screwed up my alarm clock so I was late. Argh. I had been to her apartment once before, but not by metro, and it took a few minutes to locate the correct street to scurry down. When I got to her building, I stared at the buzzer buttons and realized I didn’t know which apartment number was hers! I was busily wracking my brain and staring at the buttons when the guard asked me what I was up to. I explained that I was here to visit my friend, Lucy, a Chinese-American girl who just moved in, but that I couldn’t remember which apartment she lived in. He looks at my quizzically and asks, “Maria?”….Um, no, I try to be patient. I am speaking in Spanish here, so it shouldn’t be so difficult. Her name is Lucy. I am already really late, I am stressed because I hate being late, and this jackass won’t believe me. We go back and forth a few more times with me repeating that her name is Lucy (how many Chinese-American women just moved into this building in Mexico City? Come on!) and he kept suggesting other names that sounded nothing like that. Finally, on the brink of loosing it, I turn on my heels and stop over to the payphone eight feet away and call Lucy. I explain that I am right outside her door and the guard won’t let me in. She laughs and soon she and her husband have joined me on the street. Sigh.
We walk to a nearby park in search of bicycles to rent. The park had a sort of carnival atmosphere with lots of fun activities for children, lots of food available on a stick, several motorized Barbie cars and hot wheels for toddlers to terrorize their parents with, a painting stand and a massage therapist with one of those cool chairs that makes is possible to get a back massage and still feel totally relaxed and comfortable. The bicycle stand we were looking for wasn’t there so we moved on to the next. The bicycle stand was there, but they only had broken bikes left, but we could wait. We moved on again. We found a bicycle repair shop and asked if they rented bikes. Eventually, after relinquishing my driver’s license and some pesos, we got two adult bikes and a purple bike that I dubbed Barney for two hours.
We were off. It was a beautiful sunny morning that was a remarkable change from the bleary gray weather we had been dealing with. I had a warm breeze whippings through my hair, the sun on my shoulders (covered in SPF 15) and I was laughing with two friends. The annoying guard was quickly fading. We wound through the Condesa and found the nearest street that was blocked off. This really is a major event to be coordinated by the city; there are police officers, armed with their whistles and orange cones, at every intersection. There are bathroom stops, water tables and pit stops.
We bike for about an hour and then we figure we need to start heading back. Problem is, traffic is really only going one way and so we ask about how close we are to our starting point. Our first ¨helper¨says we´ll hit a big road we`re familiar with in about ten minutes. Perfect. We ride on for another twenty minutes or so and realize we have no clue where we are...except that we`re no where near where we are. We keep riding, keep asking and keep getting near nothing we recognize. We are hot, we´re tired, and we´re feeling like we´re not going to make it. This is a bike ride gone bad. What further complicates the matter is that the police keep yelling at us to move over because they`re about to let in the cars. They maniac drivers that have no respect for walkers or bikers are about to be released upon us. I feel like I am about to have an experi ence similar to running the bulls in Spain. Eventually we find a person who actually knows where we are, for real, and we ask him where our neighborhood is. The expression on his face makes my heart drop. We´re really, really, really far away. Double damn. He points us in the right direction, and we are weaving in and out of the streets and sidewalk as the cars permit and the potholes reqire. Our happy chatter of the beginning is long gone. Lucy starts to tell us that she is recognizing this and that, but I am totally not convinced. After what seemed like hours upon hours, I see the metrobus, the wonderful little metrobus that only goes along one street. We're going to make it! We arrive to the park, super sweaty and hungry, and look at our clocks. We are only five minutes late.
We turn in the two big bikes and the barney bike: We walk a bit like a cowboy because of our sore rears and beeline to the nearest cafe where we proceed to stuff ourselved on sandwiches, soup, coffee and nutella crepes. At this point cardboard would have been tasty, but this food was heaven. Oh happy day.
After I left Lucy and her husband`s apartment, I walked back to the park and enjoyed a lovely 20 minutes massage for seven bucks. I was at total peace; the sound of children´s laughter floated through the air, the smells of the carnival food and a cool breeze. I visited hell and returned intact. Hallalujah.

PS Mexico: Loco por ti

Part of my morning routine is to have my yogurt and toast or yogurt and pastry (with water, with Silvia thinks is really weird) and then to go back upstairs to put on my make-up. On my powder is a small green sticker in the shape of a heart that states “loco por ti”, or “crazy for you”. I got the sticker from one of the many children who are working at all hours of the day in Mexico City. I was riding home on the subway around 9:00 or 9:30, about as late as I feel safe riding the subway alone, when a small girl of 7 or 8 hops on the metro with a boy of 12 or 13, maybe her big brother. The girl is dirty, her eyes are very tired and her shoulders are drooped. She is here to work. This is the second time that I’ve seen this poor girl who, instead of playing with dolls or pretending to be a Disney princess, is trying to earn a small income so that she can eat. She passes out stickers to every forth or fifth person on the subway, which takes a few minutes because the subway is a big car. Next she goes around with a small dirty plastic cup to ask for money. I don’t usually give money to beggars…but I gave this poor girl a ten peso coin which is the same as a US dollar. I kept the sticker to remind myself to be grateful for all that I have.

The wedding, the ranch and more!

So as I mentioned earlier, my friend Tracy recently got married here in Mexico City to Juan, a Mexican. The wedding was really cool. The ceremony was earlier in the day and then pictures were taken in a very pretty park. We were joined by another wedding party in the park to enjoy the peaceful surroundings. Tracy’s dress was princess in full splendor with a huge skirt that she actually hid children under a few times. On the way out of the park to get back into our undecorated minivan, I elbowed Tracy in front of the other wedding party’s decorated jeep. While the guards are chuckling near by, Tracy slides in for a quick picture and then we make a quick get away. So sneaky.

The reception was really a fun experience. In some ways, the weddings are really different and in some ways they’re the same. They’re the same as an American wedding with the big party, lots of family and friends, decorations, cake, booze. They’re different because the family does EVERYTHING. One relative made the decorations, another couple of cousins took care of the music, several families cooked the entire meal and then served it to all of the guests, the groom’s brother made the margaritas and other relatives made an apartment available for wedding guests. There is no catering, no wedding planner, nada. Kind of amazing. We got there kind of early so it started off a little slow, with some of the Mexican relatives staring at us as we milled about and found the beer. As more people trickled in, we gringos found 1 ½ tables to call our own and we were eating before too long (tortillas, a corn soup, rice, chicken with mole sauce, pickled cactus salad, fried poblano peppers stuffed with cheese and a potato pancake thing) and the margaritas were in abundance.

Enter the mariachis. About ten mariachis were hired for the wedding (la boda) and they marched into the hall in full costume. On their pants they had silver designs going up their legs, one guys was horse heads. They meant mariachi business. They would form a semicircle around two tables and sing the diners a song and then blast their next song towards another end of the room. Of course, we gringos were included as well and they head mariachi asked us for requests. Unfortunately, my mariachi repertoire is limited to La Bamba and La Cucaracha and so we needed a little guidance. He was kind enough to give us a few titles to choose from and we randomly picked. Very fun.

After the Mariachis took their final bow, the cousins took over the music and played a fun blend of Mexican and American songs. It is amazing how much American music has infiltrated the rest of the world. I remember feeling the same amazement when I was traveling in France and Switzerland in high school. We had the cake cutting, the cake smashed in the face (a new and surprising tradition for the Mexican crowd, haha) and then we Americans learned of a Mexican tradition where the bride and groom stand on two chairs and form a bridge with their hands. The guests line up in a big conga line and rush through the bride and groom….trying to knock them off. Eh? First all of the ladies and girls went and were more gentle and then I was personally responsible for saving Tracy’s life as the men went through the bridge like a high school football team. Yikes! Juan got the worst of it and although he was knocked down a few times, there were enough bodies to cushion the fall. I think I’ll be leaving this one in Mexico.

The kids attending the wedding were having just as much fun as the adults (probably more fun than the sullen line of relatives who didn’t move from their stations the whole evening). Two of the little girls discovered that there were a bunch of snails hanging out outside and proceeded to collect nearly thirty of them and build them a “play ground”. She was pretty grossed out when I told her that the French eat snails and decided that she was not hungry for snails. Oh well.

The days preceding and following the wedding, I was able to hang out with Tracy’s friends from in town and the new family. The night before the wedding we went back to Xochimilco to have a big boat party. Originally the plan was to return to the same boat guy that we rode with the week before. Somehow plans changed, both the time and the location, while I was en route. It took longer than expected to get there and I was worried that the boat would leave without me and when I got to our designated spot, out of breath, there wasn’t anyone there. Damn! Ever “helpful” are the people trying to sell you rides or sell you anything, there was a guy on a bicycle ready to help this damsel in distress. (The first time we went to Xochimilco the bikers kept appearing out of nowhere to lead us to a certain boat…pretty funny: oh hello again! It’s you again! You are sooo helpful…again!) I called an American friend who had a Mexican phone but it was turned off and also called a Mexican friend and couldn’t really figure out what had happened or where everyone was. My helpful biker wasn’t keen on me using his phone to call Tracy’s American phone and three stores were out of phone cards. Double damn! Eventually, I was sitting on the side of the road feeling and apparently looking pitiful when Tracy shows up in a mini van to rescue me. The brother asked if I was as sad as I looked, and I said yes, I thought I was lost forever. Tracy and her brother had driven all over from the new location trying to find me at the old location and along the way picked up an actual helpful Mexican man who knew the way but couldn’t explain. What a miracle.

The boat party itself was super fun…what started as eighteen or so folks involved in either couch surfing or the wedding grew to twenty-five or twenty-six. We had music, we had beer and tequila and we were ready to party. I don’t know how it worked, but along the way other couch surfers found our boat and jumped on. Another miracle, I think. We passed the island of creepy dolls (has anyone heard of this? It is an island that is covered in baby dolls that are in various states of decay), passed other party boats and even had some fireworks.

After the boat party, we were in search of food and found a place making “tortas”, Mexico’s HUGE hot sandwiches. For $1.80 I got an enormous sandwich with eggs, cheese, some veggies and refried beans. And I ate every bite. Yum.

After the wedding two car loads of folks went two hours outside of the city to the teensy town where some of the relatives live. We drove through the beautiful mountains and enjoyed lovely views while telling the driver to keep his eyes on the road! We walked around a bit when we got there, but it was getting dark so the tour didn’t last long. We ate some left over wedding food that we’d brought with us and spent a while chit chatting in English, Spanish and interesting spanglish.

Mexicans tend to stay rooted in one house for much longer than we nomadic Americans. They just add on or build up as the budget allows to meet the needs of their expanding family. It was kind of easy to tell how the original house had been just two small rooms and then the kitchen was later expanded and the second bedroom was plopped on the roof. Six of us crashed in the upstairs bedroom that you walk up a winding staircase outside to get to. I love it how much the buildings here let in the outdoors. In American buildings, you are either inside or outside, period. Here, you walk outside of the kitchen across the patio to the bathroom, or across the patio in the other direction to head to our bedroom.

The next morning, we were greeted by the sight of a lizard climbing around on the lace curtain and called in the groom’s brother for backup. We also found three HUGE spiders hanging out in the hand towel. Apparently the upstairs bedroom isn’t used all that often. We ate some breakfast and walked into town. We were passed by several guys on horseback and one guy with a pair of mules with a bunch of grass strapped to their back. The tour of the tiny town took all of 3 seconds and we kept walking up a mountain (hill?) to see a beautiful vista of the town and the surrounding areas. A very different view of mexico from the Mexico city that I’ve been used to. Very tranquil and lovely.

For lunch most of us pitched in to make sopas, a lovely dish that involved homemade tortillas (I helped!) that were cooked in an outdoor “kitchen” of sorts over an open fire. My teacher, someone’s grandmother, had obviously made about a bazillion tortillas in her life and I was glad my lessons were coming from a professional. She had bought a big chunk dough from somewhere and it was wrapped in purple paper. This tiny little lady easily grabbed a hunk of the heavy dough and began to kneed in water to make the dry dough smooth and pliable. She rolled a bunch of balls and brought in the heavy artillery; the hand press. Enter the gringa. You wouldn’t think that there would be that much skill in pressing a ball of dough, but you’d be wrong. My first several were too thin (I am so strong) and then the problems continued with my incorrect removal from the press and my incorrect placement on the grill. Eventually I got it right and everyone was happy. I will be happy to share my budding skills with any interested party.

The scalding hot tortillas are removed from the fire and are pinched around the edges to make a kind of crust like on a pizza. My fingers were too tender for this work. These tortilla shells are then brought to the indoor kitchen and placed on another pan and topped with oil (we would hate to do anything low fat people), thin refried beans, a red salsa and cheese and heated until crispy. Meat eaters topped theirs with pulled chicken, I stuck with the heavenly guacamole and cream. Did I mention that the avocados came from trees in their yard? Yum!

I spent the first half of the drive back to the city trying not to throw up as the driver rode the brakes around curves and up and down hills. We stopped at a market trying to find corn on the cob and were immediately trapped as a huge storm dropped about six inches of water in the span of twenty minutes. There wasn’t corn, but I busied myself checking out the various stalls, looking at the tortilla makers because now I am a pro and buying candy and pirated DVD (3 DVDs for five dollars). We stopped again when we saw a corn stand and indulged in this yummy treat. Mexican corn on the cob is skewered on a wooden dowel, spread with mayo, rolled in a shredded cheese and sprinkled with chili powder. About a zillion grams of fat, but super delicious. The healthier option that I vetoed is corn with lime, chili and salt. Bring on the fat.